#it's either 'jack stays at the temple more than for a day' au

[fullofsunsetwhispers]

Kimiko: What are you doing?

Jack, standing on a table: I live here you know. I can stand wherever I want, thank you very much.

Kimiko: …

Jack: …

Kimiko: Where’s the spider?

Jack: Under the Chair

[dragonbma]

Some character exploration and headcanons as I write the Vos Possession AU:

Adventure trio my beloveds… [similarly to my last infodump, these are headcanons for the game, but are all canon in my AU]

// Jack: team leader //

weapon: sword 🗡️ (alternatively fists)

very headstrong and sometimes gets too caught up in the moment to realize something is happening

has a perfect sense of direction, survival instincts, and tracking capabilities

—Extras:

-Sea Temple leaves him with tinnitus, PTSD, and a partially blinded left eye

-used to wear more red apparel (where he got the nickname Velvet Tornado) but has since switched to colors that reflect his fallen friends (Vos- blue, Sammy- beige)

// Vos: enchanter / healer //

weapon: potions 🧪

inventory management (often overpacks for adventures just in case)

can enchant items without an enchantment table, only needs the lapis (knows all enchants by heart and can read/write the font)

—Extras:

-has cold hands, is very cold in general (always wears warm outfits no matter the temperature)

-fascination with sea lanterns

-developed photophobia while in the temple and was much more talkative pre-Sea Temple adventure

// Sammy: navigation / explorer //

weapon: bow 🏹

often built makeshift abodes for the three to stay in temporarily during adventures

very knowledgeable about biomes, mobs, and cartography from years of being an explorer with Nurm

speaks fluent Villic (they translate when the group enters a village)

—Extras:

-has a journal used to catalog flora/fauna from her expeditions

-collects plants

Interactions:

Jack and Vos have been adventuring together since they were young and are essentially inseparable, rarely going on adventures without the other (have matched experience and have saved the other’s life)

meeting Jack was the reason Sammy decided to take up adventuring in favor of exploring (inspired her to get out of comfort zone)

Vos was teaching Sammy to make tipped arrows (the potion in her inventory was from him)

Sammy introduced Vos to the concept of wrapping his hands (+ his leather boots were a gift from them)

Sammy usually has to keep the other two in check, but on occasion would need assistance from Vos to convince Jack not to do something reckless

Extras:

—The trio liked taking turns picking places to go adventuring:

Jack usually planned adventures around treasure hunting or thrill-seeking. (Dude treasure-hoards like a dragon.) He liked to test his limits and improve his abilities at any opportunity. If the other two were having trouble, he’d always be there to help them. These adventures were always challenging, but in a fun way (until the Sea Temple.) Favorite biome: desert / mesa.

Vos adored visiting ancient ruins and kept a stash of artifacts of unknown value. He also liked finding treasures, but would usually give them to Jack. On occasion, these locations would turn out to be more perilous and dilapidated than anticipated. Favorite biome: ocean.

Sammy usually picked places that were less dangerous to keep Jack and Vos from burning themselves out, but never strayed from thrill-seeking if she knew the other two were fine to handle it. Neither liked to admit when they needed a break: (Jack out of pride, Vos out of embarrassment.) Sammy would take every opportunity to teach the two about the world around them on expeditions, especially reminding Jack to slow down and appreciate the places he visited. (Rather than seeing everything as a challenge to be beat as fast as possible.) Favorite biome: jungle.

—All three have vastly different expressions of speech:

Jack is no stranger to cursing, loves making puns, and often uses Minecraft metaphors/similes

Vos’ exclamations of excitement are almost always references to poetry (“Callou, callay!” or “Frabjous day!”) and he prefers using nonsense words in substitute of cursing

Sammy often uses botany terms for expressions and they don’t curse either

—Structure Block preferences: (if they had made it to the final room in the temple)

Jack and Sammy would have voted to take the Tower of the Warrior.

Had the events of the temple not gone awry, Vos would have voted to take the Wall of the Builder. However, after being trapped in the obsidian cages for so long, when he finally sees the structure blocks, he likely would have avoided the Wall of the Builder at all costs.

—I associate the three with land (Jack), sea (Vos), and sky (Sammy). No idea why.

—Similarly to the Order of the Stone, if I had to assign them ores… Jack- gold, Vos- lapis lazuli, Sammy- iron or diamond, and Nurm- emerald.

—Nurm didn’t accompany the trio during the initial adventure to the temple. He only found out later upon reuniting with Jack.

If any of y’all want to snatch these for any reason, feel free! Credit is optional- enjoy ^^

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

Destiel Month, 17 Nov.: Darkness

Black ink spilled into the corners of the bedroom. Cas wrapped the cotton blanket more tightly around his shoulders and shook. And shook.

deancas, not quite established relationship, post-15x18 au

At the green window the sun was setting a little faster than it had a week ago, like a walker speeding up to take the hill, moving forward into a deep and starless violet stain. The verdant leaves and limbs, filling the frame and dipped in gold, began to fade. A frog clung to a branch and sang. 

The shadows began as wisps -- smudge from incense, oil rippling in a cast iron skillet -- and deepened. Mold, crawling up the walls. Rot; rat droppings. Smoke thick as curdled blood. Suffocating ashes. 

Black ink spilled into the corners of the bedroom. Cas wrapped the cotton blanket more tightly around his shoulders and shook. And shook. He squeezed his eyes shut, put his forehead against his bent knees, and tried to breathe. Where the window was barely cracked open, silence slithered in like a poisonous fog. He was alone and would always be alone. When he turned his head, a tear leaked across his cheekbone.

Taking a breath hurt. The sleeping darkness liked that. 

A rustling, then. The closest wooden bedpost gave a tap-tap on the wall.

"You're here," Dean said, soft as a chime, as he climbed onto the mattress and slid his hand around to Cas's opposite hip. 

Cas couldn't swallow fast enough to make no noise at all, but he choked so the sob was no more than a hitch, a blade nicking. He leaned away, ashamed. Dean stopped him, pulled him back, his hand rubbing down Cas's arm to cup the elbow that had escaped the blanket. 

Dean kissed his temple. "You're here. You're safe." He leaned back against the headboard and brought Cas with him.

Maybe Dean dragged him into his arms more forcefully than either of them realized; Cas didn't mean to cling, but rested his head against Dean's chest. His legs and Dean's were all tangled up somehow. Cas watched his own hand clench and unclench a swath of t-shirt. Dean's arms were wrapped around him far better than the blanket had been.

"How are Jack and Sam?" Cas thought to ask, his voice ragged with disuse. 

He could feel Dean smile. "They're fine. They looked in on you earlier, when you were snoozin' the day away."

"Oh." Cas lifted his head and twisted a little, met Dean's steady gaze in the low light. His body ached everywhere and yet, if he concentrated, he realized the exhaustion was lifting, the way a little breeze used to sneak in beneath his wings, before they burned. He loved Dean so much he thought he could split open from it, have it pour out from his ribs and wrists and ankles like sunlight, like grace. "I might. I might stay awake for a while, if that's okay." Dean wiped his thumb beneath Cas's eye and nodded. "Hello, Dean," Cas told him brokenly.

Dean's expression crumpled, his eyes went fevered and wet, his arms tightened as he pressed his forehead to Cas's and took a deep, trembling breath. 

"Hey, Cas," he whispered. 

[onecanonlife]

fic name thingy "blink and it's gone"

-Tj

(it's actually the title of a comic I wanna do!!)

oh pog!! good luck with that!!!

for this title, i think i’d go for a ghost!au, kind of bittersweet, with the c!sbi as the ghosty boys, so hmmm

c!tubbo is an amateur ghost hunter. ‘ghost hunter,’ with quotation marks, because even though he’s well and determined to find a ghost one of these days, he hasn’t... actually been able to do that yet. but his parents are willing to indulge him, so he takes full advantage of that, usually dragging his friends, c!ranboo and c!jack manifold, along for the ride.

and then, one day, he discovers that there’s a haunted house practically right in his backyard.

or, well. it’s not necessarily haunted, but it is very old-looking, pretty dilapidated, so it could be, for sure. and it’s not really in his backyard, but it’s only a forty-five minute trek through the woods, so it might as well be. the point is, it’s nearby, and it seems like a good shot, so tubbo manages to convince his parents to let him and his friends stay over there a few nights.

and the first few nights, nothing happens at all. they explore the house, which really is in bad shape, but they find a few things. old photographs of a family, a man and three kids. rusted fencing swords. tattered notebooks. a flower garden long overgrown. it’s interesting, to be sure, but it also feels sad, like a real reminder that someone used to live here, and now they’re gone. presumably gone gone. so tubbo decides that they’ll spend one more night, and then pack it up and go home.

that night, they meet c!tommy. who is a ghost. he could not more obviously be a ghost. he’s flickering, see-through, and there is an ever-present wound on his temple that doesn’t seem to pain him at all. he’s a literal ghost, and tubbo feels like he was really not prepared for this.

but other than that, tommy doesn’t seem like a ghost. he’s very loud, very bright, and very offended by the fact that three strangers are camping out in his house, whether he’s dead or not. he’s not impressed by their supposed ghost hunting capabilities, either. but he strikes them a deal-- he’ll allow them to take some hard evidence of paranormal activity if, and only if, they help him figure out the one gap in his memories: how he and his family died.

tubbo accepts, of course.

so they meet the rest of tommy’s family after that: c!wilbur, c!techno, and c!phil, all of them with various wounds that would indicate a violent death. it’s pretty clear that they were all victims of foul play. the question is, who did it, and why?

from there on, it’s a murder mystery, and tubbo finds himself getting dragged into a deep conspiracy, one that might even involve his own friend ranboo and his connections with someone known only as dream. and here’s another problem: he’s becoming increasingly attached to tommy. tommy, who is a ghost. tommy, who shouldn’t have to spend the rest of his existence in the house he died in.

so what happens to the ghosts when their business is finished?

[jensengirl83]

Regret and Redemption Chapter 21

Dean x reader

Mechanic!AU

Word Count-3938

Warnings-tiny bit of angst, fluff, implied smut

Summary- Reader has left Dean and is trying to move on with her life. Can Dean prove himself and convince her to come back home?

A/N-Thank you to my beta @emoryhemsworth​​​​ and all my girls and guy for the encouragement to keep going with this series. I love you all!

Amazing series cover and text dividers courtesy of @talesmaniac89​​​​

Regret and Redemption Masterlist

Regret and Redemption Spotify Playlist

It had been a few weeks since the night of Dean and Y/N’s dinner. Their relationship had been going better than they could have imagined, spending lots of time together and working through the last few issues between them. They continued to go on dates and improve their communication by sharing how they felt with each other, which helped a great deal. 

Y/N sat at her desk working on the garage invoices when the thought of that night popped into her head. She couldn’t help but chuckle to herself. The intimacy exercise had been all but forgotten that night, but they’d been intimate anyway thanks to a Bryan Adams song. What were the chances that the song playing during their first time would’ve played that night? She wasn’t going to complain. It was just what she needed to get past the hurdle stopping her from giving herself to Dean completely. 

She smiled as she thought about the last few weeks. Her and Dean’s relationship had blossomed, and she couldn’t be happier. She still refused to move back into their home, but if things kept going as well as they were, that was a strong possibility in the future. Y/N missed her old home more and more every day, but she didn’t want to rush and ruin what she and Dean had accomplished so far.

Dean had been outstanding since that night, showing her lots of attention and affection. He’d also been opening up to her more, and she was excited to see him so happy. They continued their separate therapy sessions, and Y/N had to admit it helped them and their relationship. She never would have thought that it could be so beneficial, but you’re never too old to learn something new.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Dean walked up behind her, placing a kiss to her temple. Y/N smiled as she leaned back to catch his lips with hers in a soft, light kiss. She’d been worried about how them working together would work out, but it had brought them closer than she had expected. Y/N was the happiest she’d been in a long time, and she was excited to see where it would go.

“Hey, beautiful,” Dean smiled at her. 

“Hi handsome,” Y/N chuckled. 

“I have to run to the other garage for a little bit. I’ll bring lunch back,” Dean said with a smile. 

“I’ll go with you,” she said, grabbing her purse to leave with him. 

“Nah, it’s okay. I have to help Bobby with a car. No need for you to sit there bored,” Dean chuckled. 

“I don’t mind, Dean,” Y/N said, looking at him. He seemed to be acting odd.

“I’ll be back before you know it, babe,” Dean said, leaning down and kissing her before walking out the door. 

Y/N sat there in shock as she watched him leave. Why had he just insisted she didn’t go with him again? He’d done this a few times in the last couple of weeks, and she wasn’t sure what was going on. Y/N’s mind had gone to the worst-case scenario: he was seeing someone behind her back again. A tear rolled down her cheek as she thought about Dean ruining the progress they’d made by cheating once again.

Dean pulled up outside his second garage and smiled. He couldn’t wait to see what Bobby had gotten done on the project, excited to see it completed. Dean shut the car door behind him and walked straight into the garage area to see Bobby hard at work on the finishing touches. 

“Bobby, she looks amazing!” Dean exclaimed. 

“I thought you might be pleased,” Bobby said as he laughed and patted Dean on the back. 

“She’s beautiful,” Dean whispered, walking around the car. 

“Have you told her yet?” he asked Dean.

“No, and I’m not going to yet,” Dean said. 

“You need to tell Y/N, Dean. She’s going to get suspicious eventually,” Bobby sighed. 

“I told her that I’ve been coming here to help you,” Dean said with a shrug. 

“Hey now! Don’t put me in the middle of this. I don’t want her mad at me,” Bobby said, throwing his hands up. 

“She won’t be mad at you, Bobby,” Dean sighed. 

“I wouldn’t keep it from her, Dean. You guys are doing good right now, and I’d hate to see it fall apart because you weren’t upfront with her,” Bobby said, placing his hand on Dean’s shoulder. 

“I’ll tell her Bobby, just not right now,” Dean said, hanging his head. 

“Okay, son, just don’t mess this up again,” Bobby smiled before turning and walking out of the garage. 

Dean stood staring at the car Bobby had finished. It was beautiful, and Dean couldn’t wait to test drive it, but all his mind could think about was what he needed to tell Y/N. He knew she wasn’t going to be happy about it, and he had been putting it off. He hadn’t been lying, but he hadn’t been entirely honest either. He hadn’t always been helping Bobby at the garage, having been going somewhere else on some days. He hoped that Y/N wouldn’t take the news as badly as he thought she would, but he didn’t think it would be a pleasant conversation when they finally had to have this talk. 

Y/N was still sitting at her desk, not having gotten any work done since Dean left. Her mind couldn’t quit thinking about what Dean had been doing, and what she was thinking wasn’t good. What was she going to do if he was cheating again? She couldn’t go through that again and be able to forgive him, not after all the progress they had made. Her thoughts were still spiraling into the darkness when Dean came back. 

“Hey babe, I brought you a burger,” Dean smiled as he sat her food on her desk. 

“Thanks,” she said, not looking at him. 

“Everything okay, sweetheart?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow in concern. 

“Yeah, just not feeling well,” Y/N said, taking a bite of her food. 

“Anything I can do?” He asked her, reaching out to run his finger down her cheek. 

“No, I think I’m going to go home and rest. Hopefully, I’ll feel better tomorrow,” she said, standing and collecting her things. 

“You sure? You want me to come with you?” Dean asked. He was beginning to worry about her. 

“No, just stay here. You can’t really do anything about it,” she said as she walked past him and out the door without another word. 

The tears began to roll down her cheeks when she made it to her car. Y/N was terrified of what she’d find out when she started digging, but she had to know what Dean was up to because not knowing was killing her. She backed out and turned her car towards home where she could cry and think with privacy. She didn’t want Dean to see her like this, and she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he could still hurt her like this. If he was going to keep being sneaky and disrespectful to her feelings, she was going to act as if she could care less. 

Once home, Y/N paced her kitchen as her coffee brewed. She was trying to think of where to start finding out what Dean had been doing when he left the garage. She could call Bobby and see if he’d been lying, but she didn’t want to bring Bobby in on their issues. Bobby had been so good to her over the years, and he didn’t deserve the stress of her dragging him into this. 

She thought about calling Sam and Jess, but she didn’t want to stress them out either. Jess wasn’t too far from her due date, and they didn’t need to be bothered right now. Y/N drew back and punched her kitchen cabinets in frustration. She was going to be on her own figuring this out, and that made her angry. Why did Dean always have someone to go to, and she was left alone in everything? 

Jack was the only family she had left, and he was hundreds of miles away in school. She could always call and talk to him, but he had enough going on and didn’t need her bullshit. The anger of always being on her own in things turned to sadness, and she sat and cried, her head in her hands. Why did Dean have to do this to her again? She had thought that things were going great, but obviously, she had been wrong, again.

Dean sat in his office, staring up at the ceiling. He’d been worried about Y/N since she left earlier, and he couldn’t concentrate on anything else. She’d seemed upset about something, and Dean was concerned she may be thinking the worst, her go-to when things went wrong. He knew he needed to tell her, but he didn’t know how to. The news was going to hurt her, and that’s the last thing he wanted to do. They’d just begun to get to where they needed to be without this bringing her thoughts back to the past.

Dean growled at the thought of what he needed to tell her, possibly dragging things back down between him and Y/N. He just wanted to be able to keep making progress, but the universe seemed to have other plans. Dean stood up and grabbed his jacket, mind made up that he was going to fix this, and tell her the truth. He couldn’t expect her to trust him if he kept things from her, and he wasn’t going to lose her trust again. They’d come too far to let something put a wedge between them again. 

Dean parked in front of Y/N’s apartment building and looked up to her balcony. He could see her feet propped up on the railing, and he smiled, remembering how she used to sit on their porch when they were still married. He took a deep breath as he prepared himself for the conversation they were about to have. Emotions were going to run high, so Dean was worried how the night would end. 

He stepped out of Baby and shut the car door behind him, his eyes never leaving her balcony until it was out of sight. Once in the elevator, his nerves started to get the best of him, his palms began to sweat and his mouth went dry. Dean had hoped he could wait until he knew all the answers before Y/N knew about it, but he was worried about her finding out from someone else. This news should be heard from him and not from someone spreading gossip around town. 

Dean held his breath as he knocked on her door, hearing her voice call out, and her small footsteps move closer to the door. He knew she’d been upset when she left earlier that day, and he was here to give her some bad news. Dean felt horrible that all this was coming back to bite him in the ass, and she was right in the middle of it with him. His heart pounded as he heard her unlocking her door before swinging it open to see him standing there. 

“What do you need, Dean?” She asked, her hip leaned against the door. 

“I need to talk to you, Y/N. Can I come in?” Dean asked, hoping she wouldn’t slam the door in his face. She didn’t really seem to be happy he was there. Had someone already told her? 

Y/N stepped to the side and motioned with her hand to come in, walking past him and back out to her balcony. Dean sighed as he shut her door and locked it behind him, secretly praying that this wouldn’t cause them to take steps backward in their relationship. He walked to her fridge and grabbed a beer before walking out to her balcony to have a seat. The look on her face when he sat down had Dean curious as to what she knew. 

“Are you wanting to talk about where you’ve been going when you refuse to let me come with you?” Y/N asked without looking at him, taking a long sip of her beer. 

“Actually, yes. I need to tell you something, and I need you to stay calm while I’m explaining everything, okay?” Dean asked, looking at Y/N for a sign of how she would take the news. 

“Just spit it out, Dean,” Y/N sighed, not looking forward to what she would hear. 

“Well...” Dean said as he scratched the back of his neck nervously, “Stacy had her baby,” 

“And?” She asked, taking a deep breath in preparation for what was coming next.

“She is saying she’s mine,” Dean whispered, lowering his head and peeking at Y/N through his lashes. 

“She? So you might have a daughter? I thought she said that Steven was the father,” Y/N said as tears were threatening to fall. 

“That’s what she said until after the baby was born,” Dean said, reaching over to grab for Y/N’s hand. 

“Don’t Dean, not right now,” Y/N said as she pulled her hand back from Dean’s grasp.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I thought all this shit was behind us,” Dean said as he leaned away from her. 

“How long, Dean?” Y/N asked, looking at him, her face void of emotion. 

“What?” Dean asked, confused by her question. 

“How long have you been hiding this from me? I thought we were past that behavior, but I guess I was wrong,” she said as she laid her head back and closed her eyes, trying to keep her tears from spilling over. 

“Baby, listen, I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure. I didn’t want you to have to worry if she was lying again,” Dean pleaded with Y/N. He couldn’t stand the thought of her not trusting him again. 

“You should have told me from the beginning, Dean. How am I supposed to trust you when you keep secrets from me again?” Y/N said as she glared at Dean, feeling hurt and angry. 

“I know I messed up. That’s why I decided to come over tonight and tell you the truth. I can’t bear the thought of losing you or your trust again. Please forgive me, sweetheart,” Dean was all but begging on his knees. 

Y/N looked at Dean with his pleading eyes staring her down. She was angry and hurt, but she could understand that he didn’t want to bother her with the news if there was nothing to it. Her stomach knotted at the thought. If he was here telling her, that must mean that there was some truth to the claims. 

“Oh God,” Y/N said as she stood up abruptly. “The baby’s yours isn’t she?!” Y/N shouted as she backed away from Dean, heading for her balcony door. 

“Y/N, calm down! We don’t know anything yet,” Dean exclaimed as he reached out for her. “I wanted to be honest with you about what was going on. We will know the results in the next few weeks.” 

“What are you going to do if she’s your baby, Dean?” Y/N asked, her voice a whisper. Was she going to lose him to Stacy yet again? 

“I’ll make sure I get joint custody and pay for what she needs, but I will never be with Stacy again, Y/N. I’ve told you that I don’t want anyone but you and I meant that, baby,” Dean said, pulling Y/N into his chest as they both shed a few tears for what might be happening to them. 

Dean held Y/N close while she let out the tears she had been holding back. He felt horrible for her having to be pulled back into this drama with Stacy. Why couldn’t everyone and everything leave them alone and let them move on and be happy together? Dean wracked his brain, trying to figure out a way to make Y/N feel better, and an idea popped into his head. 

“Hey sweetheart, how about we take a quick ride somewhere? There’s something I want to show you,” Deans said, lifting her chin so he could look into her eyes. 

“What is it?” Y/N asked, sniffling, and wiping the tears from her cheeks. 

“It’s a surprise,” Dean said, watching Y/N’s facial expression show hesitation. “Do you trust me?”

Y/N looked into Dean’s green eyes for a moment, looking to see if she could see any dishonesty or lies, but all she saw was love and adoration. Yes, he’d kept what was going on from her for a while, but she honestly believed that he thought what he was doing was for her benefit. She smiled as she nodded her head in agreement that she trusted him and would go with him to wherever this surprise was. Dean leaned down and grazed his lips over hers in a light kiss before taking her hand and leading her inside to gather their things and leave. 

The ride was quiet, neither one in much of a mood to talk. Dean was worried about what she was going to think about his surprise, and Y/N was still thinking about what they were going to do if the baby was Dean’s. With both of their minds occupied, the ride felt like it took no time when Dean parked in front of his second garage. 

“I swear, Dean, if you brought me here to see some new stupid machinery, I’ll have to kill you,” Y/N groaned. 

“Just trust me and put on this blindfold, please,” Dean laughed as he held up one of his bandanas. 

“That thing better be clean, Winchester!” Y/N exclaimed, pointing her finger at him. 

“It’s clean, Y/N! Now, do you want to see what the surprise is or not?” He laughed as he wrapped the bandana over her eyes. 

“Fine, lead the way,” she said, holding her hand out so he could lead her to wherever they were going. 

“Stand right here,” Dean told her after walking her through the door. 

“I can’t see, Dean. Not likely I’ll make it far if I tried,” Y/N laughed.

“Always so sassy!” Dean laughed, placing a kiss to the crown of her head. 

“You know you love it,” she said with a chuckle. 

“I know I love you,” Dean said in her ear, kissing her neck. 

“Okay, Casanova, let’s get this moving along,” she said in mock frustration. 

She could hear Dean laughing and his footsteps as he walked away from her. She was listening intently, trying to hear any clue that might give it away, but for being such a big man, Dean was stealthy as hell. Y/N could hear the rustling of something that sounded like a thin plastic moving around, but that didn’t give her an idea of what it could be. She listened to his footsteps coming closer to her and jumped when she felt his hands on her shoulders. He was standing behind her, and his voice low in her ear made her tremble. 

“Okay sweetheart, are you ready?” Dean whispered. 

“Yes!” Y/N shouted in excitement. 

“Take off the blindfold,” Dean laughed as she ripped the bandana from her eyes. 

What Y/N saw sitting there took her breath away. It was the most beautiful 1966 Ford Mustang she’d ever seen. The mint condition, cherry red paint job, and cream-colored interior looked like it just rolled off the showroom floor. Y/N was jealous of whoever Dean had restored this car for. That was her dream car to buy and restore, and it was even the color she wanted. 

“Dean, she’s beautiful,” Y/N said, letting her fingers trail over the car as she walked around to admire her. 

“You really think so?” Dean asked. He’d been so worried about how it would turn out. 

“Yes, Dean. The customer driving this beauty home will be very happy,” Y/N sighed, wishing she’d be the one to drive this pristine machine out of there. 

“Y/N, she’s all yours. I really was coming to help Bobby a lot of the times I said I was,” Dean smiled at the shock and joy on Y/N’s face. 

“She’s mine?!” Y/N asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

“All yours, darlin’,” Dean laughed as Y/N squealed in delight. 

Y/N ran to Dean and jumped in his arms, placing kisses all over his face. She hadn’t been this surprised by something in a long time, and it warmed her heart that he had finally restored the car that he’d been promising to do for years. Dean was elated that she’d loved it so much, and her squeals and kisses made all the hard work and money worth it. He loved the woman in his arms more than he could ever explain with words, and he hoped this would show her just how much she truly meant to him. 

“When did you get this car?” Y/N asked, looking down at Dean as he held her up by her thighs. 

“A few days after you left,” Dean said sheepishly. 

“What?! What would you have done if I hadn’t agreed to try again?” Y/N asked. She couldn’t believe he would spend that much money, not knowing if they would ever be together again. 

“I would have kept fixing her and sent Bobby to drop her off to you. Just because we wouldn’t have been together doesn’t mean that you don’t deserve what I had promised you,” Dean said, his tone serious like that was the only logical explanation. 

“Dean…” Y/N said as tears rolled down her cheeks. 

She didn’t know what to say, her emotions getting the best of her. Knowing that Dean would’ve gone through all the trouble to find and restore a car for her even if they’d stayed separated made her heart feel like it would burst. Dean did indeed love her and always had, and even though he had made a mistake, he was doing everything he could to make it up to her. 

“Dean, thank you so much!” she was finally able to say, grabbing his face in her hands and crashing her lips to his. 

“I’ll restore you a hundred cars if I get this reaction every time,” Dean laughed when they broke the kiss for air. 

“Whatever,” Y/N laughed, playfully slapping Dean on the chest. 

“So, whatcha going to name her?” Dean asked, spinning so they could both see the Mustang sitting there in all her shiny red glory. 

“I’ll call her Cherry Pie,” Y/N said with a smirk. 

“Oh, you know how much I love cherry pie,” Dean said with a growl as he started kissing and nibbling on her neck. 

“How about we check out the backseat, and you can have a taste,” Y/N whispered in his ear, nibbling on his earlobe. 

“You’re going to be the death of me, woman,” Dean groaned as he walked them to Y/N’s “baby.” 

Thank goodness that no one was in the garage aside from them. The sounds coming from the lone car in the shop would’ve made anyone blush as the two of them christened the car’s back seat that would hopefully hold many more memories for them in the future.

@flamencodiva​​ @sorenmarie87​​ @foxyjwls007​​ @waywardbeanie​​ @emoryhemsworth​​ @voltage-my2dlove​​ @hardcoresupernatural​​ @msmarvelouswinchester​ @lyarr24 @deanmonandnegansbitch​ @akshi8278​ @midsummereve1993​ @sutton2001​ @emory91​ @halesandy​ @miss-nerd95​ @ellewritesfix05​ @bxbyizzy @winchest09​ @adoptdontshoppets​ @defenderrosetyler​ @hobby27​ @whatareyousearchingfordean​ @talesmaniac89​ @deanwanddamons​ @atc74​ @superfanficnatural​ @smol-and-grumpy​ @supernatural-love14​ @vicmc624​ @squirrelnotsam​ @tatted-trina6​ @xhannahbananax03​ @coffeebooksandfandom​ @nihilismworld​ @yn-dreamlife​ @mrsfox79​ @malfoysqueen14​ @moron225​ @deans-baby-momma​ @lovelyrocker​ @fablesrose​ @queenofchaos7​ @maralisa124​ @deangirl93​ @aimee-ginge​ @anathewierdo​ @donnaintx​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​ @itsdesiree86​ @kyjey​ @roxytheimmortal​ @briagallen​ @aubageddon91​ @lunarmoon8​ @that-one-gay-girl​ @stoneyggirl​ @kitkatd7​

[hockeyblogg]

you’re all I want - f.andersen

a/n: bringing this back, one of my first Freddie writings that was totally inspired by this picture and the all stars in general. sorry that I haven’t written anything in a long while, I always get super busy for some reason, but hope you enjoy this one !!

warnings: insecure freddie.

You sat on the bench, looking up and watching as Freddie taped his stick.

He had asked if you wanted to attend the NHL All Star weekend and of course you weren’t going to turn him down, but what you hadn’t expected was for him to keep you at his side the entire time. When he was doing media; he had asked if you could stay behind the scenes, when he was meeting with all the other players; he was introducing you to them as well, and now when he finally got to the locker room where everyone was preparing for the skills competition; he asked if you could stay with him until it was time to get dressed. 

You didn’t want to seem like the clingy girlfriend and also be the only girlfriend in the room, so you were about to turn it down and tell Fred that you could just go find his family and sit down with them as you waited, but after seeing a couple of other wives and girls go in, you decided to stay with Freddie.

And you’re kind of glad for that decision.

You watched as he bit his lip in concentration, his eyes focused solely on his stick. You took this time to take him all in; the way the hair on his face was slightly scruffy, his moustache shorter than his beard. You looked at his eyebrows and how they were scrunched together, causing the wrinkle in his forehead to cease more.

You watched his hands and how they worked, how much more bigger they were compared to yours but let’s be honest; everything about this man was much more bigger than you, and you smile at the fact that he’s yours.

Those thoughts don’t last long though, you’re knocked out of them by the calling of your name, and considering you only know two other people in this locker room, you know it’s either Mitch or Auston.

You turn your head and when you catch Mitch’s stare, he’s smiling and waving you over, “C’mere a sec!” You look back at Freddie and he softly smiles, gesturing to his teammate, “Go on then elskede.” Standing up, you walk up to the two boys, “What’s up?”

“Figured you were a little bored, you wanna help me tape my stick?” You merely nod and he hands you the piece of wood, “Just hold it there while I do the top...”

You watched carefully as he taped the top of his stick and you noticed that it was different from the way Fred does his, “Are all sticks different?” you find yourself asking, and Mitch raises his brow, “like taping?” he nods and bites off the end, smoothing it down with his thumb.

“I mean, some are the same way, like the top part, but most of the bottoms are different, especially with goalies, since their sticks are bigger and thicker.” You nod along at his words, “are players picky about their sticks, or is it any way every game?” he flips his stick and leans on it, “well, some players are really suspicious and try to get it right every time, but others; like myself, it doesn’t really matter.”

“here, you try.” he hands you the tape this time, and you shake your head, “No no, I don’t want to mess your stick up.” Mitch simply laughs, “Like I said Y/N, I'm not too picky, go ahead.” You hesitantly took the tape from his hands and he slowly shows you how to do it.

You’re on your last wrap around and Mitch gently smoothes it down, taking his stick back and inspecting it, “This is a great job Y/N.” You make a face, “You don't have to lie.” He laughs, “No really, this is great...” he turns around and taps Auston on the shoulder, “Hey Aus, look at Y/N’s tape job, it’s her first one.” Auston comes around and nods his head, “Hey look at that, that’s amazing.” 

“Really?” You ask suspiciously and they nod their heads, “Yeah, here look, just ask the guys.” Auston tells you and brings a few of the other players over to take a look at it. Pretty soon, Jack Eichel, Travis Konecny, Mat Barzal, and Connor McDavid himself are all praising your work. 

“That’s really great for a first time, might be better than all of ours.”

“Are you sure you did that and not Mitch?”

“Who knows, maybe she’s the one doing all of Mitch’s tape.”

“I’m not even that good.”

Mitch was happy his friends were playing along, if he was being honest, there were some lumps here and there and he knew that he would actually have to redo it, but he didn't want you to feel bad, especially after he told you it was fine no matter how you did it. He especially didn't want Fred to come after him for making you upset. 

So, he watched as you smiled brightly at the praise, and eventually the conversation turned to the competition, you asking each of the guys which skill they were in and them asking more about you, telling you; any friend of Mitch is a friend of ours.

However, as you were talking with the younger guys, your boyfriend was on the other side of the room with a frown set on his face.

Freddie hated when he got this way, when he felt so, old.

He didn’t mind it at all when he saw you with guys you’re age, he’s not a controlling person, but there’s just something inside that makes him feel guilty, as if he's keeping you from living your life the way he thinks you should be.

Watching them all make you laugh, seeing how well you vibe with them and relate to them, the way he feels he can’t, makes him feel, dare he say it, insecure about his place in your life. You need someone who can converse with you like that, someone who's young, fun, and carefree. Fred’s too old to do the fortnite dances, too old to be speaking in ‘vine talk.’

I mean, he couldn’t even offer you to tape his stick, which would’ve been a young, fun thing to do. Instead, he did it himself because he was too superstitious that he wouldn’t play properly if anyone but him got his equipment ready. Something only the old guys do.

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice you're staring and when he hears your footsteps coming toward him, he averts his eyes from the floor to his pads, trying to make it look like he wasn’t just doubting himself.

As soon as you saw his frown and the crease on his forehead, you knew something was bothering him and so you wished all the boys good luck and walked over, sitting beside him and grabbing hand, “You alright bub?” He nods and sits down, undoing all the straps and you place your hand on his cheek, turning his face to look at yours, “Bub, talk to me.” He stares at you for a second and sighs.

“I just, I'm sorry that I didn't ask if you wanted to tape my stick, I'm sorry if I didn’t notice that you were bored just sitting on the bench-” His words confuse you and you shake your head, causing him to stop, “Fred, I wasn’t bored, and I hadn’t meant to tape Mitch’s stick, he just offered. I’m fine with just watching you get your equipment ready, it’s yours anyway.” He’s still not buying it and you sigh, putting your hand on his knee, “What’s wrong?”

He shrugs, “Every time I see you around people your age, guys your age, I can't help but feel out of place, and it’s not that you can’t hang out with them but I always get this feeling of...” he trails off and you finish for him, “Guilt?” he nods but his eyebrows are furrowed and you huff a laugh, “I feel the same way too Freddie, whenever I see you with people your age, I always feel like I'm a little kid you have to watch over. But, at the end of the day, we have each other to remind ourselves of how much we love each other. I love you so much Fred, I could care less of how old you are. I could care less if you have a ten ‘o’ clock bedtime, if you only watch golf all day, and if you don’t find some memes funny. You’re amazing just the way you are, you’re all I want Freddie.” 

He nods and leans in to place a kiss to your temple, “Thank you elskede, I love you too.” You smile and run your fingers through his hair, “I’m very lucky to have you.” He shakes his head and chuckles, “Darling I think I'm the lucky one.” 

You both sit there as he finishes up with his equipment, glancing at each other and giggling when you catch the other’s eye. Soon after, it’s time for you to leave the room so you wish him luck, and whisper that you love him while connecting your lips. 

Fred watches as you retreat down the hallway and Mitch comes up behind him, “You little sap.” 

[join-the-joywrite]

Hamish & Vera soulmate au headcannons

Part two of the first words au suggested by my girl, Sima, as demanded requested.

I am Not Happy about this

I'm a very big fan of saying "fuck canon" in favour of my otp happening but honestly ,,,,, the pain is too great to pass up so here we go.

It took months for Hamish to properly open up verbally. When he did, Vera asked about the ring. He told her all about Cassie and Nico, save the bit about the Knights.

It was a few more months when Hamish started visiting the old places he used to love to favourite with Cassie, but they still weren't the same. He didn't mind, though. They were just places now. Places that held pleasant memories. Now, important places are where he goes with Vera.

Hamish is on his way to meeting Vera when he runs into Randall Carpio. The man is crazy, Hamish first thinks. Then, he'd make a good knight.

"Who's the lovely lady? Hi, I'm Randall Carpio, and you are?"

"Taken."

"Damnit, Hamish!"

Vera finds him endearing, somewhat, as one would a toddler. Two days later, Hamish decides to invite Randall into the Knights. Greybeard chooses him and they celebrate. It feels good to have someone to talk to about things only a Knight would understand. He thought about Vera, but after Cassie, he didn't think he could handle it. Besides, Randall looks like he'd take on a wolf without being one of them. He's perfect for the job.

Hamish knocks on Vera's door late one night.

"Are you okay?" "Can I stay here tonight? Please."

Vera obviously lets him in.

"You ever meet someone and you know they've done nothing wrong at all, but it feels like they're trying to replace someone you've lost?" Vers tries a joke, "This isn't about me and Cassie, is it?" Thankfully, Hamish finds the joke funny. "You, no. Cassie, yes. Randall's made this friend and honestly there's nothing wrong with her but . . . it's like she's wearing Cassie's favourite jacket and I can't get her to take it off."

Hamish intentionally leaves out the part where he was the one who opened the doors for Lilith. Vera would find the metaphor much more impactful if she knew Hamish meant Timber.

Hamish doesn't talk much about Lilith to Vera, though it's not as if they get a chance to talk at all. Now with Randall and Lilith knighted, Hamish has found purpose outside of Vera -- taking down the Order. They were what got Nico killed and they were what got Cassie killed. Hamish knew the Order was the bad magic he's supposed to fight. In addition, Vera's just been made Temple Magus and it is a lot more more work than she'd anticipated. Not to mention, having the university in her jurisdiction included attaining the seat of Chancellor. Fuck the social life, I guess.

At least they're always able to come home to each other.

Unfortunately, that too starts falling apart.

Hamish gets pulled deeper and deeper into uncovering the Order with Randall and Lilith, slowly figuring out how to find the pledges and get rid of them. Since he'd told Vera about Cassie, talking about the departed Knight becomes easier. He struggles a bit to explain it all to Randall, but he's able to speak properly and tell Lilith all about Cassie. When Hamish reveals that Cassie had been Timber's champion, Lilith understands. She is harsh and brash and often rude, but she also has a heart to love, no matter how guarded and hidden. She makes an effort to distinguish herself from Timber and from Cassie. Hamish makes an effort to see Lilith instead of Cassie's replacement. Once they succeed on that, their relationship improves tenfold. (Randall is relieved. He was worried his days as a Knight were gonna be filled to the brim with tension and loathing)

Vera gets pulled deeper into the Order. She's sucked into the position she's been granted and no matter how much she tries to leave it for a break now and then, something or the other pulls her back. It doesn't help that the pledges decrease in number every year due to at least one of them dying.

By the time Jack Morton makes his way to Belgrave, things have quite nearly fallen apart. Hamish has stopped visiting an empty house. Vera's stopped trying to call when she finally leaves the temple, only to reach the voicemail of a sleeping Hamish, who's stopped trying to send texts every odd hour.

Given that Jack never actually said Vera's name to the Knights (I believe, and if I'm wrong shhh it's an au), it's no surprise that the the earlier parts of Finals Pt.2 is slightly more comedy than pain. (Let's assume Lilith never mentions Vera's name upon regaining her memories either)

Let it also be known that I, for the life of me, cannot recall how the entire scene plays out, so we just gonna make it up as we go along =)

Hamish is down in the basement when Jack brings a new ally to the den. An injured Lilith is there.

"Miss Bathory." "Bitch." "Fair enough."

Randall is in next, excited to see Lilith back in the den. "Hey! I knew you weren't dead!"

"Randall?" "Vera! Heyyyyy, long time no see, huh? Wh -- what . . . what are you doing here?" "You -- you're one of them? The werewolves?" "Shiiiiiiiit, you know?? Wait, you're not like,, in the Order, are you?" "How long have you been a werewolf?" *guilty face* "FROM THE START????"

Lilith & Jack: 🤨 wtf is happening here

Hamish returns. "Guys, who's. . ." Hamish stares at Vera. For a while, he wonders how she found the den. Then he wonders what she's doing at the den. Then he recalls Jack mentioning that he was bringing an unlikely ally. He'd figured unlikely ally meant someone in the Order. ". . . here?"

Vera shoots Jack a glare. "What the fuck is this, Mr Morton?"

"Uhh . . . I didn't-- I wasn't aware you guys were, uh . . . friends?"

Hamish is still staring at Vera. "This what you've been doing for years? Magic? The Order? That promotion . . . it wasn't about the chancellor position, was it?"

(Lil bit of comedy = Randall: WAIT, SHE'S THE TEMPLE MAGUS??????)

"You say magic like it's evil. Have you ever once thought about the fact that you've been murdering my pledges every year since Miss Bathory was expelled from the Order? Which is more evil, Hamish, protecting magic or killing its practitioners?"

"Your people got Cassie and Nico killed," Hamish hisses, "those practitioners you're protecting are the reason Cassie and Nico died. Magic. Is. Evil."

"Magic isn't evil! I was barely a Magistratus when your ex-girlfriend was killed! Do you think I enjoyed all those respondeo incantations? Wh-- why do you think I started spending so much time at the temple? Making sure I stayed Temple Magus? I am trying to make the Order better. But you? All you care about is murdering my Neophytes. Children."

(Randall: intense wincing as his parents fight. Jack & Lilith: perplexed but very invested in the drama. Jack's a lil upset that he's got plans to go and confront Edward. He kinda wanted to see the rest of that argument.)

"Oh, that's rich, V," Hamish snaps. Despite the clear rage radiating off of Hamish, Vera isn't afraid. The nickname is familiar and welcome. It's home. Hamish, no matter how far he is from her, is home. Doesn't mean she's not got her own barrel of problems to spill.

"Rich?? I'm not the one out here killing people before they get the chance to even live. You -- you -- you are -- you're a monster, you know that?" She says it factually, as if it's something common knowledge.

"Really, V? Are we doing this now?" "Might as well! If we're all going to die, I'm not going down without getting everything out. You know, while we're on the topic of being brutally honest before we die, Mr Morton, your sense of style is horrendous, Miss Bathory, your temper is infuriating and Randall . . . you -- you -- your jokes are lame!"

Funny enough, Randall is most offended. And then Lilith has his attention because she's hurt. "Can you help?" "I don't trust her." "I don't recall caring, do you want me to save your life or not?"

Hamish is pissed as Vera turns to help Lilith. Amusingly, he's pissed because Vera isn't paying him any attention. But there are more pressing matters, like the incoming army. "We have company."

"Fucking Kepler," Vera mutters.

Both Hamish and Randall squint at Vera. "Bitsy Kepler?" "Isn't she a bit . . . fickle and stupid to be in the Order?"

"Oh, you know Kepler too?" Lilith asks, more of a rhetorical question.

"No, V just complained about her a lot." "Don't call me that, Randall." "Sorry."

"They are circling the house. What are they up to?" "Knowing Kepler, something unoriginal."

*sounds of the order throwing burning spells.* The look of awe on Hamish's face as he watches Vera cast a protection spell does not escape Randall and Lilith.

"How long is that gonna last?" "Long enough for us to deal with them."

Vera is already following an undressing Hamish to the doors. "No killing." "No promises."

Lilith stares at the empty doorway. "Are we going to talk about th--" "Nope. Not at all. Never. Anything else. Anything but whatever just transpired."

When they get into the temple and set the Vade Maecum alight, Hamish thinks maybe it isn't so bad. Maybe Vera's right, maybe she can turn the Order around. Maybe magic isn't evil. Vera takes his hand. He gives hers a little reassuring squeeze. Come hell or high water, he'll always come back to her.

It's what soulmates do.

"So, Grand Magus, huh?" "Mhm." "I didn't think you remembered this spot exists."

Vera, despite her new persona of professionalism and perfection, gets down on the grass beside Hamish. She looks at him carefully. Is she doing the right thing? Probably not. But will it keep him safe from her and the Order? More likely than not.

"What is it, V?"

"Nothing. Just thinking."

"About?"

"Us. What happened to us?"

"Magic," Hamish jokes, lightly tapping his forehead against hers. I missed you.

Vera squeezes his hand twice. I love you.

Hamish closes his eyes. So much trust he has in Vera that despite knowing she's on the other side of the great divide between the Knights and the Order, he still trusts her enough to be around her blind. Vera's guilt starts eating at her insides already. It makes her sick, but she hasn't got a better choice. The alternative is allowing the order to launch an attack on the Knights -- and if the Order could kill werewolves before, they can kill them again. Vera never wants to feel the pain Hamish felt after losing Cassie.

This is losing him, but at least she knows he's alive and safe. Safe from the Order, from magic, from all of Belgrave's dirty little secrets.

She wants to be the one to monitor him, but Grand Magus duties steal her time and attention worse than Temple Magus did. She hates having to leave him in the hands of one of the Medicums, but she can't exactly do it herself, despite wanting to.

"I thought I was the quiet one," Hamish jokes.

"Shh. Some . . . peace and quiet is welcome."

"V, are you--" Vera quickly claps her hand over his eyes. "Sh. Don't . . . don't say anything. Don't open your eyes. I just . . . I just want to see you for a moment."

Hamish smiles and complies. Vera fights to keep her shaking breath quiet. She lowers her hand slowly. Could she spare time for one last kiss? Just one? No. One would never be enough. And she knows that if Hamish kisses her now, her entire resolve will break.

She squeezes his hand twice. I love you.

Before he can respond, Vera blows the powder in his face. She sits up slowly. Dear God, she was sure she'd done something horrible in a past life to warrant this kind of torture. At least for Hamish, losing Cassie hadn't been the product of his own making.

"Your name is Hamish Duke. You go to Belgrave University. You're a TA and -- and you study psychology. Forget the Hermetic Order of the Blue Rose. Forget the Knights of Saint Christopher. Forget . . . Vera Stone."

Vera pulls him up. "Hey, that looked like a nasty fall. Are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm okay, I think. Thanks."

"Sure." Vera can't help the two subtle squeezes she gives his hand before leaving. I love you. She doesn't want to be there when Selena Durov leaves her class and arrives. She doesn't want to see what Selena says to Hamish, what lies she feeds him and what she does. Vera wants to lock herself in her office and never see another person again.

Hamish frowns as he watches her leave. He wondered what had happened to her that her eyes were so sad. Part of him want to run after her and ask her. Ask her name at the very least. But something keeps him rooted to the spot where he stands.

Who was she and why did he feel like she'd said something very important?

Hamish holds his own wrist for a moment, feeling the ghost of her touch. The slight squeezes he thought he'd imagined.

I love you.

Who the hell was she? And why did he feel like he really ought to know her.

Part 3

Did I win yet, ladies? Or do you want part 3?

@gingersimasnapsandvermishthings @bakulka @everythingabouthatship

See some other soulmate aus I've tried my hand at

[sserpente]

24 little kinks | Christmas Requests are now open! 🎄☃

“You remember that chocolate advent calendar I got you for December?”

“I do,” Loki chuckled and pressed a tender kiss to your temple. “You made me display it in the kitchen so I would not eat all of the chocolates inside at once.”

Your smile widened. “How about we get another one?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, only now paying proper attention to the sex toy ad. Then, he frowned. It was an odd mixture of disgust, genuine curiosity and even a hint of arousal flashing in his blue eyes.

“I hardly need… toys to satisfy your needs, neither do you need any to satisfy mine. You are not… unchallenged when we are in bed together, are you, sweet one? Because I can ensure you, I can change that in a heartbeat…” He threatened teasingly. His cool lips brushed against your neck, leaving behind a trail of goose bumps on your sensitive skin.

“No… of course not… but experimenting with sex toys can be a lot of fun?”

You almost giggled to yourself despite your growing excitement. You had never actually taken Loki to a sex shop. That should be really interesting; and besides, you had been imagining him tying you up and blindfolding you countless times already. The God of Mischief made no secret out of his dominance, hunger and godly stamina in bed and he had not just once forced you into so many orgasms you had nearly passed out from all the breath-taking pleasure. So why not take it up a notch?

“You intend to buy an advent calendar full of… sex toys for us?” He repeated with raised eyebrows. You could tell he was beginning to like the idea—and what he could do to you, how he could tease you with all the things in this… naughty advent calendar.

You could practically feel him slowly changing his mind, arousal radiating off of him and making you squirm a little in joyful anticipation.

Finally, he sighed, an amused but cheeky smirk playing on his lips. “Very well. Where do we acquire this calendar?”

And with that teaser, I would like to announce that this year’s Christmas requests are now open! 🎄☃ How will it work? This year I’m working on a Christmas special. Everyday, Loki and RC will open a little door and find a new toy to play with... right until Christmas Eve. That should be twenty-four really interesting days, especially with Loki being thoroughly unfamiliar with the concept of sex toys and their function.

Ideally, I would be posting one door—one Imagine, each day until Christmas but due to work, classes, sleeping and baking Christmas biscuits, that might not always work out. Therefore, some doors might get a combined Imagine.

How does my request fit in? So now it’s your turn! Send me all of your (kinky) and Christmassy prompts for Loki. I already know what’s behind every little door, of course. But that doesn’t mean I’m hoping for loads of enticement/suggestions from you guys in my inbox. You know I love receiving your ideas! Please, feel free to request whatever Christmassy prompt you can come up with--most of which I will combine with my Christmas special--and also, do not hesitate to send me requests for other characters as well, if you have any. As this is a Christmas special, most Imagines will be for Loki (and I can’t complain because usually, 80% of all requests I receive are for our mischievous Trickster 😌) but if there’s a specific prompt/request, another character will, throughout the Christmas season, of course make an appearance too.

Requests will be open until November the 30th. I bet many of you guys are in a Christmassy mood already and while I only put away my Halloween decoration today, I’m sure you are as ready as me for some Christmassy prompts.

I will not be able to take regular requests this time, due to the sheer amount of Imagines I’m planning. Rest assured though, as soon as “Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker” comes out, I will be posting some Kylo Ren and General Hux Imagines in between. I might even be able to take some requests as soon as I’ve seen the movie (which I am super excited about).

Until December the 1st, I will be working on the remaining requests that are still sitting in my inbox, including a sequel for that Thomas Sharpe Imagine you’re all waiting for. ♥

As usual, if you would like to request, please send me an ask, not a direct message and not a comment under this post, simply so I can keep an overview.

I write for:

Kylo Ren (Star Wars)

General Hux (Star Wars)

Captain Boomerang (Suicide Squad)

Harley Quinn (Suicide Squad)

Eric (Divergent)

Loki (Thor/The Avengers)

Newt Scamander (Fantastic Beasts)

Adam (Only Lovers Left Alive)

Captain James Conrad (Kong: Skull Island)

Captain Jack Sparrow (Pirates of the Caribbean)

Ragnar Lothbrok (Vikings) ATTENTION: I’ve only seen two seasons thus far. If you want to request something with Ragnar, please make sure not to include any spoilers!

Jonathan Pine (The Night Manager)

Thomas Sharpe (Crimson Peak)

Now, last but not least, please just make sure to read this quick FAQ before sending me a prompt. I only have a couple of rules but I really would appreciate if you considered them before submitting. 🤗

What do you write? I’ve been a passionate fanfiction writer for more than eight years. Thus, I write stories with my own OCs and Imagines with female reader inserts only. I don’t do personalised Imagines (e.g. specific appearance or name), Imagines with real existing people (like Tom Hiddleston), alpha/omegaverse or songfics (because I have a very specific music taste and don’t want to write a songfic about a song I don’t like).

The only things I don’t particularly enjoy writing about are RC having children and being a mother (unless it’s animals because I’m a proud cat mummy), or being a child. Suicide and self-harm are, with few exceptions concerning context, a no-go for me, as is gore. Other than that, I’m not big on AU’s that take place outside the actual canon universe (so, e.g. vampire!Loki is fine but barista!Loki without his powers in a world in which the Avengers don’t exist isn’t really my thing).

Do you take requests? I do! If you want to send in a prompt/an idea, however, please check the description of my blog before doing so to make sure requests are open. Requests that I receive while they are closed I don’t accept simply because of time management, with only very few exceptions.Please keep in mind: Given that with more than 15k followers, I tend to get up to 100 prompts at once, I choose those I personally like the most and/or that inspire me to write something–it is, unfortunately, impossible to write them all. 😭 I also like to combine requests that work together well to work in as many of your ideas as possible.

So, what should I request? Basically, anything you want. Don’t hesitate just because you think your request is not good enough or weird! If you’re still uncomfortable though, you can send it anonymously as well. Please be aware, however, that I only write what I am personally comfortable with. If I feel like I can’t make anything of your request, if I feel like it’s a great idea but a simple oneshot wouldn’t do justice to it, if I have already read/written something too similar or if it addresses something that is triggering for me, please don’t be upset if I delete it. That, of course, doesn’t mean your request sucks but, like every writer, I want to write stories I actually enjoy writing… or it would just feel like homework! 😅

Do NOT (and trust me, I see everything) send the exact same request you’ve sent to me to other writers as well, for I think that is rude and disrespectful. Should you do so, I’ll simply delete your request(s). If you want me to write something for you, that’s great and I’m flattered but if you send me a prompt, you either want me to write it for you or you don’t want it at all. It’s as simple as that.

How do you let people know that you’ve written/deleted their requests? If the request was anonymous, all I can do is put a note at the beginning of the story and thus make everybody aware that it was a request. I don’t copy the prompts to insert in the Imagine. If the person came off-anon, I tag them to let them know it was posted. If I choose not to write your request because of one of the above named reasons, I will not publish your ask but simply delete it. It would be mean to answer something like “there’s no way in hell I will write this” and I certainly don’t want to show anybody up. However, if you’ve been waiting for a request to be written for a long time already, feel free to ask me about it and I will, if you prefer it that way, answer you privately. Sometimes Tumblr swallows asks, too, unfortunately.

Would you also write about a different character if requested? That depends on the character and the request. You might have noticed that I am mostly into bad guys and villains, so you can’t expect me to write happy unicorn fluff with the world’s nicest super hero. Anyway, you can always ask but please don’t be disappointed if I decline. Naturally, I don’t write about characters from movies/tv shows/books I don’t know, neither do I write about characters that I personally don’t like.

Do you write smut?

Yes, I do. ;-)

Do you do roleplay? No, I don’t.

Do you have a masterlist? You can find my masterlist in the description of my blog, it’s accessable on mobile as well.

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So where and how can I buy you a coffee? Click on the Ko-fi button or the “Support me?” link on my blog. ♥

[everythingcanadian]

Wainlock + Zane Space Pirate AU

So quick alternate universe idea thing. Thank you @jakobslock and @majimalordofthenight for being there to go along with it. 

So, Wainlock and Zane Flynt. Just hold with me for a bit. 

Like. okay straight from our group chat with minor clean ups. 

ZANE THE SPACE PIRATE A LA TREASURE PLANET.

He wants to swindle a bunch of rich folks but he ends up falling in love with the wealthy man and his explorer employee.

Zane with an open chest from half his buttons being undone. But also the idea that he's sailing a ship IN FUCKING SPACE. Don't forget the hot as hell coat he wears along with a sword an actual sword. Wainwright is being nice to his crew, actually listens to the lower status cabin boys. Sleeps with the crew. Has a few stories to tell. He's paying them all handsomely, even pays one of the cargo runners double for him to run and grab a crate of apples. "Pocket the change, I don't want any money back from you." And Zane starts to get a sick feeling in his belly when he revises his plan to not only ask for triple what he would normally get for something like this into the oasis regions. But the idea that he is going to kidnap and ransomed the pair out as soon as they find the temple of Oular  [News flash all these odd names are made up]. the treasure of millions.

And Alistair is equally as nice with the crew. Helps out in the galley and actual pulls his weight when he's done all he can to get their heading correct among the stars. Actual hands off a trick or two to the cook on how to best cut vegetables. Alistair manages to help fix a tear in the secondary sail that had been there for months. "Sometimes we don't have the time or the funds to fix what is deemed unnecessary. However. Not much is needed for this. A simple bone needle and some strong fishing line will work temporarily." "How temporary?" And it's one of the deck hands that speak up. "Five maybe six months if it's good wire and the storms aren't too rough with this girl." and Alistair pats the mast before he follows the most capable of deck hands up. They hook into the mast netting to keep from falling and Alistair walks him through it. Doesn't take over. Waits for the pirate to get his frustrations out before walking the man through it. "And tie a good strong knot into each thread through. It strengthens each stitch and helps it hold closed even if one of them snaps. This can be applied to clothing too. Especially a favourite shirt. Like the one I’m wearing." And Alistair just scoots his vest open slightly to show off the stitching job he had done the year before on it. Wainwright and Alistair are dining with the crew out on the deck, under the stars as they sail through what could be comet dust. Wainwright brings the wheel-man and the on duty sail turner their supper and eats with them a little. It shows that he respects the crew. "Lord Flynt. Or would you prefer I call you Pirate Lord Flynt." Wainwright watches Zane tense up as they talk in his quarters. "It's been nearly a month so I feel like dropping the mask is either going to get me killed or thrown overboard. Or a better option. However. I know you aren't some navy man, half your crew is on wanted posters in some ports. But I feel that I am as good as safe with this crew. You picked a good lot for your ship. All of them." Wainwright waits for Zane's reaction but only gets a one eyed glare. "Very well. Alistair and myself have known since we hired you to take us to the Oasis galaxy. We want to share with you the fame that is going to come from finding this place. I don't want my name on any part of it. I don't care for fame like my daddy did. I just want the histories of the universe to be known." And Zane is stunned. absolutely stunned. hes quiet as Wainwright explains that he wanted the Flynt crew to be the ones to sail them. "You've sailed through the pull of a black hole and past a double belt of asteroids. I know that you ad your crew alone can fly safely into the area of the Oasis that is notorious for it's gas storms." Wainwright smiles softly. "Pirate or naval admiral or whatever. you are the best of the best when it comes to danger and I for one, respect that. I've paid off the rulers in both the Terra Nova galaxy and the Terra Afer sector [real names but they don’t exist]. You are all free men in those parts. I have read quite a bit on you and your crew Mr. Flynt. I admire your perseverance in the ways of travel. I don't with to be bait or simply diced into pieces. I want to share in what is knowledgeable. I have a lot of money I never asked for. Which means I have a lot of funds for you and your crew should you prove to me that I will not become some plaything once we find this temple. I have an idea as to what pirates do Mr. Flynt. I have a few scars from the first time I was aboard a ship as fine as this." And Zane is left gaping at Wainwright as the man heads out of the captain's cabin. That little rich shit took all the wind from Zane's sails and instead anchored the idea that he isn't his daddy at all.

Zane being fucking confused. But then he calls in his first mate, sits the man down. "Gabriel, these two are not to be harmed. They know who we are. What we've done. And yet- they came aboard willingly. This Jakobs, he knows everything and yet hes paying us what a regular naval vessel would make. Hes got everyone's names, not as threats but as people. All of us, and hes paying us as if we were the navy. These are not prisoners or problems. These two men are my personal guests now. Keep treating them like crew, as they have treated us like equals." "Good. I'd have hated to hurt Sir Hammerlock after he taught me how to play the whole Instringus [made up lol] symphony play-set on my fiddle. Even though he cant play it himself." And Gabriel twiddled his fingers slowly, looking down at his clawed fingers in slight sympathy. "I think they've taught us more than we could ask for, captain, something's we didn't even know ourselves." "I agree boyo, Barnes is even learning how to read from Hammerlock's personal diaries. I have never met anyone who would do that if they truly didn't mean the best." Zane sighs through his nose. "This changes things."

Zane looks at the parchment that he and another pirate lord had signed the week after Zane had found out he was taking a pair of rich men onto his ship to go discovery some whatchamacallit. but now he can't deliver on that promise as Wainwright and Alistair are no longer targets but allies. It takes him a second to realize he fucked up more than royally as Captain 'Handsome' Jack won't take no. he is indeed a dumb of ass and needs to get both Wainwright and Alistair back into his quarters.

Zane panicking when they reach the outer edge of the Oasis galaxy. This is A) one of if not the most dangerous Galaxy if one doesn't know how to navigate it. Zane and Gabriel do. B) Captain Jack is set to meet them at the outer edge where Oasis meets Nobilis which is where they ended up heading to due to Wainwright wanting to stop near Haberst Forture the city planet to settle debts that some of the crew had accumulated. and C) both Alistair and Zane know that Jack's ship looks like THAT So as Wainwright Stays on deck he can see Hyperion son John La Paige or now known as Handsome Jack with a scar in the shape of a cracked star on his cheek. Wainwright can feel his stomach drop as this kid was one of his friends' son. "Do- you know this bastard?" "Yeah- I know him. I used to be his uncle when it was much simpler times. His Grandfather and my daddy were thick as thieves. then one day. poof, John La Paige was gone. His father said he had run away. I had suspicions that John had been taken at age 14 and this is where he ended up." Wainwright sighed. "He was a brat back then. I suppose now he doesn't take kindly to not gettin’ his way."

And it's not long before Handsome Jack is boarding The Sentinel. Wainwright knows that he can't go willingly. Can't make it that easy or Jack will do something else. Alistair is hidden under the loose boards under Zane's bed. It's a thick enough space for an average human and Alistair thanked all his stars he wasn't claustrophobic. Wainwright never put Alistair on the manifest for the crew. Zane never knew that Alistair was going to be the explorer coming with them. Jack probably doesn't know that Alistair is on the ship. But it's better that Wainwright makes sure the love of his life is safe. "Well Well. Well. Uncle Wain in the flesh. Ahhh, it's so good to see you after all this time." "John. I wish I could say the same about you." And it's minutes of dancing around each other before Wainwright makes a reach for his gun, gets instead a knock to his chest from Jack's fist, then a swift kick and a series of blows to his ribs and back. Jack yelling about how he was abandoned and taken. How Flynt had delivered him like a nice little package. And Wainwright played into it. looked at Flynt as if the man had been playing him. Looked at the crew like they had betrayed him. Gabriel had caught on the fastest had already taken the special compass Alistair had been using. "I take it you never figured out that Hammerlock didn't really stay on Port Leio. But he did have a nice compass. Embossed with gold and- proposal rubies. You really thought he had decided to stay there? Please. Anyone who has heard of Temple Oular can't resist going there themselves. Too bad Hammerlock couldn't stomach it."

Wainwright played his horror up as much as he could. Screamed himself hoarse. Yelled till he was blue in the face. and Went after Zane in a show to kill him but Jack's men grabbed him first. Jack then handed over what could only be described as a solid gold small chest filled with what is known as tear drop stars. Specially compacted star dust into the form of imperfect tear drop shapes that are worth millions each. "I feel like I'm short a couple." "You know how fragile those little shits are. Besides, No navigator." Zane gave a glare to Gabriel that felt real. And they all hoped it had been bought by Jack and his men. Zane knew it was when Jack took his time departing, he had done deals with the man in the past. the Pirate king himself. So for Jack to take his time meant he was happy with their exchange. Zane even used his detector to see if anything was off about the chest. "She's true boys!" And even as the deck erupted in cheers at a success Zane could feel his stomach sink as Jack's ship disembarked and started to sail into the Oasis. They waited until Jack's ship was out of range before Barnes went and retrieved Hammerlock. "We have a plan that should he be taken- well it's messy business but he has a specific- uh- thing in his blind eye. Because he can't use it he decided that he should put it to some use. there is a tracker in it should he be kidnapped or killed. He thought that it would be useful in times such as this. However it is a few decades old but it has been serviced. If the specifications are right- and he is sure it was- then it should go undetected as it uses infrared signals and not x-waves. Virtually undetectable unless scanned for specifically with a certain code." "And what is this code?" "An 8 character long pass-code that has absolutely no significance to anyone. maybe on luck but it was randomly generated." Alistair smiles. "Unless he's dead, of which I don't think John- er- Handsome Jack will kill him until he has everything that Wainwright has. that includes the family vault." NOW. Imagine Zane fitting Alistair with a set of pirate clothing that makes Alistair look like a badass and hot as hell. "I'm not sure about the torn sleeve of this coat." "It's just the elbow mate, nothing to worry about. It shows off that metal arm of yours." And that is coming from one of the riggers as he helps cut the coat sleeve specifically to show off the robotic arm.

Alistair comes from below decks, looking like a prime rib steak of a pirate. and Zane looks the explorer up and down, feels himself heat up to the roots of his hair. "Well, I'll be. You can clean up nicely for a navigator." "Oh please. I hardly pull this off. The coat feels garish and the pants- well they aren't as fitted as I'm used to." "That's the point Sir Hammerlock. Easy access and movability are the name of the pirate game. The layers thereafter are for status. And you my de- you look the part of a pirate lord. Off to save your fiancee." "How did you boys find out?" Zane snorts along with a couple chuckles from those milling about the deck. "Anyone with eyes can see the love you two hold. Even I can see it and I only have the one good one." "Your second one is also useful." Zane pauses. "Aye, it is. I take it you know echo tech." "Know about it? Zane Flynt I made the echo eye mark one and four. You are wearing my design. But that is not my version. That is Henry's my old partner's patent." Hammerlock smirks. "That is also the bootlegged version. I can tell because you would have a dial on the one side for heat, infrared, ultraviolet, and normal. I will get you the real one once we are back in Jakobs' territory."

God and Alistair is getting worried as the Oasis system has some of the worst patches to fly near. But Zane and his own Navigator Patelli know how to cruise through the system. "I've been here too many times Alistair. I know how to pilot through the Vandert nebula”

The babe is careful during a worm hole pass by, even this far out they could get sucked in with a wrong move. "One way is the wormhole. The other is the heavy pull of Werq and her many layers of dense gaseous winds. Dont need to be crushed by gravity thank you." And zane gets the Sentinel threaded through no problem along with the crew doing their work properly. "Ain't no navy can pilot like this." And Alistair hums appreciatively. When they enter the "coast" or the temple whereabouts Zane takes Alistair into his cabin for the night. "I dont know what is gonna happen. All I know is once Jack has everything he wants from Mr. Jakobs, including the entry to the temple, hes going to kill him and leave his body. He has no mercy rules. I want ye to be prepared in case we're too late. I dont want to watch you crumble Sir Hammerlock, I dont think I can take watching a dear friend die like that again." "I've known Winny for a while. If he dies- well he will be the last i will love as i do now. We have plans in place should that happen. But I wont burden any of you with my grief should it- should he be on the other side."  Alistair squeezes Zanes hands in his own. "I trust and know you and your crew have done their best, even if it didnt start as such." And Zane takes his chance then and there. Kisses Alistair quickly and roughly, gives everything he has into it.  "I've come to love ye both dearly. I hope it doesn't come to death. But I'll fight as best I can to get you to your fiancee in time. Jack needs to end here and- I have nothing left for me. My crew can mourn me but Gabriel is going to take my place if I'm killed." Zane heads to his wardrobe, pulls out a long box with rich engravings on the box. "Mr. Jakobs had this made for you should you need it. Asked me to keep it hidden and safe. That's why we spent nearly a full week at Port Leio. It has the sharpest blade I've come by in a few years. And it's all yours as I think this is the right time."

When  Alistair holds the sword it feels right. Perfect almost. it was made for him. He may have a rifle but this- this feels like it calls to him. "Mr. Jakobs also had one made for himself and told me to hang onto it. I have a feeling he knew what was going to happen." "Winny did have a sort of intuition about him when it came to gambling and deals." Alistair tested the balance. Zane huffed happily. "He has good taste." His eyes look Alistair up and down. "I hope you're referring to the sword Mr. Flynt." Alistair teases. "Oh- I am indeed." It's not long before they fall asleep tucked together in Zane's bed. holding each other as the night of final rest looms over the ship. In the morning Alistair is petting through Zane's hair, his echo eye off and Alistair's fingers are tracing where it would sit. "You deserve so much Mr. Flynt. more than what was dealt to you. I wish you could see what Wainwright and I see in you. Pirating can only have so many years. And you have outlived them." Zane lets himself drift as he listens to Alistair's whispers. he's not meant to hear them as they are far too intimate for what Zane should want.

And Zane knows that it may very well be his last day. he's going to give his all in order to save Wainwright and kill the dreaded pirate king Captain Handsome Jack. [WARNING: GORE] And lets be real it'll look like At Worlds End from Pirates of the Caribbean. All fighting and yelling and anger but also love and trust and Zane comes through canon smoke and plunges his sword, the one Wainwright asked him to hold onto, right into Jack's chest, but that doesn't mean Jack didn't turn to see who was yelling. And Jack's sword pushes through Zane's ribs at high force as Zane kills Jack through the heart.

Jack is sprawled on the deck, dead and bleeding. while Zane is kneeling over him, hanging onto the hilt of his sword so he doesn't slip any farther down the blade of Jack's upright sword in his own chest. It's hard to breath. he can feel himself slipping. he's heaving actually. trying to get as much atmosphere as he can. And as he starts to fall down a little more onto the blade he looks over at Alistair and Wainwright on the star dusty deck of the Hyperion Master. Zane can see that they're okay now. He's done his job. He tries to smile but he can't, he can't feel much either. And he can see that it's his own blood soaking the front of Jack's clothes, that he's dying. He can hear his name being yelled in slow motion almost as he slips the last little bit where his body is fully kneeling. What he doesn't know is it's Wainwright calling out to him, racing over to him. Alistair quickly next to as they watch him give up.

It's been three months of space travel. three months of getting to know each other. and three months of falling in love with each other. And the pair watch as Zane leaves them. "He knew it was coming my dear." Alistair is holding Wainwright in his embrace, they both have blood and goo and what ever else all over them. Alistair can feel in his bones the path Zane had forged was over. He watched the little red light on Zane's echo eye fade out. However The temple of Oular is in the Oasis galaxy, the galaxy known for it's mysterious magics. Star dust, cosmic radiation, some mumbo jumbo bullshit everyone thought was fake. Nope, all real. [GORE OVER] The Emporatta lake is a glowing body of water infused with life. IE the fountain of youth perhaps. Archer and Barnes are the ones to pull Zane off the sword and cover him in the old tattered flag that they held onto from the ship. The first one they had on the main mast. Gabriel is holding himself tight on one side from fighting but he holds himself as best he can with the crew, all a little worse for wear. Some recovering on the ship. But Zane is the only death. (Idk I don't write it)

And so they follow the tales, using the door to Jack's captain's quarters as a makeshift platform to bring Zane's shrouded body into the waters of Oular. Wainwright and Alistair hold the two other corners as they wade into the water with Barns and Archer. "On the count of three we lower the body into the healing waters. One, two, three." And slowly they let the door sink to the floor of the opalescent water. Everyone has to cover their eyes as the body emits a bright white light, green at the edges. The water ripples as a drum sound bangs loud in their ears. It thrums loud and shakes the planet before altogether it ceases. A loud screech being the final sound before the water moves and Barnes grabs at the hand searching out in the opalescent water. And Zane is floating up in the waist deep shallows gasping for breath and looking around before shakily moving so he's standing. Everything on him is gone. the door is gone. His clothes are gone. the flag is gone. He has a massive scar going from his sternum to where his upper arm touches his side. It's where the sword had cut him, where it was shredding his body as they moved him. He's naked, but whole. "Captain Flynt?" Wainwright asks softly "It's Zane, just Zane. never captain. That was me brother." Zane pants heavily, wiping water from his face so he can see. His eye is still a milky white from being blinded but it looks healthier. his other wounds seem cleaner, not as botched or nasty. He smiles warmly. "I never want to go to the afterlife if it meant leaving you lot. Smart feckers, all of ye."

And Wainwright and Alistair are tackling him into the waters, both of them laughing and crying because holy shit this one man is immortal, he has to be, there is no way. And Zane gets to kiss them both under the lake surface. He's laughing like it was nothing. The crew are running through the water in celebration. And Zane feels so damn good. He's happy. He's alive. And Jack is dead. Alistair and Wainwright share a kiss before taking more kisses from Zane

Oh you bet your sweet ass that they're going to get married at one point. And being a "back then" thing Zane is standing at the steering wheel as they are on the journey home. They're way away from the Oasis galaxy, halfway to the Jakobs section of the Border galaxy. And Zane is more than happy to be the one to marry Wainwright and Alistair. He's got the words written down for them so he speaks out to the crew and the pair as they stand just below the wheel deck. They're in new clothes as they're anchored back at Port Leio. And Zane watches as soon as he asks them to recite their vows. He's happy as hell to be the one to do this for them. He watches them exchange rings before he's has to clear his throat. "As Commander of this ship and Pirate lord of the Border galaxy I am pleased to pronounce you as husbands. Go ahead and kiss as you enter this new chapter of life."

Zane jokingly saying that he'd let them have his bed if he can be posted up i a nice inn at port. And Wainwright laughs. "Zane my boy, I own this port, the luxury hotel is ours for the week. Your ship is going to get repaired. We may also have a surprise for you later tonight if you'd like."

END

[sandersstudies]

Quirky - Chapter 6

A High School Superhero AU - Sanders Sides

(Will add tag list in a reblog! If I miss you, please let me know ASAP - As always, asks, comments, messages, reblogs, and keysmashes are more than welcome.)

Chapter Seven ->

<- Chapter Five

<<- Chapter One

You can now also find the fic with the same username and title on AO3 :) Fell free to stop by and leave kudos!

***

Logan leaned over the edge of the guardrail to gaze into the ruined city below. He squinted, but without his glasses he couldn’t see much more than the blurry shapes of the buildings. Virgil and Roman were just smudges on the ground, and both vanished from sight as they walked under overhanging beams.

A moment later there was a faint groaning from below which rose suddenly to a roar as one of the massive beams began to slide to one side. Logan felt a cry rising in his throat just as the beam suddenly froze in its path and went lumbering through the air in the other direction and smashing against a building, where it broke and fell to the ground as rubble. A cloud of dust and debris rose so wide that Virgil and Roman were totally hidden from view. Logan turned to look for Mx. Stokes and Mr. Picani, but several other students were already screaming for them

Logan squinted, but there was no chance of seeing to the ground. He started down the stairs as quickly as he could. It was difficult to see where each step ended, so he ran with a guess. He tripped once, but caught himself with a wild flailing of his arms. He could hear the teachers trying to restore calm, and hoped they weren’t watching him. Without his glasses even his quirk was weak. Well, even weaker than usual.

The dust was beginning to settle when Logan reached the bottom of the steps, but it didn’t help much with his blurry vision. The beam had made a depression in one of the buildings, but the other damage was minor. Logan resisted a cough.

“Virgil? Roman?”

A sudden blast of light emerged from the buildings, and Logan saw Virgil’s silhouette (too short to be Roman’s) illuminated for a moment before Roman followed his glowing hand into the open. He was using one arm to shield his mouth and nose, and the other to light his way; he seemed otherwise unharmed.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he yelled through his arm after two throat-clearing coughs. The dust was settling, and Logan could see Virgil standing between him and Roman. Both boys were so dirty from the settling dust that their blue uniform jackets were now khaki in color. “What the hell did you do?” Roman insisted. He dropped his arm and even through his blurry vision Logan could tell that the other boy looked vaguely shell-shocked.

Virgil was shaking wildly as he tried to gesticulate an answer. “You..you hit the buildi— you knocked down the beam.”

“Knocked down?” Roman yelled. “That thing went flying through the air, you maniac! You could have killed somebody!”

“I saw it,” Logan said.

“Oh, so you’re here now,” Roman said, noticing Logan for the first time. “You didn’t see jack shit without these.” He chucked a blob at Logan, who caught it and looked down to recognize his glasses inside a sphere of Kai’s polypeptide gel. The durable nature of the material made it difficult to break into, but the glasses seemed unharmed

“Logan, what did you see?” Virgil asked.

Logan tried to break through the outer layer of gel to his glasses. “Unfortunately, not much. I was at a height of multiple stories and without my usual lenses. The beam did certainly behave outside the law of gravity. It began to slide downward, and then suddenly jerked upward and into that building.”

“Mess up halfway through trying to crush me, huh?” Roman growled. “The hell kind of quirk do you have?” He was very near Virgil, and had one finger raised as if to jab him.

Virgil was bristling. “Shut up, lightbulb,” he said, still unsteady but no longer stuttering. “I just saved your stupid life.”

“You just better stay out of my way, pipsqueak,” Roman said. “And you.” He reversed his finger to point to Logan. “Don’t lose your damn glasses again, okay?”

Logan didn’t have a moment to come up with a response before he was interrupted by a shout from above. Mr. Picani was almost falling down the stairs, and came to the base out of breath.

“You boys okay?” he asked, hands extended as if prepared to shield them. “Mx. Stokes said that all the safety settings are still in operation, no idea what happened.”

“We’re fi-,” Virgil said.

“We don’t know what happened either,” Roman said over Virgil. “But we got the glasses back. Sir.”

“All that matters is that everybody’s fine,” Mr. Picani insisted, ushering them toward the stairs. “We can replace glasses, but we can’t replace our students.”

Virgil and Roman didn’t speak on the trek back up the stairs, but even without his glasses Logan could see the tension between the two.

“Are you really all right?” he asked Virgil once they’d come out of the building and Roman had jogged a few steps ahead. Mx. Stokes has quelled the students’ panic and was escorting them onto the bus.

“Fine,” Virgil said. “Just real sick of Roman.”

“I can tell you don’t like him very much,” Logan said. He finally ripped his glasses free of their gooey prison and then leaned down in a confidential whisper. “To be completely frank, I share your sentiments.”

Virgil stifled a laugh. “Thanks.”

Mx. Stokes repeated Mr. Picani’s concerns as they got to the bus, and then smiled broadly once they confirmed they were all right.

“You kids will get to play in the zones soon enough,” Mx. Stokes promised, brushing dust off of Virgil’s shoulder. “But I don’t need you guys down there without training.” They checked the boys off their checklist and gave a friendly wave. “Last thing we need is another UA accident!”

Mr. Picani paused outside the bus to say something to the other teacher as Logan and Virgil climbed on. There was only one empty pair of seats left near the front of the bus, and Logan stepped aside in the aisle. Virgil paused, and then slid in first.

“You don’t want the window?” he asked.

“You didn’t seem to like the aisle on the ride here,” Logan said. “Would you like to switch?”

“No, that’s fine.” Virgil shrunk a little and stared out the window. Logan hoped he wasn’t offended. He glanced out the door of the bus. Mx. Stokes was patting Mr. Picani on the shoulder, and the two parted as the bus’ engine started.

Logan wasn’t sure if the other students thought the same, but it was nice to see two professional heros with such a friendship. In the media heroes were often in hot competition, or at the best participated in work-required teams. In the real world, however, Logan had now seen the great Glass pat Mesmerman on the shoulder like an old friend.

He settled against his seat as the bus pulled away. He was tempted to ask Virgil more about what had happened in the Ruins Zone, but wasn’t sure how to begin, so they rode in silence for several minutes as the students behind them babbled about the visit.

“Hey,” Virgil said after a while.

Logan glanced up.

“You have…” Virgil tapped his temple. “Some goo on your glasses, still.”

***

Despite the unanticipated loss of Logan’s glasses and collapse in the Ruins Zone, the class arrived back at UA just as lunch was beginning, and Logan and Virgil were joined by Remigius, who offered them sticks of gum which they refused before he popped three into his own mouth.

“Pretty wild what happened down there,” he said. “I saw that beam go flying. You got your glasses back though, I see.” This last part was to Logan, who nodded. Remy blew a bubble, and there was a moment of pause before it popped. “You must have some quirk, little dude,” he said to Virgil. “Because I know that wasn’t Ro’s handiwork by a long shot.”

Virgil shrunk and laughed stiffly.

“Let’s get in the line before it gets too long,” Logan suggested, and Virgil followed. Remigius had a paper bag in one hand, and split off to seat himself at a table.

“You don’t seem to like Remigius asking too many questions,” Logan said as they waited.

“He’s a fine guy,” Virgil said. “Just...yeah.”

“I understand.”

“Thanks.”

When they filed back into the classroom after lunch, Mr. Picani was writing in large strokes on the board: UA SPORTS FESTIVAL. A few students oohed and ahhed.

“Before you begin your final classes of the day,” Mr. Picani said, “I wanted to remind you all that next week begins the annual sports festival here at UA. I’m sure you’re all familiar with it, but we’ll be going over a few details today and discussing it in more length in your Hero Studies classes this week.”

The UA Sports Festival was televised every year; with the most prestigious hero program in the country, it was hardly surprising that so many people tuned in. Professional heroes and scouts often contacted the school following the festival with early offers for apprenticeships and nominations to high-ranking students.

“Preliminaries will be after lunch on Monday,” Mr. Picani said. “The top forty-two students to complete the preliminaries will pass into the main festival rounds. Remember that not only hero students, but also students in your grade from the support, management, and general courses will be participating. Therefore, no hero suits will be permitted on the field.” Several hands had flown into the air. “Hold your questions for now, as we’re a little short on time,” Mr. Picani said. “But begin thinking about your plans for the festival; as first-year students, you’ll be presented as heroes-in-training to the public for the first time.” He underlined the words he’d written on the board. “I’ll get out of the way of Mx. Talyn for your science class now.”

Logan found that even he had trouble focusing on biology while thinking about the sports festival. He stared at a Bunsen burner on the windowsill and began drawing its component parts absentmindedly in his notebook. He began making lines to start labeling the drawing, and realized that they looked like a sports bracket. He turned the page. He usually enjoyed Mx. Talyn’s lessons, but now he could only hear a vague chattering in the background as he drew a full bracket, beginning with sixteen contenders. Of the forty-two entrants to the first round, only sixteen proceeded on to the one-on-one rounds. Those would be the students to receive the most media attention.

The hero course was divided into two sections, 1-A and 1-B, with 1-A being Logan’s class and both classes containing twenty students. The support, management, and general classes were of the same size and almost equally prestigious, but didn’t focus on hero techniques or quirk use. There were occasionally dramatic underdog stories, like a strong-quirked general student making it into the semifinals, but usually the other classes were trumped by the hero students. Logan tapped his pen against his desk. If classes 1-C through 1-K contained twenty students each as well, then there was a total of 220 students attending UA, and only forty-two slots in the festival.

“Putnett squares are an excellent display for genetic odds,” Mx. Talyn said, drawing a two-by-two chart on the board. “We can see how likely an outcome is using this visual.”

If we’re going to talk odds… Removing other benefits and deficiencies, any individual student had a 19% chance to conquer the preliminaries, and a 7% chance to enter the one-on-one rounds. Logan tried to remember previous years. Hero students were far more likely to pass the preliminaries, but that was no guarantee. He also had no idea about the quality of the second hero class, 1-B, who had the benefit of not losing their homeroom teacher in the first week of the school year. Logan wished he had the previous years’ data in front of him. Making it to the festival would be an excellent initial promotion into his hero career.

Of course, Logan mused, every other student would be thinking the same thing. Virgil was splaying pencil spirals in his notebook, and Roman had spaced out in the direction of the board. Kai’s nose was running again. Logan sporadically took off his glasses to clean them against his shirt.

The rest of the school day was much the same. Students were quiet but unfocused in class, and loud and with a single goal between classes. Roman’s posse sans Roman were an especial contributor.

“My mom remembers seeing Mr. Picani at the festival when I was a baby!” Rafaela announced. “She told me as soon as she heard he was one of our teachers.”

“That’s crazy, Mr. Picani and the other teachers were just like us not so long ago,” Kenny responded.

“That was the year the villain Spite threatened the city,” Kai said. “That was what first made Multiman famous.”

“He’d only just graduated, too,” Rafaela said.

Virgil turned in his seat to stare at Logan. “Sports festival, huh?”

“It’s a great opportunity,” Logan said. “What are you thinking?”

“Thinking I’ll be lucky to make it past the preliminaries.” He swung his feet back and forth under the desk and swiveled to look at the empty seat behind him. “Too bad Terrence is sick, he won’t hear about it.”

“We’ll fill him in tomorrow,” Logan said. “He and I are from the same neighborhood. We walk home together and I can tell him about it.”

“So you won’t be walking with him today, then,” Virgil said.

“Not today, I’ll miss him.”

“Well...I wouldn’t want to replace Terrence or anything, but I’ll walk with you. If you want.”

Logan blinked. It was a kind offer, but Virgil always left the school in the opposite direction; they weren’t from the same neighborhood. “Don’t you go west when school ends?

“Right, nevermind, sorry,” Virgil said. “I was just thinking I could walk you home and then...turn around and go back. It’s silly.”

Logan suspected the arrangement was not for Virgil’s convenience, and supposed that the only alternative motivation was that Virgil enjoyed spending time with Logan. It would be rude to crush his suggestion. “You can’t live too far from school,” he said. “Are you near West Midoriya Hospital?”

“Just a few blocks from there,” Virgil said.

“My mother’s studio is near there,” Logan said. “We could walk to your house and she could come to get me when she leaves work.”

“Oh, you don’t want to come to my place,” Virgil raised his hands defensively.

“Well, you wanted to come to mine.”

“Isn’t that a little out of your way?”

“Not as far out of the way as your walking me home and turning around would be.”

“You got me.”

***

Logan didn’t walk often on the west side of town, so he tried to take in the route Virgil walked by rote, in case he ever needed to find his way again. A text from his mother confirmed she could pick him up at five, so he only regretted he hadn’t put a snack in his backpack in the morning.

He and Virgil had plenty to talk about with the upcoming sports festival, so the subject of the strange event in the Ruins Zone did not come up again, and the walk — longer than Logan’s usual one — did not seem long at all, and they soon arrived at a small brick apartment building. Logan followed Virgil through the lobby and up a flight of stairs, where Virgil let himself into apartment 208.

There were many photos on the walls of the apartment, most of them of Virgil and a women Logan assumed was Virgil’s mother. One recent picture, of Virgil’s middle school graduation, was placed prominently near the front door. The other photos stretched back through Virgil’s childhood. There was one of him staring grumpily at the camera in corduroy overalls and a fresh haircut on his first day of kindergarten, and a photo of the haircut itself; young Virgil’s eyes squinted at the clippers as they sheared off several inches of his dark hair and left behind buzzed sides. There was a photo of his first birthday, his mother crouched over his shoulder to blow out the candle of a cupcake for him. Baby Virgil’s eyes were wide in admiration of the tiny flame, the same color as his lacey birthday dress.

“Ugh, ignore those,” the teenage version of Virgil said to Logan. “My mom sure likes taking photos.” Virgil’s mother looked a lot like her son, with dark hair and a thin but lively face.

“They’re nice,” Logan said. “Thanks again for having me over.”

“It’s no big deal.” Virgil slumped his backpack off next to a coat rack before wandering toward the kitchen. “Do you want, uh...soda?”

“Sure,” Logan said, following. The kitchen connected to a small living room and held a two-chair table with folded leaves. There were two doors across the room, one slightly ajar to reveal part of a bathroom sink and mirror. More photos were on the wall, some of a younger version of Virgil’s mother sans Virgil. Her hair had been longer back then. There were also some of Virgil’s childhood drawings in frames and two pride flags pinned on the closed door, one bisexual and one, smaller and newer, trans.

“Sorry, I don’t host much,” Virgil said. “That’s the bedroom over there, and I sleep on the foldout. That’s about it. Do you want a cream soda or a Hero-Cola?” He squatted in front of the fridge.

“Cream soda,” Logan said. “Thank you.” He glanced back at the photos on the wall, trying to think how to continue the conversation. “What’s your mother like?”

“She’s cool,” Virgil said, getting a Hero-Cola for himself. “She’s just busy. She went back to school and all a couple years ago, so now she studies and writes her management thesis every night after work.” He snapped his soda open with a satisfying crack. “She wants to build a better life for us and all, you know?”

Logan nodded. “She sounds very nice.” He fumbled again for a way to continue the conversation. “My mother is a photographer too.”

“That’s cool,” Virgil said as he sunk into one of the two chair seats. “Do you want to…”

“Sure,” Logan was already moving to sit, and set his backpack on the floor. “Um...is that one yours?” He pointed at the bisexual flag.

“My mom’s,” Virgil said.

“Oh.” Logan’s brief playground romance with Corbin meant he’d never “come out” to his middle school friends, but besides Terrence he wasn’t sure how many of his A-1 classmates had taken the hint yet.

“I’m actually gay,” Virgil said suddenly, shattering Logan’s mental image of strutting into UA wearing a rainbow flag as a cape.

“Oh!” Logan said, so loud that Virgil flinched. “No, that’s great! No, no, I mean, me too!”

“Oh,” Virgil said, quieter and longer than Logan had.

Logan felt heat rising in his ears. “So, about the festival, I think you said you taped last year’s competition?”

“Yeah,” Virgil said, leaping onto this new topic. “On a VHS, can you believe it? Surprised the machine even still works. Want to watch it?”

“I was just thinking today how helpful it would be for my notes if I could analyze previous competitions.” Logan reached into his backpack and fumbled for a minute. “I was running the numbers today and — oh here it is.” He produced the notebook and flipped a few pages. “Any individual student has a 19% chance to pass the preliminaries, but as hero students, I’m almost certain the chance is much higher, but I just don’t have the data.”

“Eleven years ago, only seven non-hero students passed, and only two made it to the one-on-one,” Virgil mused.

“Eleven years ago?”

Virgil rolled his eyes as he stood to cross into the living room. “My mom taped that one for me when I was little. I watched it so many times the tape broke, but I remember every detail. Picani was in his final year then, you know. He’s only twenty-nine now.” He knelt down and shuffled DVDs under the TV. “Here’s the one from last year.” Virgil glanced over his shoulder. “We can watch it for uh...your notes.”

“That would be excellent.”

[timelordthirteen]

Killing Time 18/?

Detective Weaver/Belle French, Explicit

Summary: A Woven Beauty Law & Order-ish AU. Written for Writer’s Month 2019.

Chapter Summary: A little time apart, brings clarity.

Notes: Warning in this chapter for more talk of the miscarriage. I'm surprised at the low levels of hate I got on that last chapter. I thought there might be a bit more venom, but I had also hoped it was obvious that Weaver wouldn't be leaving for long. I hope this soothes all the wounds as we set up our pair for the homestretch and some surprising revelations.

Warnings: Miscarriage reference and discussion. Please see AO3 for complete warnings and tags.

[AO3]  Previous: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17]

By the time the elevator reached the ground floor, Weaver knew he had fucked up.

By the time he stepped out into the cool fall air and lightly falling rain, he also knew he deserved every one of Belle’s cutting remarks. In the moment it had been hard to stop the same old things from happening, to keep from pushing and pushing until they both said things they’d regret. Of course he’d stormed out of his own apartment like a jackass, and even though he wanted to go back up immediately, he needed to clear his head and figure out what to say before he did.

He flipped up the collar of his jacket and shoved his hands in the pockets, heading north towards the convenience store that was two blocks away. It was a walk he made often. When his mind couldn’t let go of a case, he would make his way down to the store, a short list of grocery items in his hand; milk, bread, or the chocolate chip cookies he’d become a little too partial to. The distance there and back was long enough to unwind his brain and either let him see the connections he was missing, or helped him to relax and let it go until tomorrow.

Sighing, he waited at the corner, watching the traffic pass, the tires squelching against the wet asphalt. He hoped Belle was all right. That was truly his greatest worry, that his leaving wouldn’t just upset her, but that it might send her into some kind of fit, like what she’d had when they returned to her apartment. He didn’t know what went on in her nightmares or in the moments where she would stare off into space, only to startled herself back to reality.

She didn’t think he noticed as much as he did, so he chose not to interrogate her, the same as he’d done after the miscarriage. He realized now, entirely too late, that method had probably made things worse. What had happened recently wasn’t healthy for either of them and was likely making it all worse. She didn’t love him. He’d resigned himself to that fact, in spite of the attraction that still simmered between them.

A sign glowed up ahead, MINI MART in large red letters cutting into the darkness, and the rain started falling faster. Weaver pushed inside the store, and headed for the counter.

“Evening, Detective.”

The man behind the counter smiled at him, and Weaver gave him a short nod. “Pack of Parliaments, please, Sam.”

Sam’s eyebrows lifted as he reached up to retrieve a pack from the slots above him. He set it down and then slid it forward across the counter before stepping to the side to ring up the purchase.

Weaver tossed a cheap Bic lighter on the counter as well, and then pulled out his wallet. The math had been familiar once upon a time, the cost of a pack of cigarettes and a lighter at your average convenience store or gas station.

“8.50,” Sam said, waiting as a ten dollar bill was laid down. He dropped the change in Weaver’s hand, and frowned as he walked out the door.

Outside, the rain was more insistent. Weaver peeled the plastic off the outside of the pack and dropped it in the trash can on the corner. He stared at the rows of cigarettes in the slim, white box, and exhaled. It had been over ten years since he’d quit smoking, replacing the periodic smoke break with scotch at the end of the day, but old habits were too easy to fall back into lately.

He pulled one out, stuffing the rest of the pack deep in his pocket, and set it between his lips. The lighters were even cheaper and more finicky than he remembered, and that combined with the fat, steady drops hitting him, made it take several flicks before the flame sprang up. He could feel the heat of it on his thumb, almost searing with how close it was. The wind made it wobble, and then abruptly snuffed it out, and he sighed. Perhaps it was a sign.

“Hey, buddy, you got one of those for a man who served his country and then got the shaft?”

Weaver turned, frowning, and saw a man in a long green coat, military style, sitting on a bench. The jacket was not unlike the one he’d picked up at the surplus store ages ago. The man looked mildly disheveled and dirty, like he’d slept in his clothes one too many nights, and Weaver assumed he probably had, likely on that very bench or in one of the many alleyways. His face was thin, and his beard and hair ragged. The city had done a lot recently to try to help the homeless population, but it was clearly not enough.

“Sure,” Weaver said, giving the man a crooked smile. “Take the whole fucking pack, mate.”

He tossed the cigarettes at the man, who caught it one handed, followed swiftly by the lighter.

“You for real?” The man looked at his hands and then up at Weaver.

Weaver shrugged. “Yeah. I quit too long ago to start up again.”

The man nodded and lit up, sending a curling stream of smoke into the wet air. “I hear ya, but a man’s gotta have something to get him through his troubles, right? Good brew, good smoke, or a good woman.”

Weaver looked away, and then reach inside his coat to pull out one of his contact cards. “Hey, you know the diner over on 15th? Granny’s?”

The man eyed the card as he held it out. “Yeah?”

“Take this and give it to the waitress with the red streak in her hair. She’ll make sure you get a good meal.”

The man took his card carefully, holding it up as he took another puff of the cigarette. “Detective Weaver.” He looked up and shoved the card in his breast pocket. “I appreciate that, but as you can see I am a bit down on my luck at the moment. Left my wallet on the bus.”

Weaver let out a short laugh. “I know that feeling.” He pulled out his wallet again and took out his last bill, handing it to the man. “The meal’s on the house with my card, but there’s a place just down from the diner, across Lake Street. It’s not great, but this’ll get you a room for a few hours, get you out of the rain. Take care of yourself.”

He turned to leave as the man blinked at him, calling out, “Thanks, Detective.”

Weaver raise his hand, waving the man off as he stalked back down the street. He was starting to feel damp, and there was a tightness in his chest again. Fucking good deeds. He’d never done much of that before Belle. He wouldn’t have chased the man off, but he wouldn’t have given him the time of day either.

The walk back to his building was faster than the walk to the mini mart, but not just because of the increasing rain. He hadn’t really decided anything except that he wanted to be home, with Belle, whatever that was for now. He’d have to apologize, but she wasn’t wrong. His father’s influence plagued him even now, decades after leaving Glasgow and a grave behind. He wiped a rough hand over his face, and shook his head. She was right. As soon as things had become difficult, he looked for the corner to cut. It was how he’d come close to nearly drowning a man in a warehouse, and how he’d walked away from the best thing in his life.

The miscarriage hadn’t been the start of anything, only the culmination of the pile of fuck ups that his life had always been. The worst was that Belle was still carrying it with her, even almost three years later. The circumstances of it hadn’t helped, and overall it had clearly been more traumatic that he’d ever understood. It triggered the end of their marriage, and he was sure that had only contributed to her dwelling on the event.

All because they’d both been too afraid to talk about what they were thinking and feeling.

Shaking his head again, he punched in the code for the outside door and yanked it open as it buzzed.

Bell’s tears dried on her cheeks as she lay curled up on the sofa.

Eventually, she made herself get up and go to the bathroom where she stripped off her clothes and stood in the hot spray of the shower. The steam curled up around her as she drew her finger down the glass, clearing it momentarily and watching as it fogged over again. She could still see the line, the smudge of her skin left behind on the glass, just as she could still see Jack’s blood in her kitchen when she closed her eyes.

Turning, she tipped her face up into the water, letting it run over her head and soothe the steady ache in her temples. Surprisingly, she wasn’t worried about where Ian had gone. He often went for walks when a case was bothering him. Sometimes she’d go along, the two of them strolling quietly arm in arm for a few blocks, listening to the city around them, before turning and heading back home.

This was still his apartment, and it was unlikely that he’d stay away all night. After he returned, she needed to apologize, and it didn’t matter how late that was. She doubted she’d sleep much without him around anyway. Bringing up his father had been a low blow, something she’d never ever done before, not even during their worst fights. Everything she’d heard of the man was despicable, and to throw that in Weaver’s face, especially when she suspected he was just as vulnerable as she, was unfair.

She scrubbed her face and washed her hair before turning around to let the water beat on her neck and back. Her head was still pounding, but that always happened after she was upset, and it was nothing that a little aspirin wouldn’t cure.

Her mind drifted back to the moment in the kitchen a couple of weeks ago. Ian had said he loved her, and she’d been so ready to say it back, as soon as she caught her breath, when Rogers called. Since then she’d been holding it in, thinking that somehow it would be better if he went on thinking she didn’t feel the same, that it would make it easier to go back to their separate lives when all this was over.

She wasn’t sure if it was a good idea for them to be together again. Despite their best intentions, things between them only ever seemed to get worse. If they tried again only to fall apart once more, she wasn’t sure she could come back from that, not after - everything.

More and more she had been thinking it might be a good idea to talk to someone about what had happened to her, both the attack and the miscarriage. She didn’t have perspective on any of it, and how could she when they were things that happened to her? The logical part of her brain said to stop dwelling on it, to let it go, but that was obviously easier said than done. She’d tried, so many times, and at one point she was convinced she’d finally moved beyond it, only to have the stupidest thing bring it back.

Maybe it was the fact that she blamed the miscarriage for ruining her marriage, and as a by product, herself. Again, logic insisted that was silly. Yet here she was, standing in the water as it slowly turned cold.

She shivered and reached for the faucet.

Belle was back on the sofa, a movie she’d seen at least ten times playing on the TV, in her soft flannel pajama pants and a tank top, when Weaver came home. She heard the click of the lock before the door slid open, and twisted in her seat.

Weaver seemed almost surprised to see her, but he gave her a flat smile and a shrug.

She pushed herself up, goosebumps rising up on her bare arms. “I'm sorry.” She waited until he turned back to her, having draped his leather jacket over one of the bar stools. “I - I didn't mean it,” she continued. “I swear, Ian, I - I didn’t.”

He shook his head and took a step forward. “No, you did. And you were right.”

“No,” she insisted. “I'm not.” He frowned slightly, and she noticed his hair looked slightly damp from the rain. “Where did you go?”

“Down the block to the corner store,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I bought a pack of Parliaments, stepped outside, realized I hadn't smoked in a fucking decade, and I really didn't want to start up again.” She seemed startled by that, and he sighed. “So I gave the pack, one of my cards, and my last twenty to a homeless Vet, and sent him to Granny’s.”

Belle’s head tilted. “Ruby still work there?”

“Yeah,” he said, taking another cautious step forward. She hadn’t moved from her spot by the sofa, though she had obviously showered and changed. Perhaps she hadn’t felt as bad about his leaving as he’d feared, which only solidified her lack of feeling for him in his mind.

“I told him to give my card to the woman with a red streak in her hair and she'd make sure he ate well.” He gave her a half smile and shrugged.

“See?” She smiled back at him even as tears sprang to her eyes. “You are better than your father. You're a good man, Ian.”

He looked down at his boots. “Sometimes.”

“No.” Her strong voice, made him look up. “All the time. You're not - “

He shook his head again. “No, I am. A lot more than I ever wanted to admit. Shit gets hard and I...”

He sighed and swallowed.

“Ian...”

“You pushed me away,” he managed, somehow finding his voice even though his throat felt dry and tight. “After...”

She nodded, her lips pressed tight as her arms folded around her torso. “I know.”

“I didn't know what to do.” He let his right arm rise and fall, palm slapping against his thigh. “Or what you wanted me to do.”

“Why?” Belle sniffed loudly and wiped at her eyes. Her lip wobbled and she touched her fingertips to it, fighting to hold back the anguished noise on the back of her tongue. “Why did you let me? Why didn't you fight for us?”

He exhaled heavily, his eyes closing for a moment. “I know how to fight for what I want when it's work,” he admitted, the realization like a lead weight in his gut. “When it's a case, or a warrant, or a theory. But not - not when what I want is you.”

She came closer, drawn in by the raw emotion in his voice, until only the width of the sofa separated them. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “I didn't know what to do either. I knew something was wrong. I knew and I should have...”

Her body swayed, and Weaver moved quickly, catching her by her arms so she wouldn’t fall to the floor. Her hands came up, but she didn’t fight him, just pressed her hands to his chest, her eyes fixed on the sliver of exposed skin where his shirt opened at the neck.

“I should have...” She cut off her own words with a ragged sob and curled her hands into fists.

“Belle, no,” he said, trying to pull her to him. “No, please, sweetheart. Come on, let's sit. Let's just calm down.”

She reeled and pushed hard against him, trying to shove him away, but there wasn't enough strength left in her arms.

“I don't want to calm down!” One hand pulled back and came down on his chest in a feeble thump. “I want to be angry! I want to scream!”

Her body shook again and her eyes squeezed shut as she let out the most tortured noise he’d ever heard. His heart nearly broke at the sound of it, and he let her fall against him, his arms coming up around her to hold her tight as she buried her face and yelled into his shirt.

“You be angry then,” he said, squeezing her gently. Her breath was hot through the fabric, and he could feel the faint wetness of her tears, almost the same as the rain outside. “Be whatever you need to be.”

Belle’s face turned to the side and one hand opened against him, her palm pressed over his heart where it was pounding in his chest. “You weren't there...”

“I know.” He took a shaky breath and closed his eyes, resting his cheek on top of her head. He wasn't there when she needed him, and it would be his greatest regret. “I'm so sorry, Belle. You're right, I should have been there.”

After a minute, he guided her towards the sofa, and they sat down, side by side. His arm stayed around her shoulders, and she twisted sideways to curl against him. She seemed so small and fragile to him, so diminished from her usual fiery self.

"We were so happy," she said. "And then - then everything fell apart, and I couldn't stop it. It was like you put a wall up between us. I thought maybe you hated me."

Weaver pulled back as she sniffled into his shirt. "What? No. Why?"

She glanced up briefly. "Because of the miscarriage?"

His eyes went wide. "No! No, never, Belle, never. I could never ever be mad at you for that, okay?"

She breathed out and in, relief flooding her as she let his words sink in. "I didn't know that then. I didn't know what else had changed other than that."

He sighed and pulled her close, rubbing his hand up and down her back in what he hoped was a soothing motion. It felt good to be letting out the insecurities and uncertainties he'd been mulling over in his head for years.

"I thought you wanted space. I thought you'd tell me what you needed, what you wanted me to do. I didn't know how to handle any of it. It was like - like I'd lost some part of you too."

Her head moved, shaking no against him. "I didn't want space. But I didn't understand how it might feel for you."

She closed her eyes and relaxed into the steady stroke of his palm. It had never dawned on her that he felt the loss of their baby as keenly as she did. It wasn't fair to assume he could have just moved on as well.

"I felt like it just happened to me. I didn't think..."

"We both didn't." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and breathed in the light scent of her shampoo. "It was easier to focus on work, on things I could control. I thought it would all pass and then we'd be fine."

"Like it never happened?"

"No, not like that." His hand moved around to her side and hitched her closer, until she was practically sitting across his lap. She came willingly, her face pushing into the warm crease of his neck.

"I didn't want to forget that it happened. I just...I didn't want to see you hurting anymore," he said. "I thought maybe me being around was making it worse. We kept fighting over stupid shit."

She looked up at him with puffy, red rimmed eyes. "That was mostly my fault."

"Stop. Okay?" His gaze and voice were soft. "Just...nothing is anyone's fault anymore."

"It was," she insisted. "And I didn't realize that it would make you think I didn't want you around. I needed you and I pushed you away..."

"I should have asked why you left, but I just..." He exhaled and tried not to think of his father. "I gave up. I don't believe you can make anyone stay in a relationship, I learned that the hard way with Milah."

"Yeah."

The mention of his ex-wife stung. His shit of a father and his awful ex; how many more terrible memories could she dredge up and throw in his face?

"I wanted you to be happy. I thought if being rid of me did that, then okay, I would give you that, and I wouldn't fight it."

She shifted, freeing her arms enough to wrap one around him and lay the other over his shoulder. She needed to hold him as much as she needed to be held. She needed him to know that it was okay, that she didn't blame him either.

"God, I fucked everything up."

His lips twitched. "I think I contributed a solid sixty percent."

She pulled back just enough to give him a look. "So this is a group project now?"

"Explains why everyone is miserable."

Unable to help herself, she let out a snort into his chest, and bit her lip as she smiled up at him. "It's not all bad."

"No?" His look was almost incredulous. "We have six dead bodies, two serial murderers, and zero actionable leads."

"I meant with us," she clarified. Her lips quirked slightly at him. "But thanks for the depressing recap, Detective Maudlin."

He rolled his eyes and muttered a sorry, grateful for the break in the tension. “Do you feel any better?"

"Yeah," she admitted, sliding off of his lap and pushing to her feet. "Sorry, I guess I had kinda saved all that up."

Both of his eyebrows lifted as he stood. "Apparently..."

She gave him a look and shook her head, more at herself than anything. "I'm sorry I hit you. Before."

"Don't worry about it." He smiled crookedly and rubbed at the middle of his chest. "I'm tougher than I look." Belle smiled and looked away, and he reached for her, resting his hand on her shoulder. “Do you...want to talk about anything else?”

Belle sighed and raised her hand, pulling his hand off her shoulder as she turned. “No. I just - really want to go to bed.”

Her hand slipped into his, and he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles as he exhaled. Another night sharing a bed with Belle probably wouldn’t kill him. “Okay.”

“And, um...” She took a breath and squeezed his hand. “I love you.” Weaver blinked at her, and she shrugged, giving him a soft, half smile. “I never stopped, Ian. I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner.”

He felt the air rush out of him as her hand moved up his chest. She looked tired and worn out, but her red tinged eyes were still the most beautiful he’d ever seen. He felt all the tension draining out of him, all the shit from the last two years and the last few months fading to the back of his mind.

“I love you too,” he managed as she pushed up on her toes to kiss him.

It was soft, almost startlingly so given how rough and passionate their most recent encounters had been. She caught his bottom lip, briefly, and when she made to pull away his hand came up to cradle the back of her head and draw her back to him. Her mouth opened, her tongue brushing lightly over his. It was teasing or wanton, but more familiar and quiet, like the kisses they'd often shared in the late hours before they both fell asleep.

She swayed a bit as she broke the kiss, but he held her firmly, the corner of his mouth curved.

“I don't...I don't know where we go from here,” she said, her fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. Her mind felt dizzy and sleepy, her body almost languid now that she'd let out so much of what she'd been holding inside.

He sighed and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a hug. “Me either, to be honest.” She yawned against him, and he dropped a kiss to the top of her head. “How about we start with sleep, breakfast at Granny's, and take it from there?”

Belle tilted her head up and smiled. "That sounds like the best idea you've ever had."

It was a matter of minutes for Weaver to strip off his clothes, leaving himself in just his boxers. The rain had tapered off, but the lingering chill sneaking in through the drafty corners made Belle shiver. She drew back the covers and climbed into bed, settling herself on her usual side, waiting. A moment later, he slipped in next to her, sighing as she turned over and pressed against his side.

There was something achingly familiar about what they were doing, but instead of a sinking feeling of dread and a slight pain in his chest, there was a calming peace and a pair of cold feet on his leg. Her hair tickled his chin, and he smiled, closing his eyes.

[monsters-demons-and-ai-oh-my]

What We Lost and What We Have

Chapter 3: Shitty coffee, Schrodinger's door, and the joys of the American medical system

TW: description of seizure in this chapter. And finally some Cas POV!

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AU somewhat inspired by Episode 2x20 - What Is and What Should Never Be, and the season 14 storyline concerning Jack’s illness.

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AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

First Chapter

Complete Tumblr Chapter List

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Chapter 3: Shitty coffee, Schrodinger's door, and the joys of the American medical system

-

Kelly almost never got sick when she and Cas were kids, maybe the occasional seasonal sniffles but never seriously sick, not even the flu.

It had made her eventual death when Jack was born even more of a shock.

Castiel remembered when he was nine and she was sixteen the rest of their family was down in bed with the flu and she was the one up perfectly healthy checking in on everyone and making them soup.

Jack had always been the same as his mother in that regard, Cas could count on one hand the grand total of sick days Jack had to take off school since kindergarten. He’d never so much as broken a bone up until this.

So why hadn’t he been able to pick up that something was really wrong sooner?

He should never have brought Jack back to Lawrence. When they got the call from Sam the week before Jack was so excited. It had almost been hidden under apprehensive disbelief and the way he’s anxiously couldn’t meet Cas’s eyes but Jack had been holding back an unsure smile.

His siblings wanted to include him in something...

Cas had a bad feeling about it from the start, neither brother had spared more than a passing glance at the boy since John Winchester’s death. People didn’t just drop back into your life after ten years as if they never left, there were always strings attached, always a catch, and he didn’t want to subject Jack to that.

He even had a ready-made excuse, Jack was already grounded for the nonsense he pulled during his last world history test.

But... Jack had been so excited, and these men were his family, part of his past he rarely if ever got to interact with; and it was the anniversary of John death, Jack’s father’s death.

Jack was almost seventeen, who was he to keep him away? What would it do to their relationship if he did?

It had been a mistake.

The cough Jack seemed to be getting over after a week crept back up on him during the eight-hour drive and was only exacerbated by their first night in the hotel. And then they went to the graveyard.

He knew before Dean opened his mouth that they should have stayed home. The panicked look of shock on Sam’s face was enough to tell him they hadn’t really expected them to show up.

Was it just out of courtesy that he’d even called?

And now Jack was hospitalized a good few hundred miles from their home with god knows what.

He wished the look of rejection on Jack’s face was something he’d never seen before, and maybe he hadn’t, at least… never like that, never that terrible.

The ride back to the hotel had been so quiet, only broken by the occasional soft cough. Jack just stared out the window biting his lip like he was trying desperately not to cry. Castiel was afraid to say anything because if he accidentally said the wrong thing and Jack lost the tenuous hold he had over his tears Cas couldn’t comfort him and drive at the same time.

He’d tried to talk to Jack as soon as they pulled into the hotel parking lot but by then the teenager’s eyes had dried up. Jack didn’t reply except to say his head hurt and…

“I just want to sleep,” his voice was so soft and hollow.

Castiel let the subject drop, buying some Advil from the small hotel commissary and leaving Jack to curl up in bed. He didn’t want to push him, not now.

“We should have never come…”

He kept repeating the words in his head over and over, more rapidly now with Jack propped up on his side in a hospital bed, Castiel holding the little pink plastic kidney dish a nurse had given him for Jack to spit the blood he kept coughing up into. A new doctor who’d introduced herself as Hannah listened to his breathing with a stethoscope through the open back of his gown.

It turned out doctors came a lot more readily when you weren’t tucked away in the corner of a busy emergency room.

Cas’s heart was beating almost as fast as Jack’s on the monitor as he puzzled over the symptoms of the past two days. None of it made any sense.

Even the doctor looked mildly perplexed as she meticulously worked Jack over, whispering gentle platitudes to try and keep the teenager calm.

Jack was too out of it to really care, too drugged up and exhausted to really process the world around him. His normally clear and inquisitive blue/hazel eyes dull and wrong, it was enough to make Castiel feel sick to his stomach.

Samuel Winchester was still perched in a chair by the door like a giant nervous pigeon ready to fly off at the first sign of trouble. Balancing on the edge of indecision just like the evening before.

“It’s your ridiculous dithering that got us stuck here.”

Part of Cas wanted to tell him to just leave, follow his brother out, but every time he worked up the energy to tell Sam off Jack started coughing again.

There were more important things to keep his attention.

The doctor gently asked Jack to roll back to lying on his back and she began looking in his mouth and throat with a penlight and tongue depressor. Jack watched eyebrows furrowed in suspicion. Castiel set aside the little bloody basin and gently squeezed his hand.

She paused after a moment sitting back eyebrows and mouth tightening thoughtfully before she spoke again.

“I need to hear the timeline of events again…”

It took Castiel a moment to realize she was addressing to him, her eyes fixed on him expectantly.

Castiel cleared his throat, “from where?”

He’d let Jack rest for several hours after they got back to the hotel, sleeping through the worst of the headache and letting the pain medicine take effect. He only woke Jack at around eight PM because he thought it was important for him to have something to eat before resting for the night, especially since they were supposed to leave early the next morning to drive back to Indiana.

Maybe he should have noticed how quiet he was after what happened at the graveyard. Jack was an emotional kid, usually, when he was really upset he was either sulked pointedly or cried, now instead… he just slept.

Maybe he should have noticed how listless Jack seemed when he’d woken him up, but he’d pinned it on not having eaten since their early lunch and the stress of the day.

“The seizure, I need to know what happened with the seizure and directly before…” The doctor was saying with the same soft comforting quality in her voice that she used with Jack.

“We um…” Cas took a shaky breath.

They’d stopped in a little mom and pop diner for a late dinner, a small place with worn red vinyl booths and Americana icons like vintage road signs and old coke bottles propped up on high shelves. It was a familiar place that Castiel had sometimes met John at to pick up Jack for the weekends when he was little.

It seemed more comforting after the rough day than an ordinary fast food joint and it felt oddly appropriate considering the anniversary of John’s death. He thought it might bring Jack’s spirits up.

But Jack had just been quiet leaning his head in his hand elbow resting on the table, mumbling that he wasn’t really hungry. He only ordered some french fries at Castiel’s insistence that he should have something .

Castiel felt a pang of anxiousness pressing on his chest as he watched Jack slowly stir a fry in ketchup and nibble at the end.

“He seemed okay… I thought…” Castiel paused and shot Sam a glance he didn’t feel like starting another argument in front of the doctor. “I thought he was getting over a cold and was upset because it had been a really stressful day. I asked him if he was okay…”

Jack had just shrugged not looking up, continuing to pick over his food, “I’m just not hungry.”

“I meant about what happened earlier…” Castiel insisted gently, feeling like a terrible role model having barely touched his own food.

“It’s fine,” Jack unrolled his silverware from its napkin and started to experimentally cut off the outer crispy layer of a fry, not looking up at his guardian.

“I shouldn’t be disappointed because I shouldn’t have expected anything in the first place,” he muttered harshly continuing to mangle his fries, “they don’t owe me anything, I should have stayed home and studied for finals.” He winced suddenly dropping the knife he was using and reaching up to rub his temple.

Worry rose in Castiel’s stomach, “Is your headache coming back…?”

“Can I have my phone back?” Jack deflected to the tabletop.

“No you’re still grounded,” Castiel batted the misdirection away concerned, “Jack please, talk to me.”

“I said I’m fine...!” Jack’s voice came out harsh and cracked halfway through his elbow slamming down on the table.

He blinked and jumped like he’d startled even himself, Castiel was about to chastise him for yelling when he realized just how white the boy had gone.

“Jack...:” Cas said uneasily. Hesitantly he started to rise from his side of the booth, worry growing by the moment.

“No!  ...I’m sorry I…” Jack winced again squinting for a moment looking confused, “I didn’t mean…”

“I should have done something then…” Castiel muttered half to himself fiddling with the edge of the blanket the hospital lent him, he couldn’t even look Jack in the eye now.

“I… I’m going to the bathroom…” Jack muttered slowly getting to his feet.

Castiel teetered for a moment hand resting on the edge of the table considering following the teenager.

“I… I thought he had a stomachache or something I didn’t want to embarrass him…” Castiel tried to explain, feeling like he needed to justify his decision to the doctor and himself.

As the minutes passed though and Jack didn’t return Castiel’s worry grew to deep unease. Maybe whatever bug Jack had contracted was worse than he thought. He quickly pulled out the money for their food and went to find the men’s room near the back of the dinner.

He tried the handle and realized it was a single stall when it didn’t open, he heard no noise inside except a faucet running.

He knocked tentatively on the wooden “Gentlemen’s” pig attached to the door. “Jack?” he asked cautiously, “Are you alright?”

There was no sound for a long moment, then suddenly, violently, there was a hollow bang and a muffled thud.

Cas’s heart dropped into his stomach, eyes widening, “J-Jack!” he frantically knocked and getting no response began panickedly and uselessly twisting the handle trying to force it open.

“I ran to find someone,” his breath sped up at the memory.

He rushed away from the bathroom grabbing some poor waitress by the shoulder asking desperately for the bathroom key and frightening her in the process. She thankfully understood his hysterical ramblings and went to find the owner.

Then Castiel was repeating the story to the man, voice shaking in panicked exasperation and they went quickly to unlock the door.

“I should have followed Jack..” Castiel found himself repeating.

There had been a strange soft noise through the door when they made it back to the bathroom, but he hadn’t recognized it, he wasn’t prepared for what he saw when the key turned and the door swung open.

Jack was on his back one arm crumpled beneath him, his entire body twitching and jerking violently against the tile floor the muscles in his face and neck painful tensed.

“Oh god, Jack…!” Castiel barely breathed rushing to his side, Jack’s eyes were rolled back and unseeing and blood was trickling down the side of his head.

He yelled to the shocked owner to call 911, frantically pulling off his trenchcoat and folding it to place under Jack’s head running over everything he learned in college and the high school’s recent classroom first aid seminar. His hands were shaking almost as violently as Jack’s body.

There was no sound except the strained harsh whimpering groan uttering from Jack’s mouth and the still running faucet. The last eighty-odd seconds of the seizure that Castiel managed to count before Jack fell limp felt like an hour.

After it ended Castiel mechanically checked Jack’s rapid pulse with shaking hands and pulled him onto his side into the recovery position.

It felt like days before the ambulance arrived.

The doctor’s next questions mirrored those of the paramedics, and he was just as helpless to answer them.

“How long did the seizure last?”

“I don’t know…”

Why wasn’t I with him when it happened?

“What caused the injury to the side of his face and head?”

“I-I don’t…”

Castiel took a shaky breath trying to center himself back in reality, it all felt like a nightmare, like it happened to someone else.

“I...I think he hit his head on the sink when he fell but I don’t know. As for the seizure, I… I was only there near the end of it, and that was eighty-three seconds but he was in the bathroom for longer than that.”

He could feel Sam Winchester watching, his mouth slightly open like he wanted to comment, maybe to try and say something reassuring, he didn’t really care just felt vaguely irritated. It made him feel exposed.

He felt a hand on his arm shaking with the force of more coughing.

“It’s… okay… I’m okay now,” Jack tried to comfort him smiling blearily up at him from his hospital issue pillow blood still on the corner of his lip.

Cas smiled shakily back wanting to scream.

The doctor looked thoughtful searching through Jack’s chart for information. “What happened after you arrived at the hospital…” she asked them carefully setting aside the clipboard looking disappointed with what she found.

Jack only regained consciousness after he was loaded onto a gurney to transport in the ambulance. Castiel didn’t get to speak to him as he only managed to mumble a few answers to the questions the paramedics used to judge consciousness before passing out again.

He’d thought everything would be easier after they got to the hospital but after the initial buzz of the arrival and a quick physical exam of the barely conscious teenager, there were only a few promises about scheduling an MRI before they were left alone in an ER bay.

The place was buzzing with activity and noise on a Saturday evening, an apparent drunken accident involving a bunch of partying Kansas University students shoved beyond capacity into the back of a Chevy taking priority.

This time it was actually hours before another doctor came. A nurse stopped by every once in a while to check on vitals and then help put Jack’s swollen wrist in a temporary sling. Jack’s only major response to being touched was to clench his teeth and groan against the discomfort moving caused. Castiel felt ill, with everything else going on he hadn’t even noticed the painful injury.

Jack didn’t seem to mind the wait, the seizure had completely drained the last of the little energy he had to begin with. He’d laid terrifyingly limp and small on that hospital bed.

Cas eventually took to standing outside the bed’s privacy curtain anxiously trying to get the attention of passing staff, most too busy to do anything but mutter vague platitudes about how the “doctor would be with them soon” before going about their way. He knew in hindsight it was probably rude and unhelpful but at the time he couldn’t think straight, he felt as if Jack was rapidly slipping away from him.

“How long was it before you were seen?” the doctor’s voice was soothing.

“It was…” he rubbed his forehead trying to concentrate, “just after midnight so… about three hours? There… there was a shift change, I think. A new doctor came on the ward…”

He remembered getting the attention of what felt like the hundredth person that night, a woman with curly hair in a doctor’s coat with a lanyard that read Doctor Amelia Richardson.

“Ma’am please, my son,” he always went with son in situations like this, not so much to usurp John’s position, - as Dean might have accused him of - but because he was too worried and harassed to go through the ‘nephew, uncle, legal guardian’ talk over and over.

She seemed irritated at first sighing slightly before opening her mouth to start the same speech every passing ER worker had given him.

“Please, we’ve been here since nine, he’s in pain, h-he…” she seemed to sense the anxious desperation in his tone and finally, finally listened to his babbling, alarm creeping into her expression when he got to the part of his speech about Jack having the seizure subsequent to him probably knocking his head into a bathroom sink.

“Apparently it was somehow confused on the initial report because I couldn’t confirm when the injury happened,” Castiel chastised himself.

“Shhh…” Jack mumbled tiredly patting his uncle’s arm eyes half-closed, clearly starting to drift off to sleep again.

Doctor Richardson had quickly and quietly gone through the curtain to look at Jack, his heart rate elevated from pain and whatever was happening in his body, coughing shallowly and barely responsive to her prompts.

If she had been worried when Castiel mentioned the possible head injury-induced seizure she was absolutely livid when he mentioned that Jack had had a headache all of that afternoon and flu-like symptoms for the entire day. She was suppressing fury through gritted teeth when she’d confronted the lead doctor in charge of the ER.

“Well, I’m glad. I’m sure those college kids will be happy they were treated promptly when they find out they have to come back in because they were sitting in the emergency room with a kid symptomatic of meningitis for several hours…”

To Castiel’s relief, things moved a lot faster for Jack after that.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself for the inaccurate report, it was a traumatic confusing event,” Doctor Hannah said kindly. “And Jack’s MRI didn’t show signs of brain injury or meningeal swelling so it’s very unlikely what happened was caused by the fall or meningitis …”

Castiel nodded and sighed shakily. The information was bittersweet, he was glad Jack wasn’t brain-damaged but at least either issue would be an answer, something the hospital understood and could treat.

Now Jack was coughing up blood… and Castiel was even more lost than before…

“I… have a theory about what might be causing this new symptom…” the doctor told him carefully.

Castiel’s head shot up hopefully.

The doctor smiled kindly, before explaining, “the sides of Jack’s mouth and tongue, there is evidence of cuts caused by his teeth either from the fall or biting down during the seizure,” she hesitated, “there wasn’t bleeding visible around his mouth in the paramedics' report.”

Castiel was quickly beginning to question the competence of these specific paramedics, and the doctor’s next words did nothing to help him stop questioning his own competence as a parent.

“Because Jack was unattended during a good portion of the seizure there’s a good chance he swallowed blood… possibly aspirating… breathing it into his lungs.”

There was a long pause, the possibility was terrifying but…

“So… so will he be alright?” Sam Winchester said the words Castiel couldn’t bring himself to hope.

The doctor smiled sadly, “Aspiration can be dangerous, it can cause complications like pneumonia, and it doesn’t explain the seizure itself, his increased heart rate, or the pre-existing cough… but if I’m right we can treat it quickly and hopefully avoid any more problems”

Finally, Castiel let himself relax.

“We’re going to need to take him for a chest CT in a few minutes, and then a bron- … we’ll have to look in his lungs to confirm,” she explained gently.

Castiel looked back at Jack, his breathing was still labored but he had finally fallen back to sleep he hated that he’d probably have to be woken up again so soon for yet more poking and prodding.

“Can I… can I go with him?” Castiel asked quietly gently squeezing the boy’s arm.

“Of course…” she said with the same level of cautiousness as before, like she was afraid one more reminder of Castiel's inadequacy as a guardian would push him over the edge.

At this point though, Castiel was beginning to feel numb. Like all the horror and anxiety of the last twelve hours had reached a peak before plateauing into a high distant hum.

"I'm not going to leave you Jack…" Castiel whispered to the sleeping teenager, "not again…"

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Castiel followed Jack's gurney as a nurse came minutes later to wheel Jack off for scans and Sam was left alone standing awkwardly in the corridor.

He was a little vague on medical law having never practiced it but he was pretty certain they didn't let more than one family member stay with a minor for support during a medical procedure. And it wasn't as if he had the right or the gall to fight Castiel -the man who raised Jack- for the spot.

So instead he stood awkwardly in the corridor sheepishly juggling his phone between his hands and trying to make a decision on what to do next.

After his third strained smile to a passing nurse he decided coffee, coffee was a good idea, he set off in search of the machine he'd seen in a waiting area on their way in that morning.

'What the hell are you doing Sam ?'

He honestly wondered if he should be here at all, he felt like all he did was make things more strained. If he was going to insert himself back into Jack’s - and by extension Castiel’s - life like an unwanted splinter maybe he shouldn't do it when everything was already so tense and tender.

He sighed and let his self imposed mental abuse carry him all the way to the brightly lit waiting room.

He felt even more out of place amongst the anxious and tired huddles of various patients families. One exhausted woman was half asleep in one of the dull pink chairs as her two healthy children poked around scattered parenting and Better Homes and Gardens magazines.

The only person who stuck out worse than Sam was the man sitting beneath the food pyramid poster beside the vending machines, nursing his second cup of coffee that morning.

'Ah, so he didn’t leave... '

Sam pointedly ignored Dean slipping a dollar into the coffee vending machine.

"You have to grab a cup off the top, the part that drops them is broken…"

Sam just grunted vaguely refusing to look at his brother but following his advice.

"So, what? You're just going to ignore me now?" Dean said hollowly, with no real bite in his words.

"What do you want me to say Dean," Sam still didn't look at him.

There was a pause and Sam heard him shuffle uncomfortably.

"Did anything… happen after I left?" He asked carefully.

"Oh yeah," Sam said thornily, jabbing his order into the machine buttons, "Jack started coughing up blood."

Dean snorted, "Sam I'm being serious."

Sam gave him a pointed look around the side of the machine.

Dean's eyes widened and his mouth fell open, "fuck man…"

"They took him for a chest X-ray," Sam muttered picking up his coffee and starting to walk off without another word.

"Where are you headed?" Sam heard Dean get up and follow him.

"Radiation lab," he muttered, he couldn't stay in the waiting room with those parents, it felt wrong and they were starting to shoot them dirty looks because of Dean's foul language.

"You're pissed," Dean noted.

Sam grit his teeth, it wasn't a question, it didn't deem an answer. Dean knew what he did. Sam didn't fit in that hospital room, but did Dean even try?

"Why are you even still here Dean," he said bitterly not slowing his walk back to the elevator bank.

Dean was silent, brooding, probably remorseful when they got into the elevator. Sam didn't care.

He was just like John like that. He did something shitty that hurt the people around him without thinking and then 'felt bad about it' when confronted with the damage later. Sam was sick and tired of it.

"Well fuck Sam," Dean said louder than necessary arms crossed exasperated, "what am I supposed to do!"

Sam turned to glare at him, "you think I know? We're all flying blind here but how about to start with not whatever the hell that shit you pulled was!"

His brother glanced around the metal box like he was searching for answers in the floor directory.

"Castiel shouldn't have lied…" Dean tried.

Sam snorted, "no shit Dean, but you're not six…"

Dean fell silent again as elevator doors popped open, not arguing with him, either knowing Sam was right or else not willing to prove him right by screaming in an open hallway.

"Fine, sure I just…" Dean sighed shoulders dropping and rubbing at his face, "I barely know these fucking people, maybe you're right maybe I should just leave…"

Sam was surprised by how fast the fight went out of his brother's voice. Part of him wanted him to escalate, wanted him to give him a reason to take all his anxiety and frustration at just one of the sources.

"Don't…" he found himself saying, breathing deeply trying to calm himself down, wasn't he supposed to be the younger sibling?

"Why…?" Dean asked flatly.

The answers floated foggily in Sam's perception. "We should be here, I think we owe that to them."

Dean opened his mouth to argue with him but seemed to quell his need to go off on a tangent, "yeah well, I don't think they want me here."

"Well be here anyway," Sam said dryly.

"And do what Sam, sit in the corner and… and look sad?" Dean said frustration and exhaustion clear in his face.

"Just be here Dean…" Sam found himself saying not even sure when it became clear to him. "If they ask for something… If they need something, be there…"

They both fell quiet after that standing outside the radiology lab. Sam sipping his lukewarm coffee Dean with his arms crossed seeming lost in thought.

They didn't have much time to brood though as one of the doors open and out came a harassed looking Castiel talking quickly on his phone.

He began pacing the hall.

"I… I'm sorry please can this wait until later… yes I know it's nearly noon…" he glanced up just long enough to spot Sam and Dean before looking quickly away, embarrassed.

Sam looked determinedly at the far wall trying to tune the conversation out, it didn't really work.

"I can pay, of course, I can pay for the extra day, you have my card… I… fine can you please just give me a few hours…" the man was biting his lip face tightening with stress.

"Until two?" He sighed frustrated, "no no I can get there, I can get there… just, leave the luggage alone...”

"Yeah… thank you to…" Sam heard the snide irritation creep into Castiel's voice.

Sam heard Castiel end the call and finally looked innocently up. The man was looking at them, fiddling nervously with his phone and looking unsure.

"What's up?" Dean asked nonchalantly. Sam blinked he wasn't even aware he was listening.

Castiel drew back into himself straightening his tie and composing himself, "Is there any taxi or bus service in Lawrence…?" He asked.

"What happened to your car?" Dean asked.

Castiel gave him a suspicious look for a long moment before answering a little sheepishly. "Because I'm an idiot, I rode with Jack in the ambulance."

"What did that guy want?" Sam asked cautiously.

Castiel sighed fiddling embarrassed again, "The hotel, we missed the checkout time this morning, I completely forgot about it with um…"

The sentence hung heavy.

"Do you want a ride?"

Castiel and Sam both stared at Dean like he'd grown a third head.

Dean shrugged and shot Sam a thin smile, "what? I'm being here…"

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

Fic: requiem

a birthday!fic for sam winchester! ... which is five days late. and actually kind of sad. also not very good. um.

future!au. vague spoilers for s14. depictions of the consequences of repeated traumatic brain injury. since sam’s injuries are more supernatural than anything, i’ve avoided writing anything that would fit any classical clinical pattern.

-

requiem

Sam knows when he wakes up that it’s not going to be a great day.

For starters, his back seems to have seized up overnight, and he spends five minutes rolling back and forth in small, stiff increments until he can lever himself out of bed. He squints at the clock on the bedside table—10:06 AM—and groans. He hasn’t got work today but he didn’t mean to sleep in; he quite likes quiet mornings in the reclining chair on the patio—right before the sun hits an angle that tips things over from ‘cosy’ into ‘uncomfortable’—catching up on all the reading he’d missed in the last decade. He likes it even better when a half-groggy Amelia, or Jack, curls up next to him, gently nudging him when his attention wanders, as it tends to do these days.

He shuffles into the bathroom, splashes some water on his face, and paws through the bottles of pills in the cabinet until he finds the muscle relaxants and swallows two dry. He closes the cabinet with enough force that a piece of paper stuck to its back flutters into the sink. On it is written, in Amelia’s untidy scrawl: BRUSH YOUR TEETH!

Right. He wasn’t going to forget that, not today, but it’s nice to be reminded nevertheless. After finishing his business and feeling marginally better for it, Sam moves to the kitchen and attempts making coffee. There are a few more notes stuck to the refrigerator—from HOUSE KEY BEHIND THE FLOWERPOT TO THE LEFT OF FRONT DOOR to CHECK THE GAS STOVE to gone to the clinic. LUNCH IN THE TOP LEFT CORNER OF FREEZER. Love you—and by the time he’s processed all of them, he realises he’s been pouring sludge out of the coffee pot onto the blender. With a short cry, he drops the pot, which shatters on impact with the counter.

Sam stands paralysed over the mess for a few minutes. He doesn’t know if he should start with the shards, or mop up the spilt coffee, or clean the blender. His back hurts, he’s starting to feel an ache curl around his head and throb at his temples, and so he does nothing, and trudges into the living room. He slumps onto the sofa and stares balefully at the blank TV screen.

It’s been a few years now, and the rest of the world still feels like it’s always a few steps ahead, lurching just out of reach of his thoughts. Sam thinks he’s learned to cope with it, mostly, but then there are days like this, when even simple tasks are either too difficult to construct in his head, or execute, or both. It’s a miracle that this is the first time he’s been alone when it happens; usually when Amelia isn’t around, Castiel has an uncannily accurate sense for when Sam is struggling. The house suddenly feels both impossibly large and strange; right now, Sam isn’t sure if he can reliably trace his steps back to the bedroom and that realisation feels like a sucking wound in his chest—his insides both flayed open and too heavy to carry.

A few minutes pass. Or maybe it’s hours, Sam can’t really tell. He sits there, suffocating.

His pocket buzzes, startling him. He fishes his phone out of his sweatpants where he’d left it the previous night and forgotten.

Dean: jack when do i call?????

Sam frowns. Dean texts him everyday—or tries to, depending on how drunk he is, or if he’s in the middle of another hunt—but this message is bizarre.

The phone buzzes again. Oops, Dean texts. sprry sammy wrong no. u alone rn?

Sam considers answering, but the prospect of getting himself to actually opening the app and typing exhausts him. He looks out the window and considers, not for the first time, of just… leaving and never coming back. Everybody—from Amelia to the owner of the bookstore he works at who never complains when he misses work like this—is so damned understanding, and their kindness hurts in a way that takes Sam’s breath away sometimes. He doesn’t deserve this life when there are monsters still out there in the world, hunting his brother as he hunts them; doesn’t deserve—

doesn’t—

“Happy birthday, Sam.” Jack’s face is framed by the evening sunlight pouring through the windows, and Sam blinks.

“What?” he says.

Jack moves aside, and there’s Amelia and Castiel, and they’re holding the biggest cake that he’s seen between them. Amelia looks concerned, but Castiel beams. “Happy birthday,” he says.

“Um.” Sam hadn’t been sure what month it was, leave alone knowing his birthday was coming up (the seasons never changed in the Bunker), but he says, almost out of habit, “Guys. You shouldn’t have.”

“The words you’re looking for are thank you, Sammy,” comes Dean’s voice from the phone Jack is holding aloft. “And also: man I hope I looked as good as my brother did at 43.”

“Fat chance,” Sam says, and something loosens in his chest and tastes warm on his tongue. “Thank you. All of you.”

Jack’s grin widens. “I’ll fetch the plates and glasses,” he says, and dashes to the kitchen. Castiel follows him, picking up the abandoned phone. Amelia stays back and crouches by Sam’s knee.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” Sam says honestly.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have left you alone; we were planning to surprise you, but I didn’t think—I didn’t think that today, of all days, would be a bad day.”

“It isn’t,” he starts, but Amelia shushes him, gets up, and wraps her arms around his neck. “We’re going to have a few people over tonight,” she whispers. “You think you could manage that? I could call it off right now.”

Sam swallows unsuccessfully against the lump in his throat. “I want to,” he says, and it comes out sounding strangled.

“I know,” Amelia says. “It’s okay if you can’t.”

Sam closes his eyes; tears drip into her hair. “Thank you,” he says.

[hphorrorfest]

HP Horror Fest: REVEALS

Hello, everyone! We are pleased to announce the reveals for the 2018 Horror Fest. A HUGE thank you to everyone who participated this year, from the very beginning with prompters who left amazing inspiration for the creators, to the writers and artists, to our lovely readers and commenters. This has been so much fun for us mods and we have been blown away by the talent and creativity this fest has yielded. 

If you would like to see some fun stats on this year's fest, otherwise known as The DMLE Case Files, we will be posting those in a couple of days time.

xx

@writcraft & @heyitsamorette

When Death Comes (Harry/Draco | R | 4,600) by @kedavranox

There is little you can do to live when Death wants you all for his own…

Sirius' Nightmare (Sirius | G | ART) by @yumenouveau

In the Dark, Deep Woods (AU Genfic | T | 3,600) by @hiddenhibernian

Werewolves are howling outside the camp, and there is a stranger at the fire. Harry Potter died fourteen long years ago, but the Order is still fighting.

A Wand, Made of Bone (Draco/Hermione | M | 3,200) by @mykesprit

Break into the temple and collect the wand; that is their objective. For artifact hunters Draco and Hermione, the assignment quickly turns deadly as they face dark magic that has lain dormant for thousands of years.

House of Horrors (Next-Gen Genfic | M | 3,600) by LRThunder (AO3)

Despite being warned not to go, Scorpius persuades Albus and Rose to investigate a mysterious house with him. Soon, he realizes he had listened to his father and grandfather.

Sacrifices (Mandy Brocklehurst/Pansy Parkinson | T | 2,700) by Celinarose (AO3)

Wizards all over Britain start disappearing after the war, and no one can figure out why. Until Mandy finds out, the hard way.

The Murders at Hogwarts (Various Pairings | E | 4,750) by @zivandre

There's a killer on the loose at Hogwarts. Each time a body is found, they are no closer towards finding the killer, and honestly, Dumbledore's not that worried. The School Governors try to shut down the school, but Dumbledore won't have it. What happens when a Jack-The-Ripper-esque killer is on the loose and has no mercy or limits? Please, read the tags - this is seriously dark and demented, and I don't want anyone to sign up for something that they aren't prepared for or want to read.

Dress You Up (In My Love) (Harry/Draco | M | 2,150) by @nerdherderette

Draco had always been known for his beauty.

Found (Hermione Genfic | E | 9,700) by @misdemeanor1331

While flying back home from a friend’s baby shower, Hermione Granger gets caught in a fierce autumn storm and is forced to land in the middle of a forest. Eight months pregnant and desperate for shelter, she eventually finds refuge in the isolated cabin of Theodore Nott. She thinks she’s safe, but soon realizes that quiet, unassuming Theo is more dangerous to her life - and the life of her unborn child - than any storm.

Against the dying of the light (Harry/Draco | E | 17,380) by @bangyababy

The Rage is a rare dark creature that feeds off of its victims deepest fears. When Harry discovers one is attached to Draco Malfoy, he refuses to leave his side until they can defeat it, even if that means facing the Rage himself.

One By One (Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy | E | 9,724) by Dramioneinlove (AO3)

An unlikely group of witches and wizards come to be trapped in an abandoned mansion after a Portkey accident. But is said accident that unfortunate? Probably not in the eyes of the person who's killing them off one by one...

Down in the Ground (Harry Genfic | M | 7,950) by Coriaria (AO3)

“I’m not the only dead man in here, Harry. In fact, there’s so many of us, this place should be called a cemetery. Once you are here, generally your family doesn’t discuss you any more. No wizard wants to admit they have a relative who is insane. Easier to say we are dead.”

Count to Ten (Draco/Hermione | M | 4,000) by Carapace (LJ)

Sometimes life is all about timing.

The Apple Tree (Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter | E | 8,922) by @foularcadebanana

Harry’s breath caught in his throat as his wand automatically lit up. “Lumos,” a familiar female voice lightly whispered in his ear and then giggled, making Harry shut his eyes tightly. It was a dream, it was just a dream. It wasn’t real, it couldn’t be. He was just having a nightmare, just imagining things that were happening inside his own head. “Of course it’s happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean it’s not real?”

Distortion (Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy | M | 8,937) by DorthyAnn (AO3)

Harry wakes in darkness. A darkness that goes on and on without end. He can't see or feel, he doesn't- know what's happened. All he can do is hold on, using his memories and pure determination.

Dysphoria by @Writcraft (Teddy Lupin | T | ART + POEM)

“Who is it that can tell me who I am?” (King Lear, Act 1: Scene 4)

Green (Harry Potter/Severus Snape | M | 17,373) by Antuhsa (AO3)

In St Mungo's, caught between the war and his trial, Snape has no idea how to proceed. Leave it to Potter to barge in and disrupt his musings. However, Potter's unusual demand may end up helping them both.

Flicker (Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter | E | 11,009) @drarrymylove

Harry has an argument with Draco but places a very high regard on his privacy. Instead of making a scene, thus feeding the vultures of the media, he stays calm and sits down for a drink in a bar. Harry never makes it home that night. He quickly loses control of the situation. With no access to his magic, he is left in the hands of a man he just met.

A Cold, Dark Room (Bellatrix Lestrange, Luna Lovegood | E | 1,142) by beaute_ephemere (AO3)

He comes to her every night when she's in the dungeon. She knows what he wants, but is powerless to resist.

Bubble-gum (Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Alice Longbottom | E | 4,473) by OTPshipper98 (AO3)

“You think you’re being funny, don’t you?” Bellatrix said. “Think I’m just going to Crucio you to death as I did with that piece of shit and end your suffering?" For a moment, it seemed as though the witch was going to bite Alice's throat off, but her expression suddenly softened into a wry smile and her eyebrows rose. “Ah, but you couldn’t be more wrong.”

Poetic Justice (Draco/Harry | E | 10,054) by @heyitsamorette

Someone is finding elaborate, poetic ways to murder people who went unpunished for their crimes in the second Voldemort war.

Some Sort of Monster (Fenrir Greyback/Nymphadora Tonks | E | 6,458) by @wl-erkling

One time— one time was enough to give Tonks the need for something Remus wasn’t willing to offer. How far will she go to lose herself, to find that intensity again?

Don't Ruin a Perfect Thing (Draco/Harry | M | 9,039) by @thepansypxrky

After the battle, everything seemed fine. Until Harry woke up one morning to find his scar a blooded mess upon his forehead, and growing with each day. This is what happens when a horcrux splinters inside of you. This is what happens when you want something so badly that everything becomes simple.

Skin Jar (Petunia, Lily, Severus | T | 7,931) by BirdieMing (AO3)

Who are we all, really? It’s superficial. Of course it is. No one’s going to crack their chest wide open at the lightest request, and if you do, then you’re an anomaly, something to be eradicated with clutched pearls and exchanged looks. High society never did favor the boldly bright. They preferred their men poised with power; their ladies beautiful and haughtily docile. It’s the unattainable lifestyle, one that you were either born or married into. It’s all what Petunia Evans of dirty, industrial Cokeworth ever wanted.

[din-skywalker]

Be More Chill, Ethan Nestor

To think that I’d end up writing a BMC au for some of my favorite YouTubers is not what I thought I’d be doing in all honesty. Yet, here I am with a part one thinking about writing a part two of enough people want me to. Now, I wanna say a few things about the squips in this before it begins. Squips are not actual computers in this au: they are capture demons forced into the pill.

But that’s besides the point. Here, read and tell me what you think and if you want more, please:

Ethan stares down at the small, black pill resting in the center of his palm before glancing over at Jack once more who is watching curiously. The Irish exchange student shrugs his shoulders when he notices Ethan staring at him and shrugs before gesturing at the pill expectantly. He purses his lips and grabs the bottle of nearby mountain dew, letting out a breath. “Here goes everything, I guess,” he said to Jack and pops the pill into his mouth, quickly washing it down with a mouthful of the soda.

A few seconds pass before Jack asks, “Well? Anything, dude?”

“... No?” Ethan replied and reaches up with a hand, rubbing in frustration at his eyes. Great. He’d been tricked by Mark into buying a pill that does nothing.

“Maybe it takes a while longer?” Jack suggested, probably trying to keep his hopes up but Ethan quickly brushed them aside.

“Whatever,” he said as he stood, stretching his stiff muscles. He and Jack had been sitting there a while playing video games early in the morning. They did that sometimes during the week: wake super early to play an hour or so of video games before heading off to school together. “Let’s just go to school. I wanna forget that this ever happened in the first place.”

Jack presses his lips together as he stands as well, pulling on the jacket he normally wears during the cold days like today. But the Irishman shrugs and follows Ethan out without another word. Ethan thought that that would be the last thought of the Squip pill.

Until it wasn’t.

~~~~

It happened as he was walking home alone- Jack had to stay at school to make up a test or something. A terrible, splitting pain tore through his head and skull, maybe even his brain and he stopped in his tracks instantly, placing a hand on either temple as the pain spread through to his neck.

“Calibration in progress; please excuse some mild discomfort.”

Ethan falls to his knees as the pain continues to spread through his body and he grits his teeth, nails digging into his scalp. “M- mild?!” He yelled out to himself, voice shaking with his pain.

“Calibration complete: access procedure initiated.”

As these strange words that seem to be originating from his mind fade he looks up, entire body continuing to tremble. He draws in a few, deep breaths, trying to calm himself. “What the hell-?” And then it begins again:

“Discomfort level may increase.”

He screams now, falling back down as the pain from before only seems to worsen. He yanks and tears at his scalp and hair, actually being successful into pulling a few strands of hair from their roots. He curls in on himself, unknowing of what to do with this much agony.

“Accessing: neural memory.

“Accessing: muscle memory.

“Access procedure complete.”

Everything fades now; the pain, the sound, the voice, everything around him disappears and as he looks back up he notices how everything is black, devoid of everything. And as his eyes adjust he can see a red and blue outline of a human man standing in front of him nearby, towering over his scrunched form. His skin is so pale it’s grey and if it weren’t for the almost 3D outline Ethan’s sure his complexion would be terribly ill. That's when he realizes that this man looks almost completely like one of his fellow peers- though this one is a grade or two higher than him. And normally his skin wasn’t grey, he didn’t look 3D and he never wore a black suit like the person in front of him is now.

Also, his eyes weren’t entirely filled with a shiny black.

“Ethan Nestor,” the man that looked incredibly like Mark Fischbach began, loud and echoing like many formed into his single voice. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Please, call me Dark.”

“Wh- who are you?” Ethan asked, his voice continuing to shake as he stands on unsteady legs. Dark seems to find the question annoying because his face scrunched up as he pulls at the suit he wears.

“I am your… ‘Squip’, obviously,” Dark replies, taking a step towards Ethan who watches nervously.

“But why do you look like… Mark?” He asked then, wetting his lips as Dark begins to circle around him, almost like a lion around its prey. He doesn’t like the thought so he pushes it aside.

“Because my default skin is to appear as someone you trust,” Dark answers easily, his black eyes locked on Ethan as he’s looked up and down. “However I could… change to another if you would prefer.”

“No no Mark is fine, I guess,” Ethan said, rubbing at his forearm. “So you’re supposed to help me become more cool, right?”

Dark pauses in his steps and tilts his head, his lips tugging the edges. “If that is what you want, then yes,” he informs and Ethan grins widely. But then Dark steps in so close they nearly touch. This makes Ethan feel small and his eyes dart around at the sides as he bites at the inside of his cheek. “We just have to make a deal, first.”

With an eyebrow raising and confusion building up in his chest Ethan takes a step back, forcing himself to meet the black hole eyes. “Wait what?” He said, shaking his head. “But aren’t you a super computer? Why do we need to make a deal?”

Dark’s lips twitch once more and he takes a step back as well, sighing heavily while shaking his head. “Oh, poor Ethan,” he said to himself most likely, loud voice lowering to a mutter and Ethan actually has to strain to hear it. “Too full to understand anything.”

Ethan can feel his face heating up as the Squip insults him like this. He clears his throat and looks away, pawing at the ground. “What do I have to do?” He asked and Dark looks back up, large grin plastered on his face as he turns back towards the teen.

“Well-.”

“Ethan?”

Dark disappears in a gather of torn shadows and the world lights back up. Ethan’s entire body jolts as light hits eyes once more before they adjust and land on the face of his friend Mark.

“Oh, Mark,” Ethan said and grins sheepishly, actually glad to see that Dark isn’t there for the time being. “What are you doing out here?”

“I came looking for you,” Mark replies and throws an arm around the shorter boys shoulders. Ethan hides the flinch, pushing thoughts of the Squip look alike to the back of his mind. Which is an easy task… until the Squip forms from a clump of shadows in front of him, waiting for them to pass only to follow behind with hands clasped behind his back. “I was just wondering if the pill worked.”

“Well, um-.”

There’s a small jolt in his spine and it takes all of his strength not to flinch. He was going to tell Mark that, yes, it had worked and now said Squip is following behind. But as Mark pulls away Dark lowers to his ear to whisper: “Repeat after me: I am not some fool, Mark.”

He sends a questioning look at the Squip but does not question its words; after all, he’d probably look like a free doing that. But he repeats the words, returning his gaze to Mark’s face.

“I did not fall for your joke and so I rid myself of that faulty pill,” Dark continues to whisper into his ear and Ethan could swear he could feel breath brushing his skin. Though, if it were the case, it would have been icy cold breath. A shiver runs down his spine as he says the words to Mark who is watching him curiously. “I sold it to someone else for a higher price, telling them that it was drugs. Now please don’t try to trick me like that again.”

Mark looks almost impressed as Ethan finishes, his lips turning up to a small smile. “So it did,” he said and Dark chuckles beside Ethan who just gets confused. What was the point of trying to act like it hadn’t worked if Mark just figured out that that was a lie?

“Because it was a joke apart of his humor,” Dark explains, drawing away from his shoulder. Ethan lets out a sigh of relief. “You could have simply told him that it had worked, but that would not have increased his liking of you. This way was better.”

Ethan still doesn’t see how but he doesn’t press against it. And his lips press together as the Squip has answered one of his thoughts and Dark chuckles, well, darkly. “I am in your brain, Ethan,” he is informed and that makes him nervous. “I can see all of your thoughts.”

“So what does yours look like? Mine looks like another student, actually,” Mark speaking brings Ethan back to the real world as the other begins to ramble on about how it looks like his old crush and now girlfriend Amy Nelson. And then Mark goes onto ramble about how his Squip was the reason he got Amy as his girlfriend anyway. And just as Ethan doesn’t know how much more rambling he could take from Mark he reaches his house. He lets out a sigh of relief and steps inside, closing the door to lean against it. Alone.

Well, mostly. Dark is leaning on a nearby wall in front of him, watching him patiently.

“Why do you need to make a deal with me, anyway?” Ethan asked, bringing the last topic up once more.

“So I can help you to my complete capabilities,” Dark answers, staring at his nails as though to inspect them. “And, if you deal with me, then I will be able to give you an upgrade.”

“An upgrade?”

“Yes,” Dark responded, fingers closing into a fist. “You deal with me, you get an upgrade and I am able to help you achieve your most sought goals. Including passing English. You just need to let me in.”

Ethan purses his lips, eyes drifting to the ground as he picks at one of the strings of the carpet. Does he take this “upgrade” and deal with his Squip? He has no idea, yet.

[caitbalfes]

Lifeline (1/?)

Jamie & Claire | AU | Claire doesn’t have a husband to return to. Jamie doesn’t have a price on his head. Seems like smooth sailing … right?

So I decided to try my hand at fic writing … after reading this you’ll likely realise why I’m a gif-maker and not a writer …

Also, this chapter is dedicated to @bonnie-wee-swordsman and @mibasiamille because they’re the sons of bitches delightful people that forced encouraged me post this.

I. An Escape

He had needed to get away, if so only for a while. It was risky to ride alone in the forest; with his red hair and impressive height he could easily be recognised by redcoats. The English Crown had pardoned him, but he still feared running into the kind of callous officers that would punish a Scot, be there reason or not.

The real risk was, perhaps, not the threat of the English, but the threat of the MacKenzies. Jamie had neglected to inform either one of his uncles that he had escaped Leoch for the day and was sure to face the ire of both when he returned—part of him wished it wasn’t when he returned, but if he returned; part of him wished he had a choice.

Despite these risks, though some of them merely perceived, Jamie’s need to get away was too great to ignore. Walking around Castle Leoch, he had had a gnawing feeling he couldn’t shake. It seemed to him that the air inside the walls of that castle was not meant for breathing, but rather for slowly suffocating.

At this point, Jamie was a good distance away from the castle, and that time alone had him feeling freer than he’d felt since the price was lifted from his head. He couldn’t explain why, but also didn’t care to dwell overmuch on it. He was simply going to enjoy the feeling of freedom and fresh air in his lungs.

Jamie had only told Murtagh that he was away, and only because his godfather had caught him in the act of saddling a horse and inquired where he was going.

“I need some air,” Jamie had said. “I canna . . . breathe here.”

“Aye, I can tell, what wi’ yer uncles breathing down your neck and that lassie—”

“Don’t,” Jamie sneered, perhaps a bit harshly. He knew Murtagh had his own ideas about why Jamie was so miserable.

“Ye need to go home, lad. Leoch isna yer home and ye ken it. Ye dinna belong here,” he’d said.

Home.

Jamie knew Castle Leoch was not his home by choice, but it was the home he had. He couldn’t go back to Lallybroch after everything that had happened. His ties to Leoch were too strong to sever now.

Yet his dreams were filled with the green pastures outside his true home and his sister’s smile. His father was there, too. But all too often the dreams would turn dark, and instead of Jenny’s smile he would see her tears as she was being led away by Captain Randall. He would see the whip, coated in his blood. And he would see his father’s eyes go round before his body slumped to the ground.

No, Jamie Fraser could never return home.

So deeply immersed in his thoughts was he that he hadn’t realised what was happening in his vicinity until a woman’s high-pitched cry jerked him back to reality.

His head immediately snapped in the direction of the distressed scream and his eyes landed on the red-coated back of a man. He was taller than the woman who had emitted the cry, so Jamie didn’t see her at first, but when he did, it didn’t take a second for Jamie to understand what was about to happen to the poor woman.

He was swiftly off the horse and launched himself forward to knock the man out of the way, but the redcoat had heard his movements as he stepped on a dry twig and turned around just in time to see Jamie coming at him.

Jamie stopped dead in his tracks as recognition hit him. He knew that man. It was the man that haunted his nightmares, the man whose scars he carried on his back as a constant reminder of the cruelty that existed in some men, and of his own failures.

Disgust seeping through him, Jamie, in a rash move, flung his fist at Randall’s face, hoping to knock him out. Unfortunately, Jamie’s pause of surprise had given the captain time to anticipate what was coming and smoothly dodged Jamie’s clenched fist.

Randall grabbed Jamie’s arm and swung around him, wrapping his arms around Jamie’s throat.

Jamie heard the woman gasp and his eyes found hers. He had momentarily forgotten her in his rage at seeing Captain Randall again. Now he was mesmerised by her eyes that appeared to be the colour of whiskey.

Jamie had been distracted for mere seconds, but Randall seized the opportunity to hurl him against a stone wall, twisting his arm in the process. He hit it with his shoulder and pain seared through his arm.

Randall seemed delighted at the pain he had caused. So delighted, in fact, that he failed to notice the woman behind him before her fist connected with his temple and he fell unconscious to the ground.

She stood frozen for a moment, stunned at having knocked a man out cold.

Jamie tried to stand upright again, but let out a groan as the action reminded him of the pain in his shoulder. As adrenaline slowly faded, the pain worsened.

Hearing his groan, the woman was by his side in a second, inspecting his injury.

Jamie made an attempt to move, intending to leave the site before that devil of a man woke up.

“No, you’re hurt,” said the woman, preventing his movement. To his surprise, he realised that she was English. He wondered for a moment why an Englishwoman would find herself in such a situation with Captain Randall, but an interrogation would have to wait. They had more pressing matters, such as escaping the scene.

“We should go.” Jamie motioned to the unconscious captain. “Ye don’t want to be here when he wakes up, lass. There’s a cabin nearby, you can tend to me there if ye please,” he added before she could protest.

She hesitated for a moment, but then nodded in agreement.

As Jamie approached his horse, the woman said, “Surely you don’t mean to ride with that shoulder!”

“I don’t have a choice. Come on, it’s no far.”

She cast a final glance at Jack Randall before seemingly deciding that staying was not an option. She got up on the horse and they rode away.

It was already dark when they reached the cabin. Once they were inside, the woman didn’t waste any time before continuing what she’d started before.

“Your shoulder is dislocated,” she said, more to herself than to him. “I need to get the bone of the upper arm in the correct position—”

Between his aching shoulder, her gentle hands on him, and her bonny face deep in concentration as she described what she needed to do, he stopped listening to her words.

He was once again mesmerised by her golden eyes and opal skin. She was beautiful, to be sure. He dared say she was the most magnificent woman he’d ever laid eyes upon.

“Are you listening to me?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but said, “I wish I had someone to hold you steady for this, but I suppose you’ll have to . . . steady yourself.”

He nodded in acknowledgement and steeled himself.

When his joint slipped back in its correct position, he was relieved to find the pain gone in an instant.

“It doesna hurt anymore.”

“It will. It’ll be tender for about a week. You’ll need a sling.” Her eyes darted to his belt. “Give me your belt,” she demanded.

Had it been anyone else he would have protested, but her tone of authority made him abide her request.

“Are ye some kind of healer?”

“Something like that.”

As she tied the belt around his arm and shoulder, she instructed him not to move his arm for a couple of days. When she was finally done, she sat down next to him.

“Thank ye, Sassenach.”

“It’s nothing. It’s I that should be thanking you. Hadn’t you come to my rescue . . .” She shuddered at the thought of Captain Randall and the near-rape.

“I think ye rescued me as much as I did you. It was you that delivered the final blow if memory serves correct. It was verra impressive, Sassenach.”

Her lips curved upwards. “I suppose we did rescue each other.”

He offered her his flask and she wordlessly accepted it, drank, then handed it back to him. As he took a swig as well, she asked, “Why do you call me ‘Sassenach’? I do have a name, you know. It’s Claire.” She hesitated for a moment before adding, “Claire Beauchamp.”

“I didna mean to offend ye, Sass—Mistress Beauchamp, but you are English, are ye not? What were you doing alone in the woods wearing”—he eyed her dirty shift—“that?”

She looked down at her hands. Her long fingers were twisting around each other in a nervous fashion, deliberately avoiding the golden band on her left ring finger.

“I lost my way in the forest,” she began tentatively. “I was robbed of my belongings by some highwaymen before I had the misfortune to encounter Captain Randall . . . an encounter that relieved me of most of my clothes.”

Claire was lying, of that he was certain. She didn’t seem like a dishonest woman, though, so Jamie thought whatever her reason was for lying it was a good one.

He decided to not to interrogate her further, even though he very much wanted to know how she’d found herself in the Highlands in the first place and what had caused her to end up alone in the forest.

“Do ye have any friends or family here? I should like to see ye safe there.”

She shook her head. “I’ve no one here.” Her voice was a mere whisper, as though she had not intended to speak aloud.

“I dinna want to force ye, Mistress, but I think ye should come back with me to Castle Leoch. I’d feel uneasy to leave ye here alone tomorrow morning. Especially when Captain Randall is in the area. You don’t want to risk running into him again.”

He really did feel uneasy about leaving her alone if she had nowhere to go, but that was not the only reason he’d offered to take her with him. He didn’t want to say goodbye too soon. He wanted to stay in this fascinating woman’s company as long as he could. Being in her presence had made him forget the dull life he had tried to escape for a few hours.

“All right,” she agreed. “I’ll come with you.”