#late night meandering nonsense

[theodoradevlin]

Randomly watching Brave New World and this is now a head canon to me that this is a Sebastian variant trying to show an Ominis variant how to throw a right hook 🫣🤣

“Ominis - watch me first.. no, no for the 10th time your thumb goes on the outside..”

“Sebastian- why do we need to learn how to throw punches when we have MC to do that for us?”

“…I see your point. She is a scary little thing isn’t she.”

But also…um Harry Lloyd is EXACTLY what I picture as Ominis looking like when he’s older

I mean

[cho-aaacho]

Date Night ( Albert Wesker x Reader)

Masterlist I Archive Of Our Own

Tags : Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Humor, First Dates, Boss/Employee Relationship, Soft Albert Wesker, Crushes, Date Night, Flirting, Reader is genderless

A/N : This time I'm writing from Wesker's POV. Thank you for reading!

My voice echoed as I called you in the hallway. My heart responded with a rhythmic beating, pounding in my chest like crazy. I could hear my blood rushing through my veins as excitement surged through me.

With a simple "Good morning," you smiled at me. I touched my heart in anticipation, but I failed to cover my red cheeks. Pretending like something never happened between you and me.

Chris believes my behavior has changed since your arrival. I am acting unreasonably. Maybe they've finally noticed the captain's weird demeanor over the past three months.

Yet, these emotions are seeds I planted in my heart. Every day, every time, it's been growing within me, blooming beautifully.

Perhaps, I seem insane and go crazy each time I gaze at you. I know you couldn't detect it under my shades, and I know you would never notice it because I've never shown it. The fact that you aren't part of S.T.A.R.S. makes me frustrated sometimes.

How can I draw near and reach your soul? How could I hear you calling my name when you're not on my side? It's frustrating me, really.

You turned, smiling, gracing me with calming eyes, their shapes akin to crescent moons in the night veil. Oh, how I ache for your aroma each time, each day—I miss every nuance. It's senseless. How do I feed my ego?

"Oh, Captain Wesker! Good morning. You look nice today. Do you need some help?"

Despite the fear, you stood gracefully on your own, throwing your gaze into me and avoiding a pointless banter. You captivate me, really. You're unlike any other officer. Why did I realize this so late? Such a fool.

"Oh, nothing, Officer. I'm sorry to call you this way. I just haven't found a good moment to talk to you."

Mesmerized, our eyes met, and, immediately, I daydreamed of a happy ending. Pathetic, perhaps, but that's the reality. What am I supposed to do?

"I thought you were still in the Arklay Facility. I assume your mission went well. So... what did you want to discuss?"

Smiling, I tried to release my calmness, showing my warm side and gentleness, trying to touch your soft spot.

"Thanks to the Alpha Team," I replied, using my sweetest voice.

"It's because you are their superior, Captain. I envy them sometimes." 

As winter falls, a chill of sorrow wraps around me, making me so lonely each time the snow touches my skin. Yet, you, with your calm and relaxed nature, have become a sun to comfort my cold side. Guiding me through this heart-wrenching season.

"Are you free on Saturday? I'm buying a new oven, and I've been trying to bake cookies lately. So... I want you to become my taster."

What the hell am I talking about? I don't even have a new oven.

But you.

You.

YOU!

How can you comfort me with a warm smile for someone with a stern and cold demeanor like me? I don't deserve that.

A serene smile danced upon your lips, but this time I couldn't predict what the smile was for. Perhaps you thought I was joking or talking nonsense. My azure eyes fixed on you, locking your eyes on mine, waiting for your response.

"It depends, Captain." You smirked, dragging me into the mysterious realm. What did you do to me? Why are you smirking like that? Is that a flirt? Are you trying to flirt?

"Oh, I'm sorry, Officer. But I don't understand."

Fits of giggles escape as your gaze falls into mine; undoubtedly, this is the most delightful smile I've ever seen this morning. I suppose I have a beautiful morning.

You said, "If other people ask me, I will answer that I am busy. But if you do, I'll say I have plenty of time..."

"So... it means—" I paused, trying to find fine words in my brain. But I can't think of a single word to describe it. My gaze meandered towards you, and I nervously smiled.

"Yes, I'm free. You can ask me anything at that time. My time is yours, Captain."

I found myself lost in the daydream and reality. My mind is trapped in a gentle fog without a light on it. What should I do now? Did you just accept my offer or—

"Captain, are you okay?"

A playful chuckle escaped my lips as I wrapped myself in my arm. "Oh, thank you, Officer. I thought you were going to reject my invitation."

"No. I love cookies, and I'm sure your homemade cookies are just as nice as you, Captain. See you tomorrow!" 

I made a fanart for this situation. Lmao.

[judgeanon]

I'm late asking this but what was the best and worst of the Progs and Meg in 2023?

I'm late replying but here we go!

For Dredd in the progs, I really enjoyed the short stories. THE NIGHT SHIFTER, SHRINE, FLUSHER and DISCIPLES OF DEATH were all favorites, although I admit that last one was mostly because of the cute Scottish goth girl.

Other than Dredd, I liked THE OUT, THE ORDER, DURHAM RED, the BATTLE ACTION crossover thing, FERAL AND FOE, DEADWORLD and BLADERS. I especially liked ROGUE TROOPER (I'm a sucker for Ennis), VOID RUNNERS (Boo Cook keeps getting weirder and I love it) and AZIMUTH (gorgeous art, intriguing story, and one of those classic 2000AD "You thought it was a new series but NOOOO!" twists that I really dig).

I didn't really like ENEMY EARTH, I think the art just doesn't fit the premise. And JOE PINEAPPLES should've been by all accounts a cool fun heavy metal last goodbye, but it turned into a weird meandering bunch of nonsense (with some cowardly anti-vax shit thrown in for good measure). LOWBORN HIGH and PORTALS AND BLACK GOO both had the same problem for me: strong, very British premises that don't go as far with the Britishness as I'd like them to. And DEVIL'S RAILROAD, I really wanted to like it but it just kinda lost steam very early on.

The big mehhhh of the year was the end of HERSHEY, though. I tried my best to meet it halfway and to its credit it did deliver some cool panels and nice pages, but in my eyes, it really squandered the last chance for Hershey as a character to present her side of her relationship with Dredd, to leave him with any kind of nugget of character development. It didn't do nearly enough with what I think is years and years of truly compelling relationship work and all the great Simon Fraser art in the world can't fix that.

I still bought a print of that one cover tho'.

For the MEG, I liked almost everything. STORM WARNING, SURFER, DREADNOUGHTS, LAWLESS (fan-fucking-tastic last chapters), MEGA CITY 2099, all good stuff. I also enjoyed the shorter Dredds in the second half of the year, like RATINGS WAR and FITTING THE DESCRIPTION, but ONE-EYED JACKS... I dunno, neat premise but it went on a bit too long and wasn't super exciting either. Didn't really grab me. Same with Dark Judges.

That said, the most important 2000AD thing in 2023 for me was not in the prog or in the meg. It was here:

Molcher's I AM THE LAW is a monumental book, one of the most thorough if not THE most thorough look at Dredd in its context. It's also heavy as all drokk, a real gutwrencher of a book, the kind of shit you can't read more than one and a half chapter without getting utterly depressed, ravenously angry, or both. It's a bleak, tough book but also a necessary one. That it's an official Rebellion product, to me, serves as a line in the sand, a very explicit statement about how they perceive Dredd. In a time where companies are running over themselves to claim their works are "not political" and "only want to entertain", Rebellion publishing Molcher's titanic work and advertising it next to their Case Files collections is something worthy of respect.

(Also, I may be a little biased on account of being in the Special Thanks for the book...)

[gingerel]

“MTs aren’t allowed on the train, Noct.”

Noctis presses his mouth together to keep from laughing and eventually manages to murmur a low, “No, they’re not.”

Noctis had expected it to happen before now and had been disappointed by his boyfriend's lack of late-night verbal meanderings on the trip thus far.

Maybe he needs to be completely comfortable, maybe he just needs to be that tired for the words to bubble out of his mouth as his mind does whatever incredible things it does when it’s asleep.

It had surprised him the first time he’d heard it, they were only seventeen, back at Noct’s apartment after a long but exhilarating day at the city's largest convention, hidden under the anonymity of makeup and wigs and costumes too fantastical to be worn any other time.

Prompto had just stripped half his cosplay off, red wig discarded carelessly at the foot of the bed with his yellow mask all tangled up in the strands, then passed out belly down on one half of the bed. Noct had been deep in the throes of what he’d thought was an unrequited crush at the time and despite his exhaustion he’d lain awake, clutching a pillow to his chest as he listened to his friend breathe.

Then Prompto had muttered, “But the red sand will get stuck in their crystals.”

And almost nothing had ever been the same again.

Noctis loves sleep. But he loves listening to Prompto talk - loves getting to hear all his nonsense, bonkers thoughts.

“You need to get Ignis to fix your clothes,” Prompto goes on now.

“I do?” Noctis whispers.

“Yeah, it’s all torn on one side.”

“Oh no,” Noct says softly, playing along.

“They won’t let you on to the moon dressed like this,” Prompto mumbles.

Noctis presses his mouth to Prompto’s shoulder to muffle a second round of laughter.

“I wonder if I can bring my bicycle?” Prompto mutters, shifting in his sleep so Noctis feels compelled to curl more tightly around him. The horror.

“Prompto,” Gladio suddenly rumbles, “Go the fuck to sleep.”

“Shh,” Noct hisses, “He is asleep.”

“Is he really,” Ignis muses, “I didn’t know he was a sleep talker.”

“Guess he hasn’t really been sleeping until now,” Noct says.

Prompto mumbles something else but it’s too soft and slurred for Noct to make out.

Gladio grumbles unhappily and Noct hears the distinctive sound of nylon sleeping bags shifting against one another.

“I’ll get us some earplugs,” Ignis offers.

“Fine,” Gladio says, “But for tonight, Noct, can you -”

“I’ll stop encouraging him,” Noct sighs, “Sorry, I -”

“Need to sleep, too,” Ignis cuts him off.

“Right,” Noct mumbles, “Good night.”

Prompto fidgets for a few moments, turning over and twisting around until his face is wedged right under Noct’s chin, mouth against his throat. For a couple of terrifying heartbeats Noctis thinks they woke him up.

Then Prompto mutters, directly into his skin, “Moon squirrels have blue tails.”

[queervegancryptid]

My dad and I are trying to talk every week on Sunday evenings. Last night's conversation was a lot.

I woke up early and couldn't get back to sleep, so I'm watching 90s Sailor Moon. I stumbled into the last episode of Sailor Moon R, the Black Moon Clan arc, live on Pluto TV, so I decided to start Sailor Moon S. It's where I really fell in love with the series, when I found a few issues of the manga at the local Sam Goody. Now I'm really dating myself lol

But I still don't fully understand, after all these years, why they did such a shit job of recutting and dubbing it for Toonami and such. I mean, I do understand how and why it happened, but I feel like it shortchanged an entire audience in a big way, especially when the dubbed version of S came out.

It was a real "disappointed but not surprised" moment, but it was also a moment where I knew something was bullshit and couldn't tell others why.

That drags us back to last night's conversation. Let's just say, it's abundantly clear to me now that my dad and I have wildly different understandings of my childhood and overall development into an adult. He also said some crazy shit about aliens and mind control and Matrix-type simulation possibilities. None of that is implausible, but it was the way it came out that made it nonsensical.

Anyway, I kinda wish they would recut and redub it, but Sailor Moon Crystal, Eternal, and Cosmos are really more faithful to the original manga in general, so I guess that's a good compromise. Like not asking my dad if he's on meth and just ignoring it when his explanation for something in the news is mind control and hyper-advanced aliens and just letting it go, saying, "Well, tell you what. If you're right about this being part of an October surprise and Harris losing because of it, I owe you a coke."

Jesus fuck balls Christ. I am going to lose my entire mind. At least my partner helped take my mind off it before we went to bed ;) but this is another of those things that hangs over me because I know I'll have to deal with it eventually.

It got to the point where I was just exhausted. The crazy part of the conversation meandered somehow into us talking about my childhood, by which I mean, we went to abstract and bizarre crazy to personal crazy, and I found out he definitely has no idea about... a lot.

It got to that point when I realized what I was up against there and understood that I would not be able to help him understand, that night or possibly ever, what he clearly doesn't understand. But on the bright side, he knows that he probably doesn't understand, and he wants to, and that's a lot better than a lot of people can expect from a parent. I'm grateful for him in a lot of ways. I'm also frustrated with people in general, and I'm even more frustrated after that conversation.

So maybe I'll start a Sailor Moon blog as a secondary one to this. Gotta do something to take my mind off this bullshit so I can force myself to eat. Because another thing that's happening lately is that extreme hunger gives me panic attacks. Multiple times a day. I have to avoid it by making sure I eat, which is its own challenge, but if anytime I get anxious or my blood pressure spikes lately, my chest hurts, which is concerning.

Anyway, I'm on meds for that, and they're helping to manage the symptoms. Meantime, I don't know what to do aside from distracting myself and stumbling my way through this. So I guess that's what I'm gonna do.

It just sucks to feel like you don't have any good options. It sucks almost as much to find out your dad thinks you were born really smart but lost about 50 IQ points by the end of high school. I didn't get less intelligent; I learned to doubt myself more and more over time. And not being able to explain that to him in a way he could understand was just more than I could take.

All my life, people have blamed me for shit that resulted from what they or other people have done to me. They blame me for what they don't understand or see it as an immutable characteristic rather than what it is: the result of one or more fuck-ups in my psyche that never fully healed.

Anyway, I can't solve that today, or maybe ever. For right now, I'm putting it out of my mind as best I can and looking for distractions.

[landsofaruin]

Visen Franz Kruger, the drunken scholar of Grunweiler

"Through my travels in the land of our empire there have been many a strange encounter but most fantastical of all was when I, Franz Kruger, unintentionally became the chosen one of a bunch of critters in Sumpfburg – a city where the fog is so thick, you'd think it's been brewed by a drunken alchemist. On a moon-kissed night in Sumpfburg, as I was meandering like a lost sheep in search of the famed Whispering Inn and its legendary brew, a procession of cats crossed my path. Now, I've heard of rats leading the blind, but cats leading a thirsty scholar? That's a new one! My furry guides, with tails high as banners, led me to a hidden courtyard under the moon's watchful eye. There, a congress of animals – cats, raccoons, and a squirrel that must've thought itself a jester – had gathered. The scene smelled of old magic, like the kind the ancient swamp hags of yore would cook up in their cauldrons. A raccoon, adorned with a crown that looked suspiciously like a piece of a knight's armor (probably lost in a bet), declared they needed my help to retrieve a bauble stolen by a thieving owl. A scholarly pursuit, I thought – or maybe I'd had one too many ales. Our motley crew ventured deep into the swamp, where every challenge seemed like a jest played by the old hags themselves. There was a bridge that appeared only when you sang to it (and let me tell you, my voice could curdle milk), and a turtle that spoke in riddles but couldn't get to the punchline. In the lofty abode of the owl – a creature with eyes so big, you'd think it'd seen the ghost of the king – we parlayed for the return of the mystical trinket. The owl, wise as it was grumpy, eventually relented, probably tired of our nonsensical banter. As the first rays of dawn touched the swamp, the raccoon, in all his tin-crowned glory, bestowed upon me a pendant. 'Wear this, and you'll never lose your way in a tavern,' he said. Or maybe that was just the ale talking. Thus ended my nocturnal escapade in Sumpfburg, a story I've dined out on many a time. Remember, in this fog-laden city, even the animals might draw you into an adventure – or at least into a good game of wits and wagers." Chapter 7 of "a guide to the Cities of Tamaria" by Visen Franz Kruger, the Drunk 1500 PI

Born in Grunweiler, Franz Kruger grew up with a natural curiosity and a penchant for stories. His family, though not wealthy, recognized his unique perspective on the world and encouraged his love for tales and lore, especially his mother who had mostly raised him after his father's death in the War of the Burgs. Kruger refused to follow the path of a traditional scholar, despite his intellect, due to the stuffy entitlement he felt that many scholars above his station held. Franz set off in his late teens to explore the breadth of Tamaria in order to study his world first hand rather than seclude himself in the libraries and studies of older scholars. His travels were marked by a series of odd jobs and chance encounters, each shaping his understanding of the diverse cultures within Tamaria. Franz earned his nickname "the Drunk" not just for his fondness for ale but for his jovial, sometimes whimsical approach to life. He possesses a sharp wit and an ability to see beyond the obvious, often bringing out hidden truths in his writings. With time, Franz' writing, a compiling of his rich experiences into guides and narratives for people to enjoy, became so popular among the peoples of Tamaria and abroad, for good and for bad, the academy of Visen gave him an honorary title of Visen of literature for his record book sales. His style is marked by its unorthodox approach - blending humor, personal stories, and insightful observations, although they are often exaggerated for entertainment and fraught with tall tales. Kruger's works have become a staple for anyone interested in Tamarian culture and geography within the empire and further afield. Beyond being informative, his books offer a glimpse into the soul of each city and its inhabitants. His legacy is that of a man who lived fully, turning every encounter and every sip of ale into a story.

[nitewrighter]

Possible prompt idea. We now know that Rein and Ana would dance late at night on base. So what if the other night owl couple (Gency) stumbled upon them and Reinhardt insisted they dance with them?

This ended up being pre-fall so it didn’t quite shake out to be like that, but it was still fun to write.

---

Mercy yawned and Genji stretched as they headed down the halls from her lab together, a little after midnight.

"Okay," said Genji, with a slight roll of his neck, "Chandrasekhar Limit?"

"Nope," said Mercy.

"You're kidding."

"I keep telling you, I didn't get out much during that time!"

"I didn't get out much either but I still found a way to watch a cultural icon!"

"I think you're giving it a little too much credit," Mercy's mouth was in a pinched little smile.

"Oh come on, you definitely saw it--Remember?" Genji struck a pose and affected his voice in a surprisingly impressive imitation of an American accident, "You and me, Rodriguez, we're more than brothers--we're Psi-copilots. Wherever you go, I'll--" He glanced back at Mercy expectantly.

"Psychopilots?" Mercy's eyebrows knit together in confusion.

"No it was like, a pun, because the only way to traverse psi-space was with two--" Genji caught himself, "Wow, you really didn't see it."

"As I've said," Mercy pocketed her hands.

"Remind me to put it on next time we're waiting for samples to percolate. Or incubate. Or.... "

"Catalyze?" Mercy offered.

"Catalyze," Genji nodded and Mercy snickered a little.

"'We' huh?" she arched an eyebrow at him.

Genji metallically cleared his throat, "That is, if you need a lab assistant."

"I might..." Mercy said vaguely, before giving him a smile and bumping him with her shoulder a little, "But I like the company either way."

Genji chuckled a little and rubbed his arm where she bumped into him. It was his prosthetic, so the sensation of contact was briefer than he liked. "Well it's just--I know I've been difficult with the benching, so I really appreciate getting to spend time like--" he stopped walking abruptly, "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Mercy stopped as well.

"Music," was all Genji said before briskly walking forward and turning down a nearby corridor.

"Cassidy already tried pulling some 'Headquarters is haunted' nonsense with me, so if this is him trying to get you in on the joke--" Mercy started as she hurried after him, but Genji had paused again, intently listening.

"...This way," he said after a beat, walking again.

"Genji, I honestly don't hear--" Mercy started but she suddenly stopped as well. There was music, barely on the edge of her hearing. She couldn't pick out a melody quite yet but there was certainly a rhythmic swelling of notes. She followed after him. He paused again in a stairwell before hustling up the steps and she half-stumbled after him. He had a remarkable directness about him, once he was set on investigating something, all fatigue from hours of tedious lab work and their own long pleasantly meandering discussions, apparently gone from his mind and body as he pursued the sound. And she could hear more of it too, vocals were coming in, along with some rippling violins answering the vocals like a chorus. 

“Cittá Vuota?” Mercy mused.

“Come again?”

“Pre-crisis song,” Mercy said as they headed out of the stairwell and the song got louder.

“You’re telling me you’ve never seen Chandrasekhar Limit but you can instantly recognize Pre-Crisis Italian pop music,” Genji said, sounding just as impressed as incredulous.

“It’s a cultural icon, I’m surprised you didn’t recognize it!” said Mercy with a smug waggle of her eyebrows as they walked in the direction of the music.

“Ha-ha,” Genji let a little bit more of the metallicity of his voice leech into the sarcastic laugh for effect.

 “Maybe one of the janitors--” Mercy started but they both stopped dead.

There was a warm yellow glow from one of the executive presentation rooms, and both Mercy and Genji were frozen in place as they watched a massive silhouette bob rhythmically from behind the glass that had been electronically SmartFrosted for privacy. There was now a distinctive, hearty humming vibrating through the glass as well the shape pivoted and shifted, revealing two bodies as the singer hit a climactic bridge, vamping up and up.

“Maybe we should--” Mercy dropped her voice to a low whisper, but Genji was already moving again, “Gen--Genji!” she hissed after him, as Genji opened the door to the room. Her face was burning as Genji opened the door to the final peak of the main chorus, revealing Reinhardt and Ana mid-dip, Ana’s arm flourished out to create a graceful angle with her arching back, outstretched leg and pointed foot, just as the melody arrested on the lyrics, “Ma so che la citta.”

Almost perfectly on beat Reinhardt dropped her with a thud and an ‘oof’ from Ana.

“Eh--” It immediately occurred to Genji that he had opened the door without any inkling of what he would do once the door was opened.

“Genji?” Ana propped herself up on her elbow from the floor.

“C-captain!” Reinhardt immediately stooped over Ana but his own head jerked up and he made eye contact with Mercy, “Doctor Ziegler?”

Mercy flinched and wished that she could have better hid herself behind Genji.

“We... heard... music,” Genji said blankly.

“Wh-” Ana caught herself and quickly pushed herself back up to her feet, dusting herself off with a very commanding, “What are you two doing up so late?” 

Mercy’s mouth hung open for a few seconds as her brain hit a log jam of some stammering about emails and overseeing biotic coding calibrations when Genji hit them with the ironclad comeback of, “What are.... you two doing up so late?” 

Ana’s shoulders bunched up and Mercy could tell she was about to return with the usual spiel of ‘Agent Shimada I am your captain and with Blackwatch benched you are frankly in no position to question what I do in my time off,’ or some variant of that, but she seemed to catch herself and exhale. “Reinhardt’s been giving me lessons,” she said tersely. 

“Lessons...?” Mercy tilted her head.

“Well, Captain Amari first came to me some years back to give her lessons in preparation for her upcoming anniversary with Sam, but then--eh--erm.. that is....” Reinhardt’s sentence turned halting, and Mercy and Genji became quickly aware that he was in no position to disclose what was currently going on between Ana and Sam, or what had happened between Ana and Sam, just as he was realizing that position himself. He quickly changed gears, “You see, I actually have quite a reputation back in Stuttgart--actually many of the Crusaders used dance as a means to gain better coordination in our armor! I myself had a particular proclivity for waltzes and tango and...” he looked at Ana, half-pleading for backup.

“Well... it seemed like a waste to just stop,” Ana said, folding her arms.

“Indeed!” Reinhardt said, suddenly getting a grasp on his own justifications, “Dance can be an important medium to build both coordination and trust!” 

“Right...” said Genji, “Well... far be it from us to keep you from your.. coordination--”

“If you ever need lessons--!” Reinhardt started.

Mercy reddened, “We’ll... know who to go to,” she said, backing out of the room and grabbing Genji’s arm to pull him out as well. 

“Have a good evening--!” Genji’s voice trailed off as Mercy yanked him out the door. Within two minutes both of them were briskly walking down the hall, not making eye-contact with each other. 

“Coordination,” Mercy rolled the word out incredulously.

“Coordination...” Genji repeated after her, musing.

 “I mean, of course I’m in full support of physical activity outside of the sparring or tangling with training bots, but they can’t really expect us to believe--I mean--it’s the middle of the night! It’s hardly--That is--” she was stammering, “I--Why am I embarrassed--why am I the one embarrassed!? They’re the ones... c-carrying on!”

“So I take it you’re not going to take him up on that dance lesson?” said Genji.

“Oh come on, it’s not as if he really meant it--it’s one of those things you throw out there when you’re covering up for something,” Mercy huffed and pocketed her hands again, “I mean, obviously it’s their business, and of course they all fought in the Crisis together so of course they’re close but--” she pressed the heels of her hands to her forehead with a noise of frustration before dragging her fingers down her face. “You know what? The fact that it’s bothering me at all is clearly a sign I need some sleep,” she said, seemingly talking to herself just as much as Genji.

“It kind of shifts the mood, too,” Genji murmured.

“Shifts the mood?” Mercy glanced at him.

“Well.. you know, this whole time we’ve both been operating under the assumption that we more or less have headquarters to ourselves at this hour, save for a janitor or cleaning bot here and there... knowing your superiors are up at the same hour...” he trailed off.

 “...shifts the mood,” Mercy said in agreement. 

“Right! Like... this was our thing! They don’t get to--I mean, they can, it’s their business--it’s just...” Genji blurted out and he realized Mercy was looking at him with a slightly sleepy steadiness, one corner of her mouth quirked in a little smile. He caught himself and rubbed at the back of his neck with his organic hand. “I... probably need sleep, too.” 

“Right,” Mercy glanced off, pushing some of her hair back. They eventually came to a stop next to the elevator leading down to the Blackwatch facilities.

“Until next time?” Genji pressed the button. 

“Don’t forget the holo-drive,” said Mercy as the elevator doors opened.

“Holo-drive--?” Genji started absently as he stepped into the elevator, but then perked up, “Oh! Right! ‘You and me, Rodriguez, we’re more than brothers, we’re’--I just remembered you don’t actually get that reference--”

Mercy was snickering, but managed to fit in a wave and a “Good night!” as the elevator doors closed. 

“Good night,” said Genji, to the closed doors, before slumping his back against the opposite wall of the elevator, letting his weight shift to his cybernetic heels, the exhaustion returning to him even heavier after all the excitement of the evening. He found himself humming the song Reinhardt and Ana had been dancing to as the elevator thrummed. “Coordination, huh?” he murmured to himself.

----

A few days had passed and it was a warm afternoon as Reinhardt made his way into the break room from the training floor. He was humming, his gray hair still damp from the shower and a towel draped loosely on his broad shoulders as he opened the fridge and pulled out a chai protein shake. 

“Lieutenant,” a clipped voice came from above and Reinhardt coughed and spluttered before his head jerked up to see Genji perched atop the cupboards. 

“Ach! You--! When did you--? There’s a door, you know!” Reinhardt blustered.

“Were you serious about the lessons?” Genji slipped lightly down from the cupboards, to the fridge, to the floor, and stood in front of Reinhardt, hands in the monopocket of his Blackwatch hoodie.

“Come again?” Reinhardt blinked.

“You said, ‘if we ever need lessons,’” said Genji.

“You... want dancing lessons?” Reinhardt scratched at his temple.

Genji’s shoulders stiffened, and his head swung around the room, and he even went so far as to peek around Reinhardt to check the doorway to see if anyone was heading down the hall before attempting to nonchalantly resume his pocketed hands pose, “...Yes,” he said finally.

“Ah! Well, you know you and the doctor are welcome to join us! We usually practice on Wednesdays, but we’re also flexible with weekends--” Reinhardt started but that just seemed to fluster Genji.

“No, it’s--Angela--I mean Doctor Ziegler’s... busy. She would never--I--I mean-- this has nothing to do with her! I just...think it’s a good skill to learn... with Blackwatch benched. Coordination. Like you said,” he folded his arms tightly across himself and glanced off, “Only so many training bots I can destroy over and over...” he muttered coolly.

“Of course,” said Reinhardt, utterly unconvinced, before jovially putting his hands on his hips. “Well then! Genji Shimada, consider me your dance teacher!”

“Would it be possible for you not to say that so loud--” Genji started.

“The first lesson of dance is passion!” Reinhardt declared, “Passion, and of course, research! Your first assignment is to watch the greatest dance film of all time...!” Reinhardt clenched a fist with determination, “Dirty Dancing.”

“What?” Genji tilted his head, one eye squinting.

“You’ve never heard of Dirty Dancing?” Reinhardt gawked, “It’s a cultural icon!” 

[peace-for-levi]

Help from Papa [Levi x GN!Reader]

Levi Taking His Daughter to Preschool Headcanons

i have mad baby fever so my tiktok always shows me stuff like this. this was inspo for these headcanons !

w/c: 1,024

t/w: use of the word mommy by the daughter, so afab reader can be assumed but otherwise sfw. self-indulgent, tooth rotting fluff

[D/n] = daughter's name

@maries-gallery you asked for some fluff earlier UwU

Maybe it happens while you are away on a business trip so Levi is doing the run to kindergarten. You and him were anxiously texting the night before on how you might get her in to kindergarten. She had terrible separation anxiety from you already - who normally took her in while Levi left earlier to work - so him trying to get your daughter out would be a challenge for sure. It worked out that you did more of the parenting in the morning and normally took care of things like this, while Levi helped out with the night routine more. He texted you not to worry, being the wonderful husband he was.

"Even if it takes me all morning, I'll get her to school." Came his message.

He had a meeting this morning that he had to get to on time, but he texted and emailed everyone he needed to ahead in case he was late. Most of them had no issue, but it would probably mean doing work when he got home.

He wakes your daughter up by flicking the switch on and leaving the door open. He'd let her get up in her own time, but he'd make noise in the kitchen to speed the process along.

Neither of you are overly concerned about this separation anxiety as starting playschool/kindergarten is a huge step in a toddler's development. Your daughter was probably going to take a while adjusting

Kindergarten started at 9.30, so he still had time. But when the pancakes and cut-up fruit he made were starting to get cold, he meandered up the stairs again. When he walked into the bedroom, he noticed she wasn't in her bed but the covers had been pulled down over it.

"Hiding again, [D/n]? Come on now, we don't have time for this today."

Again, he'd let her come out in her own time. While she hid under the bed, he sorted out an outfit. A teal-coloured, long-sleeved top and denim dungarees. He pulled out her knickers, socks and running shoes from the bottom drawer.

"...Daddy?" the voice came.

Levi finished folding the clothes for her and knelt down by the bed, picking up the quilt. "Yes, petal?"

She crawled out and stood up, and Levi made haste to get her dressed as she babbled. "I don't wanna go, Daddy."

"I know you don't," he sighed. Of course he felt sorry for her - who wanted to be forced to go somewhere they didn't wanna go? "But you always come out super happy. It's just mornings you don't like, hmm?"

Her shoulders did an "up-down" saying she didn't know. Levi turned her around as he went to go (or make an attempt) at plaiting her hair.

The two ate breakfast and got ready, all the while your daughter trudged and dragged her feet. He zipped up her coat and ruffled her hair in an attempt to cheer her up.

Whenever Levi did take your daughter, he'd carry her in his arms with her legs wrapped around his waist. She'd whisper nonsensical secrets in his ear or she'd scratch his hair. This morning, she was quiet. Levi didn't try force her to speak, but he felt his heart shrivel up for part of the walk.

He lets her down with her lunchbox as she walks into the building. Levi is never more than two feet away. She'd run ahead sometimes and whirl around to see if he was still there.

He always was.

"Go on, [D/n], I'll be right behind you."

She kicks up another fuss - this time, a tearful fuss - when he goes to leave. He sighs heavily and walks back. The playschool teacher is holding her hand, trying to get her inside. Levi looks at the teacher and winks.

"I'll stay outside for as long as you need me to." (He obviously had to leave for work, but he'd hang around for 15 minutes.)

And of course, she was fine after that. It's the initial fear of him leaving but she met a friend inside and quickly forgot all about him.

.

.

.

"You left me behind!" she wailed in the backseat of the car. Everytime Levi levi "abandoned" her, it was always a tearful car ride. No amount of comforting words, singing, or jokes would help her.

He gently said "shhhh, shhhh" every now and then, but she just wailed. He passed his phone back to her on the Notes app and drew some squiggles and that reduced her cries to whimpers

Levi wasn't driving them home though.

"Handies." He asked, and pulled her out of her car seat and zipped on her coat again.

They walked through the airport hand-in-hand as they waited for your return.

Still calming down from her meltdown, she wiped her nose against Levi's sleeve, with earned her an, "Oi, don't be such a brat." He looked down at his sleeve and cringed at the stain.

They continued to walk to the Arrivals section and Levi squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back, and this back-and-forth continued. It was dead silence until...

"MOMMYYYYY!"

You stopped dead in your tracks and knelt down with arms open wide as she ran over. Your suitcase started to roll away but in that moment you didn't care. You embraced your daughter and she was all giggles and you were shedding a few tears of joy. You picked her up and cradled her in your arms. Your husband rolled your suitcase over to you again. You leaned forward and kissed him as he took your daughter back so that you could carry your things.

"I heard you had a great time at school today!" you beamed.

She nuzzled against her dad's cheeks. "Dad helped me."

You smiled at your husband and patted his back. You had every faith in him that he'd do a good job while you were away. He always did. For both your sakes, he'd go above and beyond in every area of life.

hey uhh, requests are open (:

[digitalworldbound]

next time (koumi)

hello! welcome to the fourth day of valentine's drabbles! today's is dedicated to @stoppingtosmelltheflowers. thank you for always being so kind. i adore you and your writing. happy valentine's day!

Oolong bottles lay empty across the wooden floors, takeaway boxes overflowing in his trash can. Objectively, his office was disgusting, but Koushiro didn’t have time to worry about it.

Colorful lines of code filtered down his computer screen. His eyes scanned the page, desperately trying to decipher the code. The flurry of numbers seemingly streamed into a nonsensical line of text, words jumbling together in his mind.

“What is this?” he muttered under his breath. The glare from his computer illuminated the dark circles under his eyes.Tentomon stirred restlessly at his feet, prodding at Koushiro.

“You need to eat something, Koushiro.” Tentomon tried once again, voice falling onto deaf ears.

His partner mumbled back another weak excuse, eyes nearly watering with focus.

“Tentomon’s right, you know?”

Koushiro jerked in surprise, scattering his day-old leftovers in the process. “Mimi?” incredulousness in his tone, “What are you doing here?”

A lift of her finger bathed the room in fluorescent lights, Koushiro’s eyes clenching at the sudden intrusion. “I was going to see if you’ve already eaten , but Tentomon beat me to it.”

Koushiro’s cheeks grew warm, only deepening the closer she got.

His eyes trailed gently over her frame, trying to deduce exactly what had changed. Mimi’s eyes were the same bright pools of hazel they always were. Her hair was swept away from her face, a coy smile settling on her lips. Maybe it was her dress, a wispy green thing that fluttered around her knees. She looked radiant, but that was nothing new.

Something had changed.

“So, are you hungry?” A bag hung loose around her arm, bright, red label eliciting a growl from his stomach.

His eyes flitted back towards the screen, tension high on his shoulders. It would only take a minute for Koushiro to unweave this numerical puzzle; he was so close.

At least, that was the feeble excuse he offered to Mimi, fingers quickly going back to work once she was seated.

Slowly, his office dipped into darkness, late-night shadows crawling up the wall. Stars shone into the window, Tentomon’s light snores pulling Koushiro from his stupor. It had been too long.

Guilt simmered in his stomach. Back stiff with disuse, Koushiro stole a glance at the clock before seeking his partner out. His singular minute had turned into four hours; Tentomon was surely to be famished.

Except, the little bug wasn’t next to Koushiro’s feet. He wasn’t underneath the desk or hidden away in a drawer.

For a moment, icy tendrils of panic gripped Koushiro’s heart. Bottles clattering, he rose to his feet, heart pounding in his ears.

In his haste, Koushiro’s foot caught the underside of his office chair, the pair crashing haphazardly onto the ground. His face made rough contact with the floor, but the pain never registered. From his low position, the tension in his muscles finally relaxed. Tentomon was safe, curled into Mimi’s side as they snoozed together.

The guilt returned tenfold, seeing Mimi’s limp hand still curled around the handles of the bag she had brought for him.

Once he untangled himself, Koushiro quietly meandered towards her, doing his best to avoid the creaky spots in the floor. A warm flush had risen to her cheeks, an arm drooped lazily around Tentomon. The little Digimon seemed at home in her arms, Koushiro’s heart giving an odd skip.

She was so peaceful like this, eyelashes resting against her rosy cheeks.

Gently, so carefully, Koushiro coaxed the bag out of Mimi’s grasp. It was much too late for her to meander across town. Besides, he didn’t have the heart to wake her.

‘What a way to spend our first Valentine’s together,’ Koushiro chastised himself. Out of all the puzzles he had managed to solve, Mimi’s faith and reassurance seemed the most puzzling. She deserved much better than sleeping on an uncomfortable couch, gas station food in clutch. He had promised to care for her, to meet her every need, and yet he had allowed her to go to bed hungry.

Still, Koushiro’s pulse thrummed unsteadily as he gently tucked an extra blanket around her chin. ‘Tomorrow,’ he promised. Tomorrow, he would make it up to her.

Until then, his computer hummed in overdrive, another numerical string filtering across the screen.

Tomorrow, Koushiro would make things right. He had a few more hours before daylight; another puzzle awaited.

[biggest-stupidhead]

Bad Timing (Levi x Reader) Part 8

Summary: how do you tell your friends that you’re falling for your big brothers’ best friend?

Word Count: 4.8K

__

You woke up late the next morning, having forgotten to plug in your phone which also functioned as your alarm. Instead Hange had busted into your room and ripped the blankets off of you, exposing you to the chilly air. You yelped and reached blindly for the covers, your mind too foggy with sleep to comprehend how late you were.

"Rise and shine sleeping beauty." Hange sang as she jostled your shoulder.

"Wha..."

"School starts in like thirty minutes come on bust a move." That woke you up. You tossed your legs over the edge and stumbled around your room, pulling on a pair of joggers and a large t shirt. Hange had left once she was sure that you were awake, leaving you alone to get ready. You didn't bother with make up, not that you ever really did. You double checked that you had all of your supplies for school before zipping up your bag and meandered down the steps. Erwin and Hange were already pulling on their shoes by the door, Erwin was wrapping one of his scarves around Hange's neck. You scrunched your nose in disgust at their outright display of affection and shoved your feet into a pair of old sneakers.

The three of you exited the house, and made a beeline for Erwin's minivan which had been heating up to melt off the frost and snow. The drive was slow and cold, the van was dated so no matter how early Erwin woke up to heat up the car for you, it would always be colder than the Arctic. Erwin also drove like a god damn grandpa in the winter due to the icy roads which didn't help. Finally you made it to school with only five minutes before the bell rang, you bolted into the building, you were in such a hurry that you didn't bother to stomp the snow off your feet as you entered. Which was a mistake because in your hast you lost your footing on the already slick floor, you yelped as you fell flat on your ass. You blinked as you tried to comprehend what had just happened, you were brought back to the present by the sound of boisterous laughter. You turned to glare at Connie and Sasha who where standing to the left munching on a bag of hot cheetos.

"You should've seen the look on your face!" Connie howled as he slapped his thigh. Sasha giggled and nodded as she wiped cheeto dust on Connie's white shirt while he wasn't watching. You rolled your eyes as you picked yourself up off the floor, you ignored them and pushed forward down the hall. Sasha and Connie trailed after you since they had the same first class as you, making jokes as they went.

"You know they really should put out those yellow signs, you know the ones with the person falling?" Sasha joked loudly.

"Yeah I know what you mean, then we could print out a picture of (Y/n)'s face and then stick it on the sign." Connie quipped which lead to the two of them dissolving into another fit of laughter. You ducked into the class room as the minute bell rang weaving through the desks to get to your seat. Armin watched you with wide eyes as you pulled your things out for chem, after your desk was covered in notebooks and pens you topped it off with your phone, which was still dead. The bell rang and then Sasha and Connie staggered in, your teacher shook her head and marked them tardy once again.

"Did you get my text last night?" Armin asked, eyeing your phone on your desk.

"Aw no Armin I'm sorry, I didn't charge it last night so it's dead." you apologized as you attempted to organize your cluttered desk. Armin smiled sweetly and nodded,

"It's all good! I was just wondering what your schedule for this week was and if you wanted to study together again?" Armin explained as he pushed his pencil across his desktop.

"I'd love to study, Geometry is kicking my ass right now." you moaned, the thought of your math class made your stomach heavy with dread.

"I can help you with that if you can help me with poem for English." Armin said softly, his blue eyes sparkling with a playful glint. You rolled your eyes you knew that Armin wouldn't need your help with any of his classes, he was just trying to make you feel smarter.

"Whatever you want baby doll." Armin's face flushed at the pet name that you used for him, you had recently started calling him the nickname due to his doll like features. He averted his gaze to the board where the teacher had written a warm up question on the board to get class started. Instead of working on the problem like a good student, you decided to use the first five minutes of class time to revive your dead phone. You plugged your charger into your laptop and then plugged your phone into the charger, once you saw the tiny lightning bolt you turned your attention to the board.

__

Chemistry went by uncharacteristically fast, the teacher kept the class busy with a lecture as well as a rowdy game of kahoot in preparation for your midterm. You had no time to check your phone, so it wasn't until you were walking through the hallway with Mikasa and Sasha that you noticed that Levi had responded. According to your phone, he had responded only fifteen minutes after you sent the initial message.

"My bathroom schedule is none of your concern."

You smiled at your phone, it may not seem like he was pleased with your text but you knew better. You had come to appreciate Levi's own weird way of showing that he cared, it had been no small feat either. So you decided to interpret his response as "don't worry I'm fine." you shoved your phone back into your pocket and continued to push through the throng of students in the hall. Sasha walked a few paces in front of Mikasa and you, swinging her lunchbox and humming along to whatever song was playing through her ear buds. Mikasa tugged her scarf up over her nose as you passed Eren who waved vaguely in your direction. Your eyes roamed over Mikasa's form, she had recently switched her aesthetic a bit, changing her wardrobe to a more soft goth mixed with grunge.

Today she wore a green plaid skirt with a belt cinched tightly around her thin waist. She had selected a black turtleneck that clung to her curves with a thick silver necklace with a heart pendant. And of course she wore her red scarf around her neck. You had to admit that it suited her, she looked hot as hell. Sasha on the other hand often dressed in a more causal manner. Today the brunette wore a pair of baggy jeans that hung off her hips, only staying in place because of the shoe lace that she had tied around her waist to function as a belt. Despite the cold weather Sasha wore a tiny pink cami with cute little strawberries on it, she also wore a light pink cardigan over the cami, presumably to prevent herself from being dress coded. Seeing how cute your friends had dressed made you feel embarrassed, you frowned down at your sweatpants and your t shirt that had an ugly bleach stain on the front. You'd do better tomorrow, you thought to yourself as you and Mikasa followed Sasha to your next class, which was World History.

The three of you arrived just in time, not that it mattered anyway. The history teachers always took their time on Mondays, spending a minimum of at least twenty minutes in the hall chatting about sports. You took your seats in the back of the room, surprisingly Connie and Jean were already seated and arguing quietly.

"-I don't know that's a bit sus but hey I won't judge." Connie retorted, crossing his arms and averting his gaze while Jean glared at him.

"What are you guys talking about?" Sasha interrupted as she dropped into her seat next to Connie. Jean's cheeks flushed as he hardened his glare on Connie who waved Sasha off.

"Oh nothing" Connie winked at Jean who eyed the pair suspiciously, knowing that neither one could keep a secret.

"Aw ok then." Sasha looked a bit disappointed as she dropped her huge lunchbox down on the desk.

"Got anything good in there?" Jean sighed, eager to change the subject.

"Duh you dummy." Sasha scoffed as she opened the bag and began pawing through it's contents.

"Let me rephrase that: Got anything to spare? I have practice tonight and I didn't pack any snacks." Jean exasperated as he pointed to the lung box. Sasha paused and pursed her lips in thought while Connie poorly covered his laughter.

"Hmmm what's in it for me?" Sasha hummed thoughtfully as she pulled out a variety of granola bars and fanned them in front of her face tauntingly.

"I'm giving you the chance to be a good friend that should be enough!" Jean fumed with his eyes locked on the bars. You watched the pair go back in forth as they bartered for the snacks until they finally settled that Jean would be the designated driver for the party this weekend. You watched as Jean stuffed a handful of granola bars in his soccer bag and Sasha opened up another bag of hot cheetos. You giggled and turned to gauge Mikasa's reaction, she had a small smile on her full lips as she jotted down some notes.

"Speaking of parties, where is the party this weekend?" You asked as you pulled your own notebook out to take some notes. Connie cocked his head, his thin eyebrows furrowing as he stared at you.

"Your house I thought." Connie remarked as he drummed his pencil against the desk.

"Oh, I wasn't really planning on hosting but..."

"No Connie it's at Marco's remember?" Jean stated as he rolled his eyes.

"My bad." Connie chuckled.

"Well still I don't think I was invited so I wouldn't want to impose." you admitted.

"Nonsense! Marco would love to have you over." Sasha assured you as she once again wiped her hand on Connie's sleeve.

"Yeah Marco wouldn't mind if you tagged along." Connie shrugged, not even noticing that Sasha had left a bright red stain on his sleeve from the cheeto dust. You noticed that Jean looked a bit uncomfortable, the tips of his ears turning a bit pink. Strange, maybe something happened between the two of them.

"I don't know guys, I really wouldn't want to take advantage of the guy, he seems really nice and I wouldn't want him to think badly of me." you sighed, thinking about the sweet freckled barista.

"I'll ask him, don't worry about it!" Connie waved you off before he turned back to his work. You nodded, deciding to throw in the towel with this argument.

____

After history, you went your separate ways with your friends and went to your next class. English was easy enough, your teacher was an older woman who also doubled as the theater director. This meant that she would often assign some busy work at the beginning of the period and turn you loose so she could make preparations for the next production. So once you finished the assignment for today's class you allowed yourself some time on your phone. Levi's message remained unanswered as you ran through all the possible replies. Everything that you thought of didn't seem to fit so you decided to leave it unanswered until you could think of something good.

__

Levi tapped his foot impatiently as he watched Farlan and Isabel fumbled around the small flat. Farlan was rooting through a bin filled with shoes searching for his loafers. Isabel was standing in front of a small mirror holding up two different pairs of earrings up to her head to see which best matched her outfit. Finally they both found what they were looking for, Farlan slid on his brown loafters and Isabel fastened her hoops to her ears and then they were off. The streets of Paris were dusted in about a foot of snow, which Farlan bitched about due to his poor choice of footwear.

"Can we please call an uber? My toes are going to fall off!" Farlan complained as he shook snow out of his shoes. Isabel giggled and tossed her scarf over her shoulder.

"I like the snow." her green eyes sparkled playfully as she teased the older boy.

"So do I but that doesn't mean I want it between my god damn toes." Farlan hissed as he lifted his other foot to shake out more snow. Levi watched the pair bicker with a certain fondness in his gaze. They had been his first friends and for a time his only family. After his mother died, he was sent to live in an orphanage where he met the odd pair. Even if he was only in the orphanage for two years, he still had come to love the idiots. Thankfully they never lost touch, Farlan had turned 18 in July so he now had custody of Isabel and rented a flat for the both of them. Isabel was still only 16 so technically Farlan was her legal guardian, and so far he seemed to be doing a good job.

"What do you think Levi, should we call an uber?" Isabel asked, bumping her shoulder into Levi's to grab his attention.

"We're already almost there." Levi deadpanned as the three of them meandered down the sidewalk. The city was surprisingly busy for a Monday evening, couples walked with arms linked, families were window shopping, and students sat perched on barstools as they drank coffee while they typed away on laptops. Levi couldn't remember much about Paris, at least not this side of the city. He had grown up in the north-eastern district, which was known to be poorer than the central district or southern district. Farlan had managed to get a job at a law firm as an assistant which had allowed him to move himself and Isabel to the central district. Of course Kenny sent Farlan and Isabel a monthly allowance to keep their heads above water, but it was mostly Farlan who had scrounged the money together to move the pair.

"Then it's settled! We'll walk!" Isabel whooped as she skipped ahead of the two boys. Farlan groaned and shot Levi a disappointed look.

"Don't look at me like that, you're the idiot that wore loafers." Levi scolded.

"I hate how you're always right." Farlan chuckled. The trio walked the rest of the way to the restaurant in relative silence. Thankfully the walk wasn't too long, they sat themselves in a booth. A waiter came and took their orders, Levi was slightly taken aback when Farlan ordered a bottle of wine, but he quickly remembered that the legal drinking age in France was 18. The waiter left them to put in their order, Levi took the moment of peace to check his phone. A hand full of texts from Hange, a meme from Erwin, and.... no response from you.

He frowned as he stared at his own response, looking back at it he wasn't sure how she could respond to that. He mentally kicked himself, for the first time in your odd relationship you showed an interest in him and all he was doing was pushing you away. Levi was so deeply engrossed in his thoughts that he failed to notice that the waiter had already brought them their drinks. Isabel tapped her straw on the table a few times to rip the paper, once the tip of the straw was exposed she lifted the straw to her lips and blew. The paper shot off the straw and hit Levi square in the chin. Farlan snorted and spat his wine back into his glass so he could laugh at Levi's exasperated expression. Isabel howled with laughter, she banged her hand on the table dramatically as Levi frowned at the two of them unimpressed.

"How old are you?" Levi ridiculed as he stooped to pick up the scrap piece of paper. He balled the trash up and set it down on the table top. Farlan sighed as he finally managed to quell his laughter.

"Someone has to keep you humble Levi." Farlan teased as he took another sip of wine. Levi reached for the bottle and poured himself a glass, Isabel was drinking a root beer loudly through her straw. Levi sat his phone down on the table as he gave his friends his undivided attention. Isabel told him about her job at a doggy day care where she cleaned kennels and watched dogs. Farlan told him about his superiors and how they told him he would make a good lawyer one day. Levi felt a huge sense of relief as he listened to his friends, he was glad that the two of them were finally making a living for themselves. Levi was politely listening to Farlan rant about one of his annoying coworkers when he noticed that Isabel had grown uncharacteristically quiet. His heart dropped when he saw that Isabel had his phone and was frowning at the screen. Farlan followed his gaze and grew quiet as well.

"Isabel what do you think you are doing?" Levi enunciated each word, his tone dripping with venom. Isabel looked up at him, her cheeks tinged pink when she realized that she had been caught.

"Your phone was open and I saw her text..." Isabel trailed off as she turned to show Farlan. Levi slapped his palm over his face and sighed deeply. Farlan whistled lowly as he read the text.

"Shot her down real quick didn't you Levi." Farlan chuckled as he took another sip of wine. Levi frowned, another wave of guilt washing over him.

"Didn't mean to." he mumbled as he lifted his glass to his lips. Isabel had already set his phone down and favored her own phone, her eyes were scanning over the screen quickly as she scrolled through her phone. A few minutes of silence passed before Isabel showed Levi her screen, she had pulled up your instagram.

"This her?" she questioned, Levi only gave her a curt nod as he finished off the wine in his glass.

"Aw Levi's she's adorable!" Isabel gushed as she scrolled through your page, pausing on one of your more popular posts. A series of pictures of you on a beach towel wearing large sunglasses and a huge sun hat, the quality was amazing. He was sure that Armin took the photo, the kid had a knack for photography.

"Damn if you don't want her I'll take her." Farlan hummed as he looked over Isabels shoulder. Levi shot Farlan a disapproving glare.

"What's her number?" Farlan pressed, Isabel choked on her drink as she burst out laughing.

"Forget about it." Levi hissed as he snatched his phone off the table top.

"I'm just teasing you Levi." Farlan waved his hand dismissively as he poured another glass of wine. Levi rolled his eyes and let out a grunt, his own version of acknowledging Farlan's good natured jokes.

"You should call her." Isabel mused as she chewed on her food. Levi furrowed his brows, what would he even say to you? It's not like the two of you casually conversed, he usually only called you if Erwin couldn't reach you, which rarely happened. He glanced at his watch and frowned, if it was eight o'clock here that meant it was about two back home. Therefore you were still in school so he would have to wait until later.

"That's a dumb idea." Levi monotoned, Isabel rolled her eyes dramatically.

"No it's not, even if you're just her friend I'm sure she would like to know that she's on your mind!" Isabel insisted enthusiastically, Farlan nodded in agreement as he shoveled a forkful of pasta into his mouth.

"She's right you know-" Farlan paused as he swallowed his mouthful of food, "not everyone can handle your cold demeanor as well as others." Farlan chided as he lifted another bite to his lips.

"Fine I'll call her." Levi caved in as he stabbed his fork into his salad. Isabel squealed in excitement.

"This is great Big-bro! I'm so proud of you!" she gushed, her eyes glimmering with adoration. Levi couldn't resist reaching across the table and ruffling her hair affectionately. Dinner ended without any more noteworthy events, Farlan and Levi split the check and then bundled back up to walk back to the flat.

___

You sat at your dining room table staring hopelessly at your geometry homework. A bowl of cold soup sat untouched, you had been too stressed to eat dinner, a habit that you had recently picked up. Erwin and Hange had made dinner so you could get straight to work, which had been very sweet, but you felt guilty because truthfully you had barely made a dent in your assignment. You thought about calling Armin, he would help you. No you couldn't bother him, he was probably doing work of his own.

So you suffered in silence, the shapes and numbers spinning in your brain the longer you stared at the page. With a frustrated sigh you flipped the page only to see more blank problems that needed to be done. You stood up intending to stretch your legs and take a brain break. After you'd walked around the island in your kitchen three times you came back to the table and dropped down into the chair. You cracked your knuckles before clutching your pencil in a death grip and began to attempt one of the questions. As you scribbled on the page, attempting to make sense of the numbers and letters, you pressed too hard on your pencil and snapped the lead. You watched the tiny piece of lead roll across the page, out of spite you swiped your hand over the page to wipe the lead off.

Your eyes widened at the large smudge that now marred your paper. It all started with a single tear, it rolled down your cheek and splashed onto your paper. Before you could really understand why, you were absolutely bawling your eyes out at the dining room table. Was it because you were frustrated with school? Yeah that was definitely part of the reason. Before you could spiral into a dark pit of self deprecation, you were rudely interrupted by your phone ringing. You squinted through your bleary eyes to see that it was already 10:30 pm. You sighed, not really caring who was on the other end of the line you answered the phone.

"What" you blurted, not really in the mood to talk.

"..."

"Well? I'm kind of in the middle of something right now." your voice quivered as you fought back tears .

"Is...this a bad time?" your heart dropped at the sound of Levi's smooth voice.

"Uh" you sniffled and wiped your eyes.

"No it's not I can talk, what's the matter Levi?" you asked as you continued to wipe your eyes.

"Are you sure?" Levi probed, you nodded despite the fact that he couldn't see you. You stood up and began to pace around the kitchen once more.

"Y-Yeah-" you hiccuped and cringed, Levi sighed on the other end of the line.

"(Y/n) be honest with me....are you drunk?" Levi interrogated, you gasped it was a Monday night! Did he really think that you were that much of an alcoholic?

"No! I just...."

"Hm? What is it?" Levi quipped clearly enjoying your frazzled state.

"If you must know, I was in the middle of a mental break down." you admitted with a heavy sigh. Levi went silent on the other line, you were beginning to regret your honesty.

"It's only Monday." Levi cringed at his less than empathetic response.

"Yeah you're telling me." you chuckled, Levi immediately relaxed at the sound of your laughter even if it wasn't as bubbly as it usually was.

"What's bothering you?" Levi asked, surprisingly softly. You furrowed your brows surely he didn't call you just to hear about your day? He was probably just being nice.

"Oh uh... just school I guess." you paused your pacing to drop onto the sofa and kick your feet up onto the coffee table.

"I see." Levi mused as he reclined in the armchair he was seated in.

"Anyway, enough about me, why did you call me? Is there something you need?" you asked, you were sure that he didn't want to hear you complain about geometry.

"It's fine, tell me about your day." Levi grimaced, tell me about your day? Who was he your mother?

"O-Okay. Well I guess it was fine up until I tried to do this stupid geometry." you grumbled, the mere thought of your homework making your stomach sick with dread.

"Geometry?" Levi hummed, crossing his leg so his ankle was over his knee.

"Yeah." you sighed dejectedly, waiting for his scathing remark about how stupid you were.

"That one can be tough." Levi huffed, you could hear him re-situate so you waited to respond. Once you were sure he was settled you inhaled sharply to prepare yourself.

"It's just not clicking for me." you groaned, Levi snorted and once again you could hear some shuffling.

"Want some help?" he asked. You blinked slowly, not fully processing his words.

"Help?"

"Take it or leave it."

"I would be an idiot to decline."

______

"That wasn't so bad was it?" Levi asked, a playful glint in his grey eyes.

"It was awful, but I'm grateful for the help." you sighed, resting your head on the table. You'd been on the phone with Levi for almost two hours now. After he had offered to lend you a hand you had switched to facetime so he could see the problems. Levi tapped his pen on the counter top he was sitting at. Yeah you heard that right, Levi does math with a fucking pen like a psychopath.

"Anytime." his lip twitched upwards ever so slightly.

"God, I'm sorry that all we talked about was fucking math." you apologized.

"It's fine really. " Levi shrugged once again tapping his pen on the counter.

"Tell me about Paris? How are things on the other side of the pond?" you joked, finally able to genuinely smile now that the stress of your homework was lessened.

"First off, never say 'pond' again. Second, it's cold as a witch's tit over here." Levi enunciated each point by tapping the pen against the counter.

"Really? Is there snow over there?" You asked, suddenly very invested in the weather in France.

"Yeah there's a fuck ton." Levi stood up and brought his phone with him to a window. You could tell that he was on a high floor, you could see the lights of the city through the flurries of snow.

"Woah, it's so pretty!" you gushed as you admired Levi's view.

"Tch, I guess." Levi clicked his tongue as he flipped the camera back onto his face.

"Hey what time is it there?" you yawned.

"Six am." Levi deadpanned.

"What!! Why did you let me keep you up so late Levi! My god go to bed." you huffed incredulously. Levi rolled his eyes as he listened to you lecture him on the importance of a good nights rest.

"I mean seriously Levi no wonder why you're always so grumpy." you finished your rant as you closed your bedroom door and began pulling out a pair of flannel pj pants and a large hoodie since your room seemed to be particularly chilly. You dropped your phone onto your bed (camera down obviously) and began to change into your pjs.

"Don't worry about it sweetheart." Levi drawled, his voice a bit muffled by your comforter. Once you picked up the phone you dropped down onto your bed and sighed.

"Seriously, I'm just adjusting to the time change." Levi shrugged, he was now in his own room, also laying on the bed a pale morning glow seeping into the room.

"Uh huh sure." you teased, a smile spreading across your lips. After a moment of silence you decided that it was time to call it a night.

"Well, unlike you I need my beauty sleep." you said groggily.

"Good luck with that." Levi scoffed, his own voice a bit scratchy.

"Thanks again Levi. Goodnight or erm, Good morning I guess." you giggled as you watched Levi try to cover up a yawn.

"Yeah yeah whatever." He scoffed, you waved as you hung up. You rolled over and plugged your phone in, having learned from your past mistake. You sighed contently as you snuggled beneath the covers, your head filled with thoughts of geometry and Levi.

[elendiliel]

As The Maker Wills

Just experimenting with a different narrative style via some philosophical meanderings (and distracting myself from real-life nonsense).

---

The more things change, the more they stay the same, I think, looking out over the city-planet of Coruscant. I’m perched on the roof of the Jedi Temple, site of many a late-night conversation with my friends, back when we were younglings and padawans. (Climbing one of the spires was tempting, but this place has been abandoned for over two decades, and even I’m not mad enough to take that sort of risk.) The skyline looks much the same as it did back then, including the now-disused but still-standing Senate building. All traces of the so-called Emperor, from his statues to his Imperial Palace – I never saw it properly, but apparently it was a deliberate mockery of the Temple – have been erased wherever possible. And the traffic’s just as insane, of course. Only the people are different. I’m certainly different from the girl who for fourteen years called this building home.

The climate hasn’t changed, either. A large part of the reason I’m up here is the stifling heat of even the surface levels, let alone the lower levels when the air-con breaks (which happens all too often), in summer. (I did visit the lower levels earlier; they have changed, for the worse, and it broke my heart to know how little I could do for the people around me. That didn’t stop me doing what I could, of course.) At least this high up there’s a decent breeze. It catches my thick mane of dark reddish-brown hair, currently mostly in a warrior’s tail, fanning it out across the backs of my neck and shoulders. The individual strands are actually quite fine, but there are a lot of them. There’s probably a metaphor in that, but I’m too tired and too hot to articulate it. I don’t consider myself good with words.

That might surprise someone who only knows me professionally, but it’s true. Half the time, when I open my mouth I don’t know what I’m going to say, and yet I have a reputation for always finding the right words. If, as I suspect, that’s a Force-gift, it’s one of the weirdest I’ve ever come across, but I’m still grateful for it. My best friend and I used to joke that Ilum got us mixed up at our Gathering – not only could I have benefited from a trial of perseverance and he from a trial of patience, but although he was a gifted healer and I’m a lifelong fighter, his kyber crystal was warrior’s blue and mine is healer’s turquoise, the exact shade unique to me. Recently, however, I’ve started to think of myself as a heart-healer, called to mend broken hearts, broken souls, broken lives, and perhaps, as far as possible, a broken galaxy. I don’t always get it right, of course. I still fall into the trap of thinking I know better than the Maker and the Force. But with their help, I think I’m improving.

Words have been my tools and weapons of choice for many years. Used correctly, a well-chosen adjective can be more damaging than a lightsabre, or more effective than bacta. Names are perhaps the most powerful of all. The clone army, given only numbers at their decanting, seized on the idea of having names, things that were theirs, that they chose themselves or that close friends chose for them, that defined them. Even I, a natborn, value my name, both the clan-name passed down through many generations and the personal names my blood-parents chose for me, and it pained me not to use it openly under the Empire’s rule. Most of my covernames were variants on one or more of my real names, or my master’s name, or a close ancestress’ maiden name. (Nobody ever put the pieces together.)

Even when I’m not hiding, I use different names for different aspects of my self – some of which barely exist these days. In a sense, Padawan Abbasa, the studious child who once fell asleep in the Jedi Archives with her head on a book about Gilead (thankfully, Madam Jocasta found me before it or I was damaged), died with her master on some obscure planet a month into the Clone Wars. In a sense, General Abbasa, the unconventional but effective squad leader, died at her second-in-command’s hand the day Order 66 was declared. In a sense, ‘Li, the affectionate if quiet girl who went along with some pretty wild plans so that she could limit the damage, died on Arrakis with the last of her childhood friends, a year or two later. But in another sense, I am still all three of them, just as much as I am Jedi Master Helli Abbasa, interplanetary peace-weaver and former teacher, and plain Hel, rebel, friend, sister. Five names, five personas, one woman. It can be confusing, even for me.

And all five are liable to be needed in the years to come. Since our victory at Jakku, the Empire has held no real power anywhere near the old Republic’s territory, and the Jedi can come out of hiding at last – hence the new tattoos on my arms and back, courtesy of an old friend – but restabilising the galaxy is going to take time, let alone rooting out all the Imperial and pre-Imperial corruption or returning the Order to anything like its full strength. Off the top of my head, I can only think of fourteen active Jedi, plus Ahsoka, who’s only a Jedi by some definitions; one of those has been missing for six years, and another has an existing political career and a new baby to look after. The rest of us are going to be very busy for the foreseeable future, both serving the galaxy’s people (not just the Republic) directly and training the next generation of Jedi. Quite an undertaking.

But we’re not alone in this fight. And I don’t just mean that we have the support of many Rebellion and even Clone Wars veterans. The Maker and the Force are with us. While there’s still great evil in the universe, and will be for a long time (people often get the wrong idea about evil; it’s not a force in itself, though there are evil forces such as the Dark Side, so much as an absence of good, and thus often takes the form of good deeds simply not done), I firmly believe that good can and must prevail. So the Maker wills it, and so, if we merely choose to cooperate with Him and do so to the best of the abilities He gives us, it will be, in the end.

---

By the way, I half-inched the idea of turquoise lightsabres being associated with healers from @gaeasun (it's especially prominent in Ni Su'cuyi, Nu Kyr'adyc, which I highly recommend, along with the rest of her fics); I don't know whether it's her own headcanon or whether it's just a question of her being better at wrangling Wookieepedia etc. than me.

[collectivefandomstuff]

It starts one evening when Bruce is off-world and Alfred has invited (ordered) everyone to the manor for a cup of tea. Predictably, this soon devolves into bickering which somehow morphs into all the kids sharing stories about their time in the manor, trying to out-do each other. Here, Alfred starts telling them stories about the people who have lived in this house before; generations of Waynes long gone. One in particular, he tells them, a young woman called Catherine, suffered terribly through her life and died at the hands of a scorned lover in this very house. Sometimes, Alfred claims, you can hear her ghost wandering through the halls, singing sorrowfully or weeping.  

Damian scoffs at this and says that it’s “clearly nonsense”.

And that’s when it truly starts, with one of the kids having the idea that “a few weird noises here, a fluttering curtain there... it should be doable to convince my pseudo-siblings that there’s a ghost.” Except this is the batfamily who are all complete trolls so it’s not one of the kids. It’s all of them. Even Damian figures that “Drake is gullible” and it would be worth the trouble to scare the shit out of Tim.

And so the great ghost-campaign of 2012 begins. Tim and Steph quickly pair up for maximum effect; with Tim putting speakers in the vents that plays a track he found online called “ethereal crying” and Steph taking on the role as “Catherine”, sweeping down the halls in a wig and a floaty gown and fake crying into a handkerchief.

Damian, being tiny, crawls through the vents, playing recordings of a woman crying near wherever Tim is at the moment (doing this he actually manages to break one of Tim’s speakers. He doesn’t notice). When Tim is caught without airpods and actually hears Damian’s recording, he thinks Steph must really be working overtime on the ghost thing.

Dick spends hours crouched on top of beams and chandeliers making sniffling noises, and leaves silk gloves with the initials “C.W.” embroidered on them on everyone’s pillows. Damian is the only one who notices, since only he and Tim actually sleep at the Manor and Tim is always way too sleep-deprived to either take note of or care about what’s on his pillow.

Damian decides that Tim’s the one who left the glove and vows to double his efforts. Tim remains oblivious to the crusade against him.

Jason sneaks into the Manor at night to leave fake blood on the floor outside the west wing. Cass finds him and convinces him that fake blood won’t cut it and they both get way too involved and end up “donating” their own blood to the cause. The blood is mopped up by Alfred before any other sibling can find it.

Damian places portable air-conditioners on the coldest setting over Tim’s favorite spots in the Cave and Library. Tim starts wearing scarfs.

Dick dresses up as a Victorian Lady and stalks the halls of the manor, lamenting “her” fate. In the dark, a been-awake-for-48-hours and high-on-caffeine Tim mistakes him for Stephanie and greets him way too loudly with “diD You GeT A nEW DResS?” This freaks Dick out entirely and he falls out of the open window he had been sadly mourning his death in front of.

Jason and Cass get really stuck on the whole blood thing and leaves a torn-up, bloodied white dress on a hook in the library. Stephanie takes one look at it and thinks that someone has stolen HER dress and ruined it, and takes it as proof for a later date.

Damian, slightly departing from the “ghost persona” in favour of torturing Tim, starts leaving thorny roses where Tim will step on them with bare feet, which is mostly in the shower.

Tim starts questioning his sleeping-schedule and resolves to maybe dial back on energy drinks. He also puts everyones shoes in the freezer when they come over and return them to the hall before they leave, so they’ll think a cold chill has just passed along the floor.

On the whole, they’re all too busy to actually notice what everyone else is up to -or get frightened by it. Bruce however, is not.

Newly returned from off-world, he starts noticing things. Voices in the vents, drafts in the cave, blood on the floor outside the west wing (that he has Alfred mop up). All the kids are fine, but obviously someone is breaking into his house. Obviously.

This leads him to scour the cctv footage where he sees a strange, crying woman meandering through the halls at night. When he investigates the blood, the camera shows him a shadowy figure standing right where the blood was (Cass, geared up because both she and Jason takes this way, way, too seriously). 

His paranoia now fully woken from its (very light) slumber, he tries to find the hole in the Manor’s defenses. Late one evening, when he’s coming back from patrolling the grounds, he sees a victorian woman fall from a second story window with a scream and land in a heap of skirts. When he gets there, she’s gone (Dick made himself scarce, not wanting to be discovered by Tim), but a few days later, he thinks he sees a bloodied, ripped dress on one of the cameras in the library. When he gets there, it’s gone. Meanwhile, Titus keeps bringing him silk gloves with strange initals on them and he hears sniffling cries and singing everywhere. Finally, he reaches a logical explanation.

“I have seen stranger things” he tries to comfort himself, even as he’s putting up fifty new cctv cameras and lines the corridors with salt for good measure. “aliens. demons. the Court of Owls.” He researches ghost-prevention techniques and contemplates whether martial arts would have an effect on a non-entity. He buys iron and re-watches Ghost Busters. Finally, he believes himself both well-equipped enough to handle the threat, and well-informed enough to accurately decide what it is exactly (a ghost born of tradegy, not vengeful but possibly dangerous if crossed).

Confident that he now has the situation back under control, Bruce holds a briefing with all the kids to explain and assign roles for the mission to get rid of the ghost. For years after the fact he vehemently denies this meeting ever taking place and tries (unsuccessfully) to track down all copies of the photos and videos his children took during the six hours of ghosthunting he led them on before one of them (Dick) finally lost it enough for Bruce to notice.

[jaskierswolf]

Jaskelion smut with a tail plug? Maybe with the use of the word "puppy"??

This only took me three months to write.... Sorry! But.... 1.7k of Jaskilion for you this fine evening.

CW: 18+, tail butt plugs, puppy play, dom/sub relationship, blow jobs, anal sex, explicit consent,

_______

Jaskier was singing happily as he opened the door to the flat he shared with Dandelion. His date night with Geralt had been wonderful! They’d had a lovely romantic dinner and then curled up on the sofa watching shitty documentaries that Geralt enjoyed. Jaskier had just been happy to lie back with his hands in Geralt’s sinfully soft hair. He enjoyed the weight of his boyfriend crushing him when they snuggled, but he’d also promised Dandelion he’d be home that night. Geralt had to get up early for work and as much as they loved each other, sometimes they just wanted their own beds.

The lounge was dark when he pushed the door open. He frowned and pulled out his phone. The screen was bright and hurt his eyes but he was right. It wasn’t that late. In fact he was earlier than he said he would be. He flicked on the light and toed off his shoes, letting the door close behind him. He meandered into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water before heading up to his room.

Dandelion’s bedroom light was still on so Jaskier knocked on the door. There was no reply.

“Dandelion?” he called softly.

Still no reply… so he pushed open the door.

“Oh,” Jaskier breathed.

Dandelion was laying on the end of the bed, looking like an absolute angel, or perhaps a devil. He was far too tempting to be an angel. His roommate was curled up asleep, completely naked except for the soft golden tail plug in his arse. Jaskier swallowed and crossed the room as quietly as possible, placing his water on the bedside table and then perching on the edge of the bed.

He cocked his head and smiled down at his sleeping friend before gently running his fingers through Dandelion’s hair, brushing the blond curls from his eyes.

“Hmm…?”

Jaskier chuckled and leaned down to kiss Dandelion’s forehead. “Morning, Dandelion,” he teased.

“Morning?” Sleepy cornflower blue eyes blinked opened as he lifted his head off the mattress. There were marks pressed into his cheek from the wrinkles of the fabric and he looked utterly adorable. “Oh bloody hell, what time is it?”

“Just gone eleven,” Jaskier said with a laugh “In the evening,” he added when he saw the look of horror on his friend’s face. “Looks like you had a great evening planned?”

“Bugger,” Dandelion whined.

Jaskier took pity on him and pulled him into a kiss. His hands trailed down Dandelion’s spine and cupped his arse, earning a delightful squeak from the musician. “Miss me?” he teased.

“I got bored,” Dandelion admitted. “I was hoping to surprise you when you got home, but clearly that didn’t work out.”

Jaskier tilted his head and smiled coyly, petting the soft blond curls that splayed out so beautifully on the bed. “Did you still want to play?”

Dandelion’s eyes lit up and he nodded, nuzzling into Jaskier’s thigh. “Please.”

“Shh now, puppy,” Jaskier cooed. “I’ll get undressed and finish my water. You need to be patient. Can you do that for me?”

Dandelion whined but nodded silently.

Jaskier smirked “I know, you’ve been so patient already. Don’t worry, I make sure my puppy is treated well. Now, on the floor, you know you’re not allowed on the bed without me.”

Dandelion huffed but climbed off the bed, muttering nonsensically. Jaskier rolled his eyes. If Dandelion wanted to be bratty then so be it. He knew the consequences for misbehaving when they played like this. Dandelion knelt on the soft rug at the end of the bed, gazing hungrily up at Jaskier as he lazily stripped off his clothes. He grabbed his glass of water and sipped it, purposely ignoring his puppy, despite the frustrated whines coming from him.

Once Jaskier was finished with his drink he sat back down on the edge of the mattress, a hand in Dandelion’s hair. “Good boy.”

Dandelion leaned into his touch, a contented hum in his throat. He liked the praise, almost as much as he enjoyed being forced to wait for it, despite his protests.

“Now, puppy, whilst you’re sitting so prettily for me, I want your mouth on my cock until I’m hard enough to fuck you. You want that don’t you?”

Dandelion nodded eagerly. “Mhmm, yes sir” he replied with a lick of his lips. Jaskier tugged sharply at Dandelion’s hair, coaxing an obscene moan from his lips.

“Puppies don’t talk, sweetheart,” Jaskier scolded, before his expression softened. “You remember what to do if you want to stop?”

Dandelion nodded, caressing Jaskier’s bare thighs with long fingers before tapping three times in quick succession. Jaskier smiled, feeling better for the check in. “Good boy.”

Dandelion’s cheeks flushed a deeper red at the praise, and he tilted his head to press a kiss on Jaskier’s thigh, nipping gently. Jaskier closed his eyes, he could feel the beginnings of his arousal, warmth flowing through his body. He swallowed and took a deep breath, willing himself to not get hard just yet. He wanted to get hard in Dandelion’s mouth. He guided the blond with his hands still gripped into his hair. “Suck.”

Dandelion didn’t need telling twice. He moaned and practically lunged for Jaskier’s cock, like a starved man at a banquet. Jaskier hissed as he was suddenly enveloped with a wet heat. He had to bite the inside of his cheeks to stop himself from moaning like a whore… Dandelion hadn’t earned the satisfaction of that, but the musician’s mouth was as talented as it was quick, and Jaskier quickly hardened under his attentions. He let out a shaky breath, fingers combing through Dandelion’s hair, allowing himself the luxury of fucking into the blond’s mouth. He almost regretted pulling Dandelion off his cock, but he really did want to fuck that pretty arse before the night was through and he wouldn’t last much longer.

Dandelion whined petulantly, pouting up at Jaskier through his long dark eyelashes. His face was beautifully flushed and his lips were red and swollen. Jaskier delighted in the slightly glazed over look in Dandelion’s eyes.

“On the bed, puppy,” Jaskier cooed “you’ve done ever so well for me.”

Dandelion scrambled onto the bed, the soft golden tail swaying with the movement. Jaskier stroked his fingers along Dandelion’s spine, eliciting a gorgeous breathy moan from him. Dandelion’s back was always sensitive, a fact that Jaskier loved to take advantage of. He took a moment to appreciate the radiant beauty of his lover. He was just stunning. It was no wonder that Jaskier had been drawn to him from their very first shift in the coffee shop. Not even Geralt could match Dandelion for looks, and Jaskier really did love his boyfriend more than anything.

His fingers danced along Dandelion’s back, feather light touches over the swell of his arse. He tilted his head with a smirk on his lips as he admired his lover. The butt plug was extravagant and stretched Dandelion’s hole so prettily that he was almost sad that he hadn’t been around to watch Dandelion prep himself. Luckily he had more than enough memories to imagine flawlessly the noises and gasps that his friend made when he had his own fingers shoved up his arse.

Jaskier stroked the tail, tugging gently but not enough to pull it out. “Such a pretty little puppy. All ready for me.”

Dandelion whined again, and wiggled his butt. It was tantalising and Jaskier could barely resist the temptation, but he knew Dandelion was in a vulnerable headspace and he couldn’t take him without asking. It was for his sake as much as Dandelion’s. “Are you still with me, puppy?” he asked, gently tracing patterns into the pale skin on Dandelion’s back.

Dandelion nodded. “Mhmm.”

“Can I fuck you, sweetheart?” Jaskier asked softly, never taking his hand from Dandelion. He needed to be touching him.  He needed to know Dandelion was there, needed Dandelion to feel him too.

Another nod from Dandelion and Jaskier let out the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. He pressed a kiss to Dandelion’s shoulder then swatted his arse. It wasn’t hard, it didn’t even leave a mark, but Dandelion still yelped, mostly from surprise. “You’re such a good boy,” Jaskier soothed, his hands running throw the golden tail once again. This time he pulled it out. Dandelion’s keened and arched his back, fingers gripping into the bed sheets. His hole was slick from the lube he’d used to push the plug in but Jaskier still grabbed the bottle to be safe. He quickly coated his hand, stroking himself to cover his cock before lining himself up, ready to finally take this beautiful creature.

Dandelion’s wanton moans were utterly sinful as Jaskier pushed in. He thrust in slowly, getting deeper with every push, his hands gripping at Dandelion’s hips. Dandelion’s tried to push back but Jaskier kept him steady. “Stay still, puppy,” he warned, barely managing to keep his voice calm.

Dandelion felt like heaven, clenching around Jaskier’s cock so that he was on edge within minutes. His thrusts grew erratic and he shifted, trying to find the right angle that would make Dandelion sing. He knew when he found it because Dandelion keened pitifully and he almost collapsed onto the bed. Jaskier grunted and wrapped his arm around Dandelion waist, gripping his cock and jerking him off in time to his thrusts. Normally he’d insist that Dandelion cum untouched when they played like this but he did feel bad that his friend had fallen asleep whilst waiting for him, he would be rewarded for his patience.

Dandelion was crying wordlessly, a stream of nonsense falling from his lips as he came, spilling over Jaskier’s hands and clenching around his cock. Jaskier’s eyes rolled back and he moaned, thrusting deep into Dandelion as he came. He gasped, collapsing on top of Dandelion as they tumbled onto the mattress. Jaskier felt like he could lie there for days, but he needed to make sure Dandelion was ok.

He groaned and rolled over onto the mattress, fingers trailing along Dandelion’s forearm. “Sweetheart?”

“Hmm….”

Jaskier rolled onto his front and kissed Dandelion’s shoulder. “Puppy, I’m just going to get some water for you and then we’ll get you cleaned up, alright?”

Dandelion said something, muffled by the mattress. Jaskier rolled his eyes and slunk off to get supplies. He tossed Dandelion a fond smile over his shoulder as he left the room. He might even let Dandelion cuddle him tonight, a rarity after this sort of play, but he was feeling a little needy himself and he could do with having his darling wrapped up in his arms.

[fleetwoodmactshirt]

roadtrip headcanons (requested)

i think they’d all have a different vibe and a different energy. i didn’t really rank them best to worst, i just explored what i think the vibe of a road trip with each of them would be like. i also let loose and slipped in some super self-indulgent personal hcs/one-shot au idea that is a WiP about ezra as an intriguing handsome stranger you encounter on your solo cross-country road trip. as a treat. s/o to @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa​ for suggesting whiskey’s fav song.

frankie morales is the road trip king. no matter how spontaneous, frankie can whip a road trip plan together smoothly. he’s got a spacious truck, he’s got a cooler, he’s got the coziest blankets, he’s got the travel pillow, he’s got the camping gear, he knows the best scenic routes, he’s got the best classic tunes, he’s got the best snacks. he makes homemade sandwiches and burritos, wraps them tightly in tin foil. he heats up frozen pizzas, cuts them into slices. he stores it all in the cooler for lunches. when the supply runs out, you gorge yourselves on burgers and fries at roadside diners. but every morning he’ll stop in the nearest town to buy some apples, or some fresh fruit/veg of some kind. if they’re ripe he’ll get avocados that he’ll cut in half for you both to scoop out with a spoon to eat plain while you sit together in the bed of his truck in the shade of a lake you’ve stopped at for the afternoon. but he surprises you with your favourite junk food and snacks. he lets you borrow his cap if the sun is in your eyes; he’s got a spare, more threadbare one in the glove box. he’s low key done the research on the best places for stargazing; you lie back nestled together under a blanket, in the bed of his truck, gazing upwards; you listen as he describes the constellations, tracing them out with his finger.

max phillips. business road trips but max’s...condition necessitates driving at night only. liminal spaces. driving through the night, sleeping in business hotel rooms during the day, dust motes floating in the thin streams of sunlight peeking through the cracks in the curtains you’ve pulled shut. you see incredible sunsets and sunrises from the highway. you also see some undeniably weird shit late at night on road trips with max. he watches you eat breakfast food at 2 am in neon lit 24/7 diners. while on the road he passes you lots of candy throughout the night; he stocks up from the hotel vending machines. but no matter how much caffeine and sugar he tries to fuel you with, sometimes you’re lulled to sleep by the peacefulness. you nestle your head against max’s shoulder; it’s not the most comfortable position to drive in but he can’t bring himself to readjust and shift away from you. solitary brightly lit gas stations that are like an oasis of light breaking the pitch darkness. the two of you feel utterly alone sometimes; the world has shrunk down to only you, max, in this car, driving along this empty, dark stretch of road, a blush of purple on the edge of the horizon signalling the dawn.

based on how oberyn canonically took his daughters to explore an abandoned holdfast, i think his road trip energy would be all about the journey and not the destination. road trips with oberyn and ellaria would be meandering and adventurous. sometimes you’re riding shotgun and sometimes you’re sitting in the backseat with ellaria laid out and napping beside you, sun hat dipped down covering her eyes, her long legs stretched across your lap. if the three of you come across a motel you enjoy he’ll feel no urgency to leave; the days blur together and soon you’ve spent a week soaking up sun by the pool and sleeping in late entangled together in a pile of limbs after long passionate nights. day by day you may not even travel very far; he wants to stop and explore. hike amidst rock formations, swim in hot springs, explore the local museums; whatever catches his or your fancy. if he sees a billboard on the side of the road advertising local caves, or a petrified forest, or hears rumour of nearby ghost town that’s all but disappeared off the map, you’ll suddenly find yourselves veering off down small country roads, hours from the highway, seeking out pleasure, adventure, mystery. 

marcus has a hilton rewards card so you’re staying at hilton garden inns every night. clean sheets. comfortable beds. complimentary breakfast. it’s very pleasant. middle class fancy. holds out his hand for you to drop some snacks into his palm so he can remain focused on the road while you’re both munching. let’s you curate the spotify playlists.

roadtrips with javier are always last minute decisions to just take off, head to a gorgeous but isolated beach you’d heard about that’s a few days from here. he doesn’t get many opportunities for long stretches of time off, so when he does you don’t hesitate. you might not even wait for a rational time to leave. it’s midnight and you guys just speed off into the darkness. you just threw some essentials into a bag, jumped in his jeep, and booked it. you gotta buy toothpaste and toothbrushes at a gas station, and you borrow javi’s deodorant stick because you forgot yours. greasy fast food containers, half-empty cigarette packs, and snack wrappers litter the dashboard. his aviators perched on his nose, one hand resting on the wheel, the other curled around your thigh, javi on a road trip is relaxed. he’s leaving all his burdens, his worries, everything weighing on his chest, all of it, behind him. literally, the more distance you guys put between yourselves and where you were, the more uplifted his spirits. when your favourite song comes on the radio, and you’re shimmying in your seat, he can’t keep his eyes off you, his gaze flicking between you and the road. he sings along under his breath, bobbing his head almost imperceptibly and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, a slow smile spreading across his face.

whiskey pulls up to your house at 5 am on the dot, the obnoxious custom sound of the horn of his bronco rattling the windows and scaring the birds out of the trees lining the street. country music jams ONLY. you argue over his taste in music; does he enjoy being a walking cliche? he will not accept any song that doesn’t have a twang to it. he’d be an aux cord hog if he knew what an aux cord even was. so much for your favourite spotify road trip playlists. “spot fly? spot what fly, where?” still has mixtapes he made himself, the same ones he’s been playing since forever. forces you listen to all his favourite songs, the ones he knows all the words to, while he obnoxiously sings along and ignores your eye-rolling. but he doesn’t ignore how your feet start tapping absentmindedly to toby keith’s ‘whiskey girl’. the corner of his mouth quirks up in a smirk that quickly becomes a broad grin as he reaches over to smack your thigh, laughing he’ll make a country girl of you yet. startled out of your daze, you vehemently deny you weren’t enjoying the song, he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. he insists he knows the best places to stop, which means you always end up driving far off the highway to some little mom and pop diner that has killer apple pie for lunch. in the evenings you always end up in some honky-tonk bar that’s joined to a motel and yes, there’s line dancing, and yes he manages to twist your arm and convince you to join in. 

ezra…..as a man who’s floated from planet to planet, following jobs and leads, for the better part of his life, he’s found himself smooth-talking his way into being a lot of people’s unexpected travel companion out of necessity over the years. road trip ezra is on the run from someone or something; maybe the law, maybe not. all you know is this beautiful, mysterious stranger you met under dubious circumstances somehow, with his roguish grin and drawling accent, his kind eyes and eloquence, convinced you to let him ride along with you. you ran into him in the grungy diner attached to an even grungier motel in some desolate nowhere town. you recognized him; he’s unmistakably the lone figure on the side of the dusty road, his thumb stuck out, that you drove past yesterday. you’d driven past but that blonde streak had been unmissable and you won’t admit it but you’d felt his gaze on you long after you’d left him in the dust. ezra’s endless chatter on the road isn’t unwelcome; he knows seemingly innumerable facts about local folklore, flora, and fauna, and he never seems to be depleted of stories. you’d made the conscious and contrary decision to make this cross-country road trip alone, rebelling against a lot of cautionary advice, but somewhere along the way loneliness had creeped in under your skin and settled there. this handsome stranger may have an edge of danger to him but later when he’s bringing you to heights of ecstasy in a motel room you won’t give a damn.

maxwell lord flies everywhere in a private jet. the worst.

din djarin’s entire life is basically one long never-ending road trip. but in space. i figure earth-bound din on a conventional road trip would basically be how we see him: no nonsense. no frivolities. no music; travels in total silence. gets where he needs to go. stops for soup, as needed. stops for repairs, as needed. stops to work an odd job with some really sketchy people for some gas money, as needed. din’s road trip energy would be like that john mulaney joke. you’d see the mcdonalds sign lit up and shining in the distance and plead for him to stop so he’d pull into the drive-thru, order one black coffee and keep driving. except if you’ve got the baby with you; he gets a chicken nugget happy meal for the kid. he’s a good papa! and of course you’d get whatever you wanted too, he provides and cares for his loved ones after all.

SEND ME ANY QUESTIONS/HC PROMPTS/REQUESTS YOU HAVE

[sareyen]

It’s hard to see in the dark (Cherik)

Read on ao3

Warning: implied/referenced suicide, major character death

The aftermath of ‘Turn off the light’: Charles is dead and takes his light with him. Everyone stumbles around in the dark he leaves behind, and as they do, they come to realise that they did far too little, far too late.

Sometimes, Erik wished there were words in the English language that could wholly capture a concept, a feeling, a state of being. In German, there were some words that did that, some of which he had never grasped the value of until he met someone that was all of them and more.

Ohrwurm; for a melody that won’t leave your mind, though for Erik, that melody did not come in the form of songs on records lazily spinning around in the lounge, nor the tinkle of piano keys from the drawing room at Westchester. No, for Erik, Ohrwurm was a laugh, a voice, a curl of British consonants and soft vowels. A voice that rang in the recesses of Erik’s mind, a song that made his breath hasten and his heart squeeze.

Gemütlichkeit; a word that captured the overall feeling of warmth, friendliness, cheer, and many, many other things. Peace of mind, cosiness, a sense of belonging. There were lots of English words, but not even all of them together could really describe Gemütlichkeit. So, it was funny how Gemütlichkeit suddenly sounded a lot like Charles, because when Erik sat in the glow of the fire, the soft upholstery of luxurious furniture under his fingers and with Charles peering up at him through the swirl of a glass of scotch with a smile on his red lips, there was only warmth and friendliness and cheer and peace and belonging and more, more, more.

And Weltschmerz; a word that Erik only understood because it was something that made Charles sigh every now and then. Though there wasn’t a word in English that was quite the same, ‘world weariness’ was somewhat close, and no one felt the pain of the world more than Charles, because no one believed in it more. Erik always felt something stir up inside of him, a messy concoction of feelings unfamiliar to the man who professed to be without a human heart, when Charles would see anti-mutant propaganda in the papers or on the television. His stomach would flip when Charles’s blue eyes would harden, the shorter man striding towards the underground chamber and to Cerebro to find others like them so they could, maybe, understand what Gemütlichkeit meant too.

Or Geborgenheit, which was similar to Gemütlichkeit. This was something that enveloped Erik every day, in everything Charles did. With Erik’s youth, there were very few instances where he felt what made up Geborgenheit; comfort, security, love. But he felt it every morning when he would wake to Charles’s fingers softly carding through his auburn locks and the light chuckle that left his lips before he murmured “Ah, sorry, my friend – did I wake you?”. Erik would grumble, lithe arms wrapping around his lover’s waist to bury his face in the slope of the man’s neck, feeling warm and safe and cherished.

Maybe he should have realised something, recognised that something wasn’t quite right about the fact that Charles always went to bed after him and yet rose from slumber before Erik could shake off his dreams. He pushed the apprehension aside, though, because Erik was no stranger to insomnia or the elusive nature of sleep. Sometimes, when Erik struggled to sleep himself and woke in the night, his senses would pick up on the warmth pressing against the slopes of the metal desk lamp and the rhythmic movements of Charles’s familiar watch; reading, as always.

Those nights, Erik would give Charles’s watch a sleepy tug, the man jumping slightly. Charles would turn his head, handsome features half-illuminated by the lamplight, and give Erik an almost sheepish smile, like he had been caught.

He had been caught, but Erik hadn’t known that yet. He hadn’t known what he had caught.

“I’m sorry, I got lost in the book,” Charles would murmur, closing his tome with a light thump and padding over to the bed, crawling under the covers and pressing himself against Erik’s skin, nose nuzzling the German’s chest. “Go back to sleep, Erik.”

Last night was similar to one of those nights, and Erik thought nothing of it. Charles was wearing his silk pyjamas, the ones that felt nice when pressed up against Erik’s skin, and from the slightly rigid set of his limbs Erik knew he wasn’t ready to sleep just yet. There was a hum beneath his skin, one that was vastly different to the relaxed, lethargic haze washing over Erik. Charles probably had a book he was invested in, that he couldn’t put down. That was also like Charles, really; stubborn, unrelenting in his beliefs. Determined.

If there was something he wanted to see through, he would not stop until the end.

So, when Charles pressed his lips against Erik’s, the metallokinetic didn’t dwell on it too much, even if it felt a little different. Instead of a goodnight it felt more like a goodbye, but then Charles smiled, brushed his fingers across Erik’s forehead to push some wayward strands from the wrinkles beginning to form there, and Erik just thought of Geborgenheit and Gemütlichkeit and nothing else.

There was another feeling simmering there, though, and it made Erik toss and turn in his sleep. It was early in the morning that Erik fully stepped out from the unsteady grips of unconsciousness, that feeling settled uncomfortably in the base of his stomach.

Blinking heavily, Erik’s eyes did not have to adjust to the morning light, the heavy curtains blotting out any semblance of the warm rays. Odd, because usually when Erik awoke, the curtains were open a slither, enough to draw lines of gold over Charles’s freckles as he woke Erik up with gentle fingers in his hair.

Erik frowned, turning to Charles’s side of the bed and finding it empty, the sheets crinkled but not slept in. The edges of the plush bedding were still tucked into Charles’s corner, only slightly dishevelled from the heaving of Erik’s body as he turned onto his side, hand splayed over the cold sheets.

There was an English word for the feeling Erik had now, Erik knew. Foreboding. That sense of unease the stemmed from nothing concrete, nothing tangible. Just an added sense of there’s something wrong and something is about to happen, and that something was never a good thing.

Erik was pulling himself up when a gut-wrenching scream tore itself through the halls of Westchester. The estate was large, and the scream was a torrent; glass windows rattled, beams creaked, and Sean’s mutant cry snapped Erik completely awake.

It did not take long for Erik to throw the covers off himself and pull on a grey jumper, rushing out the door and down the hall to the source of the noise.

‘Charles? What happened?’ Erik projected in his mind, finding it more convenient to call out for the man who was likely already rushing towards Sean with the goal of soothing the sheer panic found in the boy’s voice.

Erik’s mental question was met with still silence, and Erik felt that feeling again. Foreboding.

Erik didn’t know why, but he began walking faster and faster down the halls, and things only seemed to become quieter and quieter. Erik thrust out his powers, raking over the metal inside the mansion; he felt the aged planes of old candelabras and slightly rusted faucets. He felt Hank’s wire-frame glasses warming as they slipped over fur, and he felt the shaking of the frostbitten zippers of Sean’s flight uniform.

Latching onto the location of that metal, Erik’s footsteps thumped on wood as he walked downstairs, drawing closer to Sean. When he walked out the back door of Westchester towards the gardens, his teeth bit together as he was slapped with a gust of frosty morning air, the dew on the grass iced over and winter wind biting.

The first thing he saw as he walked along the grey and naked rose bushes, pruned for the winter and devoid of their usual vibrant redness – redness like Charles’s lips, Erik’s mind supplied with a tinge of wry acceptance – was Sean folded over and dry-retching into the bushes. The boy shook like the leaves that blew across the stone pathways meandering across the ground.

When Erik neared, he could hear Sean’s wretched gagging punctuated with heaving sobs, and saw that the boy had tears dribbling down his face which was as white as a sheet.

Erik hadn’t had the foresight to wear shoes, and his toes blistered in the cold but he kept walking on. Sean must have felt him approach, because when Erik neared, the boy looked at him with unabashed despair written over his face.

For a boy whose power was in his voice, Erik couldn’t make out the words pouring out of his mouth, because they sounded a lot like “Oh God, Erik, he’s dead. He’s dead. The Professor… He… Oh God, he’s dead”.

From behind him, Erik could feel the others catching up. Raven flanked Hank’s hulking form, Alex, Darwin and Angel following behind them, but Erik paid no heed to them, clamping his hands down on Sean’s shoulders and shaking the boy. His fingers dug into Sean’s shoulders firmly, because he needed to understand, because Sean was speaking nonsense and he couldn’t be speaking English because what he said just didn’t make any sense.

“What happened?” Erik asked, voice rough after having just woken up and tight from the cold. Sean struggled to breathe, mouth moving again in words that made no sense. Raven gasped behind him, and Erik caught something about “Behind the bushes… God… His body… Blood… So much blood… His head… His legs… He… Dead”.

Dead.

Erik shoved past Sean, bare feet sliding across the frosted stone path and around the bushes, before his body froze.

Erik has witnessed death before. He had been in the room when his mother died, he had killed men before, he had seen Shaw’s body slump to the ground as a crimson coin hovered in the air. Erik remembered the sound his mother’s body made, a strangely hollow thump that was no different than someone dropping a sack of potatoes onto wooden floorboards. And he remembered what his mother looked like, lying there on the ground with blood pooling from the bullet in her brain. She had looked peaceful, face slack and eyes closed, and if it weren’t for the oozing circle on her temple she would have passed as someone in a deep slumber.

This was not like that. Because the sound that this body looked like it made when it hit the ground wasn’t a hollow thump but a deafening crunch, and the body looked like a corpse and not someone wandering the lands of dreams.

Erik’s heart stopped beating for what felt like an eternity as he stared, and once again he couldn’t understand. Because that body looked like Charles, but it couldn’t be Charles because Charles wouldn’t be lying on the ground in those silk pyjamas that felt nice on Erik’s bare skin, silk pyjamas that looked crisp with ice that clung in beads to the fabric.

But that was Charles, his brown hair gently blowing in the wind and covered in dew like the grass.

Charles, eyes closed and mouth slightly parted, lips blue and grey and mimicking the clipped rose bushes that weren’t flush with red any more.

Charles, still and prone, legs bent in ways they shouldn’t and a halo of red frozen around him.

Sean’s words made sense now, and yet they didn’t, because Charles couldn’t be dead. Not Charles.

Erik thinks he made a sound, because his throat started to burn and his lungs sear in the biting frost. His weight fell to his knees, and then onto his palms, which chafed against the stone. Erik didn’t register what his body was doing, because he was reaching for Charles with frantic hands, fingers pressing against Charles’s upturned back, his neck, his face, his head. His hair felt sticky, and his skull dipped in places it shouldn’t, and Erik made another sound that rocked through his entire body.

“Charles, Charles, what are you doing out here?” Erik pushed, hands shaking as he rolled Charles onto his back, the man pliant. His skin was ice cold, and red had turned to brown and black where it had stilled and pooled under his skin. Erik could feel the congregation of iron that didn’t move in a lump under Charles’s flesh and whimpered.

“No,” Raven said from behind him, voice near-silent.

“Charles,” Erik said again, tugging at the man’s shoulders, hauling him onto his lap. Charles’s head lolled back, and Erik’s throat let out a choked noise as he cradled the telepath’s head in the curve of his elbow, other hand brushing across his cheek, across the bridge of his nose, carding through his hair like Charles always did to him to wake him up in the morning. And yet, Charles’s eyes didn’t open to reveal that familiar blue, just as the sky that hung above him was grey and obscured by clouds.

“Charles?” Erik whispered, leaning in close, like he expected Charles’s parted lips to puff out a breath of warm air, but they didn’t. Erik rocked Charles back and forth in his arms, hunching over as he felt his eyes sting. Erik’s forehead dropped down against Charles’s own as he cradled the man’s face.

‘Charles… Charles… Liebling, you can hear me, can’t you?’ Erik pushed in his mind, his words a firm press. When they were met with silence, Erik’s mental voice rose and swirled, panic overriding the control he had built over the years, his soul unravelling.

‘Charles! Charles, read my mind, listen to me. Please. Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, don’t do this to me. Charles!’

Maybe Erik had been screaming the words out loud too, because he felt a trembling hand grip his shoulder.

“Erik… Erik, the Professor, he’s…” Hank said, voice clogged like he had a throat full of fur as well.

Dead.

For all Erik knew, a telepath could have shoved the word into everyone’s mind, because that’s the word that everyone thought as Hank’s voice drifted off.

“No,” Erik forced out, shaking his head. “No, don’t tell me that Charles is…” Dead. “He can’t… He wouldn’t just…”

Leave.

‘You’re not alone, Erik. You’re not alone,’ Charles had said into Erik’s mind that first night. Even as they rolled amongst the vast and endless waves of the pitch-black ocean, Erik had not felt adrift, because Charles anchored him and kept him afloat.

But now…

Yes, there was a German word for now.

Mutterseelenallein; the English word ‘alone’ was not the same as Mutterseelenallein. Because Mutterseelenallein was more than just the feeling of being alone – it was alone and it was more, it was a world with you surrounded by nothing.

It was the feeling of being without Charles, because without him, Erik was beyond alone.

***

The mansion was in shambles; furniture toppled over, papers scattered across the ground, metal torn from walls and twisted into grotesque shapes that mirrored the turmoil inside Erik’s soul. The mansion was a mess, but it was better that Erik unleash his anguish on objects without souls than the others, though Alex had copped a fist to the face when he had tried to help Hank pry Erik off Charles’s… body.

The thought made Erik’s eyes burn again, and his nails dug into the skin of his palm as he clenched his fists together. Metal groaned in pain around him, crying out in a way that Erik couldn’t bring himself to.

Charles’s mangled body was lying in Hank’s lab on a slab of metal, the only metal in the mansion that had yet to be twisted into obscure lumps. Every time Erik ran his powers across the metal slab, he couldn’t pick up on the way body heat usually seeped into it. He couldn’t feel the metal grow warm, like the way the inside surface of Charles’s watch was warm against the pulse at his wrist. No, the table was cold, as cold as the body lying atop it.

Hank, Alex and Darwin had forced everyone out of the lab while the furred man examined Charles. They said examined, now, because the first time Hank had said autopsy, he had almost been impaled by the spindles of a coatrack.

Sean had been too nauseous to go into the lab, and Erik too volatile. Angel was soothing Raven, who was in some sort of catatonic state. While Erik raged, Raven had shut down. She had fainted, first, the moment Hank and Alex managed to wrench Erik away from Charles’s body and allowing her to see it unobscured for the first time, and she had made the same sound Erik’s Mama had when she dropped to the ground.

Now, hours later, she had awoken, but moved around like she was still half in dream. She hoped she was. She hoped, desperately, that this was just a nightmare, a bad dream. She hoped that she would wake up in her bed, soaked in sweat and tears in her eyes, and run into Charles’s room like she had when they were children and jump into his bed. Like back then, she would crawl under his blankets and press herself to his side like a cat, Charles murmuring “There, there. It’s alright now. It was only a bad dream”.

But this wasn’t a dream, so Raven couldn’t wake up, and Charles wouldn’t be waiting for her in his bed and silk pyjamas and be there to pat her head and tell her that everything was going to be alright. He couldn’t, because he was lying on a metal slab as Hank cut him open and pushed and prodded at his organs to figure out how he died, even though everyone knew the how. Hank, in his own way, was in denial and had to seek out the truth through science.

When Hank entered the room, Raven immediately jumped up, rushing to him.

“Hank?” she asked, voice raw, and the man swallowed thickly. His eyes were red behind his glasses, and the fur beneath them was pressed flat and damp.

Hank seemed to be at a loss for words for a moment, trying to walk through the jumble of his emotions that obscured the facts. When emotions failed, Hank fell back onto the clinical; fractured skull, lumbar vertebrae, legs, arms, ribs. Those shattered ribs splintered into his lungs and his heart. Liver, kidney and spleen lacerations.

“But… It was the head injury that… you know,” Hank said, as if his words should be a relief. “It… It was fast. He… wouldn’t have felt pain, not like if he had survived long enough for multiple organ failure or a pneumothorax or-”

“But how, Hank?” Angel asked, glancing at Raven, who had collapsed back onto the couch beside her. Angel wrapped her arm around Raven’s shaking shoulders, rubbing her hand up and down the girl’s bicep as she began to sob, showing more movement than she had for the past four hours. “Did… Was it an attack? Another mutant? Someone… Someone who worked with Shaw, who could sneak in and…”

Hank shook his head.

“No. The autop- examination revealed that there was no foul play. That the Professor…”

“No,” Erik said flatly, anger and despair simmering on his tongue. “Charles wouldn’t… Why would he… There’s no reason for him to…”

Everyone looked at each other, hearts shattered like Charles’s bones, as they all asked themselves –

Why?

***

They held the funeral exactly one week later, in the backyard under the cover of rain. Raven had spent a day in Charles’s room going through his large wardrobe, pushing through the hangers of geriatric cardigans, pressed slacks and knitwear, trying to hold back her tears so they didn’t soil her brother’s clothes.

Oh, how she had teased him for his wardrobe before, threatening to burn each and every one of his tweed coats with fraying elbow patches and those silly fingerless knit gloves. Now, though, she waded through them carefully, scaled skin brushing across soft cashmere that still had the cling of Charles’s smell on them – like fabric softener mixed with old books and sunlight, and maybe a little bit like tea.

Raven pulled out one of Charles’s dapper suits, the one he wore to the ceremony after he got his first PhD. Raven remembered that day. Charles, beaming that smile of his that could light up any room, hair swept back and yet still flopping over his eyes whenever he doubled over in an all-encompassing laugh. His cheeks had been flushed by elation and drink, and he had been beautiful.

When they had dressed his body on that metal slab in the lab, pulling cold and compliant arms through ironed arm holes and rolling his body to pull on the black dress trousers, Raven had to excuse herself from the room because it was too much. Because that was her brother lying there, dressed like how she remembered him, but the makeup Angel had painted on his face was only a mask that made him look like a ghost pretending to be alive.

As Darwin read through his eulogy, saying something eloquent and collectedly impassioned, Raven’s mind drifted off. For the past week, she had wondered why, over and over, the single question unrelenting.

She and Erik had scoured the mansion for a letter, for an explanation, for something, but Charles had left none. They pawed through the margins of his books, the papers on his desk, everything, and yet they found nothing. Charles, who always had to have the last word, hadn’t left a single thing behind.

Nothing was amiss or out of place, and it was a constant sore reminder of the man that was now being lowered beneath the Westchester lawn beside a small metal monument. The monument featured Charles’s face sculpted in a wreath in the centre, lines and slopes formed by Erik’s hands and Erik’s powers, the depiction of Charles’s face startlingly accurate. Erik’s fingers had recreated the exaggerated curve of his nose, his full cheeks, his bow lips. Lips that Raven was sure Erik had memorised the feel of.

Erik, who had been so close to him, but had been just as shell-shocked – if not more – than anyone else standing in the rain around a headstone made of metal.

As Raven watched her brother’s body sinking lower and lower, Erik’s hands shaking as he used his powers to grip onto the metal handles of the casket to gentle place his lover to rest, Raven just kept staring at her brother’s sculpted face and asked –

Why?

***

Weeks passed, and then months, but by then Erik had stopped counting. His days bled into each other, his life now categorised into a painful stretch of time labelled ‘before Charles’ and the numb agony of ‘after Charles’.

Erik did find a word for ‘after Charles’, though.

Sehnsucht. The English words ‘yearning’ and ‘longing’ could not hold a candle to Sehnsucht. Erik’s thoughts were consumed by Charles, even more than when the man was alive.

When people say that you see the light when you meet death, they should really say that when you die you take the light with you. Because Charles was dead, and suddenly everything was dark, and yet some things were made clear. In the darkness, the people left behind realise what it really means when they say to not take anything for granted.

Erik had realised that all too late. He had tried for so long to not feel for any one, to not grow any attachments because he learnt, long ago, that when you care for someone you gave them some kind of power over you. By loving someone they could hurt you when they were taken away.

But Charles. God, Charles. Charles, who was so alive and vibrant and just a beacon of everything that was bright had seemed impervious to everything. He seemed infallible, and that had infuriated Erik, deep down. Charles, who had appeared so arrogant and self-assured, whose smirk always held the air of ‘I know I’m right, my friend, there’s no use arguing’. Who walked around the world a step above the rest because he knew everything that went on in their heads, and…

The emptiness in Erik’s head was stifling. Quiet, far too quiet. Every morning when Erik woke from a fitful sleep in Charles’s bed – which no longer smelled like him – he was enough in dream to momentarily expect to feel the warm curl of Charles’s mind lapping against his, to hear a silent ‘Good morning, love’ or ‘Sorry, did my thoughts wake you again, darling’, and Erik would grumble back a “You’re too loud, Charles”.

But then, Erik would open his eyes, and instead of seeing a pair of blue ones gazing back at him he only saw an empty expanse of bedding and a pillow still fluffy and smooth from disuse.

It was well into spring now, and the garden was awash with colour, but Erik barely noticed it as he walked around aimlessly. Erik often did that, these days; when the memories sitting in Charles’s bedroom overwhelmed him, he would go outside to try and clear his head. He’d walk along the paved path, around the side of the mansion, and each time he would get closer to that spot. The spot stained with a halo of red, red that he had overheard Sean whispering to Alex about, saying that “It’s all gone now, after we scrubbed it away, but I don’t know, man – I still can’t walk down that way without…”

Erik had turned the corner quickly, not wanting to hear the rest, because Charles had been washed away just like that, with bleach and rain and mud.  

As he walked through the garden, Erik flicked his wrist, Charles’s wristwatch floating out from his pocket. Erik held it in his palm, powers running over its grooves and indentations, over its arms that had stopped ticking the moment its owner stopped breathing. Erik could feel the stagnant metal, the scratches on the underside, the engraved ‘Happy birthday, son’ sharp on his senses. He couldn’t feel how the glass watch face was cracked with his powers, and instead ran the pad of his thumb over it, memorising its feel.

Erik stopped walking when he reached the lawn, the metal gravestone warm under the sun. Erik’s heart twisted as he neared it like he did every day, and he stretched forward to gently wipe away some of the grime that had been blown across it overnight.

And, like always, Erik kneeled in front of it and pressed his forehead against its surface, murmuring –

Why, Charles?

***

It wasn’t completely true to say that Charles left nothing behind, because he did. Memories, feelings, and a long list of readings from his last dance with Cerebro. They had only just discovered it, the thick paper studded with black ink sitting on the bench behind the large powered-down machine.

They probably would have found it sooner, if any of them had the heart to go in there, to a place that had Charles written all over it. Cerebro had become a relic over the past months, and like Charles’s watch, had become stagnant without its owner to keep it alive.

The last list of readings – latitudes and longitudes stamped in ink – had been folded into a binder, annotations in black pen scribbled along the margins. Annotations in Charles’s distinct hand, regal and smooth, swooping letters somehow conveying intelligence and innovation, but also understated elegance and a noble upbringing.

Alongside the locations of the young mutants Charles had been searching for were notes on their powers, or important facts of note. Katherine Pryde – intangibility. Ororo Munroe – atmokinesis. Scott Summers – Alex’s brother! Similar powers, how marvellous. Anna Marie – power absorption? Jean Grey – telepath and telekinesis, very powerful but she’s terrified about what she can do I understand.

And that was it. No scribbled note or instructions, just a list of people, of children, and yet it was a list that somehow brought a flicker of life back to the mansion. Because even if Charles hadn’t written down explicit instructions, they all knew what he wanted. What he had dreamed about.

A school, a safe haven for mutants. A place like Genosha, but for all the young mutants who didn’t quite know their place in the world. A school where they could learn to embrace their gifts, and to be around people just like them.

Charles left them this list, his final one, to find them. To build this school, one that he would never see come to fruition.

Why, Charles? What would make you do this to yourself, when you had wanted to achieve so much?

Why?

That question still haunted Erik in his waking days and in his dreams, but as he clutched the list of names, he felt that maybe, somewhere in there, there could be an answer.

He was right, and amongst those names was an answer.

But that doesn’t mean that it was a nice one.

***

“I know you,” the young red-haired girl said, large eyes staring unblinkingly at Erik and Raven as they stood in front of her. She looked at Raven first, tilting her head to the side. “Why are you not blue? When I saw his mind, you were blue. He liked you when you were blue, it made him feel… proud.”

Raven’s mouth dropped open, her pink skin flickering to blue for a brief moment in shock as the girl – Jean, as Charles’s list had told them – stared at her unflinchingly.

“I… who?” Raven stammered out as her image rippled, before settling into her natural blue scales and red hair. Jean blinking slowly, head tilting to the other side as she stared into Raven’s yellow irises.

“The man that spoke to me in my mind a long time ago. He has some of the same powers as me, but he was much better at it. He told me that you,” Jean said, pointing to Raven in her blue form, before turning her gaze to Erik and continuing, “and you would come find me. He said it may be someone else though, like the tall man that looks like a blue teddy bear, or the pretty lady with the wings. But he said it would probably be you two.”

“Charles,” Erik whispered, Jean nodding. Erik suddenly felt like there was a boulder in his throat, but he managed to speak around it. “You said he… spoke to you. When did he…”

“It was in winter,” the girl said, looking into the distance a little wistfully, small smile on her youthful face. “He was very nice. I was scared, and he told me that it would be alright. That he was scared too, and that it was okay to be scared. He told me that I could use my fear to learn how to control my powers better, so I don’t have to be scared of hurting anyone. I wanted to meet him, because he was really nice, and he understood, but he said that he had to go somewhere far away.”

Raven’s face fell and Erik clenched his jaw, Jean flinching as a hand flew to her temple.

“You’re… You’re angry, and sad, and… and… It… It hurts,” Jean stammered, one hand clutching at the fabric of her dress that rested over her heart, her eyes wide as they began to glaze over. Her pupils flickered wildly, mouth moving rapidly as she took a step back, shaking. “You’re too loud! I-It hurts, you hurt, I hurt, and… oh… Oh… and he hurts. He hurts a lot, so much, because he’s scared and alone and…”

Erik and Raven winced as the girl, with so little control of her powers, sent a wave of psionic energy at the two of them. The both of them fell to their knees with their hands over their ears, clamping over them like it would stop the ringing rattling through their brains.

“Stop it,” Erik gasped out in pain as the pressure in his head flared, and he could feel the young telepath’s mental fingers poking around his mind. Her touch was clumsy, uncontrolled, like she didn’t know what she was looking for as she rifled through the mess of memories and feelings, stirring them up and bringing them to the forefront of Erik and Raven’s minds.

Images of Charles flashed by, the girl somehow latching on to every memory involving him. She saw everything; the frost, the blood, the metal slab, the chess games, the laughter, the nights stargazing as they trekked across the country, the beach, the shared glances, the gentle brush of fingers.

Erik let out a pained noise as she dragged forth everything his mind had to offer about Charles, the pain anew, and Erik gathered all of his thoughts to push the girl from his head. Steel walls climbed up and up and up, reinforced with iron bolts and pointed barbs.

‘Get out of my head.’

“Oh,” the girl wailed, slowly lowering herself onto the ground, arms around her torso as she hugged herself, eyes wide. “That’s why he hurt… That’s why his mind felt like that… And he still hurts. Alone… he’s so alone…”

The young telepath’s eyes then rolled back, her tiny and undeveloped mind overwhelmed, and she soon slumped forward with her head lowered. Raven and Erik gasped as the pressure on their minds receded, the two of them looking at each other with heavy gazes.

Why?

***

It had been a month since Jean came to the school to live, and she had been skittish around Erik and Raven ever since. It wasn’t that Erik and Raven were avoiding her – if anything, it was the opposite. The girl knew something about Charles. He had clearly shown her something, or she could have plucked it from his mind as she had pulled their memories of him from theirs. And yet, whenever the girl saw them, her eyes would widen and she would scuttle off in the opposite direction.

“I get why the children run away from Erik, but Raven?” Alex said, raising a brow as the older mutants sat in the kitchen.

“It’s only Jean that runs away from Raven,” Angel pointed out, making the shapeshifter wince. “What the hell did you two do to her when you were recruiting?”

“We did nothing,” Erik said, narrowing his eyes as he vaguely gestured towards his head. “She did… things. She wasn’t like Charles – she clearly didn’t know what she was doing. But she said things about him. About Charles.”

“And we’ve been trying to talk to her about it ever since, but every time either of us get close to her she runs off!” Raven said, throwing her hands up as she munched on a strawberry. “She even… I think she even used her powers on me the other day. Cast an illusion so I didn’t see her, but it wasn’t perfect. Instead of erasing herself from my senses, she just made it fuzzy and it was unnatural. If it were Charles…”

“Anyway,” Erik said, cutting off that train of thought with a gruff grunt. “She knows something about Charles, about why he…”

“Well of course she does, Sugar. Unlike you lot, she knows how to listen.”

Erik leapt up at the sound of that familiar voice, the kitchen drawers all rattling open as the knives flew out from their homes to hover in the air around the approaching figure that had appeared in the archway of the kitchen. Hank leapt up as well, snarling, while everyone else faced the newcomer with narrowed eyes, muscles taut and ready to fight.

“Oh, do calm yourselves,” Emma Frost drawled, waving her hands warily at the knives that inched closer to her tight white suit. “Contrary to what you’re all thinking – except you, Angel, dear – I’m not here to harm. And no, Erik, I’m not here to ‘avenge’ Sebastian or all that other nonsense you’re thinking about. I’m here because I heard a whisper about your pet telepath being very much buried beneath the ground and was, well, curious. Because I hear things from up there sometimes, and even though we were certainly not friends, I can understand him. Quite. I didn’t think that he would… he was strong, stronger than me. But I suppose it was that soft heart of his… And it was all too much in the end, I suppose…”

“Frost…” Erik said warningly, knives jerking forward, Emma flickering into diamond for a brief moment before relaxing back to her normal guise.

“Sugar, I really do come in peace. This little lady can attest to that, can’t you, dear?”

Emma’s eyes turned away from Erik for a moment, looking behind him. Jean stood there wearing her nightgown, a teddy bear held tightly in her arms as she looked at Emma, tentative but not wary. There was something silent being said between them, that everyone was sure of.

“Jean?” Raven asked, the red head looking at her and nodding slowly.

“Mm. Ms Fr- Emma,” Jean said, looking back at Emma, who smiled a little. “Emma said that… That she just wants us to understand. We… We both want you to understand, because we understand.”

“Dear, the first thing you should learn is to not talk in riddles. People detest us and our powers already, they only get more annoyed if we try to be cryptic about it all,” Emma said, Jean’s cheeks colouring.

“Why would you want to help us?” Erik asked, Emma letting out a heavy sigh, reaching forward with her index finger to nudge at one of the hovering knives, giving Erik a flat look. The metallokinetic gritted his teeth, but let the knives fall onto the dining table.

“Oh, I’m not helping you. I’m helping him. Because, even if he wasn’t going to be angry about it, I will, because I’ve experienced it. Unlike him, I don’t care what you think. I don’t care if I make you uncomfortable. I had enough of that with Shaw, with that ridiculous helmet. Because if he just trusted me I would have done anything for hi-” Emma cut herself off with a harsh click of her tongue.

“You think you are different – from Shaw, from the humans. But you’re not,” Emma said, after calming herself, Jean slowly walking towards her. When she neared, Jean carefully reached up to hold onto the hem of Emma’s top, the icy woman looking down and patting her head – a little awkwardly, the gesture clunky for someone unaccustomed to doling out affection. Still, Jean relaxed a bit, looking more at home than she had for the past month that she had been living at the mansion for.

“And who’s being cryptic now? Cut to the chase,” Erik snapped, Emma smiling emptily.

“Well, we’re telepaths, Sugar. It’s easier for us to show you. We’ve felt how he felt, and maybe if you do too, you’ll understand why he did it.”

Erik opened his mouth, and before he could say the words in his mind, Emma let out a biting laugh.

“Stay out of my head?” Emma echoed, drawing the words from Erik’s mind, Jean wincing. “You see, that line worked on your pet telepath, and maybe a little too well. But I am not so principled. Maybe that’s why I’m still here, and he’s up there.”

“Stop this nonse-”

“Jean, Sugar. Let me help you. This is how you show them,” Emma said, gently touching the back of Jean’s head, the girl’s eyes closing as the teddy bear dropped from her hands, which rose in front of her.

And then, through Charles’s eyes, everyone saw why.

***

Charles stood in the middle of the packed room, the bow tie around his neck wound too tight and the starch in his shirt like a vice. He was short, short for the nine-year-old boy that he was, and he stood stiffly between his mother and father as they greeted their guests.

Charles had been nursing a headache all morning, and he was a little woozy from all of the painkillers his mother had plied him with, because no matter what he had to show up to the Xavier Foundation’s gala. It would be terribly rude if the Xaviers’ only son played hooky, when all of their guests would be bringing their own children. And, if Sharon was going to show everyone who held all the cards, Charles had to be on his best behaviour and show everyone exactly what a Xavier son was all about.

But the painkillers hadn’t helped with the buzzing in Charles’s head, which had only gotten louder and louder as more people piled into Westchester.

Charles let out a gasp as his mind twinged.

‘… up straighter, stupid, quit slouching.’

The words were in his mother’s voice, but she was talking to the councilwoman with her painted lips right now, wasn’t she? Just as Charles thought this, he felt his mother pinch at the flesh at his back.

‘Goddammit, did I give him too much? I gave him less than the adult dose, but…’

Charles swayed on his feet slightly, but not because of the drugs. His head felt like it was splitting, the buzzing turning into a muttered chorus of noise.

‘… Charles looks so ill. I told Sharon that we should let him rest. I’ll finish greeting the guests, and before my address I’ll tuck Charles into bed...’

Charles heard his father’s voice, leaning into its comforting timbre. Charles felt a spike of alarm, his father’s hand suddenly coming to rest at his back as Charles swayed.

‘… was that…?’

Charles bit back a pained moan as his head pulsed again.

‘… have to talk to Brian Xavier…’

‘Funding…’

‘No one’s looking, maybe I can nick that statuette now…’

‘God, she looks fat in that dress.’ ‘She’s skinny like a Jew fresh out of…’ ‘Oh dear Lord, he actually dared to bring his mistress to this?’

The voices picked up, more and more tumbling over one another, each wave barely breaking before the next washed over Charles who gasped for breath and drowned.

‘Oh, Xavier’s boy is an adorable lad, isn’t he? Looks like his mother, not much like his father. So that’s Sharon’s kid? Hmph, doesn’t look like much. Won’t fill his father’s shoes, eh? Once his father dies, he’ll inherit everything. Lucky bastard. John is the same age as that Xavier kid. Maybe I should push them to become friends. Friends in high places will get my son anywhere. Fuck, Sharon still looks as fit as she did in school. Damn. Good God, Brian’s boy looks white as a sheet. Why is he looking at me like that? Weird kid. God, watch where you’re going, you little shit. I would wring your neck, but that would get me out of Brian’s good graces and I need his sponsorship. Once Brian is out of the picture, everything will be mine for the taking, and then Cain… Jesus, that Xavier kid looks like he’s about to spew. Crazy kid. Weird. Something’s wrong with him. Is he sick? Maybe he really is a freak.’

Charles gasped, stepping out from his father’s concerned embrace and racing up the stairs, past the crowds and mental gazes and hurtling into his bedroom. He whimpered with his hands over his ears as he slowly sunk to the ground and crawled under his bed, breaths laboured.

I’mnocrazyI’mnotcrazyI’mnotcrazy.

Getoutgetoutgetout.

***

Charles looked up at his mother, who returned his gaze with a look of pure horror and terror and a plethora of other things.

‘Oh God, he’s no listening to me right now, is he?’

Charles kept his mouth shut, giving his mother a false smile, as if he didn’t hear her.

“Mother, can we eat at that restaurant with the dessert that they light on fire tonight?” Charles asked innocently, his mother’s painted mouth twisting up into a stiff grin.

“Of course, dear. I’ll get one of the staff to ring the restaurant.”

‘Maybe he didn’t hear. Maybe he doesn’t know that…’

“Father won’t be coming, will he?” Charles said, Sharon’s face faltering.

‘Oh God, how do I tell him?’

“Oh, it’s alright, Mother. I already know. And I know that you’re sad, and I’m sad too. Which is why we should eat at that restaurant, because it makes you happy,” Charles said quietly, shuffling forward and placing his hand over his mother’s own, which froze.

‘Oh God, how could he know? He must be reading my mind now, he must. Oh God, don’t read my mind, don’t, don’t, don’t!’

Sharon pulled her hand out from under her son’s smaller one like he burned her, getting up from her chair and picking up her glass of wine with her, smoothing her dress as if she could flatten her fraying nerves.

“How thoughtful of you, Charles. But maybe… maybe not tonight. I’m very… tired.”

‘You’re not,’ Charles thought to himself as he looked at his mother, who looked everywhere but at him.

You’re just scared of me.

***

“Charles, can you just, you know, stay out for once?” Raven huffed, rolling her eyes. Charles flinched, but the movement was so minute it was barely noticeable.

“Raven, it’s not that easy to just-” Turn it off.

“Or you’re just lazy,” Raven countered, rolling her yellow eyes. “Charles, I get that when we were kids for you to stay in my head all the time, but you can shield better now and I need my privacy! I’m 16, for Christ’s sake!”

“I’m trying, Raven, but I can’t just turn it off! It takes a lot of concentration to shut people out, and it’s really hard when there are lots of people and you think loudly and it’s feels better for me to just focus on one mind and you’re the only one I-”

“But you can’t just be in my head all the time, Charles! It’s my mind! My thoughts! Just because you can read them doesn’t mean that you can do it any time you want!”

“I know that, Raven, but I told you it’s hard to-”

“You promised me you wouldn’t read my mind without my permission!”

“And I kept that promise, but sometimes I slip!”

“Oh, right,” Raven said, scoffing a little. “You just ‘slipped’ and found out that Robbie kissed me the other day while I was pretending to be Cecilia and gave me shit for it? Suuuure.”

“That was… an accident. I wasn’t… I wasn’t searching for that, but you were thinking really loudly about how his lips felt and-”

“Oh, gross! Stay out of my head, Charles! I don’t want you to hear my thoughts!” Raven yelled, face scrunching up in disgust as Charles pulled his mind back, the swell of his powers naturally following his heightened agitation.

“Sorry! It’s… I… God, sorry, okay? I’ll stay out of your head, just… try to think less loudly. Please,” Charles sighed tiredly, Raven huffing.

“I don’t think loudly, you’re just too nosy for your own good, Charles.”

But you do think loudly, because your mind is so bright and special and you’re my sister and I want to be with you forever because you’re the only one that doesn’t think that I’m a freak. Because we’re the same.

We’re the same.

Even if you don’t think it, sometimes.

***

Charles watched through Shaw’s eyes as Erik’s hands slowly brought the helmet down over his head. The sharp cut of its opening made Erik look like a completely different person, not like the man that murmured sweet German words to the skin at the base of Charles’s neck, or the man that had draped his coat over Charles’s shoulders when he had dozed off in the passenger seat of the car.

Charles didn’t know who this was, because this person didn’t have a mind. He was just a void, a void that Charles loved but one that didn’t love him back, because he couldn’t stand the thought of Charles being in his head.

But Charles loved Erik’s mind. It made Charles feel safe, protected and warm, and… well, Charles didn’t have a word for it. At least, not in the English language. Maybe there was a word for it in other languages, but Charles had to settle for safe, protected and warm.

Charles didn’t want to do much more than to just curl up in a corner of that mind he so adored. He just wanted to lie there in front of the fireplace; he didn’t want to stoke the fire burning within it, or snuff it out. He just wanted to bask in its glow that thawed all of the chill from within Charles’s bones.

Still, Erik’s mind didn’t want him there. He had known it, in the subtle walls Erik had been building against him, in the way Erik’s mind would push back when he felt Charles taking up too much space. In the way the fireplace turned into an inferno and burned.

With the helmet, though, it just felt cold. Empty. And that was somehow worse, because Charles was sure that this was what Erik wanted. Because of the helmet, Charles knew that Erik didn’t want him, because to want Charles was to want his mind, because that was as much a part of him as his heart, his eyes, his mouth. It was written in his genes, and Charles knew how much Erik loved the powers of others; he was in awe over Raven’s abilities, proud of how Sean had learned to fly, impressed at the destructive power of Alex’s plasma blasts, and genuinely supportive of Hank’s new appearance.

And yet, Erik put on the helmet, because in the end, he didn’t accept Charles’s gift.

Charles thought that maybe, maybe, Erik would be like his own father. That, like Brian, he’d accept all of him, because even if not out of love, it was out of the goodness of his heart. Because Charles knew there was good there, even as much as Erik tried to deny it. Charles had felt it, had believed in it.

He’d still believe in it. Maybe it’ll just take more time.

Just a bit more.

Charles wouldn’t push him so much, Charles could stay out of his mind if he could. He just had to try harder.

And –

Oh God. The coin. Oh, no, Erik. Erik! No, no, oh, God, please stop. Please, please, please. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts! Oh God, too much, it’s too much! It hurts too much!

I just want it to end.

***

Charles placed down his cards, a smirk on his face as he chuckled, gathering the chocolates they were using as betting chips and popping one in his mouth.

“Four of a kind,” the telepath said smugly through a mouthful of sweetness, Raven groaning and throwing down her cards while Alex swore. Darwin just smiled, Angel rolled her eyes and Sean stared at his own cards, confused. Erik, on the other hand, just quirked a brow as he let his losing full house drop to the table by the paperclips that he used to hover them in front of his face.

“We should ban you from poker, Charles. Or just card games in general. You have an unfair advantage,” Erik teased, the chocolate on Charles’s tongue suddenly tasting bitter.

“Right?” Raven chimed, clapping her blue hands in agreement. “It’s been like this ever since we were kids! It’s unfair! He can just, you know, mind shazam us and win every time!” Raven gestured at her head and stuck her tongue out, Charles’s brow creasing.

“I’m not cheating. I’m not even trying to read your minds. I’m blocking everything out, I promise – it’s no fun if it’s that easy. I can’t help it if I get a general sense of disappointment or excitement coming through, but it’s not as if I read your mind to find out your cards. Erik has beaten me before,” Charles said, voice quiet, pushing the chocolates in front of him around with his fingers.

“Yeah, only because he’s the best at blocking you out,” Raven said, Erik snorting.

“And because he is expressionless normally, so his normal face is already a poker face,” Sean said, yelping as a paper clip collided with the centre of his forehead, likely leaving a little welt.

“I’m really not trying to read your minds,” Charles pushed again, but by that point Raven had shuffled the cards, dealing out the next hand. Charles looked at his cards – a useless lot – and felt Erik looking at him from the side.

“Don’t peek, Charles,” Erik said, Charles rolling his eyes and pushing down the sinking feeling in his stomach.

“I told you, I’m not. And, anyway, I’m done for tonight. I’m quite tired, so I’m going to take a bath first.”

Throwing his cards down, Charles got up from his seat, giving everyone a polite ‘good night’ smile before leaving the room.

Before he could leave, though, he heard Raven’s triumphant “Ah ha!” as she flipped over his discarded cards.

‘See? He had a dud hand – he probably left because he saw I had a royal straight flush!’

***

Charles was asleep, he knew it, but he also knew that this dream wasn’t the same as usual. Like thoughts, dreams had their own personal signature, and this one didn’t feel like one of his own.

Someone spoke, wearing a dark suit adorned with metallic pins. They weren’t speaking English – German? Polish? Something of the sort.

Ah, Erik’s dream, then.

Charles, in sleep, took a little longer to gather his thoughts, and was about to eject himself out of Erik’s mind when he saw him. He was younger than the Erik Charles knew, but could recognise him from the unchanging severe brow and auburn hair, and his memory of the serene vision he had unearthed for Erik that day they had moved the satellite dish.

Young Erik, with the mind of Charles’s Erik, looked frantic as he was ushered into a room where Shaw was sitting, looking similar but different to the man on the Cuban beach. An image of how Erik viewed him as a child. This is an old dream, then. Or nightmare, Charles deduced, since he could feel the beginnings of panic settling into Erik’s subconscious.

Charles’s heart ached as he saw Young Erik bite his lip in fear when Shaw ordered him to move the coin. Charles stood there behind him, his presence not yet known, and watched as Erik’s mother trembled, gun pressed to her temple.

‘No, no, not again, not again. I’ve killed you, you’re gone, but why are you still-’ Erik’s mind whirled as he raised both hands, child-sized and shaking. In his dream, his powers were cut off, and Charles could feel his fear spiralling out of control.

Charles had told Erik that Shaw’s death would not bring him peace, and it hadn’t. It had made him feel more secure, of course, knowing that a madman like Shaw was no longer in the world, but he was not at peace. This nightmare only proved it.

‘But, maybe I can help bring you peace, my friend,’ Charles thought to himself, stepping forward in Erik’s dream space. Charles moved to stand beside Erik, who finally noticed his presence, eyes growing wide.

“Rage and serenity, my friend,” Charles said softly, gently touching Erik’s cheek, and then his temple. “Remember.”

Charles wrapped his mind around Erik’s, soothing out the fear and the panic, tweaking and repaving the path the nightmare usually followed. Erik’s small hands flexed, and unlike every other time he had experienced this dream, the coin moved.

But Charles only influenced that part, and didn’t stop Erik from moving the coin through Shaw’s head, making Charles scream.

At that point, Erik and Charles both woke with a start, the German pushing himself away from Charles who had been pressed against his side.

“Were you in my head, Charles? Did you see?” Erik said, voice strained, eyes narrowed.

“I’m sorry, I…”

“Stay out, Charles. I don’t want you in there, to see that. I… Just… Stay out. Please,” Erik said, voice drained. Charles nodded, another apology on the tip of his tongue like they always were when it came to this.

‘I just wanted to help. I’m sorry,’ Charles said to no one but himself, and when Erik opened his arms to let Charles nestle himself there again, Charles tried not to think about it for much longer.

But if there was one mind Charles couldn’t control, it was his own.

***

‘I’m tired.’

That was something Charles thought more and more often lately. Not tired like the way Sean is after watching too much television, or Alex from overexerting himself in the underground bunker. No, Charles very soul was tired; he had nothing left, really. All of the exuberance he had on the outside was but a façade now, a shadow and caricature of what he used to be. Of what everyone thought he was.

But he was tired. It wasn’t one big event that had wiped out his fire and his light. It was just a series of little things, of small comments, of mental walls and nudges away. It was in the wary gazes of the people around him, the frequent and unbidden ‘oh, crap, is he listening right now?’ that people couldn’t hold back even if they tried.

It was the way people could never really trust Charles, because whatever he said, it was probably said because he knew that’s what they wanted to hear, right? Because they wanted to hear that he didn’t listen to their thoughts, and for the most part Charles hadn’t. But like everyone, he slipped, and would catch a thought as if they had said it out loud, and because to him it was like they had spoken it, he would respond and the immediate backlash of ‘I thought you said you’d stay out of my head, Charles,’ would snap him back into focus.

Charles had been tired for a while now, and he wasn’t ready just yet, but he was preparing. He was beginning to say goodbye, in ways that wouldn’t let people catch on to him.

But, how could they? They weren’t telepaths.

Charles had spent time with every one of his family – because they were family to him, now – before that winter’s night. He helped them coax out more of their gifts, and praised and encouraged them to continue on their journeys. They had smiled at him, thanked him for his advice, and gone on their way, while Charles too slowly trudged on towards his final destination.

Saying goodbye to Raven had been hard. Charles had almost cried, and Raven had given him a questioning look, but Charles just shook his head, kissing his sister’s hand.

“No, it’s nothing. It’s just… you’ve grown up so well, and so beautiful. I don’t think I say it enough. But I’m proud of you, always. Don’t forget that,” Charles said, Raven rolling her eyes, though her mouth broke into a smile as Charles hugged her tightly.

And Erik.

God, Erik.

Charles had, at one point, envisioned a future with Erik. He imagined how they’d be years into the future, grey, wrinkled and old. Charles imagined Erik losing his hair, but somehow finding that imagined version of the German attractive nonetheless, and snorted at the idea of it being the other way around – Charles was fond of his hair, after all.

Charles imagined them still living in Westchester, but with a large rabble of children running about their knees, powers dancing from their fingertips. He pictured a middle-aged Erik resting his head across Charles’s lap as they read together, or the two jetting off to Paris and Germany, to visit where Erik had grown up.

Charles imagined years of Erik making him cups of tea, of kissing Erik, holding Erik, loving Erik. The fantasies and wishes came so easily, one after the other, a series of ‘what could be’ and ‘if only’.

Charles imagined waking up next to Erik every day for the rest of his life, and, he supposed, he had gotten that until the very end at least.

Charles touched his lips softly, smiling at the memory of how Erik’s mouth felt against his for the very last time, and carried that feeling with him as he climbed onto the ledge of the highest balcony. The wind rippled through Charles’s pyjamas and made him teeter on the stone edge, hands outstretched for balance.

The wind threaded through his spread fingers, coaxing, holding his hand.

One last time, Charles closed his eyes and cast his power out. He touched on the sleeping minds of Hank, Sean, Angel, Darwin, Alex, Raven and Erik, pressing a disguised ‘thank you, and good bye’ against each and every one of them, before letting himself tip forwards, weightless.

And Hank had been right – he hadn’t felt a thing.

***

Emma took her hand off the back of Jean’s head, and instead hefted the girl up as she leaned into Emma’s side with exhaustion after projecting what she had seen in the brief moment she had connected with Charles’s mind. Her youthful face was slick with tears, as were those of all of the others in the room – even Emma’s eyes were glassy as she felt everything Charles had felt, like she had lived through those moments herself.

“Oh, oh, Charles,” Raven sobbed, hand flying over her mouth as she cried, legs shaking. “I didn’t… I didn’t know…”

Erik stood eerily still, mouth slightly parted, though not a single breath passed between his lips. A single tear teetered over the edge of his burning eyes, sliding down a pale cheek as the echoes of Charles’s silent agony rippled through him.

Had he done that?

To Charles?

He had made Charles feel like that?

Charles, who had done nothing less than make him feel loved, cherished, safe – Gemütlichkeit. Charles, who had given him a home, a purpose, a reason to live that was more than just revenge. Charles, who had never told him how it all made him feel, how Erik made him feel.

But why would he? Erik had never wanted to listen. He had never asked.

He had always assumed Charles just knew, that if Charles wanted Erik to ask, or to know something, he would just make him. But that wasn’t Charles, was it? Out of all the people in the world, the gift of telepathy had been given to Charles. Charles who, like no one else, wouldn’t use his powers for his own selfish gain – to hurt others, to control them. Charles, whose powers taught him the value of free thought, of organic feelings, of everything that was real, had been the one given that gifts.

Charles had no ulterior motives, nothing more than the simple, basic feeling of wanting to be close to people he cared about, in the way that he knew best. While others held the people they loved close in their arms, Charles embraced them with his mind. That was what Gemütlichkeit was for him. It’s just that no one could understand it.

No one took the time to understand him, because they just pushed him away.

Erik pushed him away.

Erik, who should have been the person to hold him close, to tell him “You’re not alone, Charles, you’re not alone”. But instead of that, every time Erik told Charles to stay out of his head he had been alienating him, pushing him to isolation, making him feel unwanted, like he had felt all his life.

And it had driven Charles to… to…

Charles, Charles, Liebling. Gott. What have I done?

Erik’s heart twisted, and the pain was as physical as it was emotional, the man crumpling to the floor.

“I never told him,” Erik said, voice raw. “I never… I assumed he knew, so I never said it. Any of it. I never told him that I…”

That I love him. That he’s everything. That I only started living when I met him. That he was home. That he was Gemütlichkeit itself.

“So, now you see,” Emma said, tugging Jean towards her, the young girl hugging Emma around the waist. “So, before you accuse me – us,” Emma said, looking down at Jean, “of plundering your mind for no other reason than to pluck out your inane thoughts for the fun of it, just remember that this is how we are. To us, thoughts are like air, the stretch of our minds like lungs expanding. We don’t choose to read your thoughts – we choose not to. And it’s hard to block thoughts out. That’s what you don’t understand. For that Professor of yours to block you out most of the time takes a great deal of concentration, concentration that I, and young Jean here, don’t have.”

A note of anguish clawed its way out of Erik’s throat and he struggled to breathe.

Charles, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, forgive me. Please, come back. I need to tell you, all the things I never said. The things I should have said, every day. You have to hear them, you can hear them in my mind, whenever you want. Whenever you need it.

Please.

 “You said you heard him, heard C-Charles,” Raven said through a hiccup. “Let us talk to him. We have to tell him… Everything. That we’re sorry, for everything.”

Erik pulled his eyes from the ground, looking at Emma, who just shook her head, wry smile gracing her features.

“Trust me, if I could, I would – as much as I loathe to admit it, I’m not powerful enough to reach the astral plane yet, not like your telepath. And who knows where he is now, floating around up there in the astral plane, without a care in the world. Even if I could, would you really want me to? To take him away from that place, where he wants to be, just because you want it?”

Emma’s words weighed on everyone, and after a long stretch of silence, Emma sighed.

“I didn’t only come here to make you feel guilty, although I can’t say I regret it. Even if I don’t agree with everything he stood for, and even if he was a naïve fool with a bleeding heart, he was no coward. And he was a telepath, and what he wanted – one of his final wishes – was to make a place where telepaths are accepted. Complete and fully. And I can’t say I disagree with that wish,” Emma said, Erik blinking.

“What do you mean?”

“That wasn’t really a riddle, Sugar,” Emma said, patting Jean on the shoulder. “I’m saying that I’ll help you build that school you’ve started. You’re going to need me, if you’re going to find any one. Now, he said that the machine, what was it called again – Spanish for brain, he said – would need to be recalibrated, but I should be able to operate it with a little practice.”

“And,” Emma continued, smirking. “You’re all doing a terrible job at making Jean here feel at home. If you’re going to start making telepaths feel like they’re accepted as much as your blue skin and wings are, you’re going to need me.”

‘But you’re not Charles-’

“I know, Sugar,” Emma said, voice softening just a touch. “Trust me, I know. But, in the fleeting moment he pressed into my mind, he did tell me to say one thing to you.”

Erik’s heart hammered as Emma walked closer after making sure Jean wasn’t going to collapse in a heap, raising her hands questioningly. When Erik let her place her fingers on either side of his head, Erik shuddered as he felt her telepathic touch filter in. Her touch was cold, so different from the all-enveloping warmth of Charles’s mind.

But then, as Emma pushed the feeling and image of Charles into Erik’s mind – Charles, smiling that damned smile which lit up rooms and minds and hearts, fingers carding through his hair – he couldn’t help but loose a sob.

Alles ist gut, Erik.

Alles ist gut.

But it wasn’t.

Not in the dark.

[deans-mind-palace]

An apple a day

Pairing: Doctor!Jensen x Reader

Summary: You were just having a bad day, that’s it. I mean, dislocating an arm while carrying cartons into your new apartment? That could happen to everyone. But intentionally miss three vaccination appointments? That could only happen to you. If only the doctor wasn't so cute...

Word Count: 2,507

Warnings: Fluff, mentions of pain and injuries, syringes and stitches

Author’s Note: This story is based on a request by @myopiamystical So reader has an accident. And she gets dislocated arm or leg. She is brought to ER, the doc is Jensen. Reader is allergic to most of the sedatives so Jensen has to relocate it with reader being conscious. This scene + the very same day, later reader has to take some injections (2-3) which she is very afraid to take it from nurse, Jensen overhears and does it himself. Can you write these two with all the fluff? Jensen asking her out, inviting her over dinner since she was just released from hospital and the whole date? I changed it slightly but I hope you like it. This one is long. Enjoy and shower it with love.

"Gabe, I'm fine! I already said that!" you repeated in annoyance as your future neighbor pulled you into the emergency room. "Now come on, Y/N," he said and dragged you toward the emergency room by grabbing your arm. "Ouch..." you hissed and tore your arm away from him as you rubbed across it to dull the pain. He raised his hands apologetically. "It's okay. It's okay." Gabriel held the door open for you and immediately the biting scent of antiseptic hit you. Men and women in scrubs hurried around, caring for patients. You meandered your way through the chaos to the reception. The cold light shimmered on the bright tiles on the floor and everything was white and turquoise. Typical hospital. The receptionist didn't even notice you until Gabe finally cleared his throat.

"Excuse me. My friend here-" He demonstratively put his arm around you, but you stiffened under his touch and escaped his embrace. "She's moving and she got caught. Her arm is hurting a lot," he explained. He probably meant well, but you were quite capable of talking yourself. You denied it. "It's not so bad..." you said, looking at the dirty tips of your sneakers. She checked you out and then handed you a clipboard. "Fill this out in the waiting room." she ordered and nodded towards the waiting room. You nodded. Gabe was about to follow you when you turned around again. He was a nice guy, but you hadn't known him long. "Thanks for bringing me here, Gabriel. You don't have to wait anymore. I can handle it." you said, hoping he'd take a hint. Of course he didn't. "Oh, nonsense, it's no problem. I'll wait with you, neighbour." He winked at you and you sighed inside. "All right, neighbour." You mumbled and sat down.

Eagerly you began to fill in the sheet. Complaints, medications, allergies. You were allergic to many sedatives and wrote that down on the paper. Last tetanus vaccine? You had to think about it, so you tapped your pen against your lip. You had no idea. You didn't like getting vaccinated. You weren't anti-vaccination, but you were afraid of injections. So you crossed the line and brought the clipboard back to the reception.

A few minutes later a blonde doctor's assistant appeared in the doorway and called your name. "Ms. Y/N L/N?" She read it out loud and looked up. "Yes, that's me!" you said, rising from your chair. "Follow me, please." She led you through the hallways into a white-painted consulting room. She must have sensed that you were uncomfortable, because she smiled at you. "Please sit down. Dr. Ackles will be with you in two minutes." With these words she closed the door and left you alone in the sterile room. Your gaze wandered and you looked at the various information panels and anatomical drawings on the walls. On the desk in front of you was a model of a human eye and the walls were decorated with drawings made by children. Almost always there were suns, rainbows or a house with a child on it. "Thank you, Dr Ackles" was written on it in scrawly letters.

Suddenly the door opened and the doctor entered. He was wearing a white coat and a stethoscope was hanging around his neck. He had blond hair and looked young. The turquoise shirt stretched over his muscular upper body and he definitely looked good. He smiled at you in a friendly way. "Good afternoon Ms.-" He glanced quickly at the clipboard in his hand. "L/N. I am Dr. Jensen Ackles." His green eyes sparkled as he gave you his hand, which you shook with your uninjured arm. His handshake was warm and firm.

He settled on the other side of the desk opposite you. "Well, Ms L/N, how can I help you?" he asked with a friendly smile. "Well..." you started. "I'm moving and I'm in the middle of a mess. I was taking apart a shelf and I got caught on an old nail. The nail scratched my forearm, but we fixed that. The thing is, the pain made me abruptly snap. Then my shoulder cracked and now I can't move my arm anymore," you said and looked a little ashamed to the side.

Dr. Ackles immediately stood up and circled the desk. "Let's have a look." he said, looking at your shoulder. "The joint is definitely dislocated and should be put back into place." he noted seconds later. He hurriedly took a look at the clipboard. "It says you can't take sedatives, so we'll have to do it without," he explained and you swallowed. "Don't worry. It'll be quick and it will only hurt for a moment." He reassured you when he saw your concern. You nodded reluctantly. "All right," you agreed.

Gently, he placed his hands on your shoulder. "Let's count to three together, yeah? Then I pop your shoulder in. So, ready?" he asked. "Yes," you replied, clenching your teeth together. "All right. One." You breathed more rapidly. "Two." Suddenly, he pushed hard on your shoulder and the joint snapped back into place. "Ouch." You sucked in the air through your teeth. A sharp pain shot through your shoulder. Then the pain ebbed and turned into a dull throb in the background. You moved your arm in disbelief. "Didn't we say on three?" you asked and a laugh escaped your lips. Dr Ackles agreed. "I'm sorry. It's a trick I often use on children because they're less prepared and less afraid, then." He smiled at you crookedly and shrugged his shoulders apologetically. His hand casually brushed across your neck before he stepped away from you.

"Now, let's have a look at that scratch," said Dr Ackles, urging you to roll up your sleeve. He opened the bandage and examined the wound with a professional eye. "The wound is badly reddened at the edges. Have you cleaned it?" he asked. You shook your head and bit your lip uncertainly. A worry line appeared on his forehead. "A rusty nail, you say? When was your last tetanus vaccination?" the blond man asked with concern. You shrugged your shoulders. "I-I don't know. I-I - well... I'm pretty scared of needles." you mumbled and he nodded. "What happened after you dislocated your arm?" he asked further and made some notes. Then his green eyes found yours again. "Well." Embarrassed, you tugged at your shirt. "I fell down and hit my head on the floor," you muttered. "Did you pass out afterwards?" the young doctor asked immediately. You nodded tentatively while he disinfected the wound.

"All right, Ms L/N. In any case, you must spend the night in the hospital under observation. There is a suspicion of a concussion." he explained to you after lighting into your eyes. You nodded softly. "Very good. I will now give you some medicine. Amber, my assistant will help you take them and then bring you to a room where you can spend the night. We'll get you a tetanus vaccination tomorrow." You tried to block the thought of the upcoming vaccination. "Thank you, Dr. Ackles." He nodded at you with a smile, looked like he had something to say, but then Amber came into the room. Dr. Ackles was needed in another room.

You had Amber tell Gabriel you were spending the night in the hospital. Gabriel wanted to see you again, but Amber insisted it wasn't a good idea because you needed rest. He brought you a duffel bag with your toiletries and clothing in the late afternoon.

You had already been lying on the bed in your room for several hours, surfing through the internet in boredom. You were accommodated on the third floor of the hospital and listened to what was going on in the corridor. Shoes squeaked on the linoleum and every few seconds a door slammed. You glanced through the floor-to-ceiling windows and watched the sun set slowly behind the building complex. It bathed your room in an orange light and every move you made cast long shadows on the wall with the door to the hallway.

A knock tore you away from your thoughts. Before you could say anything, the door opened at almost the same moment. Dr. Ackles' blond head appeared in the doorway as he peered into the room. "May I come in?" As if you'd lost the ability to speak, you just nodded without saying anything.  When he entered, he smiled at you impishly while hiding something behind his back. Curious, you watched him enter the room.

"I came back to check on you." Dr. Ackles came to your bed. "I stole some pudding from the cafeteria" said the blond with a cheeky grin, triumphantly holding up a glass of pudding. He winked at you and the gesture caused butterflies in your stomach. "And, um, well..." He suddenly seemed embarrassed and scratched his neck nervously. Then suddenly he reached out to you with a book. You were surprised to receive it. "What is that?" you asked. "Storm of Roses" was written on the cover. "I brought you a book from my office. Against boredom." Your fingers were running over the worn pages. You opened it at a dog's ear, and your eyes went over the lines. "It's obviously some cheesy romance novel." He said. You looked at him with a smile. He immediately blushed and cleared his throat. "Uh-uh, not that I would read something like that. A patient left this in the waiting room. I'm just keeping it for her," he stuttered. You raised your hands defensively and bit your cheek to suppress a giggle. "Of course." you replied seriously, flipping through the pages. "But it's quite good - at least that's what I've heard." He bit his lip and took a deep breath. To spare him any more humiliation, you stepped in. "Thank you, Dr Ackles." You gave him an honest smile as you pressed the book against your chest and looked at his rose-tinted cheeks. He avoided your gaze.  So, Dr. Ackles was a hopeless romantic. Interesting.

You spent the rest of the evening reading the book and eating your pudding at the same time. Eventually, you got so tired from the medication, you could barely keep your eyes open. It was only ten o'clock, but soon you fell asleep with Dr. Ackles' book on your stomach. Two hours later Jensen stuck his head back in the room. He was on emergency duty that day and had to take over the night shift on call. With a slight smile on his face, he realized that you were already asleep. Silently he stepped into the room and leaned the door behind him. Then he went to your bed, gently took the book from your hand and put it on the bedside table. Then he tucked you in and finally turned off the light next to your bed. On tiptoe he sneaked out of the room again and quietly pulled the door into the lock.

The next morning, after breakfast, you waited in the waiting room with a cup of coffee and Dr. Ackles' book. It was still early, but there was already a hustle and bustle in the hospital and you watched the people. Then the door to Dr. Ackles' consulting room opened. A little boy came out of the room with a lollipop. "Thank you, Dr Ackles," the boy beamed at him. Ackles smiled at him. "You're welcome, buddy. And wear a helmet next time, yeah?" "I will." said the boy, and the blond leaned into the door with folded arms, watching the little boy run excitedly to his mother. Then his eyes fell on you. He waved at you with a smile and you melted away. He was just too sweet.

Amber pulled you out of your crush. "Ms. L/N. It's your turn now." Like last time, you followed her into the consulting room. But you were disappointed to realise that Dr Ackles was not there. "The doctor said you need to be vaccinated against tetanus, is that correct?" You nodded and watched in panic as she prepared the injection and disinfected a spot on your arm. Just as she was about to prepare the syringe, you flinched. She stopped in surprise. "Is something wrong, miss?" Embarrassed, you dodged her questioning glance. "I'm afraid of needles. I wonder if Dr. Ackles could take over. It's not that I don't trust you, but..." Amber nodded sympathetically. "Wait a minute. Let me see what I can do." She disappeared, and a short time later Dr. Ackles entered the room. You were relieved to see him.

"Hey there. How are you today?" he asked in his calm and deep voice. "Fine, thank you. I'm just a little scared about the injections and I was hoping, well, you could help me -" You fell silent when he disinfected the spot again and refilled the syringe. "Well, we're going to count backwards from 1,029 in 13 steps, yeah?" he said. Confused, you looked at him and stared anxiously at the syringe approaching your arm. "Look ahead, Y/N. I can't hear you count." You looked ahead and began to count shakily. "1,016" you muttered and jerked as the syringe pierced your skin. "What's next?" Jensen asked and distracted you. You continued to count and were soon so concentrated that you didn't even notice the syringe. Only when he dabbed the blood off your skin did you look up surprised. The young doctor smiled at you. "You did great, Y/N." You noticed that it was the second time he used your first name. Then he put the Band-Aid on you. "You see? You get a special unicorn patch. It's only for the really brave girls." He winked at you. You blushed and a smile crept up your lips. "Thanks, Jensen." You just used his first name too. His fingers gently stroked your skin as he pressed the patch on. "Would you like to have a lollipop like Tommy?" he asked afterwards. Tommy must have been the little boy from before.

Laughing, you shook your head. "I don't think that's necessary. It hardly hurts anymore." His green eyes sparkled in amusement. Then he took a step back and cleared his throat. "Well, that's it. You have officially recovered. Don't let me see you back here again so soon. Take care of yourself for a while, okay?" Your heart got heavy when you realized it was time to go. You grabbed his hand and shook it. He was called into the next room. He touched you for a moment as he went past you and then he was gone.

At home, you dropped your bag on the floor and closed the door. You threw your jacket on the sofa when suddenly something fell out of your pocket. You bent down in surprise. It was a red lollipop and a note was wrapped around it. Curious, you rolled it up and read it.

Dinner at my place, brave girl? Call me, Jensen xx

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Jensen/Dean tags: @vicariouslythruspn @crazybutconfidentaf @zizzlekwum @ashthefirefox​ @outofnowhere82 @rintheemolion​ @myopiamystical @vicmc624​ @imaginationisgrowth @seven-seas-of-fuck-you