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dizzydancingdreamer · 4 years ago

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The Servant and The Prince | One

I did it-- I wrote something. Was it what everyone wanted? Gods no. But it is something. So do enjoy my lovelies-- a break from my not so regularly scheduled content.

Description: This is very much a Cinderella trope because I cannot help myself and I am in love with Loki

Pairing: Loki x Female!Reader, third person as I may adapt eventually with an OC

Warnings: violence but very minor, emotional abuse, some strong-ish language

Tags: Angst but you can imply fluff

Word count: 3.8k

Master List

“Did you pack my dress!” A shrill voice assaults her eardrums as she scurries towards the door.

It comes from a tall, thin, young woman. Her face and fingers are boney, her blonde hair falling in perfect waves down her back. The faintest aroma of honeysuckles and violets wafts off her creamy skin. She is beautiful, her step sister Anna. At least in theory. The sneer on her cherry lips and the hatred in her cerulean eyes, unclouded and accusatory, can’t be hidden by any length of silky dress or ruby lipstick, though. She is ugly, even if just on the inside.

Y/n almost drops the bags in her hands- almost. She only flinches inwardly. She is used to the constant demands. Clean the house, cook the meal, wash my clothes. This and that and more. So much more. She’ll never flinch though. No matter what. That is a promise she made to herself too long ago.

“Yes milady. It is already in the carriage alongside the rest of your requested belongings. Is there anything else I can do for you before we leave?” Her own voice is gentle in comparison; a breeze trying to hold its own against a tornado.

Anna’s sneer deepens and she huffs, spinning on her heel, her dress spiraling around her in a show of pink tulle. She does not say anything as she storms away, most likely on her way to her mother’s ornate carriage. That’s another thing that is more beautiful on the inside than out. If only everyone else knew that Y/n’s step family is poorer than dirt. Estrid, Anna’s mother, hides it well under the last remains of her father’s hard earned money. Gold encrusted carriages and a large home and clothing dripping in jewels. He is gone though, Y/n’s father, and the money will soon be completely gone as well. If only people glanced a little further and saw her dress- not terribly tattered but hand sewn out of the plainest fabric- and the overwhelming lack of staff in the big home. The signs are all there, sitting in plain sight.

That is exactly the reason Y/n is loading the carriage- a last ditch attempt for her step mother and step sister to rise back to the wealth they once enjoyed. There is to be a ball. A royal ball. Apparently it is supposed to be much grander than the solstice festivals her small village holds. She always thought those were magnificent; the dancing and the feasts. She loved attending them before her father had died. He would take her and her mother every year and they would find their seats under the stars, eating and dancing to their heart’s desire. Her chest squeezes painfully; she misses them both dearly. Now that they are gone those few days of the year are her only escape- the nights where she can pretend she is anything but a lowly servant.

She blanches wondering how much grander the ball will be. Surely it will be more than turkey under the stars and the ribbon dances of her youth. It will be in the castle- in a ballroom bigger than her house and the neighbours combined. Bigger even. She has never been in a ballroom. Sometimes the village hall holds weddings but they are small and serve vegetable stew and play music composed of fiddles and flutes. All the things she is most familiar with. The castle will have things she does not understand. Clothes worth more than her life and the richest foods and music that is so intricate that she wonders if her ears will be able to withstand it. She has heard stories of how wonderful it is- and how magnificently out of her element she will be.

Y/n sighs, pulling her shoulders straight and hiking the bags further up her body. This is no time for dawdling- there is no time that can be wasted now. She drags herself and the bags out the door, sparing a quick glance over her shoulder at her family home. It used to be filled with warmth. The kind that comes with baking bread and knitting beside an open fire and laughter. Now the halls are bare. Almost all traces of her mother and father are gone. She wears them across her chest in her mothers old leather satchel. Along the side of the bag, little green Dahlias are sewn into the worn material. She brushes her finger over the side, taking a deep breath. Maybe the ball will be a new adventure- even if she is not to attend. She will still be visiting the capitol.

“By Odin, what are you doing? We have to go now or we will miss the opening festivities! Move you little wench!”

Estrid’s nasally voice sounds from behind Y/n seconds before a hand connects with her back, shoving her forward. The bags on her shoulders and arms add to the momentum from the push, the uneven weight more than enough to have her stumbling over her feet. She tries to catch her balance, rushing down the steps as though being led by the bags themselves, but it is useless. Her heel catches on the last step and she falls backwards, her back connecting with the cobblestones, her elbow piling into the stone step. White hot pain blossoms through her body, pooling like fire in her injuries. She swallows the scream in her throat. It tastes like iron on her tongue- like eating the burnt chips left in the pot after the meals are finished being served. It tastes familiar.

A red heel stomps next to her, crunching on the cobble stone the same way her spine had. It lands inches away from her hand, narrowly missing her pinky. Y/n looks up, her features as schooled as possible, greeting Estrid with a bow of her head. Even that small action causes pain to spike through her lower back and she has to hold her breath to keep from crying out. She does not look at her step mother for more than a few seconds- she knows better than to do any such thing- but it is enough time to catch the familiar sneer. It is the same one she has passed on to Anna but more hateful. Honed. Estrid has had years to perfect her evilness, even if she does not look a day over thirty. She too is beautiful in her own dark way.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Elstrid spits down at Y/n, already on her way to the carriage as she passes by the crumpled girl. “It is as though you are trying to ruin your sister’s chance for happiness. You can never just be grateful, can you? It must always be about you. How pathetic.”

Y/n could laugh. She can almost feel it there in the base of her throat, bubbling with the scream and cries which are also locked away. Neither are forgotten yet- they never are. They just build and build and build like the wind that blows through her village in the spring, gaining enough speed to wipe out entire fields of crop. Now there is laughter on top as well. The cruel kind that makes her insides twist and burn.

What a perfect way to describe how she feels; pathetic. She forces herself to her knees, followed quickly by her feet as she gathers the bags, mulling over the word. Pathetic. She hauls them onto her shoulders once again, trying her hardest to ignore the way her back and arm aches and the flood of fresh tears that rush to her eyes. She loads the bags into the back of the carriage, nodding at the driver. He looks at her with pity but remains silent as Estrid climbs into her plush seat. The word rings again, louder. Pathetic.

Y/n tugs the satchel across her body as she climbs onto the back of the carriage, folding her cloak over her lap. Yes, indeed she feels pathetic, cast to ride to the capitol backwards with her skin exposed to the elements and her hair doomed to be a windblown mess. Pathetic does not even begin to cover everything she feels in this moment. If her step family is poorer than dirt than she must be something even worse than dirt as well. She feels so at least.

Somehow, though, beneath it all, she also feels a touch hopeful. She is going to the capitol, after all. Her fingers scratch over the green Dahlias, thinking back to the night her mother had sewn them.

“Little dove did you know that you are like a Dahlia?” Her mother’s voice was sweet and soft- the kind of voice that made Y/n want to lean in until she could feel the words in her soul.

“What do you mean, mama?” She was not really asking to hear the answer, rather speaking in order to hear her mother keep speaking.

The glow from the fireplace warmed Y/n’s cheek as she leaned further. Her mother smelled of yeast and berries. She could still taste the jam on her lips, warm and sweet from desert. Strawberry pie was her mother’s specialty. The warmth combined with her full belly made her eyes close slightly, her body sagging against her mother’s legs.

“You are so strong my little dove. You are so soft and so elegant,” her mother’s hand smoothed over her cheek, her fingers as soft as silk. “But you are so powerful too, I can sense it. You are overflowing with it and kindness. So much kindness. How did I create such a magnificent little girl, hmm?”

Y/n giggles when her mother tickles under her chin lightly, pulling her hand away to continue on the pattern. Her stitches are meticulous and perfect- just like her mother. She watches as the vibrant green thread weaves below the fabric before reappearing. It happens over and over again, disappearing and reappearing like a little trick. She always loved tricks.

“Why are the flowers green, mama? I have never seen any green flowers in the meadow.”

It was true. There were pinks and blues and the most wonderful oranges. Never greens though. Only the stems were green.

“Oh my darling, you will one day. They do not grow here. They grow in the capitol by the hundreds, though. They surround the streets, growing high into the sky. They are beautiful, my little dove. Just like you are. You will see them one day, I promise you.”

Y/n blinks away the image of her mother, letting a few of the tears drop as she does so. Nobody can see her here so it is okay now. It is times like these, in the midst of the worst and best moments of her life, when she misses her mother the most. She would do anything for one more gentle hug. One more whiff of berries and rising bread. She shifts on the stiff seat, her spine jostling against the metal frame of the cart and flaring in pain. She lets out a tiny cry, hoping it is masked by the sound of the wheels bumping over the stoney pathway. Her throat aches, squeezing at the stream of tears threatening her system. It is in this moment that she feels something foreign- something that will inevitably and unknowingly change her life as she knows it. Something that she is sure is not her own.

She feels angry.

* * * * * * * * * *

Loki strolls over the castle grounds, his hands clasped behind his back and his shoulders straight. The sun is shining on his face, warm and soft. The air, like always, smells like pine trees and fragrant flowers. That is partly the cause of the woman next to him. She is beautiful, there is no doubt about it. From her golden hair, knotted in bands across the crown of her head, to her gown, a soft blue silk. It flows behind her as she walks, like a river carving from each step she takes. One of her dainty hands is curled around his arm. Usually he would mind the touching- contact with other people is not his thing. More so Thor’s, his untamed brother. With her, though, he swallows his pride every time. He would do most anything to keep his mother happy.

He peers down at Frigga, his face stoic in comparison to the bright smile she wears. She still looks as young as she had when he and Thor were mere boys. Her cheeks and nose are slender, her skin unblemished by age. The only difference is that now he stands taller than her, looking down at her blonde hair instead of up at it from under her arms. He has no doubt that his mother will remain beautiful for a long time- even when her age finally catches up with her.

“You are staring, dear.” Frigga’s voice teases and his neck snaps straight, his eyes flicking back to the gardens of green around him. “You only stare when you have something on your mind. I presume I do not have to inquire to know what it is. I will anyway, though, if that is what you would like?”

Her voice drips into a worried tone that only she can muster. It is sincere. It makes it harder for him to be angry at the small, beautiful woman.

“You will anyway and we both know it.” He muses, reaching a hand out to brush one of the green flowers.

The petals are impossibly soft. Dahlias. He remembers when his mother had them planted all those years ago. It was a week’s affair- the castle had smelt of earth and new flowers for days afterwards. He remembers playing in the mud with his brother. The laughter. It seems like a lifetime ago. That was when everything was simple; when he was not about to get married to a princess he would meet at a ball that he does not even wish to attend.

Frigga sighs, pulling her son to a gentle stop. He obliges with a sigh that matches her own. “It must be done. By decree your brother and you should have been married a year ago. The royal ball is the way it has been done for many millennia. I have tried to slow tradition- to give you two as much time as possible- but there are some who watch us closely. They wait-”

He turns away from her, a scowl on his lips. “I know mother. They want us to show weakness. I understand the premise, I promise you I am not an idiot. I suppose I just do not see how a wife would make me seem less weak.”

He is a god- a powerful one at that. It is hard to believe there are many people out there able who are able to strip him of that power. It makes no sense to get married because of an outdated tradition- especially not for some sort of ruse. He is strong enough on his own; he always has been. Quiet and capable and strong. Independently so. He has never been much for teams. Besides, he doubts there will be many women attending with the hopes of meeting him. Not when his brother will be standing right by his side. The god of thunder. There are many things Loki can do- most of which are quite impressive. Tricks of the mind and the ability to create fire at will and so on. One thing he cannot do, however, is spout lightning from his fingers. He cannot compete with that level of visible godliness and thus there is no reason to attend. He is not second best and will not treat himself as such.

Frigga catches his chin, pulling him to look at her crystal eyes- the same crystal eyes which she rolls at him. “She will balance you, dear. The point is not to make you appear less weak. You are not weak. It is to make you appear happy. A happy prince means a happy king. Happy means powerful, Loki. it is power.”

He tenses and her eyes soften. “I am happy, mother. I am happy on my own.”

She lets her hand fall to his arm, shaking her head. Her knotted hair bounces slightly. She is giggling again in the way that only mothers can- the kind of giggle that is all knowing. It makes his skin itch, his hands secured behind his back again. How is it that she always makes him feel seen even when he does not wish to be?

“Is there something you wish to say?” He grumbles to the woman, wishing he could hate the way she grins up at him with a twinkle in her eye. He cannot though, even if he tried.

“My dear,” she hums gently, squeezing his arm, “I think perhaps you will come to revoke your words. That is all.”

Oh she is truly infuriating. There she goes again, so freely sharing her mind even when he has made it clear time and time again that he has no wish for a wife. Not only because he does not want to marry a woman he has never met but for other reasons too. The tips of his fingers turn to ice against his palms at the thought. He does not have to look down to know they are the brilliant blue that he so loathes. There is much he wishes to remain a secret beyond the confines of his household. He would rather not be married to a woman who thinks him a monster for the rest of his life. He will pass.

He opens his mouth, ready to fire back at her annoying laughter, when suddenly he cannot speak. Not just that, though. He cannot breath, either, or stand for that matter. Soon the trickster god is on his knees, his hands digging painfully against the cobblestone path. His nails bite against the stones, his icy fingers now burning. It is nothing near the pain in his back though which flares as though he had just been kicked. Moments later his elbow erupts into pain as well, searing down the entire length of his arm. He grinds his teeth through the pain, his eyes screwed shut.

“Loki?” Frigga’s voice holds none of the teasing it had only moments ago, only pure worry as she kneels next to her son. “Dear what happened? What is wrong? Shall I call for someone?”

His eyes snap open at that, his head shaking frantically. “No, no. I am fine. Do not call anyone.”

Even as he says it he knows that it is not true. His whole body aches as he rolls onto his feet, rising shakily. His mother’s eyes watch him closely, the blue clouded with something he does not recognize. He straightens after a moment, forcing the pain out of his mind.

“Did you trip, dear?” Her voice this time is guarded, concealed with a falsely loose tone.

Loki narrows his eyes. “No, I do not think so. It felt like someone pushed me. Do you know something about that mother?”

The scowl on her face is genuine this time, her golden brows creasing. “I sure hope you are not insinuating that I pushed my own son, Loki.”

He sighs again, guilt flooding his aching body. “No, mother. I am sorry-”

The end of his sentence drops into the space between them, cut off by an overwhelming feeling of agony. Not the physical kind, though. Yes, his back is screaming in pain as he stands on those dreadful cobblestones but that is not why he stops speaking. It is the wave of self loathing that hits him out of nowhere. It is hot and angry and cold and desperate all at once.

It feels like when he was little and his brother had thrown him into the sea to teach him to swim. He had not been ready and he swallowed a mouthful of the salty water. It had been like cold lead in his lungs, weighing him to the bottom of the surf. He had been so scared, clawing towards the faint light of the surface with no luck. Everytime he got close the light seemed to shrink further back. Soon the icy lead had turned molten when he could no longer breathe, his chest constricting under the weight of the water. The fear had turned him into some sort of crazed animal until finally he had kicked his legs hard enough to break the surface and suck in a breath of air.

It is the exact same way he feels now; panicked- like he has no clue how to get to the air again. He claws at his chest, his eyes blown wide. The world around him begins to spin. He is breathing- he knows he is, he can feel his chest heaving up and down- but he cannot taste the pine on the air anymore. He can only taste iron and salt and hatred, brash against his lips. It turns his vision red, his muscles tensing as though preparing for a fight in which he cannot identify the threat. Like the waves that pushed him under, the enemy is everywhere and nowhere. The only thing that makes it subside is his mothers hand on his cheek, warm and soft through the panic eating away at his chest.

He meets her eyes, squeezing his hands into fists at his sides. He grinds his words through his clenched teeth. “I have no idea what is happening to me.”

The small blonde swallows, her throat bobbing slightly. Her face is not the picture of shock like Loki’s is. Of course she is slightly panicked, he can see it in the way her fingers tremble as she brushes them down his shoulder. Somehow he knows that it is not the same kind of panic he feels. His all-knowing mother is stalling. It only serves to heighten the drowning feeling.

“I think I know what it is, dear.” She tests, her hands folding against her chest, clasping to hide the tremors.

Frigga’s response does little to ease the panic- if anything it makes it worse. Usually his mother is the only thing that can calm him. If he had to close his eyes and picture the person in which he feels most comfortable around- it would be her. Today though, that is to change. She seems scared. He pushes himself through the pain, biting through the iron and salt on his tongue.

“What do you know, mother.” It is not a question- it is a demand.

She straightens as well, sucking in the air that he cannot seem to find for the life of him. It makes him jealous- angry.

“Well,” she flicks her eyes up to the sky, avoiding the next words out of her mouth. “I think you might have a soulmate, my dear.”

#Loki #Loki fic #loki x y/n #loki x reader #mcu #mcu fic #loki imagine #loki laufeyson #loki layfeyson x reader #the avengers #the avengers fic #the avengers imagine #prince of asgard

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princepsluna · 4 years ago

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fuck it tag dump bc i wanna make em pretty pt. 2 : RELATIONS.

` ✧ 🌙 ( the two that are one — celestia. ) ` ` ✧ 🌙 ( magia academia — starswirl. ) ` ` ✧ 🌙 ( father of monsters — grogar. ) ` ` ✧ 🌙 ( fellow shadow — stygian. ) ` ` ✧ 🌙 ( equestria’s atlas — twilight. ) ` ` ✧ 🌙 ( courageous honesty — applejack. ) ` ` ✧ 🌙 ( soft kindness — fluttershy. ) ` ` ✧ 🌙 ( joyous laughter — pinkie pie. ) ` ` ✧ 🌙 ( moonbeam pie — universalcarnival / pinkie pie. ) ` ` ✧ 🌙 ( sparkling generosity — rarity. ) ` ` ✧ 🌙 ( unyielding loyalty — rainbow dash. ) ` ` ✧ 🌙 ( stars in their eyes && colors in the sky — dashiie / rainbow dash. ) ` ` ✧ 🌙 ( crystalline agape — cadence. ) ` ` ✧ 🌙 ( crystal tyrant — sombra. ) ` ` ✧ 🌙 ( chaos incarnate — discord. ) ` ` ✧ 🌙 ( love devourer — chrysalis. ) ` ` ✧ 🌙 ( sparked && scarred — tempest. ) ` ` ✧ 🌙 ( dearest knight — allnostalgic / tempest. ) ` ` ✧ 🌙 ( moon moon — irnmaidn / cassandra. ) ` ` ✧ 🌙 ( fils de la lune — earthcried. ) `

#` ✧ 🌙 ( the two that are one — celestia. ) `#` ✧ 🌙 ( magia academia — starswirl. ) `#` ✧ 🌙 ( father of monsters — grogar. ) `#` ✧ 🌙 ( fellow shadow — stygian. ) `#` ✧ 🌙 ( equestria’s atlas — twilight. ) `#` ✧ 🌙 ( courageous honesty — applejack. ) `#` ✧ 🌙 ( soft kindness — fluttershy. ) `#` ✧ 🌙 ( moonbeam pie — universalcarnival / pinkie pie. ) `#` ✧ 🌙 ( joyous laughter — pinkie pie. ) `#` ✧ 🌙 ( unyielding loyalty — rainbow dash. ) `#` ✧ 🌙 ( stars in their eyes && colors in the sky — dashiie / rainbow dash. ) `#` ✧ 🌙 ( crystalline agape — cadence. ) `#` ✧ 🌙 ( crystal tyrant — sombra. ) `#` ✧ 🌙 ( chaos incarnate — discord. ) `#` ✧ 🌙 ( love devourer — chrysalis. ) `#` ✧ 🌙 ( sparked && scarred — tempest. ) `#` ✧ 🌙 ( dearest knight — allnostalgic / tempest. ) `#` ✧ 🌙 ( moon moon — irnmaidn / cassandra. ) `#` ✧ 🌙 ( fils de la lune — earthcried. ) `

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dresupi · 6 years ago

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Set Your Tasers to Tickle

Darcyland Crack Challenge 2019 Day 1: Taser Mishaps

Ship: Darcy Lewis/Stephen Strange | Rated: T | Word Count: 2815 | Prompt: Day 1: Taser Mishaps | Other tags: Tickling, Crack, Darcy Lewis April Fool's Crack Challenge 2019, One Shot, Kissing, Teasing, Friends to Lovers, Humor, I hope |

Summary:

Stephen's made fun of Darcy's taser for the last time. Well, probably not the last time. But she made some changes so it'll be more difficult to make fun of it.

"Dr. Foster?" FRIDAY's voice was cool and crisp against the relatively warm, numbing silence in the lab. It brought Darcy out of the Spotify and daydream cycle she'd been gently rolling through.

"Hmm?" Jane asked, not fully paying attention.

"Dr. Foster?" The A.I's voice was more insistent this time.

"What?" This time, the astrophysicist was less absent, but still not fully there.

"Dr. Foster?"

"Geez, what, what?" Darcy asked. "Why are you doing that? I know your intelligence is artificial, but you should totally just ask for me."

"Mr. Stark wanted to remind the two of you that the scheduled group dinner starts in ten minutes, Ms. Lewis, but you told me that if I ever interrupted you when you were staring unblinkingly at your computer screen again, you'd have me rewired. While I know this isn't possible, I thought it best to adhere to your rules. If for nothing other than positive future interactions between the two of us."

That's right. It's Wednesday. Wednesday nights were group dinner nights. "Oh right. The dinner. And thank you, FRIDAY, you're officially on my good list."

"I'm thrilled, Ms. Lewis. Do you have any other queries at this time?"

"Who all are attending? Stevie and Wanda?"

"Captain Rogers and Ms. Maximoff are indeed in attendance. As is Colonel Rhodes, as is Mr. Wilson. Dr. Stephen Strange is also in attendance. And you and Dr. Foster, if you disengage from your computers and start walking in the direction of the dining hall in no less than ten minutes. Dr. Banner has recused himself to his private quarters, so he will regretfully not be joining you this evening.."

Darcy grimaced. "Strange is gonna be there?"

"Indeed. His invitation was accepted belatedly, but he is already in the dining hall as we speak."

"Did you hear that, Janey?" Darcy extended her leg and pushed on Jane's chair, jarring her from her thoughts. Not an easy thing to do, but Darcy knew all her boss's buttons and cheat codes after almost ten years.

"Hear what?"

"Dr. Strangelove is coming to dinner tonight."

Jane wrinkled her nose and reached over to save her work. "Oh, I'm sorry Darce. I know how much you don't like him."

"And neither do you! You don't like him either. Because he's my wildcard, Jane. You have to hate him because I do. No questions asked. We each get one, and I totally hate that one dude who came in here."

Jane began the process of shutting down her computers. "First of all, I feel like that shouldn't count as my wildcard because Reed Richards is a dick and everyone knows it. And secondly, I do; I hate Stephen Strange blindly. Only because I love you, Darce. But…"

"No buts. We have to be mean girls tonight, Janey."

"I don't think he's all that bad."

"That's because in regards to you, he's some kind of magical-science man whose brain you'd like to pick, and he's actually of a mental acuity that can keep up with your science babbles. But Bruce is all of those things too, and he's not a jerk to me, so…"

"I don't think Stephen's being a jerk, Darce. I think he's teasing you because he likes the reaction he gets from you. If you didn't get so angry, I bet he'd leave you alone. Not that any of this is your fault, but… you see what I'm saying?"

"Look. I am thirty years old."

"You're thirty-two…" Jane muttered under her breath.

"I am THIRTY for the third year running, and I'm doing just fine with it, thank you…" Darcy replied in a scandalized tone. "And regardless. I'm too old to have my pigtails yanked on the playground. If he enjoys my company, I require a more… finessed approach."

"Darcy. He could magic a bunch of lab equipment to float in the air, spelling out your initials and his in a heart and you still wouldn't get it through your thick skull that he liked you."

"That may be true, but I certainly cannot gauge someone's like or dislike of me if he flat out refuses common decency."

"He teases you. He's not being uncommonly indecent."

"He likes seeing me squirm," Darcy countered.

"And that's not a good trait in someone you're boning?" Jane retorted, eyebrows raised.

Darcy's mouth fell open and she made several undignified noises. If she had to call them anything, she'd call them squawks. "I… I… I… never said anything about boning him!"

"That's the underlying current here, isn't it?" Jane asked. "You say you hate him. But there's a thin line between disdain and--"

"Do not for the love of all that is Thor-ly, say 'love'."

"Attraction," Jane finished. "If you were indifferent to him, you wouldn't care how he treated you. Look at Bruce. He has his bad days and grumbles at you and you don't bat an eye. Stephen Strange uses a tone that's borderline snarky and you throw yourself dramatically off the deep end."

"No. I. Don't."

Jane pursed her lips but didn't reply any further, which was fine. Because Darcy totally won that argument, okay? "So, are you ready for dinner and hating Stephen? Because I'm ready."

Darcy sniffed and nodded. "Might as well get this over with."

"What are we eating, anyway? Last week's options were pretty good…"

"I think Tony's doing takeout for everything…" Darcy said trailing off. "We could literally ask FRIDAY."

"Tonight's menu consists of twelve different gourmet soups," the A.I cheerfully provided.

Darcy made a face. "One of those better be cheese based or I'm skipping out…"

"Me too," Jane muttered.

The dinner itself was amazing. Surprisingly. Or not surprisingly, since Tony usually hired chefs that made amazing food and Darcy wasn't sure why she ever questioned things anymore.

There were three cheese-based soups, so she and Jane had plenty to choose from.

The wine was nothing to sneeze at either.

It was too bad that Darcy couldn't really enjoy either because Stephen Strange was such a mind-numbingly terrible human and his very existence put a bad taste in her mouth.

A bad taste that even a bowl of creamy asparagus parmesan soup couldn't take away.

"So how's scientist-wrangling, Darcy?" His Terrible-ness asked, only about five minutes into the meal.

Seriously dude, let me live?

She took a long sip from her wine glass, realizing that any hope of his surviving the dinner was going to rest on how quickly it got refilled. "Good. Thanks." Just like Jane had advised. Short. Semisweet. Didn't expose any emotion whatsoever, Darcy was golden-- "How's being an emotionally constipated magical prick with too many layers and a personality that idles on extra?" she added at the end.

Gods-dammit, Darcy.

Stephen burst into laughter. Pretentious laughter. "I was just trying to make conversation," he said.

"No, you weren't. If you were making conversation, you wouldn't have picked on one of the things you know bothers me."

He peered over at her. "How would I know that bothers you?"

"Because, Genius. You've brought it up before. And you know damn well that's not all I do, but you oversimplify things to get a rise out of me. Next, you'll be making fun of my taser, even though I could level your ass with it."

"Hey, hey…" Tony interjected. "Keep the foreplay out of dining room, okay?"

Darcy rolled her eyes and snatched her glass, physically turning herself so Stephen was out of her line of vision.

"You've never done it before, why start now?" Stephen muttered under his breath. Just loud enough for everyone to hear.

"That taser's gotten her out of some binds before," Steve interrupted. "She'd be dead by now with all the intelligence she's carrying if it wasn't for that thing."

Wanda agreed. "No one ever expects it."

"And she tased Thor!" Jane added.

Darcy felt her heart physically warm. Her friends were awesome, okay?

"Yes, I did," Darcy said, effectively ending the convo once and for all.

Or it would have.

If she didn't get her feelings hurt a little.

Okay, so she got her feelings hurt a lot.

And when Darcy got her feelings hurt, she usually cleaned something. But her apartment and workstation were all as tidy as they could be and Jane had murder eyes for anyone who so much as deigned to ogle the mess in her area, so Darcy was left with but one option.

Tinkering with her taser.

Probably not the best of plans, considering her lack of engineering expertise. But she'd hooked up her Roku, and she was the only one who could fix the wifi in the lab, so those skills had to account for something.

After approximately three shocks to various fingers, it was obvious that while those skills were nothing to sniff at, they didn't transfer to taser tampering.

Which was how she found herself hanging out at Tony's station and casually nudging the weapon towards him.

"Fine," he said finally, scooping it up. "What do you want me to do?"

"Add more settings," Darcy said quickly.

"What settings?"

"Doesn't matter. Just. More."

"You got it, short stack."

When her beloved taser was returned to her, it looked largely the same. Except for a dial on the side that she could spin to change settings.

There were the ominous 1, 2, and 3 settings. In addition to those, there were some others that grabbed her attention a little more.

"Double Rainbow" seemed to do just that, shooting two identical rainbow beams out the end that carried no voltage that she could discern. Probably why the setting was printed in blue font, whereas the 1, the 2, and the 3 were in red.

There was also a 'Pinkie Pie' setting in blue, as well as something Tony called "Sonic Screwdriver, which she found out was actually a type of a lock-picking setting. She just had to stick the diodes on any lock and she could blast a door open. Nifty. Both were blue, so she assumed neither would hurt an actual person.

Last on the dial, though. Was something called 'Tickle'. The font was purple. And it looked hella interesting.

"'Tickle'?" Darcy asked.

Tony nodded. "Yeah, that one's a hybrid. Won't hurt the target. But it'll make 'em giggle a little." He shrugged. "I wanted something in the middle. Before, that thing either maimed or sparkled. Now, it also tickles. You're welcome."

Darcy took her new weapon and grinned. "Thanks!"

She would swear up, down, and under oath that it was an accident.

She was practicing on one of the dummies Bruce and Tony hadn't blown up yet. She'd tried out each of the red settings, finding the 3 was likely for Bruce's Other Guy, if he ever Hulked out in the lab and was unwilling to listen to reason. Settings 2 and 1 were pretty much the factory settings.

She tried out Pinkie Pie and Double Rainbow, happy with the results. The first one emitting showers of purple and pink sparkles in the shape of a unicorn. The latter, doing its double rainbow-thing.

Unfortunately, she couldn't even shoot the 'Sonic Screwdriver' at something that wasn't a lock, so she'd have to talk to Tony about how to test that one out.

It left one final setting to try out.

And she wasn't sure what it would do to the dummy, but she wanted to give it a shot. Pun intended.

She set it firmly on 'Tickle' and rounded on her target, shooting the diodes out and giving a yelp of surprise when they implanted firmly on Stephen Strange's shirt.

He glanced down at them for a long moment before his shoulders started shaking.

Let it be known to the world and everyone in it that Stephen Strange had the dorkiest laugh in the entire universe. Somewhere between a cackle and a goose honk.

Darcy released the trigger, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. "Oh my Thor, I'm sorry…"

"You're shooting me now?" he gestured to the diodes. "And correct me if I'm wrong, but if this thing took down Thor, I must be even mightier than the Asgardian." He puffed his chest proudly.

Darcy audibly groaned and pulled the trigger again, resulting in Stephen laughing both uncontrollably and loudly.

She smirked. "It's the tickle setting. Tony's been working on it. I also have a setting that can take down the Hulk, care to try that one?" She mimed reaching for the dial and Stephen's hands came out as he jolted forward.

"No, don't. Don't. I give."

"Relax. I wasn't going to shoot you with that one."

He smirked. "I know that. But I still give."

"You… give?"

"Yes. I give. Uncle. Whatever I need to say. Just please don't tickle me again."

"Why?"

"I don't like my laugh," he readily admitted.

She smirked and held her finger over the trigger again. "There's something else I'd like you to say… five seconds to guess…"

For the record, she was hoping for an apology.

"Dinner?" Stephen asked, hands still extended.

"What?" Darcy frowned. "Dinner?"

"Dinner? Just you and me. No one else. I don't feel like we ever get a chance to talk when everyone's here."

Her stomach flip-flopped and she let the taser come down to her side. She walked over to him, yanking the diodes from his shirt and wound them back up. "You can go."

"Wait…" He practically stumbled forward. "That's why I'm here. To ask you to dinner."

"Pull the other one, Magic Man."

"No, I mean it. And I take it from your utter lack of a reaction that this is a complete surprise to you?"

"Not completely. Just utterly the last thing in the entire world I expected to hear from you. I would have settled for an apology just so you know. I'm not into torturing a dude for a date."

"An apology for what?"

"For our entire acquaintanceship," she countered. "You're rude and mean and you make fun of me, and you are so good at picking out every little thing that I'm sensitive about…" Darcy shook her head. "So hate to break it to ya, but I'm gonna need a rain check on the date."

"I'm sorry," he said immediately. "I'm sorry for hurting your… pride? Your feelings? I can't tell by your tone which it was, but I am infinitely sorry."

She shrugged. "You had to do something, right? I was kind of equally horrible to you."

"I didn't mind," Stephen replied. "I enjoy a good verbal spar from time to time." He took a step closer. "You said you'd need a rain check for the date?"

"Did I? I thought I refused you outright and bade you to never darken my doorway again…" she teased.

He shook his head, and she shifted her weight expectantly. "How long's the rain check good for?" He asked, freezing in place.

She shrugged. "No expiration, I guess."

"That's… that's good to hear. So you wouldn't be opposed?"

"I know," she said, laughing a little. "Color me surprised."

He took another step closer. "I really am sorry. I thought we were engaging in verbal combat, but with a slightly flirtatious flair."

"I don't flirt with the guys who pull my hair to show they like me," she replied.

He smiled a little. Crookedly, and in a way that made her want to blush and look away.

"You weren't not flirting," he countered.

"No. But I wasn't flirting either. You'd know if I was."

"What does that look like? For those of us who are helplessly dense in this subject?"

She rolled her eyes. "You, Stephen. Are hopelessly dense about a lot of things. But not about this. If I like you. I'll tell you."

"Do you like me?"

"You're growing on me," she replied, smiling a little as he moved closer still. She wasn't moving closer, but she wasn't moving away either. He could come all the way across the floor if he was serious.

"Like a skin tag?"

She smirked. "No, genius."

He chuckled, closing the gap between them and standing so close that she could smell his aftershave. "See, I'm really bad at this."

She reached up to grab at what passed for lapels on that ridiculous ensemble he was wearing. She tugged him forward and turned at the last second, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "You really aren't. Call me later about the date, okay?"

She took a step back and took her taser with her.

"How late is later? Can I call you in five minutes?"

"Use your best judgment!" she called, retreating to her area of the lab with a smug smile on her face. She slid into her chair with a tiny bounce.

"Seemed pretty 'finessed' if you ask me," Jane said, keeping her voice low as she clicked around on her computer.

"Shut it, Foster."

#Strangeshock #Darcy Lewis #Stephen Strange #Darcy/Strange #dlaf2019 #Crack Challenge

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hatredandfear · 6 years ago

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Tag dump .02 - Characters

♔; || long live the king! (king sombra)

♔; || princess lovebrat (princess cadance)

♔; || consort of love (shining armor)

♔; || mother dearest (princess amore)

♔; || lovebrat’s spawn (flurry heart)

♔; || mastermind prodigy (cozy glow)

♔; || father of all monsters (grogar)

♔; || parasitic queen (queen chrysalis)

♔; || devourer of magic (lord tirek)

♔; || spirit of chaos (discord)

♔; || dream walker (princess luna)

♔; || ray of sunshine (princess celestia)

♔; || friendship & magic (twilight sparkle)

♔; || element of honesty (applejack)

♔; || element of kindness (fluttershy)

♔; || element of loyalty (rainbow dash)

♔; || element of generosity (rarity)

♔; || element of laughter (pinkie pie)

♔; || beloved queen consort (opalescent pearl)

♔; || scorching empress (daybreaker)

♔; || beautiful nightmares (nightmare moon)

♔; || commander of storms (tempest shadow)

♔; || foolish & naive prince (topaz)

♔; || empire’s ray of hope (radiant hope)

#♔; || long live the king! (king sombra)#♔; || princess lovebrat (princess cadance)#♔; || consort of love (shining armor)#♔; || mother dearest (princess amore)#♔; || lovebrat’s spawn (flurry heart)#♔; || mastermind prodigy (cozy glow)#♔; || father of all monsters (grogar)#♔; || parasitic queen (queen chrysalis)#♔; || devourer of magic (lord tirek)#♔; || spirit of chaos (discord)#♔; || dream walker (princess luna)#♔; || ray of sunshine (princess celestia)#♔; || friendship & magic (twilight sparkle)#♔; || element of honesty (applejack)#♔; || element of kindness (fluttershy)#♔; || element of loyalty (rainbow dash)#♔; || element of generosity (rarity)#♔; || element of laughter (pinkie pie)#♔; || beloved queen consort (opalescent pearl)#♔; || scorching empress (daybreaker)#♔; || beautiful nightmares (nightmare moon)#♔; || commander of storms (tempest shadow)#♔; || foolish & naive prince (topaz)#♔; || empire’s ray of hope (radiant hope)#tag dump

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dream-a-little-bigger-x · 6 years ago

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A Kiss From Oma Toert - Calum Hood | Foreigner!Reader series

A/N: The third one in the Foreigner! series. This time not requested. I am brought up with a general Dutch dialect sort of thing, but my mom and grandparents speak Brussels and Leuven accents, my dad is from Malines. If you got no clue what I’m talking about, please look it up or come visit our country! ;)

Pairing: Calum Hood x Belgian!Reader

Warnings: none

Words: 959

Summary: Y/N is a Belgian YouTuber and when her viewers find out she’s dating the world’s beloved bass player Calum Hood, they tell her to teach him some Dutch words on her channel.

“Okay,” you mumbled as you sat down on your bed next to Calum. You had just set up your lights and camera and had pressed record to start filming whatever this was you were doing. You had no clue what to call this video, but that was something to figure out when you were done editing. “Are we good?” Calum asked as he put his phone on silent and threw it behind him on the bed. You fixed your hair a little in the view finder before nodding. “Yes, we are,” you took a deep breath and put a big smile on your face, pumping yourself up for this video, “Hey, everybody! And welcome back to my channel!” you practically shouted. Your YouTuber-voice was always ten times as loud as your normal voice. “Today, I’ve got something all of you have been begging me to do for a while now. And no, it’s not the Boyfriend tag, although we really should do that, actually. But I’m going to teach my boyfriend -- this one over here,” you explained, pointing to said boyfriend next to you, who gave the camera a weird smile with a couple of extra chins, “some Dutch or Flemish words as I am Belgian and my mother tongue is Dutch,” you explained with a smile before grabbing your phone to open your notes. “What do I win when I’ve got all of them correct?” he asked you with a smile. “A kiss from oma, probably,” you told him, chuckling. “Yes! Just what I wanted!” he cheered, making you throw your head back, laughing. Once I composed myself again, I continued my explanation. “I’ll be teaching him some words in some of the Flemish dialects. There are a fair few, but I’ve grown up between Leuven and Malines, my grandparents lived in Brussels for most of their life. So my parents brought me up with like an in-between-kinda language. However, I will teach you some words in those three dialects and some standard Dutch words,” you told him with a smile and he nodded. “Are you ready?” you then asked him. “Yes, very!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands once, then rubbing them together as if he’s compelling a genius plot. “The first one is my favorite as my gran always used to bring this over when she came to visit,” you explained, “Toert,” you then said in the best Brussels dialect you could. “Toert?” he repeated and started thinking about it. “In general Dutch, it’s called taart,” you helped him a little. “And your gran always brings it with her? Oma or bomma?” he questioned, wanting to know which grandma I meant. “Oma. We gave her the nickname Oma Toert or Oma Taart at some point,” you explained to him, looking at him as he thought about it. He looked extremely dishy today with just a pair of sweatpants on and a shirt. But he somehow looked twice as attractive as he did on a regular day. “Is it like pie? Your oma always brings apple pie with her when she comes to visit,” he asked, remembering correctly. You nodded your head excitedly, clapping your hands a little. “Yep! Toert or taart means pie,” you repeated with a smile. “Yes! I knew that! Thanks, Oma!” he said to the camera with a grin. Oma was your mom’s mom and she did always bring a pie whenever they visited. Oma loved Calum so much, they really did get along even though Oma’s English wasn’t the greatest. “Next word is an easy one,” you said with a smile, “Schat or schatteke,” he looked at you for a moment as he thought about it. “Like, babe or baby? Your dad calls your mom schatteke,” he said, pronouncing the word very cutely. You smiled a little as you tried to hide the fact that you were melting right then and there of how adorable this boy of yours is. “Yes! Schatteke means babe, it’s a Dutch nickname you mostly call your significant other. I sometimes use it sarcastically when someone says something stupid,” you explained, “Now for a more useful word my dad suggested: e pinke!” you nearly shouted, throwing your pinky finger up in the air. “Shit, got no clue!” he chuckled a little at how ridiculous you looked. “It’s how we order beer at a party; we say ‘e pinke!’ while showing our pinky finger in case they didn’t hear us,” you explained to him. That is how people really did that in Belgium, and it must look really weird if you’re not from Belgium. “Oh, yeah! That’s cool! E pinke!” he shouted with his pinky finger in the air before his laughter filled up the room. The two of you kept doing this, you gave him words and even some sentences until you were out of words and had enough content for an entire episode of Stranger Things. “Right, that was it for this video, guys! Don’t forget to like and subscribe and tell me in the comments below how well you think Calum did on this test. Also, tell me what you want to see us do next on here!” you concluded your video, then looked at Calum, “Got anything to add, Cal?” you asked him. “Yes, as the Belgians say; grab e pinke and a toert, and tot de volgende, schatteke!” he said in half-Dutch, half-English, pronouncing the Dutch words adorably. You laughed a little at him. “Exactly! Goodbye!” you waved at the camera before getting up and turning it off. “Do you think I earned that kiss from Oma Toert now?” he asked you with a grin. “Definitly, and one from your schatteke too!” you smiled and leaned down to kiss him on the lips.

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alicornae · 4 years ago

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TAG DUMP II : RELATIONS

` ♡ ☀️ ( i can see a rainbow / in your tears as they fall on down — luna. ) ` ` ♡ ☀️ ( remembered forever — starswirl. ) ` ` ♡ ☀️ ( king && father of monsters — grogar. ) ` ` ♡ ☀️ ( of sea && skies — queen novo. ) ` ` ♡ ☀️ ( to guide us to lead us / element of magic — twilight. ) ` ` ♡ ☀️ ( working from dusk til’ dawn / element of honesty — applejack. ) ` ` ♡ ☀️ ( the quiet one is still searching / element of kindness — fluttershy. ) ` ` ♡ ☀️ ( knows the best ways to have fun / element of laughter — pinkie pie. ) ` ` ♡ ☀️ ( finds the beauty in everyone / element of generosity — rarity. ) ` ` ♡ ☀️ ( takes the skies to heart / element of loyalty — rainbow dash. ) ` ` ♡ ☀️ ( warriors of equestria — mane six. ) ` ` ♡ ☀️ ( caught in the cycle of rebirth / emergence of flames — philomena. ) ` ` ♡ ☀️ ( let me try again && again / crystal princess — cadence. ) ` ` ♡ ☀️ ( emergence of tyranny && hate — sombra. ) ` ` ♡ ☀️ ( in another time we would be one / chaos theory — discord. ) ` ` ♡ ☀️ ( love devourer && wedding crasher — chrysalis. ) `

` ♡ ☀️ ( wronged by friendship && healed by it — tempest. ) ` ` ♡ ☀️ ( seeking the sun no matter where it goes — irnmaidn / cassandra. ) `

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laftcr · 7 years ago

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The struggles of an rper ♡

tagged by: @enter-at-your-own-peril tagging: @dashiie @askpartycannon @twxlightbeforedawn @universalcarnival

NAME: N/A

NICKNAME: Glitter! FACE CLAIM: Serina/Usagi from Sailor Moon PRONOUNS: She/Her HEIGHT: 4′11″ BIRTHDAY: November 21st ( It’S ALMOST MA BIRFDAY! )

AESTHETIC: Pastels, Soft colors, Bright colors, soft fabrics, squishy things

LAST SONG YOU LISTENED TO: THIS BEAUTY! I listen to it almost daily.

FAVORITE MUSE(S) YOU’VE WRITTEN: I think my favorite muses as of late are Mettaton, Dirk Strider, and Pinkie Pie. Don’t get me wrong, I love my several other muses. But these ones are the ones I’ve kept for years. Dirk Strider is easily the longest character I’ve written since 2012. Not on here, but he’s the longest I’ve had muse for that I’ve kept. While I make blogs, the muse comes and goes. And these three Easily the longest. Mettaton as well with him reaching 3 years as of July next year. And Pinkie Pie’s been 6 months strong now.

Though I have other blogs such as my other Undertale blogs, and my Junkrat Blog that I love to death still. It’s just the muse comes and goes so finicky.

WHAT INSPIRED YOU TO TAKE ON YOUR CURRENT MUSE ( THAT YOU ARE POSTING THIS ON ): Honestly writing a pony was something I’ve wanted to do for a long time. I was pretty nervous about it in the beginning because I’ve had lots of muses before that come sand vanish, so I wanted to play one that wouldn’t leave me. And while Pinkie Pie is my favorite, because the trend of muses I usually have, I was thinking Rarity, mostly because of Mettaton and his influence. But I just decided to go with my instincts.

WHAT ARE YOUR FAVORITE ASPECTS OF YOUR CURRENT MUSE:

I love her for who she is. A hard working pony that loves to make me smile. It pains me that some people don’t like Pinkie as much, or find her annoying. She works super hard to make people and ponies laugh. She’s such a happy spirit even in a world that isn’t all rainbows and cupcakes. And that’s a lost aspect on most times of life. Also she’s funny as hell! There’s too many things to state!

WHAT’S YOUR BIGGEST INSPIRATION WHEN IT COMES TO WRITING:

Honestly the biggest inspiration I have when writing Pinkie is to keep her true to herself. She’s a literal spirit embodiment of laughter. She has to be happy! It’s weird to not have her like that! So I have to keep angst threads at a minimum because it doesn’t fit her. It’s a bit harder to do anything sad with her. So I try to keep her happy. As fluid as it looks I write her, It is a bit harder than it seems XD

FAVORITE TYPES OF THREADS:

I love fluff with all my heart, just having warm good things with Pinkie Pie is my bread and butter, it’s so good to make others feel good with fluff as well. Though I dont have a super duper large amount on the blog yet!

BIGGEST STRUGGLE IN REGARDS TO YOUR CURRENT MUSE:

Keeping her true to herself. It’s a bit harder than one might think.

#;; meme

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universalcarnival · 5 years ago

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@twxlightbeforedawn wanted a ponk

------ “ TWIIIIILIIIIGHT!!! I just remembered something IMPORTANT and I don’t know what to do!! ”

#Hyperactive Laughter [Pinkie Pie]#twxlightbeforedawn #this is NOT important but for pinkie? it is #what is it? find out on our next episode #i fixed the tag btw. i guess it didnt want to work lol

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super-not-naturall · 7 years ago

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Enough

SPN Fanfic

-Y/N and the boys begin getting frustrated with their research.-

(Eventual SamxReader)

1544 Words

Warnings: Again, more mental health/angst. I’m sorry! I promise the next part will not talk about anything mental health related! Although, if that kind of stuff bothers you, I’d advise just not reading this series because having a depressed main character kinda makes it hard to avoid, ya know?

A/N: As promised, here is Part 4 of Poisonous Soul! This one is normal length (Yay!) and may possibly be a bit boring cuz it’s a filler chapter, but the next part it more exciting, I pinky swear! As always, feedback is appreciated and welcomed. You can be as brutally honest as you want (As long as it’s, ya know, constructive and not just mean. Let’s be nice, people!) Next week will be back to normal with a chapter posted on Wednesday at 4:00pm EST. Thank you to everyone who is still with me on this, I love you all! Okay, now I am done talking; enjoy!

*I do not own any Supernatural characters and/or gifs I may use!

There was a time when I was younger that I thought I wasn’t human. I was so sure that I had to have some type of super power because I felt different from everyone else around me. In my seven-year-old mind, I knew I was special.

I decided to test my theory out one summer night, just as the stars had started to appear slowly, one by one.

To watch me fly, I had told myself−So confident that I was about to join them up there in the night sky.

I jumped out my second story window, putting all of my trust in these imaginary super powers. They were going to save me. I just knew it.

Gravity had other ideas, though, and I fell straight to the ground.

After two broken bones in my leg and a fractured wrist, I realized that I had made a mistake.

Trusting the Winchesters feels a lot like that moment before I took the leap: scared and yet confident all the same.

Watching Dean scroll through his laptop at my desk and Sam flip through the pages of an ancient book beside me, I’m starting to wonder when I’m going to feel my bones break again: when I realize that I have made a horrible mistake trusting these two.

“And you’re sure you don’t have any type of ability?” Deans asks me for the hundredth time, “No visions? Controlling people with your mind?”

I shake my head firmly, “I already told you, Dean, I’m one-hundred percent ordinary.”

Dean runs his hands over his face, groaning out of frustration.

“Well, I’m not finding anything.” He says, “Sammy?”

Sam glances up from the book in his lap to give his brother a shake of his head, “Maybe instead of trying to figure out what we don’t know,” He says, closing the large text with a thud, “we focus on the facts.”

I sit up straighter and grab a notebook from the top of my dresser, hoping that I might be able to actually help them this time.

“We know that Y/N does not have any sort of ability like the other people in my visions.” He glances over at me, probably still waiting for me to freak out about his visions, as he calls them, but after everything that’s been going on in my life, I’m not about to judge.

“We know that I was kidnapped by a demon.” I supply, jotting down what we know.

“A demon who probably works for yellow eyes.” Dean adds, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. A part of me hopes he loses balance and falls to the ground to provide some type of laughter in my life.

“And they don’t want you dead.”

“Not at the moment, at least.” I respond to Sam with a smirk, but he doesn’t find my sarcasm very funny.

He frowns and shakes his head, “I’m not going to let you die, period, Y/N.”

His large hand rests on my knee, making me feel things I should definitely not be feeling towards the man I barely know.

I clear my throat and look down at my messy handwriting, trying to tear my thoughts away from how warm Sam’s palm is on my skin.

“So, in all, we know that some yellow-eyed demon hired another demon to kidnap, but not kill, me, who is not special in the slightest, and this all has a connection to Sam somehow.” I look up at the two brothers who look just as frustrated as I feel. “How does this help?”

“Well, we know that we’re missing the connection.” Sam says, “Maybe you and I could try to find the connection between us and Dean can look for any signs of demon activity in the area. I assume there was a reason that the demon wanted to draw Dean and I out; maybe we can catch it before it happens.”

“Can we at least do this over food?” I ask, resting my hand on my stomach. “I am in need of some sustenance.”

Dean smiles before looking over at his brother and throwing him his keys, “You can take Baby if you promise not to scratch her.”

Sam rolls his eyes, expertly catching the keys with one hand as if it’s an automatic response by now.

I slip on my flip-flops and throw a sweatshirt on all while walking towards the door, driven by the thought of French fries and a milkshake.

“And bring me some pie!” Dean yells at us, causing his brother to shake his head with laughter.

“I know,” Sam calls back before shutting the door and hurrying through the hall with me, not wanting to run into anyone from my floor.

Everyone will be moving back into their rooms in a couple of hours and I’ll eventually have to come up with some lie explaining who the Winchesters are and why they are here, but I want to put that off until the last possible minute if I can.

I wrap my arms around myself as Sam opens the door to the building, leading me outside where the wind bites at my cheeks.

“Baby?” I ask Sam now that Dean is out of earshot.

“The Impala.” Sam rolls his eyes, but there’s a fondness there as well that tells me he doesn’t find his brother’s quirks as annoying as he makes them out to be.

We continue weaving through the buildings on campus and to the closest parking lot closest to my dorm.

“You know you guys won’t be able to be seen once everyone arrives, right?” I mention, glancing up at the giant man walking beside me.

Sam nods his head, sticking his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, “We’re good at blending in, Y/N.”

“Okay, but this is a Christian college. No boys in the room past visiting hours …”

“I did the research; I know what the rules are.” Sam’s lips pull up into an amused smirk, “We’ll be fine.”

I want to push the subject further, but keep my mouth shut. Maybe they do know what they’re doing; who am I to question the monster hunters.

I rely on Sam to take me to the car because I have absolutely no knowledge on vehicles.

The Impala ends up being one of those classics that old men tend to fix up and drive out to car shows. It’s a large, black, boat of a car with disgustingly shiny rims. Dean must take a magnifying glass to the paint every day just to make sure he hasn’t missed a speck of dirt.

I slide into the passenger side, noticing that the both of them have somehow managed to get their hands on a faculty parking permit.

“So how are you doing, Y/N?” Sam starts the car up.

I pick at the skin around my fingernails and stare out the window, avoiding eye contact with the beautiful man beside me, “What do you mean?”

I jump at the weight of his hand on top of my own, putting an end to my fidgeting.

I look up and into hypnotic, hazel eyes that make me want to pour my heart out to him; to explain all the pain and self-loathing I’ve been harboring inside for years. It makes no sense; I barely know the guy, and yet I don’t think I’ve ever been as comfortable around somebody as I am with him.

“You know what I mean.” His voice pulls me out of my head and back into the present.

I offer Sam a small smile and a shrug, deciding to be as honest with him as I’m willing, “As good as I can be after be kidnapped by a demon, I guess.”

He purses his lips, obviously not pleased with my vague answer, “Y/N …”

“What?” I interrupt him, “What do you want me to say, Sam?” I pull my hands away from his. The car suddenly seems too small for the both of us. “That I’m fine? That everything is fan-freaking-tastic?”

“That’s not what−”

“Because that’s never going to happen!” Tears burn behind my eyes. I look up toward the ceiling to fight off the inevitable break down. “I’m never going to be as good as everyone wants me to be.” I clench my trembling fingers into a fist, hating how claustrophobic and trapped I feel, “I’ll never be happy enough or safe enough or−” I swallow thickly, unable to continue with my train of thought.

I close my eyes as tightly as I can and try to focus on the biting sensation of my nails digging into my palm: anything to keep me from crying.

“But I’m alive and I’m here.” I finally say, taking a deep breath and looking over at Sam, “Isn’t that good enough?”

My throat constricts and tears have broken to the surface, I try to breathe normally, but sobs wrack my body and make it impossible.

Large arms encase me, pulling me closer into a comforting embrace smelling of old spice and musk.

Fingers trail through my hair while I bury my face deeper into the crevice of Sam’s neck.

“Of course that’s enough, Y/N.” He whispers, “That will always be enough.”

Forever Tags:

@energeticallyem @27bmm @impala-dreamer @lipstickandwhiskey @jotink78 @babypieandwhiskey @wheresthekillswitch @notnaturalanahi @mysteriouslyme81 @mrswhozeewhatsis @hannahindie @pinknerdpanda @keepcalmandcarryondean @assbutt-still-in-hell @sammy-moo @trexrambling @a-strange-world @mogaruke @keelzy2 @my-favorite-fiction67

Poisonous Soul Tags:

@halfwaytoneptune @curlyblondexoxo @deaths-damn-fruit-basket @messy-buns-and-shotguns @oneshoeshort

-Part 5-

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