#so he turned halfway down the stairs and slunk back up

[fidgetspringer]

So Røst is a very routine dependant dog.

In his four years of life the two people who have fed him his dinner and taken him out to potty are me and my mum. Me more so than her, but she's his favourite human so he's fine with her helping him.

The last year however my mum's been dealing with a back injury, so going up and down the stairs to the basement hasn't been ideal for her.

Thus, the problem.

My stepdad has taken to doing the evening potty trip with the dogs, and Røst HATES it.

Røst likes him just fine. They get along great, despite Røst not being super fond of men. BUT. Puppy draws the line at being taken out to potty by him. Just isn't having it.

My room is on the second floor, on the other side of the house, so when the parents text me that it's time for evening potty rounds I usually just open my door so Røst can trot downstairs and go out with Togo.

Except he'll turn around at the top of the stairs and come loping back all sad and upset as soon as he sees it's the stepdad waiting for him and not my mum.

I have to CARRY this 25kg dog down the stairs and shove him into the basement or he won't go.

What the fuck, man.

[in-my-loki-feels]

🤓 spontaneous hug / unexpected with President Loki and Don for the ask game!

Thank you for the prompt! I might be stretching the definition of "unexpected hug" on this one but once I had this idea, I just went with it. 😅

This is a continuation from a kiss prompt posted here, where President Loki got hurt.

🤓 spontaneous hug / unexpected

Felled by something as mundane as a gun. Loki was glad he was no longer on a timeline with his family. Thor would never have let him live this down.

In truth, the gunshot wound hadn’t been more than a nuisance at first. It was having to deal with the remaining members of the task force before seeing to the injury that had made it a more pressing problem. He should’ve slunk away to lick his wounds in private, but the thought of Don left wondering where he’d gone, if he’d come back, had forced Loki back inside the house. 

Better he stay with them, anyway, in case more trouble arrived. 

If he hadn’t been so tired, his illusion might have fooled Don, but he was having trouble concentrating even before the man barrelled through it. Now Don was kneeling beside where Loki had collapsed, taping a bandage in place while tears continued to trail down his face. Kissing him as if it were goodbye and then making a joke. What a strange man. 

“Your children haven’t listened to you,” Loki muttered. He was struggling to keep his eyes open but could see the two blond heads peering around the wall, halfway up the stairs. 

“What?” Don whipped around. The children ducked out of sight, but Don’s sigh revealed he’d seen them. He turned his attention back to Loki’s wound. “They rarely do. I’d be hurt, but they don’t listen to their mom either.” When he looked up, Loki saw the tears had stopped but his eyes were red. “Should we move you, or do you want to stay here?” 

Loki wanted to get up on his own, thank you very much, but when he tensed to do that, a fresh wave of pain tore through him and gray crept into the edges of his vision. He grit his teeth against a snarl of frustration. Staying on the floor was an indignity he would not bear, but it was quite clear he wouldn’t be moving on his own. 

“Couch,” he ground out. 

With Don’s help, Loki got to his feet and limped past the stairs—Sean and Kevin were huddled there, watching with wide eyes—into the living room. He sat down heavily on the couch, swaying for a moment before Don guided him to lie back against the arm. 

With the blood stopped—or at least slowed—Loki simply needed time for his body to heal, and for his pride to recover from this embarrassment. He fought to keep his eyes open, looking up at Don. His face was white and his clothes were smeared in Loki’s blood. 

“Wash your hands before you see to your children,” Loki said. 

Don looked down and seemed to notice the blood for the first time. It only made him more distraught, as he looked between Loki, the kitchen, and the stairs. 

“I will be fine,” Loki went on, trying to put some bite into his voice. “Go.” 

Don hovered a moment longer before hurrying into the kitchen. Loki heard the water turn on but the next thing he knew, footsteps were approaching the couch. Loki’s eyes snapped open and he reached for a weapon he didn’t have. Don stood at the foot of the couch, hands raised. He’d not only washed his hands but changed his clothes. How long had Loki been unconscious? 

Once he saw Loki relax, Don approached and gently pushed Loki’s shirt up to check the bandage. Loki didn’t care about the state of it. He hadn’t died yet, so it was unlikely he would at all, but there was no relief to be found on Don’s face. 

Loki had no wish to be stared at for however long it would take him to find the energy to rise from the couch. 

“Come here,” he said, holding out his hand. 

Don, who already stood beside him, frowned. “Where?”

“Here,” Loki said impatiently, gesturing at the scant bit of couch left next to him. 

Still looking confused, Don gingerly sat down on the edge of the couch cushion. It wasn’t exactly what Loki had wanted but it brought him close enough for Loki to slide his hands around Don’s back and pull him forward against his chest. 

The movement wasn’t without pain but Don's weight was on Loki’s uninjured side. His clothes were no doubt getting stained again; Loki didn’t care. The warmth of Don’s body felt good, as did hearing Don take and release a shaky breath. 

Loki liked to keep hold of Don when they slept, but he didn’t cuddle. He had made that clear from the start and Don never questioned it. Neither of them spoke now as they carefully rearranged themselves so Loki could spoon Don, one arm thrown over him. 

The ache in Loki’s side was still there, but there was no longer a pressing need to stay awake. Loki felt Don wrap a hand around his wrist and then he knew nothing for a while. 

From this game. Other fills here.

[chocolatequeennk]

Forever Timeless, 10/24

Summary: Two months after the Dalek Crucible, the Doctor and Rose are getting used to having the biggest family on Earth. As they visit Leadworth in 1996, Victorian England, a mysterious desert planet, and Elizabethan England, those family and friends often help in unexpected ways. But no matter where they go or who they’re with, it’s always the Doctor in the TARDIS with Rose Tyler–just as it should be.

Ten x Rose, Donna x Lee

Betaed by @rudennotgingr, @pellaaearien, and @jabber-who-key

Tagging @doctorroseprompts for 31 Days of Ficmas. This uses the Gift prompt, and probably others.

Part 7 of Being to Timelessness

AO3 | FF.NET | TSP

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9

Chapter 10: Merry and Bright

The biscuits were still warm on the table when everyone started getting ready to go into town. Mickey patted his coat pockets, then pointed at the stairs. “I forgot that I left my gloves drying in our room. I’ll be right back.”

“Bring Tony with you when you come,” Jackie said. “He wanted to play with his toys while we cleaned up, but it’s time to go now.” 

“I don’t think he’ll argue,” Mickey called back over his shoulder. 

The room he shared with Martha was on the first storey at the end of the hallway. He was about halfway down the hallway when the door swung open. Mickey leaned against the wall and watched Tony tiptoe out of the room.

The boy closed the door softly, then turned to leave. He froze when he saw Mickey, then clasped his hands behind his back and smiled at him.

Mickey pointed at the door, and Tony slunk back into the room. Once he was inside with the door shut, Mickey looked at the boy.

“What were you up to?” he asked, though he was pretty sure he knew.

Tony opened his mouth and closed it a few times. Mickey raised an eyebrow, and he slumped. “Looking for presents.”

“Presents you’re not supposed to open until tomorrow morning?” Mickey pressed.

Tony looked down and heaved a big sigh. “Yeah.” 

“Do you think your mum and dad would take you to Santa’s workshop if they knew I’d found you in my room?”

“No.” Tony’s voice wobbled a little, and Mickey crouched down so he could look him in the eye.

“I won’t tell her I caught you if you promise not to do it again.” 

Tony lurched forward and wrapped his arms around Mickey’s neck. “I promise!” he swore.

“All right, then let’s go back downstairs.” 

oOoOoOo

Rose took the Doctor’s hand as they left the house. “I was going to ask how far we’ll have to walk, but I can already hear the music,” she observed. 

“We’re right at the centre of the action,” he said, swinging their hands between them. They stopped by the skating pond and he pointed at the large wooden lodge with a sleigh parked in front. “I bet you can’t guess what that is,” he told Tony.

“Santa’s workshop!”

Pete grabbed Tony’s hand before he could run off. “We’ll see everyone back at the house at 4:00,” he said, then he, Jackie, and Tony made their way to the workshop.

The Doctor spun around and looked at the remaining bunch. “Right! I think the rest of us can find something to do. There’s skating, obviously, a snowman building contest over in the park, and you can even hire a sleigh and go for a ride.” He pointed in the general direction of each attraction as he spoke.

Rose took his hand. “We’ll meet you back at the house at 4:00, like Pete said. Have fun, everyone.” 

She tugged the Doctor away from the group towards some shops she’d noticed flanking Santa’s workshop. “I was thinking we could get everyone an ornament,” she said. “It’s a special holiday, celebrating our first Christmas all together as a family. Plus it would be nice to have some ornaments on the tree that actually belong to us.” 

“Excellent idea,” he agreed. 

A young salesperson dressed in a candy cane striped uniform greeted them at the door of the quaint shop. “Welcome to the North Pole Depot,” they said. “May I offer you a basket?”

Rose looked around at the shop, her mouth falling open when she realised how large it was. “It’s like it’s bigger on the inside,” she said under her breath.

The salesperson heard, though, and a grin stretched across their face. “I know, isn’t it incredible?” they asked. “I don’t know how they get everything in here.”

The Doctor turned slowly, his eyes narrowing. “This is…” He bit his tongue. Even if he was right and someone had used dimensionally transcendent technology to make this shop bigger on the inside, it didn’t really matter.

He took the proffered basket. “Thank you.”

“Do you remember the last time we browsed a Christmas shop?” Rose asked as they started down the central aisle.

Before he could answer, she pointed at an ornament on a nearby tree. “Oh look! For Mum and Pete.”

The Doctor took the “New Home” ornament and put it in the basket. Then he considered her question, looking around the shop as he did. “I don’t see any other Doctors this time.” 

“I still wonder what you decided to give future me for Christmas,” she said. She cast a sideways glance at him. “I mean… what kind of present do you think you might give?”

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “As far as fishing goes, that wasn’t even remotely subtle,” he said dryly. “You’ll find out what I have for you in the morning, just like everyone else.”

He shifted his hand and rubbed his thumb over the remembrance band. Besides, I already gave you your real Christmas present, he reminded her.

Rose shivered. Every time the bracelet activated, it sent a charge over the bond. 

An’ I love it, she agreed.

The Doctor hummed happily in the back of his throat, and Rose leaned against his arm. “Let’s finish shopping and then go see what other adventures we can find.” 

oOoOo

When they got back to the house, the Doctor held up their shopping bag and shook it gently. “We got a surprise for everyone,” he said, quickly handing out the ornaments.

“Since it’s our first Christmas together as a family, we thought it would be nice if everyone had an ornament to hang on the tree,” Rose added.

Martha placed her miniature stethoscope on a branch at eye level, then gave Rose a hug. “Thanks for always remembering,” she whispered.

She didn’t have to finish the sentence; Rose knew. “Thanks for always remembering I’m not just a soldier.”

Rose returned the hug, then accepted thanks and hugs from everyone else. Tony wrapped his arms around her legs and gave her a big kiss when she bent down. 

The Doctor pointed out a perfect spot for the Santa they’d gotten him. While everyone was occupied, Rose quietly went upstairs for some solitude.

She took a deep breath after she closed the door behind herself. She wasn’t used to constantly being with this many people—not ones she actually knew, at any rate. Growing up in London had meant there were always people nearby, but it was easy to ignore strangers.

“You can’t really ignore a house full of people, especially not when you all want to use the loo at the same time,” she murmured, remembering the line and the good-natured bickering that morning as they’d gotten ready.

She’d just settled in with her book when the door inched open. She could tell the Doctor was still downstairs, so she leaned to the side to see who was on the other side of the door.

“Tony?” she said in surprise when she saw his big eyes peering up at her. “I thought you were decorating biscuits.” 

His small hand was still wrapped around the doorknob. “Um… Mummy wanted to know… if you want a star cookie or a snowman cookie?”

It was obviously a fib, and Rose raised her eyebrow. “Did she?” she asked, gesturing for Tony to come inside. 

He nodded enthusiastically, a bright smile on his face. Rose would almost have believed him if his eyes weren’t darting back and forth. “Yeah!” he said. “And if you want green or red frosting. And sprinkles!”

Rose pursed her lips, pretending to think about it. Then she levelled a gaze at her little brother. “Or maybe you’re trying to find the prezzies?” she suggested. 

Tony bit his lip. “No?” he said, his tone making it a question.

Rose wanted to laugh, but she managed to keep a straight face. “You know Mum and Dad have those hidden so you get surprises tomorrow morning,” she reminded him. “If you find them and open them early, you’ll make them sad.”

“But I want to know!” Tony said.

“And you will. Tomorrow.” 

He huffed and flopped onto the floor. “Too long.” 

Rose looked down at him. “Do you want me to tell Mum you were trying to find your gifts?”

“No!” Tony covered his face with his hands, like that would keep him from getting caught.

“Then promise me you won’t do this again.” 

Tony groaned, but he rolled over and stood up. “Promise,” he said grumpily.

“Good. Now go back down there and decorate cookies before she wonders where you’ve been.” 

oOoOo

The night of Christmas Eve was almost exactly like what Rose remembered from her childhood. They had shepherd’s pie for dinner, then some of them played board games while others watched movies.

Around half eight, Jackie led a protesting Tony upstairs. “Santa won’t come until you’re asleep,” she reminded him, making Rose shake her head. 

Just like when I was a kid.

Jackie didn’t return until after nine, and she looked exhausted when she did. “I thought you were a handful with Christmas,” she told Rose, “but Tony…” 

Jenny leaned forward slightly. “What was Mum like, Gran?”

Jackie smirked. “Well, she was a champion at seeking out any presents I’d hidden away, for a start. It was a challenge every year to find new places to hide them.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” Rose protested.

Mickey snorted. “Right, and that’s why Jackie asked us to hide them in our flat one year.”

“You were like that until you were 12,” Jackie agreed. “But that year… that red bicycle showing up on Christmas morning… Either you enjoyed the surprise so much that you stopped looking, or you just grew out of it.” 

A different Doctor twirled through Rose’s memory, spinning around the console with a manic smile on his face. “Who says I’m not—red bicycle when you were twelve.”

Behind her, her current Doctor took a big gulp of tea, probably to hide his smug smirk. Rose leaned back against him and squeezed his hand. “The bike was special,” she agreed.

“I hope Tony grows out of it,” Jackie said fervently.

“You should be like my dad,” Donna said. “He always forgot to buy presents until Christmas Eve, so there was no chance for me to poke around looking for ‘em.” 

“Oh, but you can’t shop the sales that way!” Jackie protested. She sighed and looked at the tree. “I’m not looking forward to staying up late to put the presents under the tree. That’s always the hardest part of Christmas Eve.” 

“We can do that,” Rose offered. “We don’t sleep as much as the rest of you—no reason for you to lose sleep when we can do it just as well.” 

“Are you sure?” 

The Doctor nodded. “Rose is right. We don’t sleep as much as the rest of you.” 

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Jackie yawned and looked over at Pete. “If they’re going to take care of the presents, I’m going to bed.”

Pete set down his mug and stood up. “If having a three year old has taught me anything, it’s to grab onto any chance at more sleep.” His dry remark drew chuckles from everyone.

At the foot of the stairs, Jackie looked at the Doctor and Rose. “Tony takes forever to fall asleep,” she warned. “You’ll have to wait another hour yet before you can put the presents out.”

The Doctor pulled his sonic screwdriver out of his pocket. “Or I could just sonic him into his room,” he suggested jokingly.

Jackie narrowed her eyes. “I think you’re joking, but if not, no.”

“Of course not,” he agreed. “It’s not safe to lock people in their rooms.”

“I have a feeling Christmas morning is going to come a little earlier than I’d like,” Martha said after Pete and Jackie went to bed. “I don’t think Tony is going to wait until a decent hour to open all of his gifts.” 

Jenny laughed. “Definitely not. I caught him in my room yesterday, trying to find where Gran had hidden them. I told him I’d tell her he’d been looking unless he promised not to do it again.”

“Wait a minute,” Mickey said. “That’s the same thing I made him promise when I caught him in our room this afternoon.” 

Rose’s shoulders shook with repressed laughter. “And me,” she added. 

The three of them exchanged looks before everyone broke into muffled laughter. “That little sneak,” Donna said. “Promising the same thing to all of you, and then going out and doing it again anyway.” 

Rose tilted her head. “Maybe, maybe not,” she said, thinking about the exact wording of the promise she’d gotten from Tony. “Did you ask him not to sneak into any more rooms, or did you ask him not to do it again?”

When Jenny and Mickey exchanged a glance, she knew what the answer was. “Yeah, me too,” she said. “So technically, he kept his promise. He never went into Jenny’s room again, or yours or ours.” 

Mickey shook his head, then he stood up and held out a hand for Martha. “Well, if he’s that determined, we know he’s going to be up at the crack of dawn. And in that case, we’re going to bed.” 

“Yeah, us too,” Donna said as she and Lee stood up. 

“And me,” Jenny agreed. “I’ll put the milk and cookies out before I go upstairs.” 

“We’re not telling Mum, right?” Rose clarified as Jenny walked into the kitchen. 

Mickey snorted. “Definitely not.”  

After everyone else went upstairs, the Doctor and Rose quietly left the house and walked back to the TARDIS. “Maybe we should have offered to stash everyone’s gifts for them,” the Doctor mused as he opened the door.

“And take away all the fun Tony had trying to figure out where Mum had stashed them?” Rose replied.

“True… but we wouldn’t have had to tell Tony they were here.” 

Rose laughed and opened the storage cupboard just off the console room. “We can do it that way next year,” she said as she handed the Doctor the box of unwrapped gifts. 

Her phone buzzed as she was reaching for the wrapping paper. “Oh, I hope that’s Jack finally ready to come join us,” she said as she pulled it out. 

“Finally free,” she read aloud. “Come on, let’s get him the coordinates.” They dropped the gifts and paper off in the library, then continued on to the console room.

The Doctor leaned against a strut and watched Rose work. She moved around the console with a surety that most Time Lords with twice her experience wouldn’t possess.

“Bad Wolf makes it easy,” she said absently as she swung the monitor around.

The Doctor shook his head, but Rose held up a finger. “Let me get this right first.” 

She looked at the monitor, then her phone, and back again before she finally hit send. “There, that’s done,” she said, sliding the phone into her pocket. 

“There, you see,” the Doctor said, taking her hand as they walked back to the library. “It’s complicated—it doesn’t take much to send someone to the wrong planet, or the wrong century.”

“Yeah, it’s a complex system,” Rose agreed. She tugged on his arm, and glancing down, he caught her teasing smile. “But you’ve been using it for centuries—I’m not sure that’s really a good excuse for you.”

The Doctor pushed the library door open. “I think she sends us off course on purpose,” he retorted as Rose walked past him. The TARDIS chimed, and they both laughed. 

Rose hip checked him. “No matter where we go, I love it. Now let’s get these presents wrapped.”

Nearly an hour later, they crossed the snow-covered garden and carefully opened the back door. With everyone in bed, the house was almost completely silent. 

“T’was the night before Christmas,” the Doctor whispered, “and all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.”

“Exactly,” Rose agreed. “But this time, we’re St. Nick.” 

The Doctor set the box down just outside the living room and pointed his sonic at the closet where Jackie had hidden her gifts. He heard Rose shuffle carefully into the dark living room, and then saw the light when she turned a lamp on.

A sudden wave of amusement caught him by surprise. He turned and stuck his head into the room, wondering what had tickled her. 

He raised his eyebrows when he saw the empty plate that was supposed to have cookies left for Santa. Rose put her finger over her lips, then pointed at the floor under the table. 

Two little feet stuck out, and the Doctor had to press his lips together to hide his laughter. He bent down, and sure enough, his little brother-in-law was passed out under the table, probably from the sugar crash after eating the entire plateful of cookies. 

You start getting out the gifts, he told Rose as he scooped Tony up. I’ll take this guy to bed.

The Doctor had just disappeared around the corner at the top of the stairs when Rose heard a quiet pop behind her and felt a shift in the air. “Hi Jack,” she said, shooting him a quick smile over her shoulder. “Help me get the presents out?”

Jack grinned back at her. “Anything for you, Rosie.” 

Rose rolled her eyes but didn’t respond to Jack’s flirting. It was just Jack—something she’d known for years. “Come on, let’s get this done. Then we can talk for a bit.” 

They were just putting the last gift out when the Doctor finally returned. “One toddler finally back in bed,” he half-whispered. His gaze shifted to Jack. “And one Torchwood operative finally with us.”

Rose sat down on the love seat and the Doctor joined her. “It did take you a bit to get here,” she said to Jack, seated on a plush chair across from them. “With space-time coordinates, I thought you’d arrive right after we sent them.” 

Jack ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah, the Vortex felt off tonight—it was a bit of a bumpy ride. I’m just glad I got here within the hour.” 

“Space hopper,” the Doctor said under his breath. 

“One that you tuned up,” Jack rejoined. 

“Oi, you can’t blame this on me. If you start with a scooter, not even the world’s best mechanic could turn it into a Ferrari.”

Rose had only been half-listening to their bickering. Jack’s comment about the Vortex seeming off had sent a shiver down her spine; she had a feeling that was important somehow.

She shook herself out of the pensive mood when she felt the Doctor’s question over the bond. “Come on then,” she said to Jack. “What have you been up to?”

The TARDIS hummed around her as they settled in for a long winter’s chat.

oOoOo

After staying up until three in the morning talking to Jack, Tony’s excited shout and the pounding of his footsteps down the hallway came early even for Rose. She rolled over and pulled the duvet over her head, hanging onto it when the Doctor tried to pull it back.

“It’s too bloody early to be awake,” she grumbled when she finally gave in and sat up.

“Rose, I am a Time Lord. I understand more about time and how it works than almost anyone else in the universe. Even I know there is no convincing young children that Christmas morning can be too early.” 

The gravity with which he gave that little speech made Rose laugh. “All right, fine,” she said. 

“Besides, once we get downstairs we can open presents.” 

Rose swung her legs out of bed and grabbed her dressing gown. “Oh yes!” she said, purposely sounding just like him. “I can’t wait for you to see what I got you.” 

They were the first adults downstairs. Rose went into the kitchen to start the coffee, letting the Doctor keep Tony company—and keep him out of the gifts. 

It might have been the aroma of coffee floating up the stairs that brought the rest of the adults downstairs, more than the sound of Tony’s excited chatter. They all filed through the kitchen for a cup before making their way into the living room. 

“Mr. Jack!” Tony shouted when Jack made his appearance. “You came!” 

Jack laughed and swung Tony up for a hug. “You bet I did, kiddo. I wouldn’t miss a family Christmas.” 

“We’re glad you could make it, Jack,” Pete said. He scanned the room quickly, then smiled. “It looks like everyone’s here. Shall we get started?”

“Yeah!” Tony darted around his father and grabbed the first package he reached. “Presents!” 

Pete read over his shoulder. “That one is for Martha. Can you take it to her?” The little boy’s shoulders slumped, but he dutifully walked it across the room to Martha. 

“Thank you, Tony!” she exclaimed as she took the gift in bright red and green striped paper. She pulled the bow off the top and handed it to him. “I think you deserve a prize for being so helpful.” 

Tony grinned and put the bow on top of his head. “You’re welcome!” he said, then darted back to the tree and the pile of presents his father had made for him. 

The Doctor shook his head as he enjoyed Tony’s antics. It had been a very long time since he’d been around children that young.

He had his own pile of presents to open, another thing he hadn’t experienced… well, ever. He and Rose enjoyed their small Christmas celebrations with one meaningful gift each. This was a whole different level. 

“The shirt boxes wrapped in the snowman paper are from me and Pete,” Jackie said. “We’ll open those last.” 

The Doctor picked up the box and shook it gently, but outside of a soft rustle, there was no indication at all of what it was. 

“We’ll open them last,” Jackie repeated firmly.

Rose took the box from him and set it on the coffee table in front of them, and then set another package down next to it. Open that one next to last, she told him.

The Doctor couldn’t resist. He picked that gift up too, turning it over in his hands. 

“It’s in a box, love,” Rose told him, rolling her eyes. “You’re not going to figure it out unless you have x-ray vision.” 

She watched for a moment, until he picked up a different gift and started unwrapping. Then she turned to her own pile, starting with the one from Martha.

Rose had opened half her gifts when the Doctor nudged her over the bond. She looked up and smiled when she saw Jenny had their gift in her hand. He’d shown her what he’d gotten for Jenny at the jeweller, and she’d approved completely.

Jenny stuck her finger under the flap of paper and slid slowly, releasing the tape. Rose shifted in her seat, and the Doctor wrapped an arm around her shoulders and smirked down at her. Be patient. Not everyone rips wrapping paper off like you do.

Rose sighed and leaned back into the couch to watch. Jenny finally peeled back the festive red and green paper. She looked at the long, white box for a few moments, then looked up at Rose and the Doctor.

“Well, open it!” the Doctor said, making Rose laugh and poke him gently in the ribs. 

“Be patient,” she said, sticking her tongue out at him.

“I’ll open it now, if you want.” 

Rose and the Doctor both turned to look at Jenny, and she laughed at them. 

Jenny pulled off the lid and her eyes widened.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Jackie asked. 

Jenny lifted the watch out of the box and held it up. “It’s gorgeous! Thanks, Mum and Dad.”

The Doctor bounced lightly in his seat. “We thought… time was the perfect gift.” 

It was symbolic in more ways than one, and when tears welled up in Jenny’s eyes, he knew she understood everything he was saying. The watch represented her heritage as a Time Lord, but it was also the gift of time. The time to decide what she wanted out of life, without him peering over her shoulder trying to get her to choose what he thought was best for her.

Jenny set the watch down carefully and crossed the room to hug him. “Thank you,” she whispered.

The Doctor held her tight. “I’m proud of you,” he told her. “I am so very proud to call you my daughter.”

Jenny squeezed him even tighter, then she sighed and let him go. She gave Rose a quick hug, then went back to her own seat.

The Doctor tried not to watch Rose when she finally got to his present. She opened the paper slowly, far more slowly than her usual zealousness. He knitted his brows together and then rolled his eyes. Of course she was dragging out the process. She wouldn’t get to the actual gift for years at the rate she was going.

Rose smiled at him when he finally focused his attention on her. Finally, she ripped off the paper with a satisfying shhhh noise. 

Rose raised her eyebrows when she saw the standard box meant for clothing. “What did you get me?” she asked the Doctor under her breath. 

“Why don’t you open it and find out,” he suggested, keeping his voice equally low. Not that anyone was going to overhear them—the entire room was a cacophony of happy noise as everyone opened gifts and thanked the givers.

Rose pursed her lips, but she dutifully lifted the lid on the box and pulled back the tissue paper. 

The Doctor’s hearts raced when she picked up the burgundy jumper and shook it out. One of yours? she asked, though they both knew the answer.

One of yours, he corrected. Because I’m that Doctor too, and I loved you then. He paused. Also, it’s possible I like seeing you in my clothes.

Rose blushed and folded the jumper back up. I still need to get a suit like yours, don’t I? 

The Doctor had just taken a drink of his coffee and he started choking when some of it went down the wrong pipe. The vision of Rose wearing his suit was just as appealing now as it had been the year before.

Rose pounded him on the back. Once he quit coughing, she pointed at the package he still held, the one from her. “Open that next!” she insisted. 

The Doctor looked at the gift, then at Rose’s irrepressible smile. “How do you always manage to outdo my gifts?” he asked as he tore the paper open. “Every year, I think I’ve given you the best gift, that it can’t be topped… and yet you manage it.”

She giggled madly. “Oh, I wouldn’t necessarily say I topped your gift this year. But I can definitely say it’s not something you’ve ever gotten before.” 

He raised an eyebrow, then opened the box. At first all he could see was a flash of red gold. He reached into the box and as soon as he touched it, he knew. 

“You didn’t,” he said, his voice flat. 

“What is it, Doc?” Jack asked. 

“Yeah, come on Doctor,” Mickey chimed in. “We’ve all been showing off our gifts.” He paused, and his face turned a little green. “Unless she’s given you some kind of sexy underwear or… something. I don’t think any of us want to see that.” 

“No thank you!” Jackie said vehemently, making everyone laugh.

The Doctor rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing like that. Just… Just Rose ribbing me, as usual.” 

He pulled the gift out, draping it over his fist so everyone could see what it was. There was a moment of silence, then howls of laughter burst out of everyone.

“Put it on!” Martha insisted after wiping tears from her eyes. 

“I will do no such thing!” the Doctor protested. 

“Oh, come on Doctor,” Pete said. “I don’t know the story behind this, but I have to admit I’m curious to see what it looks like.”

The Doctor looked at Rose, and that was his mistake. She had that smile on her face, the same one that always convinced him to do whatever she wanted. 

He groaned. “All right, but I’d better not hear any cameras,” he warned. 

He sighed again and then put the wig on. 

Rose doubled up laughing. “I don’t know why you’re so upset,” she said, gasping for air. “You always said you wanted to be ginger. I just made it possible.” 

The fringe draped into the Doctor’s eyes and he flung it back over his forehead. “I said I wanted to actually be ginger,” he said. “Not wear some monstrosity of a wig.”

“Well at least now you can decide if you think it’s a good look for you,” Donna suggested.

Finally, all the gifts were opened except for the mysterious gifts from Jackie and Pete. Mickey was the first to rip into his, but as soon as they heard one piece of paper tear, everyone else started. 

“Mum, what did you do?” Rose asked when she saw blue knit fabric.

“Just pull it out and you’ll see.” 

Everyone took their gift out of the wrapping and shook it out. Rose stared at her jumper in the box for a little longer. She’d always managed to avoid ugly Christmas jumpers before, but it seemed her luck had run out.

She finally lifted the jumper out of the box to take in its ugly glory. The blue and white badly designed Fair Isle pattern depicted the Bumble from Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer.

Looking around the room, she realised everyone had a Christmas jumper. She thought maybe she knew what was going on then, and she looked back at her mum. 

Jackie was beaming, holding her own ugly jumper—hers was Mrs. Claus in the bathtub. Rose glanced at Pete’s and wasn’t surprised that his was Santa having a beer.

“We wanted to do something to make us feel… like a family,” Jackie said. “So when you get ready for dinner, I want everyone to put your jumper on—and no complaining,” she added, glaring at Jack. 

“Would I complain? Did anyone hear me complain?”

“You’ll have to keep it on, too,” Mickey retorted. 

“Well now you’re just taking the fun out of it,” Jack complained. He must have caught the look on Jackie’s face, because he quickly held up his hands. “Kidding, kidding!” he insisted. “I’ll wear the jumper.” 

“I think it’s breakfast time,” Lee said, making everyone laugh. But they left behind the pile of presents and discarded wrapping paper and took their seats around the dining table.

After breakfast, Mickey and Martha slipped out the front door. Rose nodded as she saw them disappear—they were the only couple who hadn’t had an hour to explore the town, just the two of them.

“Who’s going to help me with the turkey and all the fixings?” Jackie asked. 

Jenny grimaced. “I would, but…” 

Jackie shook her head. “Thank you, sweetheart, but…” 

“But we’d rather Christmas dinner wasn’t served charbroiled,” Jack finished. 

Rose felt a little pang in her heart as she watched the Cardiff members of their family laugh at a shared joke, one she wasn’t privy to. “It’s all right, Jenny,” she said. “Mum probably won’t tell you, but she used to burn everything, too.” 

“Here now,” Jackie protested. “I’m not out here telling everyone your secrets. For that, you can work on the stuffing. There’s an onion that needs to be chopped up” 

In the end, it was Jackie, Rose, Donna, and Lee working on dinner while everyone else found other ways to spend the morning. As Rose cut the veg for the stuffing, she could hear a movie going in the living room and a toy car racing up and down the hallway. It was the kind of holiday family gathering she’d always seen in movies but never actually experienced.

She’d just finished sautéing the ingredients when her mum called her name. “What is that alien of yours up to, Rose?” 

Rose turned so fast she nearly knocked the pan off the stove. “Where is he?” she asked, then she realised that her mum was standing at the kitchen window.

Rose crossed the kitchen and looked outside. Jenny and Jack had started a snowman, and it looked like Mickey and Martha were just getting back from their walk and were joining in. 

So far she didn’t see… Then she found him. He was sitting on a bench on the opposite side of the garden, and he had something metal caught between his teeth as he used the sonic on the device he was holding. A device that looked an awful lot like…

“Oh lord,” Donna muttered. “He’s built a snowball catapult.”

“Or slingshot,” Rose agreed. She left the window and walked over to where the coats hung by the door.

“But there’s not a snowball fight going on,” Jackie protested. 

“Not yet,” Lee said, making both Rose and Donna laugh.

“What are you doing, Rose?”

Rose finished pulling on her winter boots and looked up at her mum. “I’m not staying in here if there’s going to be a snowball fight,” she said. 

Donna and Lee were both reaching for their coats, too, and Jackie shook her head. “You’re all mad,” she said, a repeat of the declaration she’d uttered many Christmases ago. But this time it was said with affection instead of derision.

“Yeah.” Rose crossed the room and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “And you love us.” 

“God help me, I do.” She pointed at the three of them. “You make sure that alien gets hit at least once, you hear me?”

“Yes ma’am!” they chorused as they stepped outside.

Donna squeezed Lee’s hand, then tilted her head to the right when he glanced over at her. He nodded subtly, and she left his side to sneak behind the garden shed.

When she was safely hidden, she peered around the corner at the Doctor. He was still facing Jenny and Jack, that bloody catapult in his hand. Donna grinned as she collected a handful of snow and carefully patted it into a snowball.

A moment later, she pumped her fist victoriously when her snowball hit the Doctor square in the back. He jumped, then spun around wildly looking for where the attack had come from. 

Donna ducked back behind the corner of the shed just in time to avoid being caught. A moment later, she heard another splat. The Doctor’s loud squawk of protest told her he’d been the target again. 

“Why are you all ganging up on me?” he whinged.

She jumped back out into the open and threw another snowball. “Don’t try acting innocent,” she told him. “We saw you making that catapult thing—we just thought we’d beat you to the punch.”

Faster than Donna had expected, he scooped up snow in his gadget and spun around to fire it at her. The cold snow hitting her in the chest shocked the air out of her, but then she narrowed her eyes at him. “Oh, it is on now, Space Man.” 

The lines were quickly drawn. Mickey and Martha joined her and Lee. Rose sided with the Doctor, of course, and Jack and Jenny joined on their side to keep the numbers even.

Donna lost track of time as she pelted snowballs across the lawn. Everyone was shrieking and laughing and yelling threats at each other.

“Oi, you lot!” Jackie hollered from the back door an untold amount of time later. “Get in here and get cleaned up. Dinner will be ready in half an hour. And don’t forget to wear your jumpers.”

Rose shivered as she shrugged out of her winter coat and left it in the kitchen with everyone else’s. “I don’t think anyone will mind wearing your jumpers,” she told her mum. “I know I won’t.” 

“Me either,” Martha agreed, followed by Jenny and Mickey. 

“Oh fine,” Jack grumbled, drawling out the sound. “I suppose a warm jumper might be nice right about now.” 

“Who won the snowball contest, by the way?” Jackie asked as they all headed for the stairs.

Mickey was the first to start laughing, but they all joined in quickly. “There was too much chaos to settle a winner,” he said.

“But we all got the Doctor at least once,” Donna added.

“Then I think I won,” Jackie said. “I got exactly what I wanted and didn’t have to get wet.” 

Everyone laughed again as they walked up the stairs, even the Doctor.

Twenty minutes later, they all returned to the dining room. Pete and Jack helped Jackie get all the food on the table, and when it was ready, she nodded and they all sat down.

After all the food had been passed and the plates were full, Pete stood up, his wine glass in hand. “I think a toast is in order,” he said. “To new beginnings and a family found.” 

“To new beginnings,” Donna said, looking at Lee. 

“To a past remembered,” he added.

The Doctor watched the exchange, a lump in his throat. Watching the two of them was bittersweet. He hadn’t had anyone to hold him up after he’d lost his family—his entire planet.

Rose rested her hand on his knee, and he relaxed. He hadn’t had anyone right away, but the TARDIS had made sure he’d found the perfect person pretty quickly. 

He took her hand and laced their fingers together. Thank you, he told her.

Always.

oOoOo

Once the Christmas pudding was demolished and the dishes had been moved into the kitchen, everyone moved into the living room. The Doctor smiled at the crowd of them lounging on the couches and the floor, all wearing the ugly Christmas jumpers from Pete and Jackie. Before he could say anything, he heard a shutter click.

He looked behind him and saw a camera resting on the mantel. “I set it on a timer,” Mickey explained. “Come on, join us for the next one.” 

The Doctor darted into the group and laid down on the floor in front of all of them. He posed in what Rose called the “Titanic Pose,” then he used the sonic to trigger the timer on the camera.

A second later, the flash nearly blinded him. As soon as he could see again, he jumped up and grabbed the camera. 

“My turn,” he said. “But first…” He pulled out his sonic screwdriver and fiddled with it for a moment, then pointed it at the camera. “Now you should all get copies of all the photos on your phones.” 

He snapped a few quick candids as people pulled out their phones to check, then let Martha snag the camera from him. 

“Come on, Tony,” the Doctor said, gesturing to the boy. “I bet we could run your new toy cars up and down the hallway, what do you think?”

“Yeah!” 

Behind him, the Doctor heard the clicks of pictures being taken and knew their holiday memories would be well recorded.

oOoOo

Rose took her turn with the camera last, and she wandered the house, trying to catch everything. The glittering tree, the table with leftovers and remains of Christmas crackers scattered over it, Tony stretched out on his stomach trying to put together a puzzle… She didn’t want to miss any of it.

But finally she set the camera down on the table and leaned against the doorframe between the living room and the dining room. Everyone had moved into the living room, all stretched out comfortably on the couches and floor. It’s a Wonderful Life was playing on the telly, though she wasn’t sure anyone was really awake enough to be paying attention.

She felt that tug again, the same one she’d felt earlier while helping with dinner. It was the family holiday scene she’d always wanted when she was a kid… and she’d had to go flying through time and space to make it happen.

She felt the Doctor behind her before he tapped her on the shoulder. I have a surprise for you, he told her. Let’s go outside.

He already had his coat on, and he handed her hers. The familiar, almost giddy light of adventure lit his eyes, and Rose’s heart beat faster in response. She quickly pulled her coat on and followed him outside.

A gust of winter wind blew over the snow, and Rose shivered. The Doctor wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, and Rose smiled up at him. 

She’d been waiting for him to do something to acknowledge that it was Valentine’s Day, in their timeline. Keeping track of two timelines was always a bit tricky, and it was particularly confusing to be celebrating two different holiday seasons at the same time—one of which they had already celebrated a few weeks before.

The Doctor squeezed her hand. “Time travel does make life complicated at times,” he agreed.

“Yeah, but if the only complication is that I get two Christmases, I’ll take it,” Rose countered. “Where are we going, Doctor?”

He put a finger to his lips, then pointed at his ear. Rose cocked her head and listened, and a moment later, she heard it—the distant jingle of sleigh bells. 

“Oh my god,” she whispered. In the dim light of twilight, she saw a sleigh turn the corner at the end of the street and start towards them. 

The driver pulled the reins and the sleigh glided to a stop right in front of them. “All ready for you, sir,” he said.

“I tried to think of something romantic to do on a planet focused on Christmas and winter, and finally I decided that there was nothing more romantic than a sleigh ride for two.” 

The Doctor offered Rose his hand and held her steady as she climbed up first. Then he jumped straight into the sleigh, not even using the step. 

With a click of his tongue, the driver got the horses moving again. “There’s a blanket for you, and a thermos of hot mulled wine.” He glanced over his shoulder and winked. “And you can pretend I’m not here,” he added. 

Rose giggled. “I was going to say that this felt familiar—the moonlit drive, cuddled up under a blanket with a hot drink to share. But he’s nothing like Ricard.” 

The Doctor shook the blanket out and tucked it carefully over their laps. “I think Ricard was one of a kind,” he said dryly. “I’ve never met someone so intent on keeping even the most innocent of kisses from happening.”

Rose put her hand on the Doctor’s knee and leaned in. And were you thinking of innocent kisses when we were on that hayride? she asked. 

He tugged on his tie. Wellllll…

Rose laughed and rested her head on his shoulder. I love that you stretch that out, even in your thoughts, she said. Does that mean that my first you would have sounded all Northern and gruff?

The Doctor pressed a kiss to her temple. Yep.

As they drove, what little light remained disappeared. Rose leaned back in the seat and watched as the stars came out, one by one. The Doctor listed them off as they appeared, occasionally adding a comment about a world in that system.

Rose waited, and finally her own Sun appeared. It was always one of the last, since it wasn’t very bright.

“There you go,” the Doctor murmured in her ear. “Earth. The old home.”

“Yeah.” Rose stuck her tongue out slightly in thought.

“What is it?” 

“Well… I just realised that even though we’ve spent more time on Earth this year helping Mum and Pete get settled in, it still doesn’t feel like home. Or it doesn’t anymore, I should say.” 

She paused, trying to put her thoughts together. 

“It’s weird, is all,” she said after a moment. “Or maybe normal? Is this what it’s like when you move out? After a few years it almost feels like you never lived there?”

The Doctor shrugged. “Well, in a manner of speaking you haven’t ever lived there. This you, the one who’s had seven years of adventures with me, has never lived on Earth. You’re not the same Rose Tyler now as you were back then, and the person you are today…”

“Never lived on Earth,” Rose concluded. It brought up a memory that she and her mum had never really hashed out, and she resolved to talk to her about it soon. But for now…

“This is gorgeous, Doctor.” 

He grinned down at her, and Rose’s eyes widened. “What?” she asked, knowing what that smile meant.

“It’s possible there’s a reason I wanted to take you on this drive.”

The sleigh pulled out of the wooded lane they’d been travelling and into an open meadow. Looking around her, Rose realised they’d also climbed a fair bit. She could see the lights of the town below them.

And if they’d climbed and were in an open place, he wanted them to have a view.

Rose leaned forward a little, eager to see whatever it was he had arranged. When the first glimmer appeared, she thought maybe she’d imagined it. Then a second joined it, clearer than the first. 

The light in the sky seemed to be shifting. She blinked, and when she opened her eyes again, she gasped in wonder. 

“Do you like it?” the Doctor whispered.

Flames of colour danced across the night sky, painting it shades of pink, purple, and blue. As the sky lit up in vibrant flashes of colour, the light caught on the fresh snow and reflected back onto the trees surrounding the meadow, turning them all shades of blue and purple as well. 

“It’s gorgeous.” Rose tugged on the Doctor’s tie, and when he leaned down, she caught his mouth in a kiss that would definitely have upset old Ricard.

oOoOo

Two days later, their holiday was at an end. Rose checked the room one last time before she zipped up her bag and went downstairs.

Jack was sitting on the couch when Rose entered the living room. “Ready to go?” he asked. “Hang on,” he said before she could answer. 

Rose glanced over at him and realised he was studying her intently. She looked down at herself, and it only took a second for her to know what he was thinking. “Jack—”

“I’ve seen that jumper before,” he said, ignoring her. His eyes were dancing as he stood up and circled her. “Yep, I definitely recognise this particular jumper.” 

Rose rolled up the sleeve and pushed it up on her arm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Now I’m wondering if you have a suit, too.” 

On impulse, Rose decided to call his bluff. “I might, but you’ll never know,” she told him.

Jack’s jaw dropped, and Rose pushed past him to carry her suitcase out to the TARDIS.

She met Donna and Lee outside. “We just put our bags inside,” Donna said. “I think almost everyone is ready to go.”  

Rose nodded. “So, back to the 51st century for you?” 

Donna looked at Lee, and they both shook their heads. “We’d actually like to stay on Earth for a bit,” she said. “Contemporary Earth. Contemporary to my time,” she said finally, rolling her eyes. “Time travel gives me a headache.” 

Rose arched an eyebrow. “Really?” 

Donna nodded. “We got to talk to Jack yesterday. Lee really likes him—they have a lot in common, after all.” 

Rose nodded. This was making more sense.

“Are you going to work for Torchwood?” she asked Lee.

He shrugged. “Maybe. I’m st-st-still… thinking,” he said. 

Donna shook her head. “Plus he thinks he wants to meet my mum, poor man.” 

Rose grimaced. Sylvia Noble was one of the least pleasant women she had ever had the misfortune of meeting. 

She looked at Lee. “Remember what I said before you met my mum?” 

He frowned, then rolled his eyes and nodded.

“Seriously, Lee. Sylvia makes my mum look tame.”

“Gramps is amazing though,” Donna interjected. 

Rose smiled. “Yeah, Wilf is great. Maybe just camp out up on that hill of his,” she suggested, only half kidding.

She frowned. “I thought you were thinking about going back to the Time Agency though,” she said, directing this to Lee. 

He scratched the back of his neck, and Donna jumped in. “Well, the last time he went on a mission for them, he ended up stranded in a computer for 100 years,” she said drolly. “I don’t blame him for not being keen on going again.”

Rose grinned. “Yeah, but that turned out okay,” she said, gesturing between the two of them.

Donna laughed and took Lee’s hand. “Yeah, it did. Still, no point testing fate.” 

 Jackie was the last one to enter the TARDIS. She paused in closing the door, staring out at the house and the snow covered garden. 

Finally, she closed the door with a sigh and walked down the ramp. “This was exactly the kind of holiday I hoped for,” she admitted.

The Doctor preened a little. Praise from Jackie was always sparse. 

Before he could feel too chuffed, she hugged Rose. “Thank you for making it perfect,” she said.

“But… what??”

Everyone laughed, and Jackie finally looked at him, a smirk on her face. “And you too, I suppose.” 

The Doctor rolled his eyes. “You’re welcome, Jackie. Happy Christmas. And now… home.” He threw the lever and the TARDIS engines wheezed as she moved into the Vortex.

oOoOo

Once they’d dropped everyone off, Rose moved around the console, setting the coordinates she wanted. She felt the Doctor’s eyes on her and knew he was trying to place her mood—she was too, to be fair.

The time rotor moved up and down as the TARDIS moved them through time and space. Once it was still again, Rose gestured at the door and followed the Doctor up the ramp.

He opened first one door, then pushed the other open when he realised where they were. Rose wrapped her arm around his waist as they looked out at the Earth, slowly spinning in her orbit around the sun. 

“Thank you,” she said finally.

The arm around her shoulders squeezed gently. “For what?”

“For… for giving me the kind of family that could have a holiday like this,” she said, fumbling a little for the words. “I’ve never… I don’t have loads of siblings or cousins. Mum and I spent most holidays with Cousin Mo, or my Nan and Granddad. I just…”

“Family isn’t always what you’re born into,” the Doctor said quietly. “Sometimes, family is the friend who suddenly appeared in your time ship, and the medical student you met on the moon.”

“And a daughter created from a tissue sample and a man you rescued from a wall,” Rose agreed. “So thank you for finding a family with me.”

The Doctor hummed softly, then tugged Rose so they were facing each other. “And sometimes, family is a brilliant, brave woman you find in a basement, being stalked by Autons. I never would have found this family without you, Rose—so thank you.”

[sparrow-flies-south]

Ten Things Chapter 11

Fandom: Sanders Sides Pairings: Anxceit, Royality Intrulogical Summary: Ten Things I Hate About You AU When  Roman Prince learns that Patton Foster isn’t allowed to date until his  older brother, Virgil, is, Roman is crushed. Roman’s twin brother Remus,  however, comes up with a plan: find someone who is willing to date  Virgil. And who better to ask than Janus Verona, who according to rumours is willing to do anything for the right price? Taglist (ask to be added):  @glitchybina  @imlikeaghostzombiejesus @someone-idk-is-here @anxiety-ismy-name @what-aboutno @ellietempest @northlight14​

AO3 Link - Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six - Chapter Seven  - Chapter Eight  - Chapter Nine - Chapter Ten

Patton didn’t know what was happening, didn’t know why Virgil was so upset with him, but he did know that someone had hurt his brother.

He’d seen Virgil on the side of the room while he had been dancing with Roman. Then he’d seen Luc Edwards talking to him – he knew that Virgil and Luc had been friends, but he also knew that Virgil didn’t seem to trust Luc much. And then Roman had drawn his attention away, and the next time he’d looked up, Virgil was on his way out of the gym.

Janus had slunk back inside not long after, and it was clear something was wrong, so he’d gone to find Virgil.

Patton turned and marched back into the gym, because Virgil had made it very clear that he didn’t want Patton around. He couldn’t see Janus inside, but he did see Luc, looking rather smug standing with his friends - Virgil’s friends.

Before Patton realised what he was doing, he was already halfway across the hall. When he did figure it out, he didn’t try and stop himself. Luc sneered when he spotted Patton, and opened his mouth to say something, but whatever it was, he never got a chance to speak before Patton’s fist collided with his nose.

It must have been a good punch, because it sent Luc sprawling to the ground. Patton’s hand throbbed, because it turned out punching people hurt, but the adrenaline rushing through him made him feel good. This was the asshole that had hurt Virgil.

“What the fuck did you say to my brother?” Patton spat as Luc pushed himself to his feet.

Luc lunged at Patton, and Patton braced himself for it to hurt, but Luc’s friends were grabbing him and holding him back, and then someone was pulling Patton back, and standing between him and Luc.

“I’d advise you to move on,” Roman said.

Luc looked between Roman and Patton and back again, and for one heart stopping moment, Patton thought Luc was going to go after Roman. But Luc just shook his head, muttered “Whatever,” and walked away, his gaggle of friends following him.

Roman watched until he’d apparently decided Luc was far enough away, and then he turned to Patton. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

Patton shook his head, feeling strangely numb now that the adrenaline was ebbing away. He’d never hit anyone before.

“What happened?” Roman asked.

Did you know? About Janus? About Roman? Virgil had asked, and he’d sounded scared and upset and hurt. Someone had hurt him.

“Roman,” Patton said, “What did you do?”

Roman frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“With Virgil. He said- he said you and Janus did something.”

Roman’s face paled. “Oh,” he said. “He- he found out?”

Patton shrugged, not sure what to say.

Roman sagged. “I didn’t- it wasn’t meant to be a big thing, okay? It was just meant to be a couple of times so your dad would be happy.”

“What was meant to be a couple of times?” Patton asked, though he had a sinking feeling he already knew the answer.

Roman didn’t answer for a moment, then he straightened his shoulders and said, “I paid Janus to date Virgil.”

A hundred small things slowly clicked into place; how Janus had suddenly seemed interested in Virgil; how Roman had brushed off Patton’s concerns about it.

“I swear,” Roman continued. “It was just meant to be a couple of dates. It wasn’t- no one was meant to get hurt.”

Patton took a step back. Roman still looked the same as he had earlier that night, like something from a fairytale, which didn’t make any sense because somehow, this Roman had done a horrible thing.

“You made my brother cry,” Patton said, and Roman’s face fell.

There was nothing else for Patton to say after that – if Roman didn’t know how much that meant, then, well, Roman had never really known him at all. Patton fled from the gym, and the cold winter’s air prickled at his skin as he stepped outside. A dress had seemed a lot smarter when he’d thought he’d only have to walk between the car and the gym.

But now he found himself unsure where to go. Roman was the one who had driven him there, but Patton didn’t want to go back and ask him for a lift. And he didn’t want to go home, either, not when Virgil was still so mad at him.

So he started walking, and went to the only other place that felt like home.

It only took a few knocks before Logan opened the door, and when he did, he looked surprised to see him.

“Patton,” he said, stepping aside quickly so Patton could get inside. “What happened?”

Patton shrugged, hovering in the hallway. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to warm up.

“Um,” he said, voice wobbling. “I- I think Roman and I just broke up.”

“Oh,” Logan said softly, and then there were arms wrapped around him, and Patton buried his head in Logan’s shoulder.

“That’s- I’m sorry,” Logan said hesitantly.

“Who is- oh,” a voice said.

Patton looked up, and for a moment he thought Roman was standing at the top of the stairs, until his brain was able to catch up with what he was seeing – the moustache, the kind of clothes Roman would never be seen dead in, the white streak in the hair.

“What’s going on?” Remus asked, climbing down the stairs.

Logan glanced at Patton, a question on his face, and Patton nodded.

“Patton and Roman broke up,” Logan explained.

“Wait, what?” Remus asked. “What happened?”

Patton shrugged, not wanting to have to think about what had happened.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Logan said sharply.

“Like hell he doesn’t! He just broke up with my brother!”

“Remus,” Logan snapped, and Remus threw his hands up.

“Fine,” Remus said. “Is Roman okay?”

“I think so?” Patton tried. “He, um, he was at the school. When I left, at least.”

Remus nodded, already moving out the door. Logan sighed.

“Stay here a moment,” Logan said, and then he hurried out of the door after Remus.

There didn’t seem to be much point in Patton just waiting in the hallway, so he went to Logan’s room. The office door was open when Patton passed it, and Logan’s mother Amy waved at Patton. Patton managed to smile and wave back.

He sat down on Logan’s bed, and fiddled with his pashmina. It was warm in here, at least.

It was only a few minutes later when he heard Logan come back. Logan said something to Amy in the hallway, the sound was too muffled for Patton to make out what it was, and then Logan stepped into his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

“Is Remus okay?” Patton asked.

Logan sighed. “He’s fine. He insisted on going to the school himself to meet Roman.”

Patton frowned. “But it’s dark. It might not be safe.”

“I imagine Remus is likely the scariest thing around,” Logan said, an amused smile on his face. He looked fond of Remus – Patton had noticed they’d spent time together, but he hadn’t realised that they were friends. With everything that was going on with Roman, he hadn’t thought about it.

Well, they must be close if Remus was at Logan’s house, and on the night of a dance-

Oh. Oh. Remus and Logan must be even closer than Patton had thought.

Logan was rummaging through his closet. He pulled something out and handed it to Patton. It was the sweater that Logan had gotten that summer, when he’d gone to a summer school at the nearby university.

Patton shook his head. “I’m fine. I should probably go-”

“Nonsense,” Logan said. “You just walked across town in a dress in the middle of winter. Clearly, you are upset. At the very least, you should get warm.”

Patton did as he was told. He fidgeted with the sleeves. “I ruined your night with Remus.”

“Hardly,” Logan muttered. “I will see Remus on Monday.” He hesitated, and then asked, “Virgil was at the dance too, correct?”

Patton nodded.

“Then why did you not talk to him? Surely he could have given you a lift home.”

Patton fiddled harder with the sleeve. “Oh,” he said trying to keep his voice light. “Well, I think Virgil hates me right now.”

His voice broke at the end, and Patton tried to wipe away the tears spilling down his face. They seemed to be coming to fast for him to control.

“I fail to see how that could be possible,” Logan said. “Nor why Virgil would be upset about you choosing to break up with your boyfriend

Patton just shrugged.

“Will you tell me what happened?” Logan prompted.

Slowly, and having to stop every so often because he started crying again, Patton explained what happened, how he’d chased after Virgil, and what Roman had told him. When he finished, Logan’s face was guarded.

“Did he say if-” Logan cut himself off and shook his head. “Never mind. Virgil doesn’t hate you.”

“But-”

“Virgil was upset and he lashed out. But, Patton, you haven’t done what he thinks you did.”

“But what if he doesn’t believe me?” Patton asked.

“Virgil knows you. He knows that this kind of thing is not something you are capable of.”

“I didn’t think it was something anyone was capable of,” Patton sighed. He reconsidered. “Well, Janus, maybe, but not Roman.”

Logan didn’t seem to know what to say to that, and Patton sighed. “Can I stay here tonight?” he asked, voice small.

Logan’s face softened. “Of course,” he said.

 Patton crept into his house as quietly as he could. He felt like he was trying to sneak in after sneaking out, except he wasn’t – he’d told Remy where he was the last night, so he hadn’t done anything wrong. But he didn’t want Virgil to know he was back, not when Virgil was probably still angry at him.

He had every right to be. Even if Patton hadn’t done anything on purpose, it was still all his fault. And Virgil had known what Roman was like, hadn’t he? And Patton had just ignored him.

He only got halfway to the stairs before Remy appeared. He looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept all night.

“Virgil came home early,” he said. “And he hasn’t come out of his room since. And you were either being sneaky or you spent the night with someone who isn’t your boyfriend.”

Patton felt his cheeks turn red at Remy’s implication. “It was just Logan.”

“Yeah, that’s my point,” Remy said. “What happened? And don’t even try to tell me that this is just a coincidence.”

“Your dumb rule happened,” Patton snapped. “If you had just let me make my own decisions, everything would be fine!”

“Hey,” Remy said, but Patton wasn’t done.

“Janus was just pretending to date Virgil,” Patton said. “Because Roman wanted to date me. But he couldn’t, because you’d already decided I’m too stupid to decide things for myself! Well, you were right! Thanks for proving it!”

Remy opened his mouth to say something, but he was cut off by a door slamming upstairs. Remy looked guiltily at the ceiling, and Patton took that as an opportunity to push past him and go upstairs himself.

Virgil’s door was shut – he must have come out when Patton and Remy were arguing and then gone back in again. Patton hesitated, because Virgil was probably mad, but Patton needed to know that Virgil was okay.

“Virgil?” Patton called softly, knocking on the door.

For a while, there was silence, and Patton was about to give up and go to his room, when Virgil said, “Come in, Pat.”

Virgil was hunched over his desk, wearing his usual hoodie. The clothes he’d been wearing last night were scattered around the floor. Patton walked into the room, and perched on the edge of Virgil’s bed.

“I broke up with Roman,” Patton tried. “He told me everything.”

Technically, Patton had never actually said those words to Roman, but seeing as Roman hadn’t tried to contact him since last night, it seemed like he’d gotten the message.

“I broke up with Janus,” Virgil said. “Obviously.”

“Virgil, I promise, I had no idea-“

“I know,” Virgil said. “Sorry. For, uh, last night.”

“It’s fine,” Patton said.

“Nothings fine,” Virgil said. “I-fuck.”

Virgil was wiping at his eyes. Patton crossed the room quickly, and pulled Virgil into a hug. It was kind of awkward, since Virgil was sitting and Patton was standing.

“Stupid,” Virgil hissed, and Patton held him tighter.

“You’re not stupid,” Patton said, and when Virgil didn’t look convinced he added, “You’re not.”

“Janus Verona took an interest in me and I honestly thought he meant it.” Virgil laughed bitterly. “Yeah, I’d say that was pretty stupid of me.”

“I think tricking people is what Janus does,” Patton pointed out.

Virgil looked away. “I don’t want to talk about him. I know I brought him up, but-“

“We don’t have to,” Patton said. He glanced down at Virgil’s desk. “What are you writing?”

“A sonnet,” Virgil said. “It’s for English class.”

“Oh,” Patton said. “How’s it going?”

Virgil pulled a face. “It’s not anything I can show my teacher.”

Patton didn’t know what to say. It was like the world had ended last night, and now Patton was expected to keep on going as if it hadn’t. And Virgil had every right to say I told you so, had every right to gloat about it, or be mad at Patton.

Part of Patton preferred the snarling, vicious Virgil of last night than the defeated one of today.

“Hey,” Patton tried. “Do you want to… watch sad movies and eat ice cream and mope around?”

Virgil offered a small half-smile, the first Patton had seen since they’d been at the dance. “It’s like you read my mind, Pat.”

[breakyourwhumpees]

Maxim, how did you meet Atticus?

"It's not all that special." Maxim replied nonchalantly. "Atty was doing the usual villain stuff, robbed a bank or two, you know how it is. And i just so happened to be the one called up to deal with them."

Maxim crept in an ajar window, trying to make as little noise as possible. The walls of the museum were a sterile white that reminded Maxim of a hospital, dotted with paintings. He could faintly hear the villain scuttling around on a higher level.

He crept up the dimly lit stairs. This museum was highly guarded, one of the most expensive ones in the continent, and Maxim would be lying if he said he wasn't itching to know what kind of villain could manage to worm their way inside. Maxim slunk halfway down the hallway before deciding to stop testing his chances.

Their back was turned to him, blocking the faint light coming from the dimly illuminated case that the statue they eyed was stored in. Two angelic white wings sprouted from their back. "Hey, stranger." Maxim piped. Instantly they around, the sudden movement cutting on the lights.

They snarled in a furious rage like a rabid dog. They had ruffled pale hair and glaring silver eyes that reflected the moonlight in a way that was admittedly entrancing. The lower half of their face was covered by a black face mask with a white radiation symbol on it. They flexed clawed fingers, daring Maxim to come closer.

"Damn, no words? I was hoping we could at least chat before this whole ordeal went down." Maxim pouted. The villain only scowled, posing menacingly. "What's your name? I'll need something to tell the news when this is all over." Maxim drawled. The villain stepped away from him cautiously, flinching when their back hit the table where the statue was displayed. Something clattered to the ground.

"Vandal." The villain snapped. Maxim clicked their tongue. "Alright, Atty. And what're your pronouns?" Maxim continued, rocking on his heels. So they did talk, just had to pry and fish around a bit. A bit of experimental button-pushing couldn't hurt. Atticus' eyes widened, as if surprised at the question, still they warily answered. "They/them." Atticus responded carefully. Maxim grinned and leaned against the near wall. He wasn't relaxed, he was ready for if Atticus attacked. However, it was a boring night. He decided he deserved this little conversation. As a treat. "Maxim, Max, if you want. He/him." Max chimed with a lax grin.

"So, why're you stealing this here..." Maxim stretched to try and see the label on the exhibit, but Atticus had knocked it down in their awkward stumble. "Statue." Maxim finished awkwardly. Atticus narrowed their eyes. Whoops, hard topic. However, the villain made no move to attack. Their guard was still high, but Maxim was overjoyed to know they wouldn't be starting any conflicts.

"It's pretty." The villain responded warily. "I'd keep it. Maybe. But," They tested the waters by taking another step back. Maxim hoped they wouldn't run. Chase scenes were no fun. "Gotta pay the bills somehow." They shrug. Maxim nods in understanding. Villains who did crimes to scrape by in life were always saddening to turn in. "Survival of the fittest," Sol had told him apathetically when he admitted this.

"Well," Maxim hummed. A white sword of light materialized into his hand, warm and buzzing softly against his skin. "I guess I have to turn you in now. Fun chat." Maxim said. The villain nodded and stood, spreading their wings and flexing their claws in a glorious desplay. "Fun chat," Atticus echoed.

[hello-im-not-a-possum]

If it bites, curses, claws, and hisses, It’s very unwise to ask it for wishes.

Hey @r-rowancore remember that uwu fic I threw out but said I would rewrite? It may be a lot different than how I originally had it, but here it is:

There was only so much that Inkwell could do to help. Likewise, there was only so much that he wanted to do to help.

When Thomas went to him asking for his humanity back, the demon declined, stating that it was impossible for him to turn a being of ink into a being of flesh again. When he went to him asking if he could look human again, the demon again declined, stating that he didn’t have access to any pictures of how the mechanic had looked before his death, nor could he find his body, thus, he had no proper reference and could end up making him something that he was not.

And he gave a similar excuse when Tom asked for his voice back.

It smelled of bullshit if you asked him, with the demon’s exaggerated body language, annoying amount buffer words, refusal to look the wolf man in the eye while he spoke, he knew that he was lying through those daggers that he called his teeth.

He could make them human again, or at least make them look human enough again, Henry Stein was living proof of that. The Ink Demon just insisted on redrawing them as cartoons because misery loves company.

Instead of doing something like making him feel comfortable in his ink skin, the demon simply ‘updated’ his character sheet. He looked more like a wolf than a dog now, he was bigger in both size and stature, and his fur was starting to gray, especially around the muzzle.

Don’t get him wrong, he liked not having to look at Boris every time he looked in a mirror, but he hated everything about this and honestly, it was only a matter of time before he’d grow desperate enough to try to do something that even he thought was completely stupid:

Summoning a demon, a different demon from the ones he knew, one who would hopefully, help him out.

Thomas gathered the correct items for the ritual; four candles, one mask, some thick ink, and a place to call ...it. He didn’t know what would come from out of this, but if Buddy and Boris of all people could summon this thing enough times to dedicate a bathroom to doing it, then whoever or whatever he was going to call must’ve been safe enough for him to summon.

He had everything set up just the way he saw the alter in Buddy’s safe house bathroom; lit the candles, placed down the mask, and waited.

...

...This couldn’t be it, could it?

It couldn’t just be some weird decoration in a closed-off bathroom, like it or not, magic was real and so were demons! Something was supposed to happen! Did he screw it up? Lit the candles in the wrong order? Did he not do it at the right time? What was it?!

Oh right, he wasn’t in the studio anymore.

He wasn’t in a “whimsical” cartoon world made entirely by the machine and its ink, the ritual dedicated to whatever Buddy summoned might’ve worked back in the studio, but just like how a normal human being couldn’t take down a living park ride with soup cans, the alter where it was had been just as effective as spraying silly string in the shape of a star on the ground.

The cursed wolf let out an annoyed huff and started to slunk out of the basement, he would be cussing up a storm if he could, but he didn’t have a voice.

CRASH!

As he was halfway up the stairs, he heard a loud noise coming from the failed ritual. He turned around and saw something large flailing on the floor.

He cautiously descended back down and realized that he had indeed fucked up; the entity he had summoned had a humanoid upper half, the lower half of a fish, and more importantly was struggling to breathe.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

The cursed mechanic tried to carry the deep sea demon bridal style as the slippery creature flailed harder and started to claw at him and bite him. No wonder the alter was set up in the bathroom, this thing needed water!

“Gad fi fynd!” Between futile gasps for breath, the creature shouted at him in a voice that he could swear was like someone taking a bunch of instruments and trying to use them to mimic human speech. “Dydw i ddim yn mynd i fod yn rhan o'ch cynlluniau, llaw dde Joey Drew!”

Tom didn’t understand a word out of the creature’s mouth aside from the name he said, nor did he think of that at this time. Desperate to keep the angry sea demon alive, when it has struggled free from his grasp, Tom seized the being by his tail and started dragging him up the stairs that way. He considered pulling him up by the hair at first but that only made his mouth closer to his hands.

The merman continued to thrash against his captor, now hissing at him like a snake and barring a mouth full of long, sharp teeth that the creature had too many of for comfort, especially now that they were stained with Tom’s ink.

But the wolf wasn’t impressed by the demon’s attempt at intimidation, he could hiss and claw all he wanted but he was not dealing with Inkwell’s refusal to help him, or having to explain to Henry why there was a dead demonic fish on the floor!

After the longest one and a half minutes of both of their lives, the fish demon was unceremoniously dumped into the bathtub, and the water was turned on. In spite of the awkward positioning, the demon squeezed himself into the end of the tub with the facet, it was an uncomfortable position, but the running water over his gills relaxed him a bit.

Both parties let out a sigh of relief as the demon waited for the tub to fill up and Tom went back into the basement to fetch a notepad, a pencil, and an english-to-welsh dictionary.

---

The latter of the three items became the hardest one to find, and by the time he did and got back to his ‘guest’ the sea demon looked like he was both anxious and bored out of his mind, his long hair pooling in the tub like a cloud and his claws still tapping away on the side of the bathtub. He was not happy to see him again per se, but at least he didn’t look like he was going to bite him again.

Helo. Tom flipped through the dictionary, found the words he was looking for, wrote them down and showed the creature. Allwch chi ddeall hyn?

The demon rolled his eyes and spoke in that voice made of instruments again, not sounding like a human being in the slightest, but it was easy for him to make out the creature’s words, almost like he listening to a song with the lyrics replaced by another instrument. Tom could already see Wally making a joke about ‘how he heard of people with musical accents before, but this one takes the cake!’.

“I can understand and speak English fluently, Thomas Conner.” He stated coldly. “There’s no need to patronize me or waste both of our time with that book.”

How do you know my name? He wrote down, And how did you know Joey?

The sea demon paused for a bit, seeming as if he was trying to predict the wolf’s reaction to his answer before saying it out loud.

“The two of you are very... infamous down there...” He folded his arms behind his back and tried to keep his expression as neutral as possible. “For more reasons than you think.”

Why did Buddy summon you?

The demon frowned at the question. “Who’s ‘Buddy’?” He then shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, the reasons why my former summoners have called me are not to be freely discussed with other people. And before you ask how he knew to summon me, he learned from his own story.”

Tom tore out the question he had and wrote a new one:

What is your name?

“Forgive me, but I am not interested in any more small talk, and I doubt you summoned me just for the sake of friendly conversation. You called me here to help you with something, haven’t you?”

Tom huffed and reluctantly nodded. Yes; Can you make me human again?

“Can I remake you from ink and magic into a being of flesh and bone?” He tapped on his fangs and smiled in a way that made the mechanic wolf’s hackles rise. “Eventually, but yes.”

His ears perked up instantly, hastily, he started scribbling down his (hopefully) final question.

Well, what are you waiting for?!

“Materials, tools, and payment.” The demon shifted in the tub to make himself more comfortable, folding his arms behind his head as if he was reclining in a hammock, his hair fanning out behind him. “As you can see, I’m not exactly in the position to fetch the former two, and you should know that nothing comes without the latter.”

What do you need?

“Just your standard sculpting tools, some time to work on the thing, your cooperation as working with living canvases other than myself can be difficult, and...” The sea demon’s chilling toothy smile resurfaced. “...Meat.”

Tom hesitated, it took him a while to get the single word onto paper.

Meat?

“Not just any meat. Raw meat, meat that’s so freshly killed that the blood’s still warm. The amount can be debated if you were unsatisfied with your human body’s height and or its weight.” He waved off before smiling again. “And unless you want to become a sentient beast, it had better be human meat. You know the old saying, right? ‘You are what you eat’? Well, it can be rather literal.”

He looked like he was biting back laughter at Tom’s horrified expression.

“Don’t give me that look, fy pup blaidd, your hands are already stained with the blood of others, it makes no difference to the eyes of heaven and hell if you start staining your teeth as well.”

NO!

“No?” The mechanic was almost infuriated by how genuinely confused the demon sounded, as if he was surprised that he’d be disgusted by suggesting cannibalism, but luckily for him, he merely shrugged off Tom’s refusal. “Suit yourself then.”

He was just about to leave the bathroom before the siren spoke again.

“But it would be such a shame if there wasn’t anything at all I could help you out with, I hate it when my time is wasted. Tell me, would you like to speak again?”

He froze there, and looked back with an eyebrow raised.

“I see that got your attention.” The merman smugly remarked. “And as it’s a much smaller job than say, completely rebuilding you as a different being altogether, it will not only be a faster job but also cost you a lot less. Why, I won’t even need any materials or tools other than your cooperation!”

I’m interested...

“Good! Now, all you need to do is come closer.”

He approached the bathtub.

“Closer... Yes, just kneel down so we’re directly face to face...” The siren crooned while looking as welcoming as an empty grave. “...This will only hurt like Hell for a little bit.”

Tom instantly regretted his action, the siren lunged at him, his arms wrapping around him and holding his own down. With his teeth and tongue, the sea demon pried the wolf’s mouth open and purged a fluid that felt like boiling oil down his throat.

With newfound vigor forged from the sheer disgust of the situation, he pried the creature off of him and flung him at the bathroom wall, coughing and sputtering out the vile fluid before confronting the sea beast who crawled back into the bathtub.

“WHAWT THE FUCK IWS YOUW PWOBWEM?”

He slapped his hands over his snout in sheer shock and embarrassment.

“...Pardon?” The sea monster was very obviously trying very hard not to laugh, and failing. “I didn’t quite get that, Tommy~.”

Tom’s cheeks were flushed gray, his fists were clenched and steam was coming out of his ears, he didn’t want to speak ever again! His new voice sounded nothing like his old one! It sounded more like a kid’s voice if the kid inhaled helium! And don’t get him started on the new speech pattern he was cursed with. He’d use the notebook, but sadly, it looked like it was destroyed by water in the struggle.

“Why did uwu duwu thiws tuwu me uwu bastawd?”

“This was unintentional, truly. But this is so much better than what I had planned!” The demon ignored the wolf’s growling as he pinched his cheek. “Awen't uwu juwst the cutest wittwe whewp!”

“Knock iwt off, uwu sea whowe!” He swatted the hand off of his face. “I wawnt my voice tuwu be nowmaw!”

“Well, we don’t always get what we want now, do we?”

“But, but uwu pwomised uwu'd get me my voice bawck!”

“Now that’s just a bold-faced lie. I said I’d help you speak again, I never once said that I’d give you your old voice.”

“Okay, wisten hewe.” He reached into the bathtub and grabbed a hold of the tub stopper. “If uwu change my voice bawck, i... I'ww give uwu whatevew uwu wawnt. But if uwu down't, i'ww puww the pwug wight hewe awnd now!”

“Do it, coward.” The demon looked the wolf dead in the eyes. “I dare you.”

He didn’t even react when Tom yanked the stopper out and put it in the sink, well out of the siren’s reach.

“At least now you’re a man of your word.” The merman sighed as the water slowly drained from the tub. “Better late than never I suppose.”

He laid down in the still draining tub. At first, Tom thought this was an attempt to keep his gills wet for just a little bit longer, but then he saw the water turn black as it went down the drain and the musician said his last words to the wolf, not in a voice made out of instruments, but his own, human voice.

“See you again soon, Conner.”

“SAMMY WAWWENCE?!”

He called out in shock as he frantically reached into the now quickly draining tub. But no matter how desperately he dug his claws in there, he found nothing but water.

The remaining liquid went down the drain, leaving nothing but a few clear puddles on the tub’s floor and the now-verbal wolf alone with his thoughts.

“Oh my fucking god... Whawt am i going tuwu teww Awwison awnd Henwy?!”

[cozy-the-overlord]

Dances and Daggers

Summary:   The Summer Festival is upon Asgard, as is the tradition of the dagger ceremony, where each unmarried gentleman chooses a lady to bestow with the honor of carrying his dagger for the night. As Prince Thor’s betrothed, Teki’s only goal is to accept his dagger with grace and hope that her violent stepfather doesn’t find fault with her in the process. But Prince Thor is unpredictable, and when he ignores his engagement on a whim Teki finds herself in a desperate situation. Luckily, Thor isn’t the only prince in Asgard…

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

Chapter 5: The Aftermath

Previous Chapter  |  Next Chapter

Word Count: 1,752

Chapter Summary:  After her... outing at the lake with the young prince, Teki is just trying to lay low. 

A/N: This week’s chapter is pretty short... I thought about combining it with next week’s, but I really liked the note this ended on, so I decided against it. Hope you don’t mind!

Thanks for reading! :)

TW: mentions of child abuse, threats of violence

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae

Read it on Ao3!

Teki stiffly swept her hands across the keys. When she woke up to find that the Queen had sent a messenger asking her if she would like to stop by to play the piano for a bit this morning, she told herself it was a good thing. She loved playing piano—surely that would make her feel better.

It didn’t.

Her back ached as she balanced on the bench, her shoulders aflame every time she moved her arms too much. The melody, usually so sweet and soothing, rattled in her skull and beat her brain. Frigga had given her a book of sheet music, but the notes swam before her eyes. Several times, she hit the wrong key, and all she could do was cringe.

Her stepfather hadn’t been pleased with her little game of hide and seek the night of Loki’s Nameday Feast. Neither had he bought her explanation that she had been in the bathroom the entire time because she hadn’t been feeling well.

It could’ve been worse. He didn’t know what she had been up to, or who she had been up to it with. Her ruined dress reappeared in her closet with the rest of the clean laundry, washed and good as new. As far as Osvald was concerned, Teki had just run off and hid somewhere like the brat she was. She couldn’t imagine what he would have done had he known she had been wandering around the place grounds in a soaking dress with Loki.

Her fingers hit the wrong key again, and Teki flinched. This was humiliating.

“Tekla.” The Queen interrupted, moving from the couch to sit at the bench with her. Teki stopped, focusing only on her folded hands in her lap.

Frigga frowned. “Is everything all right, dear?” she inquired. “You don’t seem to be yourself today.”

“I’m fine, Your Majesty. Just a bit tired.” She could feel the sweat lining her brow. It was far too hot to be wearing high collared, long sleeved dresses, but it was the only way to hide all the bruises.

The concern in the Queen’s voice was apparent. “Are you certain?”

Teki nodded, still keeping her eyes in her lap. She felt if she met Frigga’s concerned gaze, she’d be liable to start crying, and that would be even worse than playing the wrong notes on the piano.

She didn’t seem convinced, but nodded regardless. “Well then, perhaps it would be best if you went to go lie down and get some rest,” she said, reaching out to rub Teki’s shoulder consolingly. It took every ounce of willpower for Teki not to wince. “You don’t look well—I’d hate for you to be coming down with something.”

Teki nodded some more as she stood up. She wanted to tell her that it was all right, she wasn’t getting sick, she didn’t have to worry, but she didn’t trust her voice.

She was halfway down the hall when a familiar voice called her name.

“Teki!” Teki turned to see Prince Loki rushing towards her across the corridor, raven hair tousled. He reached her panting, his emerald eyes overflowing with a wild kind of worry. “Are you all right? You haven’t been at dinner.”

She dropped her gaze to the floor again. “Yes, I’m fine, my prince.” Her tone was high, artificially cheerful. “I’ve just been a bit tired.”

It wasn’t that she was mad at Loki. The little prank in the lake had been just that—a prank. He hadn’t meant it to be mean or anything, and she believed that he was genuinely apologetic, but… a lot of things went wrong when he pretended to fall off the dock.

He was reaching out towards her, his hand stopping just shy of hers. “Can—can I do anything to help?” he asked.

“It’s fine, my prince,” she repeated. “I’m just going back to my rooms.”

“I could walk you back—”

“No, that won’t be necessary” Teki interjected. Her voice came out sharper than she intended. She hated the way he flinched. “Sorry,” she dropped to a whisper. “I’m just—it’s—”

“No, you don’t have to explain. I understand.” He bowed softly. “Can I expect to see you at dinner tonight?”

“I’m not sure. Probably.” She didn’t particularly want to go, but there was no way her mother would let her skip a third night in a row.

Loki’s expression was pained. For a moment, he looked like he was going to say something else, but then he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Teki.”

“It’s alright,” she murmured. She turned to make her way down the hall, still feeling his gaze on her back.

…

Everything hurt.

Teki groaned as she tried to roll over in bed, searching for a position that didn’t press against the bruises on her shoulders and down her back. She wished her mother would take her to the healers. But her mother was concerned that they were spending far too much time down at the healing ward—she never said so, but Teki could tell that she was worried they’d start looking into their family.

“If it’s still hurting a lot by the end of the week, I’ll take you,” she had promised.

Teki wasn’t sure if she was going to make it to the end of the week.

Her shoulder twitched when she moved the wrong way, and Teki hissed in pain. She wanted her mother’s painkiller drink. Her mother had made for her earlier, before they went to dinner, but Teki hadn’t drank the whole thing—she was too afraid of passing out in front of the royal family. She was fairly certain her mother had saved the rest of it, in liquor cabinet downstairs…

For a while, she laid on her side, trying to ignore the throbbing at the base of her neck. Don’t think about it. If she woke Osvald up rustling through a cabinet she wasn’t allowed access to, she’d be even worse off than she was now. It wasn’t worth the risk. But as the night dragged on in an agonizing crawl, no relief in sight, Teki found her resolve breaking.

She could be quiet.

Her heart was thudding as she peaked out through her cracked bedroom door. The hall was silent. Holding her breath, Teki crept out towards the stairs. History had taught her that the seventh step creaked if you placed your weight on the middle, so she was careful to hug the wall as she went down. She barely dared to breathe until she reached the bottom of the staircase and slipped into the sitting room.

The curtains on the other side were just barely cracked open, the slightest beam of moonlight cutting through the darkness and contorting the shadows of furniture and belongings in an ethereal glow. The cabinet loomed in the corner, glassy eyes watching her as she slunk past the table. Teki shuddered.

The doors were locked. That was all right—Teki knew her mother kept the key hidden away at the top of the cabinet. She wasn’t tall enough to reach it on her own, though, so she pulled one of the chairs away from the table to stand on. Her back screamed in pain, but she was careful to carry it high enough so that the legs wouldn’t drag on the floor. She groped blindly across the dusty shelf until her fingers landed on the little metal key.

Teki glanced over her shoulder as she stepped down from the chair. The apartment was still. Even so, she could feel her pulse pounding in her ears as she fumbled with the lock. Please don’t make any noise. It clicked open without issue.

The metallic glint of liquor bottles greeted her. Teki squinted through the dark. There should be a mug somewhere, but the pale moonlight revealed nothing.  Her heart sank. Her mother did keep the extra, didn’t she? She could’ve sworn she had. If she had done all this sneaking around for nothing…

Climbing back on to the chair, Teki ran her fingers down each shelf in a desperate search for the missing mug. There was a sinking feeling in her stomach, but she forced herself to ignore it. Maybe it had gotten pushed behind the bottles. She reached as a far as she could, but she found only glass.

Then her nails jammed against something metallic.

Teki cried out before she could stop herself. No! She clapped a hand over her mouth, anxiously eying the stairs. Only when several minutes had passed and her stepfather didn’t come pounding into the room did she exhale and turn back to the cabinet. Nursing her hand, she tried to make out what it was she had hit.

There seemed to be a small metal box hidden behind the liquor bottles. Teki frowned. What in the Norns? The meager light from the curtains wasn’t nearly enough to take a proper look. Tentatively, she slid the box from its resting place.

It was about the size of a large book, and heavy too—she could feel the contents sliding around inside as she turned it in her hands. There was a tiny silver lock embedded on the side. Her hands itched—the layer of grime engulfing the box screamed of neglect. How long had this thing been hidden away in here? Why had it been hidden away in the first place? Teki was confused.

She held the box to the light, hoping to get a better look. There seemed to something engraved on the top, perhaps a name of some sort, but the dust was so bad she couldn’t tell what it was. Probably “Áslaug,” or perhaps her grandfather’s name, “Ásvaldr.” Her mother still had many engraved pieces that had belonged to her grandfather. But then again, Teki wasn’t quite certain. The first letter didn’t look much like an “Á.” She rubbed at it with the skirt of her nightdress, her pain nearly forgotten in her curiosity. What could this be? What would her mother keep hidden from the rest of the family?

After a moment, she had cleaned it up enough to make out the lettering. She wasn’t sure what it was she was expecting to find, but there was a thrum in her hands as she held it to the light again. It took only a moment for her to recognize the name. She nearly dropped the whole thing on the wooden floor.

Steinn

This box belonged to Teki’s father.

[snarkwrites]

blindsided | steve harrington.

Authors Note:

Okay, whoa, hi.. I was writing that oneshot with Jonathan the other day and in the back of my mind, I kind of briefly toyed with the idea of playing the OC there off of Steve Harrington. Welp.. cue about fourish hours ago, this idea hitting me out of the blue and me writing it all out in a hurry. I edited a little, but yannow how that is.

Now here’s what I need.. If anyone would like to see either this one shot or the one with Jonathan [ link here ] turned into an actual fic using Charlotte, pls.. I beg of you.. tell me which guy. Because I’m curious.

Pairing:

Steve Harrington & OFC, Charlotte

Warnings: Uhh.. Steve being an idiot, swearing, intense fluff, one hell of a long build to a first kiss, that’s about it?

Tagging:

@rampagewriting​ | @chasingeverybreakingwave​ | I didn’t know who else to tag here but hey, if you wanna be tagged in my stranger things stuffs, pls go to my tag list doc and add your name? Pls?

Other:

[ tag list doc ] | [ other one shots with this oc ] | [ oneshot masterlist ]

The knocking on my grandparent’s front door had me glancing up and over the back of the couch through a curtain of hair just to see if anyone else was going to get the door. When I realized that neither of my grandparents were coming down to get it I rose up, stretching as I stood. 

“Sweetie? Can you get the door? I’m trying to give your grandpa a massage up here.” my grandma Ginger called down the stairs finally and I called back up, “Going right now, grandma!” as I stepped over to the front door, raising onto my tiptoes to peer through the little glass window at the top.

As soon as I saw who it was, I leaned against the door and muttered mostly to myself, “What in the hell is Steve doing on my porch at almost 10?” just as he knocked again, louder this time.

“I saw you look out here, Charlotte. C’mon, open up… Please?”

He sounded like he was in pain - or drunk and I raised a brow, wondering what on Earth and why in seven hells he felt like my grandparents place was somewhere he needed to be right now. We didn’t really know each other well. I mean yeah, Nancy’s kind of a friend and they’re kind of involved, but beyond that, I know zilch about the guy.

He knocked again and I turned the knob, opening the door and stepping out onto my grandparent’s porch. “What the hell, Steve?”

“You’re at home? On Halloween? That’s lame.” Steve stepped closer to me, staring down at me intently. He snickered to himself and I looked down, groaning quietly when I realized that I wasn’t wearing any pants. I raised a hand, gently popping his upper arm.

“You’re the one who came over here when I was all nice and settled on the couch.” I reminded him with a pout, folding my arms over my chest and tapping my foot. I tilted my head slightly, staring up at him, completely unamused. 

“I know.. Trust me,  I know. Just wanted to see you.” Steve was swaying a little as he moved to stand closer to me. I’d shivered because the wind picked up outside and the chill in the air was cutting right through me. To be fair, I wasn’t exactly dressed for company.

“Why exactly?” I bit my lip as I eyed him suspiciously. 

Steve shrugged and muttered something I couldn’t quite make out and when I shivered again, he chuckled and nodded towards the door to my grandparent’s house. “Can we move this inside? Before you freeze your ass off?”

“I guess?” I muttered quietly. I opened the front door and stepped into the little hallway, letting Steve step inside too. Only when he went to step in the door, he lingered in the doorway, our bodies brushing.

I gulped and I tried to ignore the fact that for some weird reason, my stomach was all fluttery inside. And my heart was beating just a little faster. He stared down at me for a few long seconds that seemed to stretch eternal and I cleared my throat when the tension got so thick between us that I almost couldn’t breathe.

“Steve… In or out.”

He stepped in past me and I slunk into the living room, flopping back down onto the sofa, smart enough to grab the plaid throw draped over the end to at least halfway attempt covering my legs.

“What the hell are you watching?” Steve sat down right next to me and my breath caught in my throat. For a second or two, I found myself wondering if I’d fallen asleep and this was some kind of bizarre fever dream.

He repeated the question and I turned a little to look at him, shushing him. “Halloween. Shh. It’s getting good.”

I reached out for the bowl of candy corn on the heavy wooden table in front of the sofa and dug into it, raising my hand to my mouth. Partly there, Steve’s hand shot out, circling my wrist, guiding my hand to his mouth instead as he gave me that cocky smirk.

The feel of his lips against the palm of my hand affected me way way way more than it should’ve. I found myself caught on the receiving end of an intense stare and I raised a hand, dragging it through my hair, tousling it up a little as I asked quietly, “What? You’re acting really weird tonight, Steve.”

“ You’re so fucking pretty. How did I not see it last year?” Steve muttered mostly to himself as he leaned in just a little more, raising his hand and smoothing my hair back out of my eyes. “Those big brown eyes…”

“Steve..” I gulped out the word. I tried to shove the way his tone and the soft look in his eyes were affecting me deep down but they just wouldn’t be ignored. “You have a girlfriend, sir.”

He gave a quiet groan and I took a shaky breath. “Hello, remember Nancy?”

“We’re done, actually. She left Billy’s with Jonathan Byers.”

I tensed a little at his words and sighed, shaking my head. “No surprise there.” I mumbled quietly, reaching down into my bowl of candy corn for a few more pieces. I needed something to distract my hands and my mouth right now and I needed it badly.

Otherwise, I was going to break the cardinal rule of friendship and I didn’t even really know why to begin with, beyond spur-of the moment want.

And no, that was not a good enough reason in my mind. ,, and then there’s Jonathan and this misguided notion you have that maybe one day, he’ll feel the same way about you that you feel about him. Obviously, he wants Nancy.”  - and that thought was the beginning of my descent down a very slippery slope.

Steve was looking down at his hands and he spoke up again. “I know you don’t believe me, but I meant what I just said… about you, I mean. The whole time Nancy was drunk and dumping me earlier, I just kind of zoned out. I was thinking about last year… when we had Bio and I totally caught you before you fainted when we were dissecting the frog? You were kinda woozy and you gave me this weak little smile right before you barfed everywhere? I held your hair out of your way...” he laughed at himself, shaking his head, muttering something I couldn’t understand quietly under his breath.

I raised a brow, giving a soft laugh as I shook my head. “I think you’re hurting really bad right now and you want to hurt back. Am I even a little wrong in thinking that, Steve?” I tried again to discourage him, even pressing my finger against his lips so he’d stop talking.

But Steve wouldn’t be Steve if he knew when to shut up.

 With a chuckle, he reached up and lowered my finger from his mouth and continued to dig the hole he was getting himself into even deeper.

“Maybe it wasn’t that day in the lab… Maybe it was the quarry when you were swimming with everybody. The way you throw your head back to laugh. The breeze in your hair. That cute little flowered bikini and that grandma sweater thing that’s entirely too big for you and covers up your hands.” Steve mused, watching my face carefully, almost as if he were trying to stir up some kind of reaction.

And I have no doubt about it, he probably was.

I tried to keep myself neutral, but at the same time, I found myself wondering just how in the hell he noticed that much about me. That question wouldn’t be ignored.

I was so caught up in it and the struggle not to ask that I missed him leaning in a little more.

“Hey, Charlotte?”

“Yeah?” I jumped a little when I came back into reality and not my thoughts and I found him inching closer and closer to my face. “What?”

“Jonathan wants Nancy. Nancy wants Jonathan. Maybe somewhere in all this, I decided I want you. Why’s that so far out there, huh?”

“Because..” I fumbled for an answer. I also noticed that despite my best attempts, I was not pulling away. My face was inching closer to his too. I’d turned completely so that I was almost in the guy’s lap.

And the weird part of it was that there was absolutely no guilt whatsoever as this all took place. I should’ve felt guilty, I mean… Until a few minutes ago, I thought I was head over heels in love with my best guy friend Jonathan. And I’d never do this to someone I called a friend behind her back either.

Why the hell did he have to show up on my grandma’s porch and make me question everything I thought I knew?

More importantly, why did I like the fact that he’d done it just a little more than I probably should have, even though I knew this was probably a disaster in the making.

My gaze shifted down, settling on the plaid throw draped over my bare legs and his finger shot out, tucking beneath my chin and raising my face so that I had to meet his gaze. “Hey.. If you tell me you don’t feel anything, I’ll go. I mean it. I’ll go right now and we’ll just forget this whole thing.” his voice was whisper quiet, thick and laced with emotions I couldn’t easily write off. He eyed me anxiously, going quiet for a minute or two. 

I meant to say something, anything but I just couldn’t. I literally couldn’t come up with anything. I couldn’t just lie and say I didn’t feel anything because obviously, I felt something.

I just wasn’t entirely sure what it was.

“You’re not saying anything.” he muttered as he moved in closer.

“Obviously.” I mumbled back, moving in closer.

On the television set, screams echoed, puncturing the silence. I looked away quickly and Steve guided my face so that I was looking at him instead of the tv. “Eyes on me, okay? Ignore that… whatever that is.”

I nodded, licking my lips. He closed the distance between our mouths and I raised a hand, tangling my fingers in thick dirty blond hair, tugging at it as he pulled me into his lap and deepened the kiss. His tongue parted my lips and I whimpered a little, nipping at his bottom lip with my teeth. He did the same, tugging a little bit. 

The kiss broke and we sprang apart, struggling to catch our breath, panting. I stood on shaky legs and spoke up in a daze. “I.. Kitchen.. Water.. You want any?”

“Yeah.”

I hurried into the kitchen -only after almost walking out into the hall in a daze, reaching into the high cabinet my grandma keeps the glasses and plates in, grabbing two glasses, filling them with water from the tap. And for a few seconds, I stood there, gripping the edge of the sink tight, trying to take a few seconds to pull myself together, process what exactly was happening and calm myself down.

,, okay. Alright. When he kissed me, it was beyond fireworks. What the hell?” 

I heard him walking into the kitchen and he chuckled, reaching out to take the glass of water from the counter.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I mean I think. I don’t know? I wasn’t expecting this.. Uhh.. whatever it was.”

“I kissed you. You kissed back.” Steve answered, raising the glass to his lips and taking a long drink. He sat the glass back down on the counter and he stood there, staring at me. “ Did you feel anything?”

Oh, I felt something alright. Mind blown.

Not only had I not been expecting this, I hadn’t been expecting to like it so much. I hadn’t expected it to feel so good. To make as much sense as it did.

It was a lot to unpack.

I stepped closer cautiously and I placed my hand against the black button up shirt he was wearing. “If I say I did, Steve… what’s that even mean?”

“ It means that I want to get to know you better. It means that I wanna at least give this a chance. What’s it mean to you?”

I shuffled my feet, eyes darting to the tiled floor of my grandparent’s kitchen as I mulled it over. I could feel his stare the whole time and when I looked up to meet his gaze again, he let out a ragged breath as I moved closer. “Me too.”

He grinned and reached out, taking the glass and taking another sip. “Do you think it’d be okay if I picked you up for school tomorrow? I know I’m not your grandpa’s favorite person.” he chuckled in amusement as he said it and I laughed quietly, biting my lip as I thought about it.

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

“And now… It’s okay if I stay and we finish the movie, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Awesome.” he stepped closer, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me flush against him as he embraced me. His nose rested in the crown of my head and I heard him sniffing my hair. I raised my head and eyed him, laughing softly. “Did you just sniff my hair? Weird.”

“You realize you smell like...really good… right?” he shrugged it off and I bit my lip, shuffling my feet. “Thanks?”

I grabbed hold of his wrist and started to pretty much drag him back towards the living room and this time, when he sat down right next to me, I grabbed the blanket and put it over my legs again, but only after I slipped them across his lap.

As Michael Myers claimed another victim on my tv screen, I buried my face in the curve of his neck, making him laugh and look down at me, asking the question, “Not that I mind, but if this is so scary, why are you watching?”

“Because it’s Halloween.”

“Oh. Okay, that makes sense.” Steve laughed, shaking his head at me, nodding to the screen. “You’re not gonna want to look yet.”

“Tell me when it’s safe?”

“You realize I could just pretend it’s not safe at all just to keep your head there.”

“Steve.” I grumbled, glancing up at him and smiling. “Don’t be an ass.”

“I can’t help that I like it when you get scared and go a little clingy.”

“I’m not!”

“Says the girl whose sitting in my lap with her face hidden in my neck. Oh shit. Fuck.” Steve looked down, using the top of my head to hide his own eyes. “Fuckin jumpscares. They’re bullshit.”

“Mhm.” I pulled back, staring up at him as I dissolved into a fit of giggles. Steve pouted and asked “Hey, what’s so funny, huh?”

“Oh, nothing. I mean aside from the fact that this is not how I saw my Halloween going at all?”

“Is that really a bad thing?”

I thought about it, shaking my head. “Nope.”

[chroniclackofselfpreservation]

Creatures of the Night

Chapter 3 - dark though it is

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AO3

Masterlist

(no TW for this chapter, if there’s something you want a warning for, please message me)

(The title of the chapter comes from “Thanks” by W. S. Merwin)

Logan glared at the mug of coffee before him, his elbows propped on the counter and his fingers laced together. He couldn’t get the image of Roman coming home earlier this morning out of his head. Logan had known for a while—going on two months, five days, seven hours, and forty minutes ago. Roman told him there was nothing he could do; the curse was irreversible according to Ursula's letter. Forget the fact that he was risking his life every single day, because Roman had that stupid amulet that supposedly negated all of his fatigue and injuries once removed, as if that also negated any worry that Logan endured. What would happen if the chain snapped, or it fell off while he was fighting? What then?

“Is something bothering you, kiddo?” Patton asked, sliding onto the stool next to him. Logan blinked and muttered something about nuclear fission and thermodynamics, something to keep him oblivious. It would break Patton to see what was happening to Roman, Logan was sure of it. He already took care of the three of them; he didn’t need something else to keep him up at night. Patton didn't seem too convinced of the evasion, but didn't push the issue any further. Instead, he pushed a bowl of cereal and a plate of orange slices toward him.

"Eat up, Logan. Can't be missing out on all that Vitamin Yes."

"What are you talking about?" he said around a mouthful of Cheerios. "Oranges contain Vitamin C, along with minerals like thiamine, folate, potassium, and—wait, was that a pun?"

"Vitamin C is Spanish for Vitamin Yes!" Patton giggled, dancing away from Logan before he could smack him with his spoon.

"That doesn't even make sense! You can't—"

"Come on, Lo! It was funny!"

"—isn't even spelled the same. C is a letter, not a word! Linguistically, they are completely diff—"

"Virgil! Help!" Patton cried from behind the couch and dissolved into a fit of laughter. Logan looked up, still brandishing his cereal spoon like a weapon. Virgil stood at the base of the stairs looking tired. A hint of a smile graced his face at their antics and he shrugged.

"Don't look at me."

It wasn't long before Patton surrendered, allowing Logan a victory tap with the spoon, and returned to preparing breakfast. The oven beeped, alerting them all that the chocolate chip muffins were done. Virgil lowered onto a stool next to Logan, resting his chin on his hand.

"Were you out in the living room last night?"

"What?"

"Last night, I heard someone walking around and voices and stuff. I assumed it was you just studying and talking to yourself, but if it wasn't you... it must be a ghost," he said with a grin.

"A what?" Patton yelped.

"That's preposterous. Don't listen to him, Patton. Yes, I was up last night, but it's nothing to concern yourselves with."

"Well, I wouldn't say that," Patton said, putting his hands on his hips. "You boys need your sleep. If you two keep this up, I'll have to charge you with resisting a rest."

Virgil squinted at Patton, "I don't get—oh, wait. Arrest. But, like, with a space. That's pretty good, Patt."

"I'm getting really tired of this," Logan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Virgil snorted and Patton beamed.

Logan tensed, pointing a warning finger at Patton who squeaked, "I guess you could say we're... exhausting?"

"I swear—" The stairs creaked and they all looked up. Roman rubbed his eyes and yawned as he descended the last few steps, his hair wet and noticeably not matted down with demon blood. He opened his eyes and froze, smiling nervously.

"Why are you all staring? I mean, I know I'm handsome and all that, but really, control yourselves."

Patton smiled, arranging another plate of oranges. "Good morning, Roman. How did you sleep?"

"Well, thank you—Ooh! Chocolate chip muffins?"

"They're still hot! Hands off!"

Virgil sniffed and pulled the sleeves of his jacket halfway over his hands. "Speaking of hot, did you enjoy taking all of the hot water this morning?"

Logan stiffened and glanced at Roman, but he just scoffed, "It isn't my fault it takes time to look this good, Virgil."

"I just don't understand why you have to shower for an entire hour. Our water bill's going to be through the roof."

Logan's brows knit together, "It's a piece of paper, Virgil. How would it be through the roof?"

"Play nice, guys," Patton said, pulling the oven mitt off his hand and sticking a toothpick down the center of one of the muffins. It came out clean.

"So, Logan gets to lecture me about wasting electricity and leaving the lights on, but when Princey over here takes his sweet time—" Virgil ranted, stopping short when Roman's spoon clattered out of his hand and back into his bowl. Virgil paled, a mortified look on his face. Logan looked between them, racking his brain for a quick solution. Virgil might not know the reasons behind Roman's reaction, but he would definitely recognize it for what it was; he was the most anxious of them all. Truth be told, Logan didn't know what had set Roman off either, but if he didn't change the subject soon, they might start asking questions neither of them were prepared to answer.

"Er, Patton!" he blurted, "How would you like to have a picnic for lunch today?" If anything would distract him, it was a picnic. Summer was almost over, and he'd been begging the rest of them to do one before it got too cold.

Patton gasped, "Really?"

Logan shot a meaningful look Roman's way. "Of course. I don't start teaching for another few weeks and Virgil, you're working a grave again tonight, aren't you? I think we could all use a nice relaxing picnic, don't you think? Guys?"

Patton began removing muffins from the metal tin. "We could have sandwiches, and I could cut up some watermelon! I'll have to go shopping later and pick some up. I think I saw some at Mia's for a dollar-fifty," he rambled.

"That sounds nice," Roman said, another spoonful of cereal hovering indecisively between the bowl and his mouth. Virgil opened his mouth, then closed it, biting his bottom lip and pushing away from the counter. Patton turned around with a plate of fresh muffins. His look of content devolved into confusion as Virgil slunk back up the stairs. A bit of an overreaction in Logan's opinion, he didn't think any of them had seemed angry at him, but he wasn't the best at predicting Virgil's reactions.

"What happened?" Patton asked, setting the plate of muffins down. Roman grabbed three, apparently relocating his appetite.

"Nothing," Logan assured him, "I'm sure he'll be fine."

"These are amazing, Padre," Roman said, his voice muffled by the sweet cake.

Patton smiled softly, his eyes fixed on the empty stool where Virgil once sat. "I think I'm going to have a little chat with Virge." He took a single muffin from the plate and excused himself. Logan watched him go, then turned his eyes on Roman, who was stuffing the third muffin into his mouth.

"Care to explain what happened a minute ago?" he asked, standing and carrying his now empty cereal bowl to the sink—well, empty except for the milk. Logan hated drinking cereal milk from a bowl.

"Not really," Roman said, opening the fridge and looking through the contents. He swallowed and cleared his throat. "Sweet cheese and crackers, I'm starving. Are these your leftovers? Can I have them?"

"If you tell me what Virgil said to upset you."

"Fine, I guess I'll find something else, then," he said, the playful edge to his voice sharpening. He grabbed the carton of milk and poured himself a glass. Logan watched as he looked through the pantry in tense silence, eventually settling on the jar of peanut butter and a spoon. Not the healthiest breakfast, but Logan wasn't about to call him out on it. Roman sat down on the couch, furiously eating his peanut butter. Logan leaned against the counter, unsure what to do. Patton would know. Of course he would, he always did. Oh, how Logan wished he could tell him what was going on, but he knew as well as Roman that it would tear him up inside.

                                              * * * * * * * * * *

"All right, is everyone ready to go?" Roman asked, basket full of lunch fixings hanging off the crook of his arm. Patton beamed and Logan looked around, nodding as he made a silent double-check. Virgil avoided his eye, playing with the strings on his jacket. Roman felt bad. He hadn't meant to react so visibly, but when Virgil had called him Princey, his mind had immediately flooded with images of a giant demon serpent. He knew he sang, loved Disney, and could even be grandiose at times—it was kind of his thing. Many people had compared him to a prince in the past, so Virgil making the connection wasn't exactly suspicious. Now, however, the word had turned sour from fear. Terror had dyed it an ugly color, and he couldn't get it out. He certainly didn't blame Virgil for what happened, but was at a loss for what to say without inviting more questions about it.

"Looks like it! Let's go!" Patton said happily, marching into the garage and clambering into the truck. Logan grabbed a thick blanket for them to sit on. Roman followed Patton with a smile, sliding into the driver's seat as the other two piled into the back.  

The drive was nice. Patton played songs from his favorite playlist, made jokes so bad they were hilarious, and gave Roman gentle directions on when and where to turn. Apparently, he knew of a spacious meadow just perfect for a picnic. Wakeby wasn't very large, so he was interested to find out where it was. Near the forest, no doubt. Roman attempted to swallow the lump forming in his throat. The last thing he wanted to do during the day was spend time looking at the forest. It surrounded Wakeby on all sides, parting only slightly to allow the interstate to pass through town. Roman had tried entering the forest in different places to try and avoid running into the demon, however, the longer it took him to get into the trees, the more painful the curse became. Eventually, he'd settled for entering in the same place and just dealing with whatever the snake had up its sleeve. Not that snakes had sleeves, but you get the point.

Pulling off the road onto a patch of gravel, Roman put the truck in park and pulled out the key.

"You weren't kidding, Pat," Virgil said, gazing out the window. He was right, the meadow was gorgeous, hidden behind the movie theater. Roman couldn't have said if he'd been there before or not. Wakeby looked different with the sun shining. Nearly bouncing with excitement, Patton hopped out of the truck with the basket on his arm. They eventually found a place to set up. Roman found himself experiencing a silent, internal dilemma as he tried to decide whether he wanted to sit facing the forest, or with his back to it. If he turned his back to it, he'd be paranoid the entire time about not being able to watch for danger, and yet, if he faced it, he wouldn't be able to stop glancing over, watching for the glint of golden scales. Come to think of it, Roman had never seen the serpent during the day. This was mostly due to the fact that he avoided the forest like the plague during the only time he had away from it. It was curious, though, what the demon did with the rest of its day. Surely, Roman wasn't the only person to ever enter the forest in Wakeby, right? If so, how come no one had noticed the enormous snake squatting there? Could it leave the forest? Did it stay that big, or just turn into a normal snake?

Hopefully, I'll never have to find out, Roman thought, finally deciding to sit facing the trees. Patton handed out the sandwiches and watermelon, and Roman enjoyed himself. Truly and thoroughly enjoyed the time he got to spend with his roommates. Strange, how not knowing if you'll come home alive every night changes a person's perspective on what's important. He'd easily give up any chance at a college education if it meant getting to see all of his friends achieve their goals before... you know. He died. So, wanting to make the absolute most of however much time he did have left, Roman proposed a game of frisbee. Logan and Virgil politely declined, but Patton whole-heartedly agreed, running to the truck and retrieving the plastic disk from under the back seats.

                                              * * * * * * * * * *

Logan watched Roman and Patton throw the frisbee back and forth, the faintest of smiles on his face. Patton made up increasingly ridiculous names for the "special throws" he performed, and Roman was laughing so hard he couldn't catch the frisbee—which only made him laugh harder. Virgil seemed the only one in a dour mood.

"Virgil?"

"Hm?" he looked up from picking at the leftover crusts of his sandwich.

"I...I'm sorry, if you felt attacked at breakfast. That was not my intention," Logan said, placing his hands in his lap awkwardly. He wasn't the best at apologies.

Virgil shrugged, giving a half-smile. "Nah, it's okay. I just... felt bad, you know? I don't really like dealing with conflict, and I know it's a bad habit and all that, but it just makes me really nervous. Nothing against you or Patton."

Logan sat up. "Do you have any idea why Roman reacted the way he did?" He doubted it, as Virgil didn't know about Roman's escapades as of yet, but there was a slight possibility it was having to do with something else.

Virgil stiffened. "Uh, no. I—I don't." He went back to picking at his bread. Roman had mentioned something about Virgil acting different since the summer, and at first Logan had written it off as nothing, just Virgil being Virgil. He was always like this after visiting his parents—an uncommon occurrence, for sure, but each summer since they'd all met, Virgil had stolen away into the wilderness to spend time with them regardless of how it affected him when he returned. But this "funk", as Roman put it, was going on a little longer than normal.

Logan went quiet for a moment, thinking. After a moment, he pulled out the book he'd brought along with him and said, "Would you like me to read aloud for a bit?" He knew that Virgil found the activity calming, and hoped it would help somewhat

His eyes lightened and he looked up. "What book is it?"

"Rhetoric and Logic. It's actually quite interesting."

Virgil snorted and reclined onto his back, lacing his hands behind his head. "All right, then."

Logan read to him. It was something he wouldn't have done given usual circumstances. Most people didn't care about the things that Logan found interesting. Virgil, on the other hand, found it calming and would ask him to read aloud whenever he was feeling anxious. Logan had read the book before many times, and found his mind wandering as he read. He could still hear Roman and Patton's game going on in the background. It made him glad to see Roman enjoying what free time he was allowed. Logan had been researching everything he could find on demons, curses, and dragon witches. So far, all he'd found were children's stories and folktales. There were many myths and legends about serpents and demons that took their shape, but from the details Roman had given him about it, there was nothing written about his specific opponent. The closest things Logan had found to Roman's curse were punishments mortals received after death.

If anyone was living hell, it was Roman.

They went on like this for nearly half and hour before Roman and Patton grew tired and returned to the blanket. Logan put his book away, and they all talked about anything and everything. Logan would be lying if he said he didn't notice Roman glancing over at the tree line every few minutes, but it would also be false to ignore the lack of tension in his shoulders, the ease with which he smiled, and the genuine laughter bubbling out of his throat. Even Virgil had relaxed and inserted himself into the conversation more.

Eventually, they cleaned up lunch, and all lay back on the blanket watching the sky.

"So, is college just like how it is in the movies?" Roman asked. "You're the only one of us who's actually gone to school on a campus."

"What do you mean?" Logan looked over at him.

"You know, frat boys, and sorority girls, and parties, and stuff," he said, gesturing vaguely with his hands.

Logan looked back up at the partly cloudy sky. "Yes, they exist, if that's what you're asking." He paused. "I even attended one of those so called 'frat parties'."

Virgil choked. "You what?"

Roman sat up, a mischievous grin on his face. "I can't believe it. Logan was a frat boy."

Logan reddened, "I was not one of them, you heathens. My attendance was a singular, accidental event."

"Sure, Lo," Patton muttered, hiding his laughter behind his hand.

"You all are blowing this way out of proportion, it wasn't—"

"Did you drink anything? Wait, did you get drunk? Oh, I would pay money to see you drunk, teach," Roman laughed.

"Of course not, I only had... a few drinks. I think," Logan trailed off, a look of genuine concern crossing his face.

Roman gasped. "Oh my heck, you got wasted, didn't you?"

"Guys..." Virgil muttered.

Logan propped himself up on his elbow. "I didn't pass out or anything, if that's what your insinuating."

"Just got a bit absinthe-minded?" Patton offered, and Logan ran a hand down his face and flopped back onto his back.

"Guys," Virgil repeated, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

Roman glanced over, "Oh, come on Surly Temple, it wasn't that bad of a pun, even for you."

"No, my head..." Virgil managed, grabbing his head and curling in on himself. The group sobered. No pun intended. Logan met their eyes, and they both nodded. Another migraine. Virgil suffered from what Logan had called thunderclap headaches. They came on suddenly, at times without warning, and lasted about five minutes. They were extremely painful, from what Virgil had told them. As quietly as possible, Roman and Patton gathered up the blanket and picnic basket while Logan helped Virgil to his feet and across the meadow to Roman's truck. Patton shot Roman a concerned look, and he tried to give him a comforting smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. He was sad to have to cut their outing short, but he wouldn't dream of furthering Virgil's pain.

The drive home was silent, but not in a bad way. Virgil sat hunched over in the passenger seat, and Patton extended his seat belt as far as it would go and rubbed his back from the backseat. Roman drove as smoothly as he possibly could, and was just glad, for once, he wasn't the one having to be taken care of.

                                              * * * * * * * * * *

Three hours later.

"I'm just going to take a walk, I'll be back in a bit," Virgil called, already out the door. Stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets, he hurried down the street toward the far edge of town. Once the houses and establishments had thinned, he ducked behind a fence, checked once more for any onlookers, then crouched down and muttered a quick phrase under his breath. His entire body thrummed with magic as he felt the familiar feeling of returning to his true form. Unlike most of the shows he watched on the others' television device, consistency with clothing wasn't a problem he faced. It simply shifted with him. He couldn't imagine having to constantly worry about leaving piles of empty clothes lying around, or shifting back completely naked. He shivered, the hair along the back of his spine prickling. Approaching a small puddle on the ground, he looked down.

Pointy ears? Check. Two eyes? Check. Whiskers still impeccably groomed? Check. The perfect image of a black cat. But of course, why wouldn't he be? He was a cat, originally, that is—though Ursula's magic had changed him from a normal feline into his current magical self who-knows-how-many years ago.

Being a familiar wasn't all that hard. Being a familiar who was defying their witch? That proved an entirely different matter.

Logan had attempted to diagnose the sudden, debilitating headaches he suffered without any warning with some human explanation. In reality, it was simply what happened when he resisted Ursula's connection to him. His decision to quit being her spy on Roman had been going on for about ten months now, not too long after Roman had been cursed. Needless to say, she wasn't too happy about it. Despite his resolve, every once in a while, she attempted to see through his eyes as she had used to. Defying someone as powerful as her was considered brave by few, and stupid by most.

Attempting to shake the thoughts from his head, Virgil leaped up onto the top of the fence and darted down it. After what had happened at the picnic, he'd become paranoid about the state of the protective "anti-Ursula" border he'd created around Wakeby and hadn't been able to sit still until he'd checked the runes. Ursula had destroyed them the first few times, but Virgil had proved persistent in his efforts to keep his friend safe, and she'd given up for the most part in her battle with him. She had what she needed.

Roman. His friend. His friend that he'd betrayed and then been too much of a coward to face the consequences. Roman, who hadn't done anything to deserve what he'd received simply because he existed. It wasn't his fault that his thrice great-grandmother had been the Witch Queen; the Chosen One. He hadn't asked for this. Neither had his mother before him. Virgil's stomach twisted at the thought of Roman ending up just like his mother, and yet there wasn't much he could do about it.

No. That was a lie. There wasn't much he was brave enough to do. Because he was a pathetic coward who would rather let his friend risk his life every single night than stand up to his witch. His mind dragged him back to that morning. He couldn't believe he'd actually given Roman a hard time about the shower. The truth was, Roman was an actor. An amazing one. So good, in fact, that Virgil often forgot about the curse. About being an imposter. When he was home, he was just a normal guy hanging out with his friends. Nothing more—or so he'd managed to convince himself.

He arrived at the dilapidated gas station at the far east corner of Wakeby, slinking around the back and swiftly locating the rune he'd carved into one of the white painted bricks. It looked largely untouched. Virgil quickly moved on, trotting down the side of the highway toward the next way point, mind rife with conflict and pain.

                                              * * * * * * * * * *

Later that night.

"Logan, I thought we'd already been over this," Roman sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I will not be going to bed without knowing you are safe, Roman. Arguing with me on the matter is futile," Logan replied, folding his arms.

He looked up at his roommate, exasperated but internally thankful. It was nice to know that someone cared if he came home each night or not. He shifted the sword in his grip and stepped toward the door. "All right, but you're going to bed as soon as I get back. Deal?"

"Satisfactory. Oh, and Roman?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I may have a way to locate a possible solution to your curse."

Roman froze with his hand on the door handle, his brain still trying to register what he said. "Don't say things like that," he breathed. His voice was soft, and scared to hope. "Don't promise me the impossible." He felt a hand on his armored shoulder.

"At least hear me out?"

The curse tugged at his insides, but he didn't move. He turned. "Fine."

Logan smiled. "Have you tried reasoning with this demon?"

Roman's throat constricted. "Reasoning with it? It's been trying to kill me every night for the last twelve months. How do you propose I reason with something like that?" he snapped. He didn't have time for this.

Logan didn't seem fazed in the slightest. "It can speak, yes?"

"Yeah, but I don't—"

"Does it have a name?"

Roman threw his hands into the air, "I mean, probably. I haven't really had time to ask it since it's been trying to kill me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go try not to die for the next six hours."

Roman turned back to the door and turned the handle. Logan grabbed his shoulder and flipped him around, pushing him back into the door. "Roman, you need to begin thinking objectively and listen to me. I'm trying to save your life. Trust me on this."

"It can't be reasoned with. It's a monster."

"Have you considered the possibility that it's just as cursed as you are?" Logan spat, and Roman fell silent. "That's what I'm saying. Yes, you two have your differences, I can't even begin to imagine, but you can't go on like this, Roman. You can't. You'll die."

Roman swallowed. "We all die, Logan."

"Don't quote facts at me, Roman Kingsley," he said shakily. Roman thought he could see tears pricking in his eyes, but couldn't have been sure. "Just promise me that you'll try. Please. If it doesn't work, I'll abandon the theory, but there's only one way to find out if it will work or not."

"Okay," Roman relented, though it drove a spike of fear straight through his heart. He'd be making himself vulnerable on purpose in front of a beast who wanted nothing more than his blood on its tongue.

"Good luck."

[bubmyg]

twice bitten - myg

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre/warnings: vampire!yoongi, again...so much fluff, blood mention, told mostly from yoongi’s pov, non-chronological and a part of my vampire yoongi drabble series (listed as “midnight angels” on my masterlist!)

word count: 2,455

summary: the one where yoongi, the two hundred year old vampire, thinks of using a bat as a defensive mechanism before anything else or where yoongi is really creative with names. 

One foot on the first stair and Yoongi hesitated, gaze flitting back to the glinting object propped up meticulously behind the giant banner and various figurines littering his desk space. Another rustle beyond the flimsy door at the top of the staircase and his hesitation became action, rushed footsteps carrying him back into the depth of his basement to retrieve the metal bat. 

He was delicate with it at first, turning the barrel in massive palms a few times, pink lips fished as he considered the worn logo on the fattest part of the bat, a company that hadn’t been in business for decades. With a huff, he squared his shoulders, settling the bat over one side of his body as he began to take the stairs two creaking ascends at a time. 

The groan of the door as he peeled it open left the deserted house in an eerie silence, all aside from the refrigerator humming in the kitchen down the hall. Sun spots peaked out from where his blackout curtains didn’t cover, particles of dust flicking through the rays but otherwise, there was no movement except for the gentle rise and fall of Yoongi’s chest as he garnered enough courage to place both feet on the ground level of his house. 

He tried to appear nonchalant even though there was, again, no one around to observe his jumpy actions, bat bumping against his thigh as he strolled down the hall for the kitchen. The pockets of sun made him shiver, but it wasn’t enough to hinder his ability to make it into the kitchen, a room enclosed in the middle of the house, especially not when he flattened the bat to the countertop and pulled something akin to a juice box of blood from within the whirring appliance. He took a delicate sip, lips rested on the edge of the bent straw as his eyes surveyed over into the next set of halls and rooms, again, finding nothing. 

The house was void of what he’d heard in the basement, sounds of the wind curling dead leaves into the brick and glass outside sure, but nothing like the strange crackling rustles he’d heard, something similar to when it stormed and the oak tree in the backyard landscaping craned enough to brush it’s limbs over the bedroom window. 

Yoongi had called for them to be trimmed after the third night of having to calm you down when you woke in a tremor, clinging to him like a wet leaf as the branches cackled outside. 

He finished off the box with a loud slurping noise and puffed cheeks, quickly depositing the trash before daring to curl around the countertop without quick reach to his bat. He relaxed instead when he spotted some tufts of fabric draped over one of the reclining chairs in the adjacent sitting room. Couples costumes for the Halloween party you were going to attend later, jerseys you’d spent hours customizing in typical Space Jam fashion, complete with a headband of grey, fuzzy bunny ears to sit through the stark black of Yoongi’s head. A tiny smile graced his lips as his index finger trailed over the painted lettering on the back, your voice ringing in his head with the threat of wearing a collection of cotton balls on his ass as a tail if he so much as poked you while you were trying to complete the costumes. 

His fingernail had so much as scraped over the paint, making a visible noise, when something, the sound, occurred, louder than before and complete with a soft thump just beside the towering front door of the house. 

Yoongi nearly dove headfirst into the cut edge of the marble countertop to retrieve the bat, barely feeling the nerve endings in his legs as he slunk forward, ignoring the nausea that erupted in his stomach as the sunlight peeking out from the tiny, stained glass windows on either side of door curled goosebumps into his bare arms. 

Shaking fingers fiddled at the lock, managing to fumble it open and the door in the same moment, forcing him to stumble over the lip of the front door. A deep, onset shiver ran through his entire being as the sun fully touched him now but he ignored it, head whipping to the sound of the rustling as it continued. 

A massive holly bush just to the left of the tiny front porch shook violently, its leaves repeatedly scratching into the window just beyond it but periodically tilting so much that the weight of two or three branches catapulted into the glass like snapping a rubber band into a solid surface. Yoongi frowned, catching a stabilizing hand on the railing as socked feet brushed against the mulch, carrying him toward the bush. 

The closer he got, the less it shook, until finally when he was crouched next to it, it ceased any movement, not so much as breathing even as the wind continued to whirl dying blades of grass in the front yard. He swallowed the string of bile rising upward into his throat, making the sting of hunger that struck suddenly ten times worse, as he reached crooked knuckles of his free hand to push aside some of the branches to peer inside. 

Yoongi felt it before he heard it, the swat of something sharp but fuzzy on the end against his hand, but it was the heard part that had him stumbling backward onto his ass, one, loud, continuous mrow! jumping through the spaces in the bush. 

Two, beaded yellow eyes seemed to laugh at his fallen figure, head quirking to the side before another, softer bleat of greeting poured from the bush, followed by the graceful hop of a tiny black kitten into Yoongi’s lap. 

His mouth had barely parted to question the animal that couldn’t answer him anyway when there was another, more distinct meow, deeper and a bit crackly. The kitten already perched on the apex of his knee turned at the sound too, just in time for its counterpart of the orange tabby variety to join it between the part of Yoongi’s splayed out legs. 

They each stared at him, as if anticipating his response, and when neither got one, the black one began to rub it’s cheek against the denim of Yoongi’s jeans while the orange one swiped an indifferent paw over the long fur coating it’s tiny face. 

“It was you two making all that noise?” He chastised weakly, and suddenly he felt overwhelming embarrassed about the bat now rolled up against the side of the front porch. Now he understood the strange hunger in his throat, one not quite the same as what he felt toward you but different, attuned to the different taste that was animal blood, but it was easier to fight when he hadn’t tasted animal in centuries. 

And when they began to search for his hands, meeting him halfway by nudging their tiny heads into the clammy palms he stretched for them. 

The kittens came with Yoongi as he stood, mewls of protest as they were lifted into the air in separate hands as he began to take shaky steps back for the house. He addressed the black one first as he pulled them against his chest, the one who’d ceased making noises of protest first. 

“Not a word about this.”

Yoongi barely blinked at the business logo plastered to the glass of the front door to your building, the only thing reminding him that this was the Bureau of Vampiric Affairs being the small keypad that required him to flash a specially acquired ID card shoved in the front of his wallet. He gripped the over the shoulder bag slung so it was centered to his stomach as he pressed the plastic into the chip reader, foot tapping both in wait and with the exhaustion still bubbling in his being from being in the sun too much, body not recovered from the afternoon excursion let alone from his car ride over and walk through the city to get to your office. 

His usual formality with the front receptionist was forgotten when the door finally allowed him entrance, turning curtly on his heel down the long, carpeted hallway that contained your office. The door was shut and he forgot to knock but he was thankful that you were munching on an apple with your phone in your palm when he stumbled inside, both items you dropped in favor of startling toward him. 

“Yoongi,” You scolded, moving to reach for him first but trading for yanking your curtains shut first, the human layer first and then the blackout layer second you had for client appointments. Then your hands were on his cheeks, stern in tugging upward on the black mask that covered the bottom half of his face to assure as little skin as possible was susceptible to sunlight. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t think we can go out tonight,” Yoongi mumbled, muffled in the fabric, “I, uh, don’t feel too great.”

“No kidding, you’re outside during peak sunlight hours,” You kept a hand curled around his elbow as you reached behind him to drag a chair over, weakly pushing until he collapsed into it. “Answer my initial question.”

“I needed to come into town to get food.”

Your features scrunched at the center of your face, hip falling against the outer edge of your desk. “Food? You just went to the bank the other day. You’re not supposed to feed for another—” You glanced at the smart watch on your wrist, “—twelve days—”

“Not for me.”

You stared at each other for several passing seconds, ones that had a smile creeping onto Yoongi’s features underneath his mask, one that only grew when you, in a higher pitch, inquired, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

His fingers fumbled for the zipper on his bag, gradual in drawing open the zipper until one, then two, fuzzy heads appeared, meows full force at both light and the new figure in front of them. You were cooing over his explanation, shooting up off the side of your desk to reach inside to gather both of them into your grasp. “These little girls were causing a ruckus out front earlier,” He reached to scratch behind the orange one’s ears while blinking innocently at you, “They don’t like any of your human food and I certainly can’t feed them yours. We’re we going to go to the market next but...they wanted to come visit you.”

“Oh yeah, did they?” There was still a root of concern at your core but you softened at the way Yoongi was fondly assessing the two kittens in your grasp, entirely gentle in the way he let them rub up against his fingers. “So does this mean we’re keeping them?”

You could only see in the way Yoongi’s cheeks jumped that his mouth was fishing open and closed, and you reached to touch his wrist when he was finally, bashfully, shrugging, “I mean...I thought maybe. We don’t have any neighbors so I bet someone just dropped them off and it’s about to get cold and they’re a little skinny so I’m sure no one has been taking proper care of them anyway and—”

His rambles died off when your lips gently touched his cheek, careful in passing the kittens back to him. “Sounds like we definitely need to keep them,” You smiled, warm all over when dark brown eyes flicked to yours amongst another chaotic round of protesting mewls as they were plopped unceremoniously into his lap. “Take the girls home. I’ll get food and some other things for them after work.”

Yoongi’s gloved hands enveloped yours, nudging his fabric covered nose to your cheek. “Don’t you want to hear their names?”

“Oh?” You crouched in front of the kittens to sate their cries with ear scratches, “Tell me.”

He lifted the orange one first, gentle in working her back into the bag at his tummy. “Abra—” He said shortly, nodding, “Or just Abby.”

The black one came with slightly more protest, trying to dig her claws into his thigh to stay rooted where she was receiving pets but she settled once nestled next to her friend again, “And Cadabra—” He was beaming behind his mask again, shown in the way the bridge of his nose and the corners of his eyes crinkles, “Or Caddy.”

Your forever rooted concern washed away for a second as you leaned forward to hook a finger into the top of his mask, tugging it down to plant your lips on his for a chaste moment, trailing those affections back up his warmed cheeks as you secured his mask back to its original position, speaking to his wide, shiny eyes that inspected you, shellshocked. 

“They’re perfect.”

Also…

You tripped through the front door with the weight of the plastic bags in your hands, bags filled with beds (yes, multiple), toys, and three different varieties of hard and soft foods, ones they could eat now as kittens and ones labeled for young cats, all of which you were sure Yoongi had consulted on his office computer after you’d sent him home. You tossed them all in a sad heap next to the tiny end table as you began to work your shoes off your heels. Furrowed eyebrows paired with your loud call into the house, “Hey, Yoongi?”

He heard you first try this time, an echo down the open door to the staircase of his study and you heard the tell tale signs of his ascend now that the sun had began to curl beyond the treeline, “Yes? What’s wrong?”

You waited until you could see Yoongi’s face, something that peered at you from the top stair of the basement with an expectant eyebrow and two tiny kittens on either side of the front pocket of his hoodie. 

“Why is there a baseball bat in the landscaping?”

Yoongi blanched, not budging from his position. “Uh—”

“Open your mouth for me.”

“What?”

“Open your mouth.”

He begrudgingly complied, fangs sliding out from his gums and he glared at your as his cheeks flared a deep set pink. 

You beamed nonetheless, pointing to your mouth where something similar would be if you were of the same, immortal variety. 

“You do know you’re a vampire, right?”

Yoongi plucked the kittens from his pocket, settling them onto the floor to let them scamper off into the house before taking a few, semi-threatening steps toward you with a playful smirk wrinkled to the dimples in his cheeks. 

“I do. Do you need a reminder?”

[delimeful]

the shapes in the silence (1)

aka the tiny dragon virgil au you never knew you needed

warnings: fear, hunger, feeling trapped

Chapter 1 

Virgil paced through his room in agitation, measuring pros and cons in his head. He didn’t want any of the other Sides to see him like this, for a multitude of reasons, but he’d put off eating to stew in bed for too long, and hunger had come back with a vengeance. 

Normally, this wouldn’t be too much of a problem. He would slink out of his room, use the well-worn shadowy corners of the mindscape to get to the shared common area, and lurk until he could find a moment where nobody was there. 

Those moments were far and few between, what with Patton’s insistence on cooking at all hours, as though trying to impart some of his culinary skills upon their host through persistence alone. Still, worst came to worst, he could always bluff through it. Patton knew when to back off most of the time, and the others were clearly more than happy to avoid contact with him whenever possible. 

That was normally, though, and now definitely wasn’t normal, he thought to himself, tail lashing behind him. 

Yeah, a freaking tail. Because he was currently in the form of a deep purple, chihuahua-sized dragon.

He’d worked himself into a panic attack the first time he’d woken up like this after a bad night, nearly drowning in his suddenly huge blankets, but by now it was just an unfortunate fact of his miserable life. If he got too worked up, he would change, and be stuck like that, no access to most of his normal abilities, until he’d turn back at seemingly random. He’d managed to wait every transformation out safely in his room so far, but after three days of little sleep and all his hoarded food gone... 

His small, leathery wings flapped a couple of times with his irritation, and he snorted, forcing the extra set of limbs to lay flat on his back. Of all things to become when he was sufficiently stressed… Well, it wasn’t like Thomas’s nonsensical mind was anything new to him. He should have expected this, really.  

...He couldn’t even have been a normal-sized dragon. At least then he’d be able to scare others off. Unbelievable. 

He paused for a moment at the door, pressing one of his deer-like ears against it. It was… fairly quiet. At the very least, if Roman or Patton were out there, he’d be able to hear them. Plus, at this size, it’d certainly be easier to hide in the shadows. His stomach reminded him of how empty it was with a grumble, and he grumbled back at it. 

Fine, he’d risk his scaly skin trying to get something to eat. Everything could go terribly wrong, but that wasn’t anything new for him anyways. 

He glanced up at the locked doorknob to his room, and then focused on wanting out. His room very thoughtfully provided a cat-flap, so well blended with his door that he almost missed it. He hissed petulantly at the indignity, and then pushed through it anyways. Better to have a quick way back into his room if things went south. 

He started down the hall at a swift jaunt, confident that nobody would come down this hallway since his room was the only one connected to it. Once he reached the stairs to the common area, he slowed considerably. He’d never seen the area while in this form, and it all felt so… large. 

He shook himself. No time to stall. 

Carefully, he slunk down the stairs, keeping away from the bannister so he could slide right into the more shadowy corner at the foot of them. He crept along the edge of the wall. If he followed it, he would end up at the doorway to the kitchen eventually-

A small movement, and he froze. 

On the padded armchair, Logan was sitting, back straight as he paged through a book. He’d almost missed the logical side with the way the chair was angled to the rest of the room. He berated himself. 

Roman was certainly the worst of the three he could run into here, but Logan was a close second. The Side had shown he was quite persistent in attempting to understand anything that confused him, and a cat-sized dragon sneaking around was sure to catch his attention. He shuddered. Definitely didn’t want to give Logan the opportunity to break out the mad scientist tools.

Slower, he continued moving, thankful that Logan’s attention was focused on the words in front of him. He made it to the kitchen entrance and peered in. No sign of Patton or any in-progress meals in sight, which made him almost sag with relief. He drew his claws in, careful to make as little noise as possible against the tile as he stalked over to the cracked-open pantry door. A full meal was impossible to make, so he’d just have to take as much as he could carry, and sneak out, preferably taking the other wall to be behind Logan’s line of sight. 

Unfortunately, as much as he could carry was… not a lot, at this size. Not only that, but he craved meat in this form more than anything. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, though, so he carefully sized up the jump and crouched, before leaping to the bottom shelf with a light thump. He froze, but heard no sounds indicating that Logan was getting up. Okay. So far, so good. 

He pushed himself up onto his hind legs, and gripped the shelf above with his claws, pulling himself up with an effort that strained his shaky muscles. His wings automatically started beating to give himself a boost, and he hurried to fold them back down yet again. Damned things. They were a lighter purple on the thin flesh that stretched between each wing joint, and ridiculously eye-catching. 

Still, his slip up didn’t seem loud enough that it would draw attention. Luckily, he’d left some of his stuff on the shelf second from the bottom, meaning that he didn’t have to do any more climbing. His food was mostly devoid of crinkly wrappers, so that his stealth kitchen runs were as quiet as possible. 

Before he could properly grab a protein bar, which was massively oversized in his little clawed hands, he heard footsteps on the tile. He immediately scurried back, pushing himself into the back corner of the shelf. In his rush, a bag of unpopped popcorn slid halfway off the shelf. He silently willed it not to fall, and then the pantry door was pulled fully open, letting in the ambient light. A pleasant humming was audible above him.

He stared at the blue shirt, his vision of the rest of the Side cut off by the shelf, pupils blown wide with fear and webbed ears pressed flat against his skull. Don’t panic, he told himself sternly. It was just Patton, probably grabbing something to snack on or trying to figure out what to make for dinner. Don’t panic. He just had to stay quiet and wait it out. Don’t-

Patton’s leg bumped the edge of the popcorn bag, and he paused in his humming. 

“Oh, who left this out?” 

His heart stopped as Patton crouched down, grabbing the errant bag and scanning the shelf for where it belonged. Soft brown eyes locked onto his own, and for a moment they were both frozen. 

Patton dropped the popcorn with a thud. “Oh my stars…” 

This was bad. Virgil tried to shove himself further back into the corner, barely seeing Patton’s starstruck expression. This was bad, this was bad. Patton lifted a hand and Virgil’s eyes snapped to it, his wings flaring out like a bird trying to make itself look bigger. He bared his teeth, a low growl rising up from his chest.

“Woah, woah, easy little guy! I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise,” Patton hurried to reassure him, leaning back and tucking his hands underneath himself. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” 

The motion of sitting on one’s hands was so quintessentially Patton that some of the cloying fear faded from his mind. He immediately cut off the growling and made himself smaller, tucking his wings back in. What was he thinking, acting like some kind of feral animal? If it had been anyone but Patton, they’d have seen him as a threat for sure, and disposed of him accordingly. This form was so small, he wouldn’t even be able to fight back. 

Patton’s gaze seemed to brighten as he saw Virgil ‘calm down’, an awed smile crossing his face. “Well aren’t you just the cutest! What are you doing in our pantry, kiddo? Are you hungry?” 

Virgil was thankful that he couldn’t blush in this form, because this was utterly embarrassing. His ears flicked back and forth for a moment, wondering how he was going to get Patton to let him go, when his stomach made a groaning protest at even the mention of food. He resisted the urge to disown it. Patton gasped in surprise, and then nodded firmly, determination in the set of his brow. 

“Don’t you worry, little guy. I’m gonna fix you up something great!” 

With that, the moral side reached into the pantry with both hands, gently maneuvering Virgil out of his corner and into Patton’s arms. He tried to scuttle backwards, but Patton made soothing noises at him, and it wasn’t like he could actually bite him. The side clearly hadn’t figured out who he was; he had to depend on that if he wanted to make it out of this unscathed. He had to act timid, harmless. It was a jarring change from his normal persona. 

Still, he couldn’t help but dig his claws into Patton’s skin as he found himself high up in the air, suspended only by Patton’s arms. Sure he had wings, but it wasn’t like he’d ever practiced using them! 

Thankfully, Patton seemed content to set him down on the counter, smiling at him cheerily before opening the fridge to search its contents, beginning to list out possible food items he could use. Virgil eyed the drop to the ground, still a little dizzy from being lifted so suddenly. If he ran, would Patton chase him? He’d still be hungry, either way. Patton was treating him kindly, if a little patronizing, so would it really hurt to play the role long enough to get a meal...? So long as the other sides didn’t find out-

“Patton? Who are you talking to-?”     

Logan’s voice cut off sharply as Virgil whirled around, nearly slipping off the counter. No, no, no, no, no. Of course all the commotion had been audible from the living room. He turned tail as Logan approached, but before he could attempt to scale the fridge, a hand carefully seized the base of his wings, pinning them together the way one would hold a captured butterfly. His feet slid against the slick countertop uselessly. Trapped. Oh god, Logan was going to figure him out immediately and they were going to call Roman to slay him for being a monster and-

“Is this a… miniature dragon?” Logan asked, curiosity coloring his voice. Virgil’s tail lashed back and forth desperately as he ineffectively tried to wriggle out of the hold.

“Logan!” Patton greeted, “Yeah, I found him in the pantry! I’m trying to figure out what to make for him, poor thing’s half-starved!” 

“Curious.” He curled in on himself as Logan ran a critical eye over his form. “Starved seems like a mild exaggeration. What did you have in mind?” 

Patton hummed for a moment in consideration. “I’m not sure! What do you think, Lo?” 

“Well,” Logan shifted his grip, and Virgil suddenly found fingers prying open his mouth with relative ease, “going by its molars and canines, I would estimate it follows a mostly carnivorous diet.” 

He shook his head free of Logan’s grasp, growling lowly despite himself. Thankfully, Logan seemed unperturbed, simply turning away from him. 

“Beyond that, Patton, I find it likely that this creature escaped the Imagination. It would likely be happier to be returned to its natural habitat.” 

Virgil froze at the words, panic seeping through like ice in his veins. He already had a hard enough time defending himself in the Imagination when he had access to all his abilities. Like this, he didn’t stand a chance.

“Aww, c’mon kiddo, I want to make sure he’s properly fed before anything else! I’m sure Roman won’t mind if we keep an eye on the lil’ guy until he gets back, right?” Patton turned his pleading gaze onto Logan, who managed an admirable ten seconds before admitting defeat with a sigh and adjusting his glasses. 

“Very well. Is there anything I can do to help?”  

“Don’t worry about it, Lo. I’m not the,” he lifted a package of sausages from the fridge, “wurst at cooking, you know!” 

Logan groaned in admonishment at the pun, and then looked at Virgil consideringly. “In that case, I will keep an eye on our… unexpected guest.” 

Virgil’s stomach dropped unpleasantly, but he forced himself to focus. Patton had bought him time, so he wasn’t doomed just yet. They still thought he was just a dumb animal. He only needed to find an opportunity to get away. 

Despite his inner pep talk, he still shied away when Logan reached out for him, lifting him off the counter like one would lift a scruffed kitten. It was much less supportive than Patton’s carry was, and he started shaking in the hold, nerves getting the better of him. He’d been trying to suppress his instincts as best he could, but what was the point? It wasn’t like they knew it was him.

Logan didn’t pause as he walked past the array of furniture in the common area, heading upstairs, and Virgil felt his heart enter his throat. Where were they going? Was Logan taking him to the Imagination after all? Did he already know who he was, and was simply waiting until they were alone to get rid of him, to spare Patton the trouble? A distressed warble came out of his throat as he twisted in Logan’s grip.

“Stop moving,” the grip on him tightened, “I am not going to harm you.” 

Like he could trust that. Still, his thrashing slowed once he realized they weren’t, in fact, headed toward Roman’s side of the Mindscape. They were headed towards Logan’s room. He barely refrained from shooting a longing glance back at his own hall, trapped by Logan’s firm hold. So close, and yet so far.

Once they’d passed into the logical side’s room, he found himself deposited on Logan’s desk. He couldn’t help but take a moment to stare around, having never been in any of the others’ rooms before.

There were a surplus of books piled around, unsurprisingly, but also a large, slowly revolving globe and an oversized telescope in one corner. A whiteboard took up half a wall, the air smelling faintly of dry erase marker. There seemed to be star maps charted out on the ceiling, and he wondered if Logan had drawn them by hand or simply willed the room that way.

Before he could take in any more, there was the sudden sensation of cold metal against his front leg, and a simple clicking sound. He jumped, waving his leg as though to shake the foreign object off. It remained steadily in place, and he stared at the small, metal band, heart racing in his ears.

It was a cuff, inscribed with small glowing circuits. 

“There,” Logan said with an air of satisfaction. “with that, you won’t be able to wander off while we aren’t looking.” 

[ohblackdiamond]

little t&a (gene/paul, nc-17) (part 24 of 29)

part 1   part 2   part 3   part 4   part 5   part 6   part 7   part 8   part 9   part 10   part 11   part 12   part 13   part 14   part 15   part 16   part 17   part 18   part 19   part 20   part 21  part 22   part 23   part 24    part 25   part 26   part 27   part 28   part 29  

Four weeks before KISS gets back on tour, Gene discovers that Paul’s been cursed by a groupie. For the sake of KISS’ finances, Paul’s comfort levels, and Gene’s libido, this crisis must be resolved. Sexswap fic. In this chapter:  Paul has a mild crisis of fear; Gene decides to get some air and think things over.

           It was a pretty good time overall. Paul hadn’t expected to feel much—the groupies he’d done it with had definitely never gotten off during the act—but he did get twinges of warmth whenever Gene groped and pressed his breasts together himself, just enough for some squirming. It’d been oddly intriguing to watch Gene, intriguing and a little intimidating. Gene wasn’t really trying to bear down on him any more than he had to, but his physicality and heft hadn’t ever been more obvious than while Gene was straddling him, dick between his breasts. Paul wasn’t petite, either, even now, so he couldn’t quite picture what a real girl, someone little like Carol, must’ve thought while fucking around with him.

           It hurt to consider someone else in his place. But someone else was going to be there. A whole bevy of interchangeable girls that Gene could get to do just anything at all, instead of someone too scared to even let him get in a proper lay yet.

He let Gene come across his cleavage and neck, undoing the point of the shower earlier, instead of sucking him off to finish. He started to get up after, to at least get a towel for himself, but Gene eased him back down by the shoulder, shaking his head.

           “You stay. I’ll get you cleaned up.”

           “My hero,” Paul quipped dryly, but his face felt warm. Gene got up and retrieved a damp washcloth from the bathroom. Gene wasn’t delicate about it, didn’t treat him like he was fragile, but he was thorough, careful. Surprisingly so, for a guy that was so remiss with his own personal hygiene. The rub of the cloth against his skin, more what it signified than how it felt, was enough to get Paul’s heart pumping, nipples stiffening up long before Gene teasingly traced a clean edge of the towel over them.

           “Turn your head a little. You’ve got some of it in your hair.”

           “That’s your bad aim.”

           Gene laughed softly.

           “Turn a little more.”

           Paul hesitated, barely inching his head a bit further to the right. He knew instinctively that his hair was covering up his ear, that Gene wasn’t able to see anything from his angle, but it didn’t keep his tension at bay. If Gene noticed, he didn’t mention it, wiping the smear of semen out of his hair without a word. Just as kindly as he had wiped away the vomit last night. Paul felt so warm, so full. Undeserving of any of it. Gene leaned in, probably trying to make sure he’d gotten it all—but then their lips met instead. Paul couldn’t help himself, reaching out to grasp the sides of Gene’s face, urging him in closer. Within a few seconds, the washcloth ended up abandoned on the side of the bed, Gene going from leaning over him to pressed against him, their bodies flush. His skin was hot against Paul’s. Gene wasn’t hard again yet, but a little more time and teasing and it wouldn’t be long, not at all, it wouldn’t—

           Paul was about to give in. Just on the verge of it. His legs felt like jelly, and he was wet again, almost embarrassingly so. It was only when Gene started to pull back that he remembered himself again.

           “You ready?” Gene said.

           “I…”

           “You don’t have to be.”

           “I’ve got to be sometime.” It felt like he was trying to convince himself, like the mumbled words of prayers he’d never memorized. “I know I’ve got to. I know we can’t keep on like this.”

           Gene didn’t say anything for a few seconds. His brows were furrowed as he started to sit up. Paul grasped his arm.

           “What do you want to do, Paul?”

           Paul hesitated.

           “I don’t know.” He watched Gene’s face carefully, expecting to watch it cloud with disappointment, and then he added, “Maybe we should stop for tonight.”

           “Okay.”

           No arguments at all. Gene didn’t try to coax him into anything else, shifting off of him and pulling back the covers to properly crawl into bed. He didn’t even ask for an explanation. Sickly, Paul wondered if Gene was relieved. Wondered if it was just confirmation of what he’d known all along. Gene wouldn’t want him after. Couldn’t possibly.

           Part of him wanted Gene to push, or at least look disappointed. Part of him wanted to take it back, contrary as that seemed. But take it back to what, another round of oral? Gene would have to get tired of that at some point, if he wasn’t already. It wasn’t good enough. It just wasn’t good enough.

           “Are you okay?” Gene again, quiet. “Look, if you want to talk—”

           “I’m fine. My back hurts.” Abruptly, Paul realized that sounded almost as textbook as the old I-have-a-headache that he’d assumed was the rallying cry of housewives everywhere. “Lemme go take something for it. Maybe watch some T.V. I’ll be back in a bit.”

           “Okay.” Gene pulled back the covers on Paul’s side as soon as Paul got up. Paul could feel his eyes on him as he shrugged on the bathrobe from earlier and started out the bedroom door. “I’ll be here.”

--

           Lousy as it sounded, his back really did hurt. It had been hurting all day. He wasn’t sure why, but he suspected it had more to do with spending over a week now with tits than anything else. He wouldn’t let himself really consider the other possibility, the one involving the box of Kotex still at the bottom of that paper grocery bag in the kitchen. The one he pushed to the side as he dug through his medicine cabinet, coming up with a few bottles of uppers, Tums, and Pepto-Bismol before finding some Tylenol. He swallowed down two with half a glass of water, and then he sat down at the kitchen island, tying and retying the sash of his bathrobe. Fiddling with the bow, making it perfectly even, then uneven. Tying it in a hard knot just so he could waste time and nerves untangling it. It wasn’t helping. Just a distraction.

           He’d known he couldn’t be a real girl for him. But he’d wanted to try. He’d wanted to keep that interest going as long as he could. He didn’t want to be in this body forever, but he didn’t despise it any more deeply than he despised how he really was. Another couple of days wouldn’t damage his psyche any. Maybe just the sheer fact that it wouldn’t hurt him was another testament to how little really defined him as a person.

           Except Gene had kept him, ultimately, from facing much of what actually living as a chick was really like. And the tour was an inevitability to be dealt with. Bill and Sean would start making police inquiries if his own parents didn’t. Every day would force his hand a little further, and provide for more disastrous fallout once he finally decided to go through with it.

He tried to tick off all the things he’d give up if he kept putting it off. If, even worse, he opted to just try to stay this way for as long as he could. There was the roar of the crowd, the only thing in his whole life that had ever made him feel like he might be okay, besides Gene. There was his money, his car, his lifestyle. His family. He couldn’t—he couldn’t turn his back on all that for something as stupid as wanting to hold on to Gene for just a little bit longer.

           He left the kitchen after a minute or two more and slunk down the stairs as quietly as possible. His overblown record collection greeted him again, though the whole effort looked foolish now, without Gene to show them to. His gold records on the wall. The People’s Choice award for “Beth.” He read over each inscription like it was the first time, trying to engrave it all into his brain—there, that’s what you’re giving up. That’s what you’re making everyone else give up, too, every day you put this off. People who had nothing at all to do with it. Ace and Peter. Bill and Sean. Dozens of roadies. Even the girls that helped run the KISS publicity machine. Out of a livelihood if Paul decided Gene’s attention was more important than the band. Because Paul didn’t believe Gene would ever want him like he really was.

           He yanked an album off the shelf almost blindly. More of the Monkees. Christ. He put it on the turntable anyway. He’d been way too old to enjoy the show when it had come on, too old and too enamored by the Beatles to be interested in an American rip-off, but the songs had been a guilty pleasure. Another influence he couldn’t point to. Gene could talk about Pinocchio without losing any confidence at all. Paul always had to play pretend with everything. Everything. Had to hide behind Starchild just to get onstage. Had to hide behind Gene just to find out how to break the curse. Worth nothing on his own merits. Sense of self all shot to hell. Moldable. Desperate.

           He wanted, not for the first time, to talk to Dr. Hilsen. As if Hilsen would even believe him, and as if Hilsen would really guide him if he did. He’d think Paul had finally cracked up just like Julia had. It had just taken him longer. Two spoiled rotten, fucked-up kids with no right to be fucked-up at all. No right and every right. The same thing was wrong with both of them in the end.

His breaths hitched like he’d been running a marathon. There was a pain somewhere new and untraceable in his gut.

           He snuck back upstairs before he’d gotten more than halfway through the B-side of the record. Gene was still there, and just awake enough to shift a little when Paul slipped back into bed. But Gene was facing the other side, covers swaddled around him, and Paul didn’t feel like trying to worm his way back into his arms.

           He lay there instead, watching the alarm clock on the nightstand, the tick not nearly enough to drown out the slight sound of Gene’s breaths, or the blood dully pounding in his ear for hours as he finally fell asleep.

--

           Gene got up early the next morning. He checked on Paul, who was still shifting and wriggling in his sleep next to him. The dull morning light barely played off his face, a face that was, honestly, more similar to the one in the photos than it was different. He didn’t have that peaceful look to him right now. His hand wasn’t between his legs this time, either.

           Gene pulled on the jeans he’d borrowed the day before, and then, thinking better of it, took them off and put on a pair of Paul’s sweatpants instead. Bummy enough that he’d never be recognized when he went out. He borrowed another of Paul’s shirts—this one was an old flowery one he remembered Paul wearing while KISS was still just Wicked Lester. Then he retrieved the paper from the front porch, read a few of the sections, and then just stuck them on his side of the bed.

           He needed to clear his head. He needed to make a decision. Ultimately, it was up to Paul, but he had a part in it, too. Paul’s words in the rowboat kept rattling in his brain. They hadn’t been the tease he’d probably meant them as. More of a plea.

           Do I have your heart yet?

          Paul hadn’t had the guts to wait on an answer. Gene hadn’t had the guts to give him one.

           Did he have Paul’s heart? That wasn’t even a question. Mary-Anne at CBGB, who’d rescued a rockstar without even knowing it, had answered it for him. She’s yours. Yours. Gene had never thought of Paul as belonging to anyone. He wasn’t even comfortable enough to belong to himself. And yet—

           I want to belong somewhere.

            I wanna be with you.

           He ripped a clean piece of paper from one of Paul’s sketchpads, found a pen by the nightstand, and scribbled a note.

           “Paul—went to pick up food for us & clothes from home.”

           He skipped a couple lines, staring at them, wondering if he needed to add something dirty or witty, and in the end he settled for neither.

           “Be back soon. Gene”

           It didn’t quite seem sufficient. Paul had been oversleeping almost every morning; he might not even wake up until after Gene returned. But this whole time, Gene hadn’t gone anywhere without him. He considered it some more, and then stuck another few sentences in the lines he’d left blank:

           “I wanted to buy you some real groceries.”

            You’re always eating sandwiches when you’re at home by yourself, he wanted to write next. You’re still doing that. You worry too much. But all that sounded so weirdly doting that he dismissed it before his pen met the paper again.

           “Will try to bring you back some matzo ball soup, too. but only if it’s good. Jewish delis aren’t like they used to be.”

           That accomplished, he set the note on the bedside table, covering up the alarm clock. Paul’s bathrobe was on the floor, and he picked it up and, in an odd moment, started to put it in the hamper. Peeking out from inside the basket were most of their clothes from the last few days. Paul’s random array of t-shirts and boxers, the jeans he’d bought, the shorts from that first night at CBGB.

           There was a napkin in the pocket of the shorts. He tugged it out just from pure curiosity, but he only found where Mary-Anne had scribbled Carol’s old address. Their first dead-end. Gene shook his head, sticking the napkin in his own pocket, not sure why. The napkin seemed to burn there, bothering him even twenty minutes later when his driver pulled in and gave him the old, tired where-to.

           “Well…”

           Gene’s first instinct was to tell him to drive to the nearest grocery store. His second was the nearest Jewish deli. But something weird and strange made him push the napkin into the driver’s hand instead.

           “You want to go there?” The driver cocked his head. “I know where those apartments are. That’s a crappy part of town—it’s all fucking crappy these days, but man—”

           “I’ve lived in worse.” Gene exhaled. “Take me over there.”

           He nodded, apparently opting not to argue further. A few minutes stretched out along the highway before the driver spoke again.

           “Where’s the girl?”

           “Paul.”

           “Figures.” A snort, and then he adjusted his mirror. “He always gets the pretty ones.”

[iwhumpyou]

Hey so can i request something with a stern but caring caretaker- tropes or anything youd like. Thanks lot

Me:  Oooh, a request!  Sure, I can whip up an aesthetic or something that would fit that - but also a new universe I’m working on has elements of a stern but caring caretaker - but also I can just write a new whump scene for this request - but also

(five days later)

Me: (barely halfway done through the new whump scene)  I’m sorry, please take this part 1 of 2 because I feel badly about making you wait just because a small scene spiraled out of control.  Also, my brain has zero self-control, please send help.

Masterlist.  Janiya.

Part 1.

~#~#~#~#~#~

Janiya counted every step out of the cell, past the guards and up the stairs, Gavin’s hand warm in her own.  She kept her grip loose so that he had to grip it tight, so that if he chose to let go she wouldn’t be scrabbling in vain at empty hope.

He didn’t let go.  

It was raining outside and she ducked her head instantly – even the raindrops, soft as they were, felt like torture on her oversensitive skin.  They had been pulled taut and every breath caused her lips to quiver.

Gavin led her to a car, and Ash was standing next to it, waiting.  He wasn’t smiling anymore – the look on his face was dark and cruel and the knife in his hands was dripping blood.  

Janiya ignored him – she didn’t want to see pity on his face, or a dismissive look, or satisfaction because she knew he had never liked her.

Given the chance, would he have wielded the needle and thread?

She followed Gavin inside the car – he still hadn’t let go of her hand.  Ash slid into the driver’s seat.  “You’re sure?” he asked, managing to exude both disbelief and glee.

“Drive carefully,” Gavin said, in the same, neutral tone he’d been using with her since he saw her. She hated the tone.  She hated the words.  She hated not knowing what he was going to do next.

Ash laughed at the instruction, but when he peeled away from the curb, it was smoothly.  It wasn’t slow by any measure, but it wasn’t rash and they managed to reach the house without breaking any traffic laws.

Ash got out of the car first and, even through the pouring rain, she could see the maniac energy he’d suppressed while driving.  He practically bolted to the front door and she could hear it slam open.  

“It’s okay,” Gavin said, in that same, bland tone.  Janiya realized that she had flinched – the threads were digging in now, tugging at her skin, and she relaxed her face, part by part.

He got out of the car slowly, and stood by the door in the rain as she carefully managed her way out.

He still hadn’t let go of her hand.

She counted every step to the front door, something warring inside of her – on one hand, relief, because the front door was open and light and warmth were spilling out and this was home, this was safe –

She’d thought that, before she’d been abducted.  She’d thought that, before she’d been left in a cell with the echoes of laughter and smirks and sneers and ‘not so talkative now, hmm?’ and a plate of food and a cup of water set tauntingly in the corner.

She remembered arguments with the Irregulars.  Remembered taunts and quips and jokes that were a shade too cruel to be funny.  But it hadn’t mattered to her because the world was a civilized place and they weren’t going to hurt her over some words.

The world was not a civilized place.  The world was a monster dressed in a three-piece suit, with a charming smile that hid all the fangs.

She didn’t want to see the Irregulars’ fangs.  Not now. Not ever.

Gavin paused when he felt her hesitate on the front stoop, his face creasing in confusion, but it didn’t matter because Ivy was standing just inside the door, waiting for them.

“Ash looked pissed, what happen-” And then she caught sight of Janiya’s face and the words died.  Ivy’s eyes widened till they looked like orbs.

The sudden silence was apparently enough of an invitation for everyone else.  “What happened?” different voices chorused and Janiya took a step back, forcing her face to remain still even as her heart started skipping faster.  Gavin’s warm grip was still on her hand and he looked at her, startled, as she slunk back into the shadows. 

“If you would let us come inside,” Gavin said mildly, but there was an edge in his previously neutral tone and Janiya shivered.

Ivy mutely moved aside, her wide-eyed gaze still fixed to Janiya’s face, and everyone’s whispering cut off suddenly, harshly, as Janiya stepped inside.

“What happened?” Rita, her eyes narrowing on Gavin.

“Where is Darin?” Gavin asked, not answering her.

Ivy opened her mouth – and closed it again, looking near frantic.  “I’ll go get him,” she said, practically sprinting out of the room. Everyone else ringed them in circles, silent, but staring.  Gavin did not let go of her hand.

Janiya stared forward and tried her very best not to cry.

Ivy came back quickly, dragging Darin behind her – literally dragging, the man was resisting being pulled and had a disapproving expression on his face.  And then he caught sight of Janiya, and the expression bled out into nothingness, the way Gavin’s face had done when he caught sight of her in the cell.

“I’m going to need my kit,” he said mildly and Ivy pressed it into his hands.  Darin took it and went to the couch.  Gavin pulled Janiya to follow.

The others followed too, like they were pulled along in the tide, and she heard the low murmur of whispers begin to start.  She couldn’t understand them but it was obvious they were talking about her.

Janiya blinked and stared ahead, willing the blurriness in her vision to fade.

Gavin sat her down on the couch, opposite Darin, and let go of her hand.  She snapped her head towards him, even though she’d been ready for him to let go since he’d taken it, because he couldn’t possibly leave her alone with Darin.

He gave her a small, sad smile, before he corralled the others out of the room.  In seconds, Janiya and Darin were the only two left. 

Darin finished whatever he was doing with the kit, and dragged a table over, right in front of her. He took a seat, his knees brushing hers as he uncapped something that smelt strongly of antiseptic.

Her nose twitched – she wanted very badly to sneeze but that was definitely not going to end well. Her stitches tugged at her skin as she tried to shift away and she was unable to suppress the high whimper. Much of it didn’t get out, trapped beneath her lips, but Darin looked up sharply.

“You need to stay still,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion.

Janiya felt tears pricking at her eyes again.  She wanted to move, to put more distance between them, but Darin’s legs were effectively caging her.  She wanted to get away, but she couldn’t.

She blinked and, for a moment, the guard captain was back, leering at her with a sick smile as they pressed her lips shut, as they forced the needle through, it hurt, it hurt so much –

“Janiya,” Darin said and she saw his face again, looking at her with an emotion she couldn’t name. She realized she had pressed herself into the cushions, her arms crossed over her chest.

“The thread has to be removed,” he said, in a curious tone.  It tried to be neutral, but there was an undercurrent of…bitterness, perhaps. “Do you understand?”  She shakily nodded, because she did, she understood the principle of it, but the thought that he was going to have to touch it, to touch her – 

“Do you want someone else to do it?” he asked, and she recognized the undercurrent now.  It was anger, but despite it, Darin sat calmly and waited for her answer.

Did she want someone else? Who else would she ask for?  The Irregulars weren’t her friends, she knew that. She hadn’t tried to be their friends – well she had, but they hadn’t, so she had turned to sarcasm and condescension to cover up the hurt.  None of them liked her, none of them ever pretended that they did.

She knew the looks of disdain they’d sent her way – those were familiar, even if they made her blood boil – she knew the looks of mockery – the world was full of looks like that and she’d first learned how to retaliate – but only now had she fully understood their looks of rage.

The guard captain had looked like that when she had been taunting him and she’d reveled in his frustration, in his loss of control, in his fury.

And then she learned that those looks did not usually change to seething anger and bitterness.  No, they usually changed to glee and satisfaction because when someone wounded you, you lashed out.  And when words stopped working, you moved to fists.  And worse.

She didn’t want to see the Irregulars’ faces change to satisfaction.  To glory in her downfall.  Gavin was perhaps the only one who wouldn’t, but he was weary of her, she knew that, she had seen it in his face when he’d first stepped to the bars of her cell.  She was just another burden on his back.

Janiya slowly shook her head no.  She wasn’t going to ask for anyone.  Not to let it become just another thing to hold over her head.

Some of the bitterness washed out of Darin’s face.  “You will need to hold still,” he said, “Can you do this?”

Can you do it on your own? was the question, or do I have to get someone to hold you down?

Janiya’s shake of the head yes was perhaps a bit vehement – her lips throbbed viciously with the movement.

“Okay,” Darin said. He was holding a cotton ball soaked in something chemical.  “This is going to sting a bit.” 

Janiya kept her face very, very still.

It stung.  It made the throbbing increase in places.  But she breathed in and out, slowly, carefully, and the burning began to fade.  Darin finished dabbing the puncture wounds and returned to his kit.  This time, he came back with a pair of scissors.

She held still as he gently grasped her chin with rough fingers.  She focused on the feel of it, the calluses against her skin, his thumb on her cheek, as the scissors wavered in her vision.

She tried not to look at it. She stared straight, at Darin, at his forehead, locks of dark hair sweeping across, at his eyes, dark brown, fixed on her lips, pupils contracting slightly –

She felt the scissors close.  A tiny bit of tension released at the corner of her lip.  She almost flinched, but viciously buried the urge. 

Another cut.  Her face was quivering with the effort to be still. Her hands lay in her lap, useless and trembling.

A snip.  The cold edge of the scissors brushed inflamed skin and she nearly startled. Her heart was pounding in her throat. She was surprised Darin couldn’t hear it.

“You’ll never believe who came to the house today,” Darin said, and Janiya almost raised her eyebrows, startled, but remembered before she set her lips on fire.  She tried to impart her confusion through her stare. The snip had gone unnoticed.

“Ivy’s sister,” Darin said. It was clear he didn’t need any response from her to continue the tale.  He wasn’t looking at her, focused on his task.  Janiya wasn’t sure if he was actually talking to her, but she couldn’t turn her head to see if anyone else was in the room.

“Not her biological sister,” Darin continued and Janiya seized the words as a distraction.  He kept cutting, a snip coming every few seconds.  “One of the girls at the orphanage.  One of the older ones.

“So Ivy was apparently always the troublemaker she is now.  Getting into scrapes and picking fights with gangs.  Meredith – Ivy’s sister, she was the one in charge of patching her up.

“Meredith runs the orphanage now.  That was good to hear.  When Ivy ran away, it was a bad place.  Meredith wasn’t too forthcoming on what changed, but Ivy’s happy that it’s better now.” Janiya felt the scissors cut another thread, a third of her lips free.  She was listening to the story, but she was acutely aware that this was the first time any of them had told her anything about their lives.

Why would they?  When she’d mocked and sneered at them for everything else.

She hadn’t even known Ivy had grown up in an orphanage.  She hadn’t known she’d run away.  Darin spoke so easily about it but Janiya didn’t even know its name.  Or where it was.

Another cut and the pain in her lips tore further at the wound in her heart.  She tried not to blink, in the hopes that her watery eyes would subside, but they didn’t.  She felt water pooling in her eyes and dripping down her cheek.  Slowly, achingly slowly, it traced a trail down her face.

“Meredith was asking for some funds to help the orphanage – she was going around to all the houses here – and luckily Rita stopped Ivy before she signed away all our money.” Darin gave no indication that he knew she was crying, even though she could feel the tear brushing his thumb. More followed as she blinked, tracing other trails down her face as she tried not to sniffle.  Something was growing in her throat, choking her.

“But Ivy made a sizable donation and she decided to take it upon herself to hold a fundraiser – Meredith looked a bit taken aback, but in a fond way, like she was reminiscing.”  Her next breath was ragged but Darin didn’t hesitate in his work.  Half of her lips free, half her face relaxing against the unnatural stiffness. 

“First she wanted to hold a car wash, and then a bake sale, and then a walkathon.  Then Fei suggested a circus or carnival and Ivy fell in love with that idea.

“I think she’s trying to combine all the ideas, but I’m not sure.  She wanted me to be a trapeze artist,” Darin wrinkled his nose at the thought and Janiya’s lips twitched (three quarters free) as she suppressed a smile.  “I told her I’d be a knife thrower instead, but then she said that would be a bad example to set for the kids.”

There was only a little bit of string left, a section of tautness at the right corner of her lips and Janiya was suddenly seized with the impulse to be free, to wrench her mouth open, to scream the way she’d been unable to before.

“Which is hypocritical,” Darin said, “Because first of all, Ivy is a bad example to children everywhere.  And secondly, a trapeze artist isn’t?  So showing kids how to throw knives is bad, but watching someone dance on a wire in midair is fine?”  Janiya took a deep breath and suppressed the urge, keeping her face perfectly still until Darin snipped the last few stitches free. 

Her lips separated, numb and throbbing and trembling.  She hadn’t stopped crying – she touched a hand to her cheek and was startled to discover that it was wet.  Darin hadn’t said a word.

He had turned to his kit again, putting away the scissors and coming back with a pair of tweezers. Something in her shrank away from the sight.

“Are there any more stitches?” he asked, his tone unchanged, and she realized abruptly that the story had been for her.

She shook her head and, when he kept staring, tried out a word.  “No,” she said hoarsely, the word quiet.  Her lips still hurt.  They still throbbed when she tried to move them, points of pain flaring into existence.

“I’m going to have to remove the thread,” he said, “It will feel…unpleasant.”

It had been unpleasant going into her fucking skin, she had no expectations it would feel any differently coming out.

She was wrong.  It felt worse.

~#~

Part 3.

[team-free-will-oneshots]

Homecoming

Title: Homecoming (part three in the ‘Reckless’ series) Request: Hi, can I request a Dean x reader, where he makes her angry so she decides to leave him while on a hunt… But when she gets back to the bunker, she doesn’t realize a month has gone by. Pairing: Dean x Fem!Reader Warnings: swearing, mentions of blood Word Count: 2,500ish

note; so this was going to be the last part... but then i felt like it was a bit anti-climatic for a finale and it didn’t quite feel over yet SO there’s gonna two more parts!! enjoy ;)

Part One | Part Two

You awoke face down on the ground. Gravel dug into your cheek and bit into the palms of your hands, and you groaned as you sat up, joints stiff and aching. Your shoulder was killing you, and your ribs were definitely bruised, if not fractured. Blinking sluggishly, the darkness around you became discernible as your eyes adjusted - trees. A long driveway. You were still disoriented, but something about this was oddly familiar…

The witch! The realisation hit you like a brick to the head and you jumped to your feet, ignoring your protesting injuries. Spinning around, you realised with a start that the house was dark, cordoned off with police tape. Frowning, you slunk under the weak barrier and looked through the window. The scene that awaited you was far different from the one in your most recent memory.

The candles that had previously circled the witch were now nothing but dried pools of melted wax staining the wooden floors. The witch’s body was gone, though a disturbingly large amount of dried blood was smeared across the floor and walls. Her other victim’s body had disappeared also, leaving nothing but the collapsed china cabinet and an abundance of evidence markers placed around the scene.

Mind reeling and head throbbing, you sat and leaned against the side of the house, glancing at your injured shoulder and deciding now was as good a time as any to assess the extent of your injuries. It hurt like hell, but the bleeding from your shoulder had mostly stopped, and you’d definitely had worse. You were sure that, given enough time, it would heal. You could taste blood in your mouth from the boot to the face you’d received, but thankfully you still had all your teeth, even if your gums were split. All in all, you could survive without rushing to the hospital.

Now that you knew you weren’t bleeding out, a more pressing concern was raised - what the hell had happened here? You could only guess it had something to do with the window the witch had sent you flying through - some kind of portal, maybe?

Though your brain still rattled with confusion, you managed to shake yourself out of your stupor and decided to get back to the motel as quickly as possible - maybe the boys would have some clue as to what had happened. Ha - Dean’s face when he realised you’d taken the witch on your own would be priceless, you couldn’t wait to shove your competence in his face.

You walked down the long drive, ducking under another round of police tape stationed at the foot of the driveway. Your hands fumbled in your pockets for your keys as you walked, but you’d gotten halfway down the street before you froze. Wait…

“Where the hell is my car?” you muttered, glancing back the way you came. You were sure you’d parked it here… Are you kidding? Someone stole your fucking car. Great - just what you needed, tonight of all nights.

You huffed an annoyed sigh as you pulled out your phone, brows shooting up in surprise as you saw the notification - 154 missed calls from Dean Winchester. 82 missed calls from Sam Winchester. Jesus.

Opening Dean’s contact, your thumb hovered over the call button… but then you thought of his smug face when you called asking for help, and thought better. Goddammit, you were Ubering - you were too stubborn to ask for help after all this.

You leaned back against a fence as you waited for your Uber to arrive, scrolling mindlessly through your phone until they did. You slid into the back seat, ready to finally find some answers.

---

When you were dropped off you headed straight for your motel room, surprised to find it locked. You patted your pockets, but realised you must’ve left the room key with the boys. You pounded on the door.

“Hello? Dean? Sam?” you called expectantly. “I took care of her! She’s dead! Can you guys let me in?”

Silence. Then muffled whispering. You groaned.

“Look, I’m sorry if I worried you, but can you guys please let me in? It’s cold out here!” you yelled, kicking the door once before turning around with an irritated sigh. You rolled your eyes as you heard the door creak open.

“It’s about ti-” you began, turning back, but froze when you saw a bleary-eyed middle-aged woman you definitely didn’t recognise. You opened your mouth, brow furrowing in confusion as you glanced around furtively. Had you got the wrong room?

“You… are not Sam and Dean,” you said slowly. She looked at you with fear in her eyes, and you felt your own widen in panic as you realised what you looked like - a bruised and bloody mess - and exactly what she had heard - “I took care of her! She’s dead!” Shit.

“N-no, who are you? What do you want?” she cried.

“Don’t worry, honey, I’ve got the police on the phone!” a male’s voice called from inside. You laughed nervously.

“Look, this is all a big misunderstanding,” you tried, but when you raised your hands the woman screamed. The man was at her side in less than a moment, a frying pan gripped in his shaking hands.

“Get back! The police are on their way!” he shouted, and you sighed. Great. Just what you needed. You spun on your heel and strode away, the couple clearly too shaken to try and follow you. In a tiny town like this, you gave it at least twenty minutes before the cops arrived. Plenty of time to get out.

You walked a block over, finally relinquishing your stubbornness as you tried to call Dean for a ride. It went to voicemail. Eight times.

Great. Just great, you thought, finally giving in and calling another Uber, this time for the bunker. The same driver you had before pulled up, shooting you an irritated look. You glanced at your phone - 5am, in a tiny place like this? God, you were lucky to even get an Uber.

“Lebanon? Are you fucking kidding?” he demanded. “Do you know how far that is? You’re fucking lucky my cat’s with my ex-wife this weekend, or else you’d be finding another goddamn ride. Lebanon!” he scoffed.

You tried a sheepish smile. “Sorry?” You felt a pang of guilt, but knew your chances of getting picked up by a hitchhiker at this hour were zero to one, especially when you looked as bad as you did, in addition to your pending status as a fugitive.

With a very frustrated sigh, the driver pulled from the curb and you cast your gaze out the window as you settled in for the long trip ahead.

A seven-hour drive with Dean’s driving became a ten-hour drive with the Uber driver, whose name was Darren, behind the wheel. You slept on and off, your dreams filled with blood, candles and 1-star passenger ratings. Your waking hours were spent talking - Darren told you about his kids who he was trying to put through college, hence the uber driving, the custody battle for his cat following his messy divorce, that dick Billy from accounting who, in Darren’s words, “Just didn’t know when to quit it!” Quit what, you weren’t certain, but the more he ranted the more your hatred for ‘Billy’ grew.

When you were finally delivered home - or rather, about a twenty-minute walk from home, as you didn’t give the Men of Letters bunker location to just anyone - you were quick to give Darren a good rating. He huffed. Apparently, any comradeship you may have gained as you bitched with him about his coworkers was eradicated the moment you stepped out the door, even with the fortune you paid to get here. You waved half-heartedly as he drove away, waiting until the car was completely out of sight before beginning the trek to the bunker.

The afternoon sun beat down on the back of your neck, drawing beads of sweat that clung to your hair and moistened the dried blood crusted on your skin. When you wiped your forehead, the back of your hand came away stained with dirt. God, Darren hadn’t asked a lot of questions about your appearance, had he? Maybe he had his secrets, too. Like why he was willing to drive ten hours for an absolute stranger, even if he was getting paid… maybe you weren’t the only one running from something.

An eternity seemed to pass until you finally saw the bunker’s entrance up ahead. Finally. As you approached the door you dug through your pockets for your keys, only to find them empty. They must’ve dropped out in Darren’s car. You swore, making a mental note to remind Dean to change the locks, just in case.

Without any other option, you rapped your knuckles softly on the door, knowing the sound would echo throughout the bunker. You heard Dean’s annoyed voice growing closer from the other side, paired with a pair of heavy footsteps.

“Sam, I can’t believe you forgot your keys again, get it togeth-” Dean’s words fell short as the door swung open, and he froze, mouth agape as he stared at you.

“Y/N?” he breathed in disbelief.

“Hey,” you greeted, casually strolling inside and shedding your jacket, draping it over the bannister. “You will not believe the day I’ve had. Dude, someone stole my car! I had to Uber all the way back here! Do you know how expensive a ten hour Uber ride is? Cos now I do, and I’m not pleased about it, either. You could’ve answered your phone, you know!” you accused, striding down the stairs and ready to head for a shower. You paused as you saw the state of the library; chairs broken, desks overturned, splinters coating the floor.

“Jesus Christ, Dean, what the hell happened?” you demanded, spinning around in shock. That was when you finally got a good look at him - at his unshaven beard, the bags under his red-rimmed eyes, the way he was staring at you like you were some kind of ghost…

“Dude, you look like shit,” you informed him, but felt your stomach drop in concern. “What happened? Is everyone okay? Jody? Cas?” you asked, suddenly panicked. The only reason Dean would be like this is if someone had died.

Dean’s gaze hardened, and suddenly he was throwing you up against a wall and tossing holy water over your face, then cutting your arm with a silver knife. You sputtered, blinking in shock. “Dean, what the hell? It’s me!” you insisted, and he pulled away, shaking his head.

“No, no, it can’t be, you’re- Y/N, you’re dead!” His voice shook and his lip trembled, and you wanted nothing more than to take him into your arms and soothe him. But right now, you were far too confused to do anything of the sort.

“Well, obviously I’m not,” you said slowly. “That witch was powerful, but I’m not as weak as you think. I killed her! Weirdest thing, though, she was doing some weird spell and talked about getting a head start away from you guys, and she ended up knocking me through some portal to the next day or something because when I woke up, the place was totally abandoned. And someone else was in your motel room! I can’t believe you guys gave up looking for me after one night!” you cried. Dean’s eyes widened and he looked absolutely furious.

“One night? One night? Y/N, you’ve been gone for a month!” he yelled. “We stayed there a whole fucking week and there was no trace of you!”

You froze. “What? A month? No way, that- that can’t be right,” you stammered, pulling out your phone to check. Holy shit - he was right. You hadn’t paid much attention to the date on the little calendar icon earlier, but… he was right.

“You mean- you thought I was dead?” you asked, voice small. “Is that why- all this-” You beckoned vaguely to the mess surrounding you, and he nodded, exhaling shakily. His rage seemed to drain away, leaving an empty shell of the man you once knew. “Dean…” you breathed, and he shook his head, stepping forwards to pull you into his arms.

His grip on you was bone-crushingly tight, sending pain shooting through your ribs and shoulder, and his breath reeked of alcohol, but you didn’t pull away. He held you like there was no tomorrow, like you might disappear if he loosened his grip for even a split second. His face was buried in the crook of your neck as he breathed you in, assuring himself you were real as he clung to you desperately. You felt something damp on your skin, and realised he was crying.

“Hey… it’s okay, I’m here,” you soothed. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

You felt Dean breathe shakily as he nodded. He swallowed, pulling away but not losing his grip on you for a second. And suddenly, he was kissing you.

His lips were chapped and his beard scratched your chin and his breath could definitely have been better, but none of that seemed to matter as you leaned in closer, your wrists locking around his neck as his mouth moved urgently on yours.

You were interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Y/N?” Sam’s breathless tone was tainted with disbelief. You reluctantly pulled back from the kiss, but Dean held fast to you, his hands shaking as they found purchase on the small of your back. Sam jogged down the stairs, clad in his workout gear as he appraised you with unbelieving eyes.

“Yeah. It’s me,” you told him with a tentative smile.

“Dean, did you do the tests-”

“Of course I did, Sammy! That was the first thing I did!” Dean snapped, pulling away from you long enough to shoot his brother a glare. You kissed Dean’s cheek, running your hand down his arm and feeling him relax minisculely under your touch. His grip loosened, letting you pull away and be wrapped in Sam’s arms. He hugged you tightly, and when he drew back you saw there were tears in his eyes. He gave you a tiny smile.

“Good to have you back, Y/N,” he managed, and you nodded, offering a comforting smile. He stared at you a moment longer, drinking in the sight of you, alive, before leaving to give you and Dean some space.

“You have no idea how incredible it is to see you,” Dean breathed. “I-I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for saying you couldn’t handle it. I knew you could, I just- I didn’t want to lose you. I got scared, and- and I almost lost you anyway, so- you can come on any hunt you goddamn please, okay? I promise. Just- just not alone.” His pained whisper tugged at your heartstrings, and you nodded, running your fingers lightly through his hair. He closed his eyes at the sensation, his breathing slowing as he finally began to relax.

“So… is this a bad time to mention that I’m possibly a fugitive?”

Dean’s eyes snapped open.

“You’re a what?!”

__________

Click here to read part four!

Reckless series tags: @tmiships4life @justagirlinafandomworld @galileeooh @a-fan-fighting-for-equality @sasbb23 @avengersgirllorianna @thewaywarddaughterblog @2dreamcatcher8 @xlplx  @spaghettiwoes @gay-ghost-fights @shut-ur-face-and-get-in-the-car @mrspeacem1nusone

Forever tags: @stealingheartsswift13 @babygirloreo​ @calaofnoldor​ @lmpala97 @sebastianshoe

Dean tags: @polina-93

If you’d like to be added to any of my tag lists just let me know!

[softlunars]

60 things. — company.

things you said on the streetcar at 1 am. — han jisung ; stray kids

requested: [yes!]

the handrails above your head rattled, providing the only sound on the desolate bus you found yourself in. your headphones were in your ears, but you didn’t have enough energy to press play.

the lights flickered as the rain outside strengthened. a sigh escaped your lips as you stared out the window.

another regular shift at work turned into extra hours spent at the office, completing projects your peers asked you to finish. you were almost certain you had burned out completely. staring at a computer screen, stuck in a small cubicle with papers and pens strewn all across your desk – you quietly groaned at the reminder that you’d have to repeat this routine.

god, you were exhausted. beyond exhausted, actually. how you were functioning right now, it was beyond you. maybe that extra shot of espresso really had carried you through the day.

you felt the bus come to a stop, letting out a puff of air as the doors opened. thinking it was your stop, you brusquely stood up, smoothing your pants over.

confusion struck you as you watched someone walk in the dimly lit bus. almost no one was on this particular bus at one in the morning; most people left their jobs before night fell, leaving you to sit alone every night.

you abruptly sat down when you made eye contact with the stranger. hoping you hadn’t been too obvious, you slunk further into the seat.

unfortunate (or fortunate, you couldn’t decide) for you, the male walked down the aisle until he stood at the edge of your seat. smiling sheepishly, he pointed at the vacant spot beside you, silently asking if he could sit next to you.

you nodded your head, moving closer to the window to make space for the man. you silently prayed that this would be the only interaction you shared with the stranger sat next to you. with the overload of caffeine being the only thing keeping you awake, you’d beat yourself to death if you did something embarrassing in his presence.

the universe apparently decided to work against you tonight, as the stranger took out one earbud and opened his mouth.

“what’s got you on this bus so late?”

he looked at you intently, making you feel as if you were burning under his gaze. you ran your hand through your hair – a nervous habit you’ve had since you were little – and willed yourself enough energy to respond to him.

“i stayed late at work... my colleagues shoved a bunch of projects on me at the last minute.” your voice came out hoarse, and you wanted nothing more than to jump out of the bus and walk the rest of the way home.

the stranger didn’t seem to mind, though, as he let out a light laugh that made your heart beat faster. “some asshole co-workers you got there.”

your lips quirked up into a slight smile as you nodded your head. “yeah, but it’s nothing new, really. i’ve just gotten used to having all this happen out of nowhere. office workers are a whole other breed of colleague.” the stranger let out a puff of air resembling a laugh when he heard the last sentence.

“i can tell.”

you let out an exasperated laugh, nodding your head again at his comment. you decided to turn the subject of the conversation onto why he was here this late.

“so what’s got you here this late, then, stranger?” the man almost groaned at the question but stopped himself halfway.

“i had a late practice. i can’t feel anything.” you let out a quick laugh at his response. his voice held as much exhaustion as yours did in that moment. it entertained you, how someone could be just as worn out as yourself.

the rain outside only seemed to get stronger as your conversation with the man went on. a groan left your lips as you listened to the downpour hit the bus. you swore the universe wanted you to suffer tonight.

another puff of air resonated through the bus’ quiet atmosphere as it halted, signaling it had reached the final stop of the night. you stood up, grabbing your umbrella and purse as the man beside you stood up, too.

he stood off to the side, allowing you to walk in front of him. you uttered a soft “thank you” as your feet dragged on the floor.

before the two of you reached the stairs to enter the torrential rain outside, a hand found itself on your shoulder. you turned around to face the man you sat beside. he looked almost nervous, his eyes looking at everything except your face.

“are you gonna be safe walking home?” you tilted your head at his question. the concern laced in his voice confused you – why was he so concerned about someone he just met?

“um, yeah, i – i usually am. nothing’s happened to me yet. why?”

the hand on your shoulder fell down to rest at the man’s side. he scratched at the back of his neck before answering you.

“i – uh – just don’t want you to face any trouble... so i wanted to know if you’d let me walk you wherever you’re going – i-if that’s okay with you, though!”

you laughed before stepping outside, opening your umbrella to protect yourself. you looked back at the person behind you and smiled.

“i wouldn’t mind that. but i think i should know the name of the person walking me home, don’t you?” a teasing lilt entered your voice, making the man let out a chuckle.

“my name’s han jisung. and i swear i’m not a serial killer.”

you snickered under your breath as you began walking, the man – who you now knew as jisung – speeding up to take a spot at your side.

“if you cut me up, i’m haunting you until you die.”

“i’m protecting you!” he exclaimed in protest.

“well then, thank you, my dear knight in shining armor.”

[sidhewrites]

CHAPTER 8B. Previous Installment found here. Approx. 2650 words. As always, feel free to send Asks or Messages about what’s written or anything you’re curious about. 

It didn’t take long, however, for Coriander to see that, perhaps, the expansion was for the worse. The original house was a handsome stone building, two floors with a circular glass window looking into the attic, and a stairwell leading down into a clearly marked “Rehearsal Room” that looked like it had once been a wine cellar. The sign above the door had been mounted on a wagon wheel, declaring the inn’s name to be Running Well -- which must be referring to the management, because it certainly had nothing to do with the exterior design.

Branching off from the house, however, were two awkwardly rectangular extensions made of a different stone with brightly-painted shutters and a veritable rainbow of painted wooden trim. Handprints and childish illustrations decorated the lowest levels of the building, coupled with a fascinatingly sloppy garden.  A part of Coriander bristled at the sight of it. But she kept her mouth shut. It wasn’t her garden, after all, and nothing in it suggested that the Innkeep was using it for anything more than the love of growing plants.

Atop one of the extensions was another level, this one made of oak wood and stained a garish lime green, and another extension, made of a reddish clay brick and a thatch roof. It was uncomfortably close to the public stables, where a young groom seemed to be having a quiet but intense disagreement with a tenant leaning their head out the open window. Neither of them spoke, but they gestured quickly back and forth with each other. The hearth inside backlit the tennant dramatically, starkly outlining their short, tightly-curled hair and deep brown complexion, contrasting sharply with the groom’s pale face and hair.

It was all too much to take in. How did someone live in a building like this?

Waites dropped Mum and the cart off at the stables, but he was quickly swept up into a conversation with another groom, one much older and gruffer than the one they’d seen outside. Waites pulled himself away from the conversation for just long enough to say, “Go on inside and get something to eat. I’ll be there soon.” He dropped a few coins into Coriander’s hands, and sent them on ahead. Jasper offered his arm, and they walked together inside. 

It was both better and worse at once.

Dozens of people had crowded into the main room, sizable but not large enough. Paper stars hung from the ceiling, as did one child, much to the chagrin and fury of their mother. The decorum, at least, was more sensible -- whitewash and dark wood supports giving the rowdy public room a hint of sensibility.

She knew about her mother’s parties and the occasional socials that happened in Knittelnau -- events Coriander rarely attended, if ever -- and she’d read plenty on the masquerades and balls among the nobility, but it seemed an impossible amount of noise was emanating from the crowd, all but oppressive. It frightened her, and she stepped back towards the door, half hoping to simply disappear through it, entirely hoping that Jasper would get the hint and follow her out.

As it was, however, she only made it a step out the door before someone else tried to come in. He was an aging man, short and fat and fair-skinned, with rouged cheeks and an impressive moustache. Despite his thinning hair, all of it white and grey, he had a certain youthfulness about him, and he was dressed impeccably in bright colors beneath a threadbare homespun cloak. 

He cleared his throat before speaking. “I do beg your pardon, Madam,” he said, voice gruff but warm. 

Coriander rushed to get out of his way, but he held up a finger. “Now don’t you think about leaving any time soon. My scene is next, and I won’t have anyone missing it.”

His scene? This didn’t seem like a theater to her. People behind them turned and grinned, some shout

Jasper stepped up to her side, making his presence known before offering her his arm. “A scene? Are you an actor, sir?”

The old man beamed. “Oh, I was one a long time ago. Now I just bless my guests with the finest acting this side of the river and the other.”

“I can’t believe we’re going to see an actor perform!” Jasper beamed, looking to Coriander in his excitement. 

She managed to nod, unable to match his enthusiasm.

“You flatterer.” The man bowed gallantly. “Are you two travelling together? A trip around the world after a wedding, perhaps?”

Coriander instantly flushed, stammering helplessly, eyes on the ground. 

Jasper, though his ears burned as well, managed at least to speak. “We’re friends, sir. I’m a pilgrim on my way to Berall, and I met Miss Tippit here along the way.”

“Tippit?” The man eyed Coriander, and she shrank further back. “I know that name. Where do I know that name from?”

“We’ve come with Mister Waites. It seems like he talks about Miss Tippit’s mother quite a lot.”

The man clapped a hand to his breast and laughed heartily -- too heartily for the situation, Coriander thought, and wondered if it had been rehearsed. “Ah, Annie! Of course you’re friends with Annie. He doesn’t stop talking about Bess, young man, mark my words on that. Which means you, good Miss, must have come to see about the physician then, eh?”

She nodded.

“Good, good. Come see me after the performance, would you? I’ll arrange for some rooms.”

Jasper grinned. “Oh, thank you, but -- I think we ought to find the inn keep, shouldn’t we”

The man laughed again. “Your search is up, dear boy. Here I am.” He bowed gallantly. “The one and only Randallin.” He stood upright with all the grandeur of an actor.

Jasper’s smile widened to match Randallin’s, and he held the letter out with reverence. “Sir, I met a ma-- er. Someone on the edge of town today. They asked me to give you this.”

“What’s this? A letter?” Randallin took it in one large hand and inspected the ribbon holding it closed. “Violet. Always a violet ribbon. I wonder…” He opened it, and his rouged face turned redder. His valorous grin softened into a giggling simper, and he covered his face. “Ah. I see. Forgive me, this is terribly embarrassing. I can’t hold any composure when I get a love letter from him.”

“You know who it is?”

Randallin shook his head, still aflutter. “No, but I have my hopes. And now I can’t go on. Not like this. I’ll titter through a tragedy.”

Jasper shook his head. “No! You must! We’ve come all this way. It’d be a crime not to see the great Randallin perform, wouldn’t it, Miss Tippit?”

Coriander flinched under the gaze of both men, and shrank into herself. If she hadn’t been holding Jasper’s arm at that point, it’s likely she would have fainted on the spot.

Still, Randallin took it as a positive, and mumbled a bit before shaking his head. “Oh, very well, very well. I’ll see what I can do. Thank you, thank you.” He pulled a coin purse from his pockets and placed a handsome silver piece into Jasper’s flustered hand, before raising his hood and slinking inside.

Randallin seemed to be of the belief that he was unnoteworthy, if not invisible, as he slunk through the crowd. Coriander could track his progress by the position of the bemused glances, followed quickly by amused grins that followed in his wake. Was he so recognisable despite the cloak, or was this a common enough occurence that the disguise had become part of the act?

Jasper leaned over to whisper, “He’s somewhat conspicuous, don’t you think?”

“Don’t think for a second anyone doesn’t know who he is.”

The pair turned to see Waites having finished with the stablemaster, grinning affectionately inside. “Did you give him the letter?”

Jasper nodded. “Mister Runwell seems to be a frequent writer, by the looks of things.”

“You have no idea.” He shook his head. “Come, let’s go find a place to watch.”

Coriander blanched at the idea of braving the crowd. It seemed they’d be better off fording a raging river with a hole-riddled raft, even if the crowd wasn’t half as dense or rowdy as she thought. But it was an enclosed room with more than enough noise and strangers, and it left her missing her quiet home already, where the only crowds she knew were festivals -- which she only watched from the sidelines anyway -- and the occasional swarm of honeybees in search of a new hive.

The idea of speaking up, however, was all the more imposing, and she let Jasper guide her inside. He glanced at her repeatedly, however, and ensured they stuck close to the walls, even if Waites moved further in to get a better view.

The cloaked figure of Randallin reached the far side of the inn where a set of stairs led to the second floor. He stopped at the landing halfway up, facing the wall, head bowed so that he looked almost like a standing stone in the middle of a building. The conversation of the crowd became a bit stiffer -- as if they wanted to go silent, but knew they were supposed to keep talking until Randallin gave a specific sign.

He slowly lowered the hood. The cloak fell to his feet. His voice filled the entire room, silencing the crowd as he spoke: “Prue. The fiddle, if you please.”

A song kicked up from the rafters. In the shadows, a dark figure played a scuffed instrument, picking out a jaunt that Coriander knew.

Nobody made a sound, however, when the words began. Nobody but Randallin, who sang slightly off key, making over dramatic gestures and expressions as he serenaded the crowd about how pigsies had come in the night while he drank and laughed with an old friend, and all the wicked things they did.

By the third verse, the crowd finally started singing along, if only sparsely. Most of them were caught up in Randallin’s antics, though they did clap along. He danced and spun and produced a mask from somewhere at one point, only to discard it after half a stanza. The ending came with an especially grand flourish, as he picked the cloak up once more and twirled it around himself, revealing a vibrant purple cape hemmed with stars. 

Applause and cheers went up among the crowd. Randallin bowed gallantly before making his way back down to greet his guests. It seemed more than half of them had only come for the performance itself, making their way out into the night only a few moments after it had ended.

Coriander was in awe. Her mouth hung ajar, eyes wide and glittering in the candlelight as Randallin made his way back to them. She risked a glance up to the rafters again, where the shadowed musician still hung, peering down on them with big, dark eyes. She could somewhat make out a form -- a tall, thin individual with a cloud of tightly-curled hair around their face. Beyond that, however, she wasn’t able to see much.

Randallin was flushed, glowing from the cheer and attention. He puffed his chest out, grinning like a proud child, and asked, “Well? How was I?”

“As charm--” Waites began, but Jasper butted in all too quickly.

“You were magnificent, sir! You commanded the stage like you were born for it. If I were to be bold, I’d wonder what you were doing here, rather than in Starbor’s theater district.”

Above them, the dark figure moved, crawling over and around the rafters, fiddle in hand, silent as a cat.

Randallin dipped his head, nodding and chuckling. “I dare say I have a fan before me. Next thing I know he’ll be asking for my autograph.”

“Oh?” Jasper eye’s glittered.

The men continued to talk. Coriander tracked the figure’s movements. They didn’t seem to be hiding per se, but though the crowd had thinned properly, they continued to climb through the shadows in a round-about way over to where she and the men stood.

“I should admit, I’ve been acting most of my life. I’ve had the stage more than I perhaps deserved, but only one man in all of Mowry seemed to take up issue.”

“Who could--” Jasper began.

“Are you really talking about this again?” The figure leapt down from the shadows, landing squarely between them -- the tenant from the stables. They were almost two heads taller than Randallin, all long limbs and bony joints. Their natural hair stuck out at all angles, and they were dressed androgynously, with an unimpressed look apparently permanently etched into their freckled face.

Randallin pulled a pout. “Don’t be cruel.” He brightened almost immediately, however, clapping a hand onto their shoulder. “Everyone, please meet my most excellent employee, Prue Orlev. Please use they and them when referring to them in the third person. Prue, you know Annie, and that’s Bestina’s girl Coriander and my new biggest fan, Jasper.”

Prue nodded to each of them politely without a smile, and turned back to Randallin. “I think everyone in Mowry knows about you and Satish already.”

“Satish?” Jasper echoed. His eyes glittered again, a smile growing on his lips. “But that’s--”

Coriander shot him a panicked look, reaching out to tap him just quickly enough before realizing what she was doing and withdrawing.

Jasper looked over with worry, frowning. “Miss Tippit? Is everything all right?” 

She wasn’t sure how to explain that they probably shouldn’t reveal Satish’s identity without his permission. It seemed … well, rude, at the very least.

But Jasper seemed to understand and winked, while Waites looked on with a suppressed, all too amused grin. “That is to say, we met Satish on our way in. He seemed very kind.”

“Make no mistake, dear boy,” Randallin insisted. “That man can be as devious as a serpent if the mood strikes him.”

“Serpents aren’t devious,” Prue said. 

“Of course not -- it’s just a turn of phrase. I know how much you love your Calliope. Has she eaten yet?”

“She’s in my pocket.”

“Spooked by the mouse once again, eh?”

“She’s learning.”

Waites went pale. “Oh -- well. It’s lovely to see you both again. I think I might go sit down.”

Jasper watched, confused, as Waites made his way to a table and eased himself into a chair. “Is he afraid of snakes?”

“Terrified,” Randallin mourned, shaking his head. “Poor thing. Calliope wouldn’t hurt a fly. Well -- she couldn’t catch a fly if she tried. Is she still afraid of flies, Prue?”

Prue shrugged. “I haven’t checked.”

“Ah -- well. Nothing to be done for it. Hand her over, if you please, and show these fine folks to their rooms, would you? I think Annie could use a lie down, don’t you think?”

All eyes went to Waites, who indeed looked like he could use a fainting couch and a stiff drink.

Prue nodded. They reached into their pocket, extracting a handsome, if timid, yellow snake that curled up into a ball the second it saw the outside world.

Randallin cooed gently as he took the snake, placing it in his own pocket. “One for the gentlemen and one for the good lady, if you please.”

Another nod, and Prue turned on their heel. “This way, please.”

“Annie, best to join them before it’s too late.”

Waites nodded, pulling himself up from his chair with some difficulty. Coriander hesitated, wondering if she ought to rush to his side, make sure he was able to walk all right. But by the time he’d taken the few steps over to where she and the others stood, he seemed mostly recovered.

“How’ve you been, Prue?” he asked, his smile mostly returned and genuine.

“The same.”

And that was it for conversation. Prue gestured, and led them to their rooms.

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