#this probably has so many mistakes I had to rush erm

[korrioak]

[jamespotterthefirst]

Enchant Me

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 2.5K (sorry!) Warning: None  Author’s Note: AU where Ethan is the one asking MC questions for the fMRI scan (book 1, ch 6).

Catch up here.

_____________

Green eyes meet his briefly before hurriedly glancing away, the movement so fleeting that he could have attributed it to his imagination. Except, the way his stomach flutters as a result is very real and very annoying to Ethan. When at last he forces his treasonous mind to the task at hand, he determines she is nervous, the tense energy radiating from her almost palpable in the bright imaging lab. 

Guilt takes root in his stomach as he begins to regret asking this of her. The flimsy request for her help, blurted out after he reluctantly turned down her party invitation, seems downright embarrassing now. What the hell had he been thinking? 

He pauses to consider that therein lies the problem: He hadn't been thinking. What a dangerous and inane side effect of being in her presence. What a humbling yet disconcerting notion that all it takes to disarm an intelligent, highly educated man is a pair of clever, emerald eyes, a lovely dusting of freckles, and a pretty smile. 

Ethan opens his mouth to offer himself up as the subject instead, but Lilac gives him a brave, determined half smile. Her cheeks flush and he can see the visible effort she spends in getting the words out. “There is no dignified way of saying this, so please don't fire me,” she begins, not looking at him. 

“I won't fire you for changing your mind, Rookie.”

Lilac shakes her head. “It's not that. It's just that I'll need an injection of the magnetic contrast media…” Her eyes swivel to meet his pointedly, as though expecting him to catch her meaning from it. 

Ethan is not following and that much must be evident in his face because she sighs. 

“I can't have any metal on me,” she continues, face growing bright pink to the root of her dark hair. “So I'll have to remove my bra.”

Silence. 

“I… Erm... That's…” Ethan's ears flare with heat, his throat feeling suddenly dry. “That's true. I'll leave the room.”

“No need,” she assures him, already peeling off her coat. Before Ethan can even react, she reaches behind her back and under her blouse. 

He is momentarily frozen, eyes watching her expertly work the clasps, before hastily turning his back on her and busying himself with the gadolinium. The way his heart clamors wildly at his ears is guarantee enough of the sinful thoughts his mind will torture him with later, thoughts of Lilac undressing in many different ways for him. 

Get it together, Ramsey. 

“I'm ready,” she announces to his sheer relief. 

That relief is short-lived, however, when his eyes catch a glimpse of the lacy, bright red garment on the floor, unsuccessfully concealed by her discarded lab coat. Every inch of his traitorous body reacts on sight, reducing him to just another weak-willed man, uninhibited by the mere sight of a bra. 

Lilac, meanwhile, watches him from where she lays on the table, decent enough in her loose fitting blouse. That lopsided smirk of hers makes a reappearance and it only makes his thoughts sputter further. 

“Stay still,” he manages to instruct, his voice quiet and gentle. 

When his fingers palpate the veins in her arms, Ethan struggles to think of much else but the feel of her soft skin against his, incinerating his fingertips. He makes the mistake of meeting her eyes, finding that all traces of humor are long gone as she watches him, lips slightly parted. A white hot current of tension crackles between them, dangerous and capable of consuming him whole. With a surge of recklessness, he finds that he wants it to. The blazing look she fixes him with makes Ethan wonder if she wants it too. 

Swallowing hard, Ethan forces himself to glance away. 

After a brief pause, she teases, “You do know how to perform an intravenous injection, don't you?” 

“Ha. Ha,” he returns sarcastically. Her own genuine laughter rings around the imaging lab. 

Ethan injects her with ease and presses the button to slide the table inside the magnet enclosure, hiding that infuriatingly distracting smile from view. Soon after, he sits at the workstation, checking on Lilac through the glass and powering up the magnet. 

“How's it looking up there, Doc?” 

“Like a brain,” he says dryly. 

“So...average?” 

“Very average.” 

“Ouch.”

Ethan allows a resigned grin, shaking his head and feeling a wide lightness spread in his chest. Silence ensues after their banter and he realizes she waits for his question. 

A thrill shoots through his core at the ocean of possibilities before him. At last, he can catch a true glimpse of the mystery she has proven to be. Isn't that what he longs to know the most ? Isn't the enigma that is Lilac Allende the true allure for him? Isn't that the reason he can't stop thinking about her? 

He can ask anything, and finally know the answer. 

“Do you prefer cats or dogs?” 

There is an anticlimactic pause and Ethan wants to slam his head against the console. 

Really, Ethan? Cats or dogs? 

Lilac is silent, so silent Ethan wonders if the speaker system is working. 

“That's the type of question you have for me?” 

Ethan rolls his eyes. “Just answer it, Rookie.”

The image shows activity in the temporal lobe at the use of the nickname. 

“I like them both,” she answers before Ethan can interpret the previous reading. “Though dogs tend to love me almost instantly.”

An uninvited mental image of Jenner, paws on her chest, tail wagging at blurring speed upon meeting her, crosses his mind. Ethan dismisses it as an impossibility, unable to think of a scenario where both creatures would meet. 

“We have a family dog back in LA named Lobo,” she continues. 

“Wolf?” 

“The third,” she adds cheerfully. “My parents name all of our dogs Lobo or Oso.”

The memory elicits notable activity in the hippocampus. Ethan is unable to see her face but he finds the reminiscent lull of her voice utterly endearing. Catching his own reaction with a flare of annoyance, he dismisses it, clears his throat, and moves on to the next question. 

“What inspired you to become a doctor?” 

The longest pause yet befalls them. Already there is activity in the right temporal cortex, peaking his own curiosity. Every second that she doesn't answer is agony. 

Finally, she says, “Pass.”

“Excuse me?” 

“I pass on this question. I plead the fifth.”

“Overruled.”

“You can't do that,” she protests, though he can hear the laughter in her voice. 

“Just answer the question, Rookie.”

There is a loaded, tense silence that slowly tapers to a boiling point, then—

“You.” 

Ethan blinks, speechless. 

“Don't you remember?” she says, an edge of embarrassment dripping from her voice. “You signed Landry's book for me.”

“Who?” he blurts out. Not waiting for an answer, he asks, “Wait, so you didn't keep that book, Rookie? I am offended.”

“No, my copy is much more worn, annotated, and well-loved,” she explains with a chuckle. 

A small whirlwind of emotions takes root in Ethan, who is still at a loss for words. 

“In a literal sense, your research inspired me to go to med school,” she continues, interpreting his silence as encouragement to go on. “I read your book from cover to cover as an undergrad and was so inspired, for once in my life I knew where I had to go. I wanted to be here, at Edenbrook, working alongside the best.” 

Ethan's throat is tight as he listens, the activity in the scan completely forgotten. 

“The more sentimental reason I was inspired to be a doctor is, of course, my parents.” Lilac pauses and clears her throat as a pretense. “They– They came to this country in pursuit of a better life, leaving their family and everyone they loved behind. All to be in a brand new place, not knowing the language or the culture, often taking up backbreaking jobs for miserable pay...to be looked down by many as inferior. All that sacrifice, for us.” Her voice cracks at the last few words. It takes her a moment to recover. “That sacrifice drove me through my worst days in medical school. It's what drives me today.”

She says this with a renewed, fierce pride that evokes a surge of admiration from him. It tears through his chest unlike anything he has ever experienced before, but then again, she is unlike anything he had ever seen before. Wildly, he wishes they were sharing something so precious face to face. His hand flexes reflexively as his mind imagines sweeping a thumb across the ridge of her cheekbone. 

“If not a doctor, what career would you have chosen?” He is surprised by the gentleness of his own voice, the sound foreign to his ears. 

When she speaks, she sounds almost like her usual, cheeky self. “A beauty guru.” 

“A what?” 

“It's people online filming their makeup routines.”

Ethan has never heard of anything so pointless in his life. “Be serious.” 

“I am! There might still be some videos online of my failed attempts,” she says, laughing. “But in terms of a realistic career, I would've probably chosen to be a homicide detective or a forensic pathologist.”

He raises his eyebrows at this, stunned for a moment at their shared interest in detective work. “Why?” 

Lilac mulls over her answer in a characteristic silence. “Obviously, there is the allure of gathering evidence and solving a mystery.” A deliberate pause, then—“But I always thought that was a bit selfish.” 

“Selfish?” 

Ethan can't help the outburst. After all, connecting the pieces of an unknown puzzle is precisely why he once considered that career. 

“Yes, some doctors want to deliver the perfect diagnosis in a self-congratulatory way. To help the patient, yes, but to walk away with the gratification of having conquered a mystery.”

His itch to argue is quelled by his curiosity and so he says nothing. 

“I wanted to be a detective to solve the mystery as a way to fight for the voiceless.” Her voice drops to almost a whisper as she admits this. With a rush of satisfaction, Ethan realizes he is probably the first one hearing this reasoning. “There is something sick about being able to name notorious serial killers without a problem, but we can't do the same for their victims. They are the ones whose stories should be told, whose memories should be celebrated. They are the ones who deserve the accolades and the justice of finally solving that mystery.”

Ethan has no rebuttal for the first time in his life. 

As his brain struggles to reconcile the young doctor's words with the inexplicable thundering of his pulse, Lilac laughs. 

“No offense, Dr. Ramsey, but I was expecting a different line of questioning here.”

Ethan forces himself to recover. “How so?” 

“If I were asking you questions, I'd be a lot noisier,” she says, unabashed.

Ethan allows a chuckle. “That's not surprising,” he comments. “What type of questions would you be asking?” 

“I don't know…” She trails off pensively. “Maybe your type?”

Ethan's mouth goes slack. He recovers enough to say something, though he is not sure what. Luckily, he doesn't have to know because she continues, “I'd definitely ask about relationships, past and current.”

By this point, his heartbeat is an uproar in his hearing. The brash comments should be concerning coming from a subordinate but he feels like a fraud when he considers chastising her. Though he would never admit it out loud, the answers to those questions intrigue him to the point of restlessness. 

“Fine,” he allows quietly. “Answer those.”

A surprised little laugh comes through the speakers. “Really?” 

“Yes, let the record show this was your idea, Rookie,” he says in what he hopes is a casual tone. “What was the first one you mentioned? Ah, yes—What's your type?” 

The image of her brain activity, which Ethan had forgotten to glance at until that moment, lights up at the amygdala. An emotional response. 

He can sense the reluctance in her silence. 

“Tall. Definitely taller than me,” she begins at long last, her voice dignified, as though she is forcing herself to push past any bashfulness. “Dark hair.”

The answer is exasperatingly vague. The descriptors easily fit the surgical intern he saw her kiss all those weeks ago and the muscular paramedic who glances at her with besotted eyes every chance he gets. 

“Intelligent,” she continues. 

The diagnostician in him almost discounts Lahela on the sole basis of being a surgical intern. 

Lilac clears her throat so subtly, he almost attributes it to static in the speakers. “Someone with a dry sense of humor and sarcastic to a fault,” she says, a lot softer now. “Someone who can keep me on my toes.”

The scan displays activity in the frontal lobe, similar to what he saw when he called her “Rookie”. The small media room, despite having the air conditioner at full blast, feels suddenly sweltering. 

“What did I say next for my questions?” she asks, saving his mind from traveling a dangerous path. 

“Relationships.” 

“Right,” she says with an exhale. 

Ethan says nothing, afraid even the slightest sound will discourage her. 

“Past relationships are… complicated and mercifully ancient history.” On his screen, he sees the most activity yet. A visible reaction in the right hippocampus, the amygdala, both sides of the prefrontal cortex, and the insular cortex— undeniable anger. 

Lilac, however, does not elaborate any further. Instead, she hurries on, “Current relationships are also complicated, frustrating, and nonexistent.” 

The words hang between them, like a pendulum. He is convinced they carry more meaning but Ethan's own brain feels abuzz with activity, too tumultuous to formulate follow up questions. When his eyes fall on the clock, he notes they have been at this for almost an hour. 

“I think we're done here,” he says. 

He leaves the media room, deliberately pausing outside the imaging lab to give Lilac enough time to put all of her clothes back on. By the time he enters the room, she is throwing on her coat, hands raking through her shiny hair. 

“Everything working okay?” 

“Like a charm,” he responds, mind still spinning. 

An incessant stab of dread begins to pierce through him as they prepare to go back to work. His mind wanders to Naveen, weak and alone in his room, and icy twines of fear take root deep in Ethan’s stomach once again. 

“Thank you… for the assistance.”

Lilac flashes him an easy smile. “Any time.”

Ethan manages an awkward nod turning to leave. Something powerful holds him back before he can take another step. As full fledged panic about facing Naveen's new symptoms grips him, he wants nothing more than to confide in her. 

He stops and turns to face her. 

Lilac tilts her head to one side, watching him curiously. 

The magnitude of what he is about to do hits him like a train and his newfound courage vanishes at once. With a grimace, he waves the idea off and exits the room. 

______

Author’s Note: A HUGE thank you to everyone who sent me questions Ethan could ask. I tried my best to include them here. 

“Do you prefer cats or dogs?”-- @drethanramslay

“What inspired you to become a doctor?” -- Anon and @scorpiochick8

“If not a doctor, what career would you have chosen?” @scorpiochick8

The not so subtle questions about her love life-- @eramsey28

Answering the career question wit banter, then with a serious answer. -- @whippedforethanramsey 

Ethan’s slightly jealous thoughts about Bryce and Raf-- @schnitzelbutterfingers 

Sorry if I didn’t include all requests! This would have been 20 pages long if I hadn’t trimmed some of it lol. 

I swapped some of the dialogue from the original. Also, I’m so sorry to @takeharryandgo​ for the horrible brain science here. Forgive me, Doc.

What Lilac said about her parents is exactly how I feel about mine. So I just had to include that here.  

Finally, I intend to continue these from Ethan’s POV. However, for personal reasons, I will keep my next few projects under wraps. 

______

Tags:  @openheart12​ | @ethandaddyramsey​ | @noboundariesplease​ | @silverlitskies​ | @infinitiestones | @flyawayboo​ | @paulfwesley​ | @hatescapsicum​ | @myusualnerdyself​ | @thatysn​ | @choicesyouplayandmore​ | @chasingrobbie​ | @trappedinfandoms​ | @togetherwearerapture​ | @nooruleman​ | @caseyvalentineramsey​ | @axwalker​ | @parkerattano​ | @i-bloody-love-drake-walker​ | @kaavyaethanramsey​ | @edith-eggs1​ | @choices-lurker​ | @jens-diamondchoices​ | @tefigranger​ | @ethanrcmsey​ | @coffeebeandragon​ | @senator-adrian-raines-wifey​ | @aestheticartwriting​ | @binny1985​ | @mvalentine​ | @sanchita012​ | @drethanramslay​ | @ramseysno1rookie​ | @takeharryandgo​ | @aworldoffandoms​ | @desmaranj​ | @ josieplayschoices | @magicalshepherdtreeprofessor | @oofchoices​ | @ethxnrxmsey​ | @octobereighth​ | @colossalpainintheass | @kopenheart12​ | @lilyvalentine​ | @honeyandsunfl0wers​ | @virtualrain202 | @enmchoices​ | @tyrilstouch​ | @rookie-ramsey​​

@dulceghernandez |  @lion-ess24 | @emotionalswift2 | @the-soot-sprite |

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Dawn in Your Eyes Part 5

Summary: Alfie has little to no idea why Caroline ever gave him the time of day. The blind woman seemed far too sensible to even speak to him. But soon he finds himself falling helplessly in love.

Part 5: Alfie pops the question

          “You’ve been quiet Alfie.” Caroline usually pointed out any lulls in the conversation. She relied on sound for context. If someone went silent, she couldn’t analyze any subtle expressions on their faces to make conclusions.    

           “Hm? Oh, sorry, love.” He cleared his throat and redirected his attention. It had been quite the day after speaking with Julia. They’d agreed on a dowry and she said she would start to make arrangements once Caroline agreed. So, all Alfie had to do now to become one step closer to marrying her, was to ask. Sounded simple enough, but it was indeed a tall order. Especially since he was afraid, she could do much better than him. “Been a bit occupied with me thoughts.” He admitted.

           “Why?” Pilot stopped her before they were to cross a street. Even though Alfie was there, the Newfoundland always took it upon himself to make sure he was in charge. He would protect Caroline, it didn’t matter who else was there.

           Alfie respectfully waited for Pilot to deem it safe for them to cross. He typically allowed the dog to work at will. It was, after all, what he’d been trained to do. And Alfie knew how much dogs aimed to please. Perhaps that was why he was so fond of them. He appreciated undying loyalty. Now he was by no means as loyal as a dog. His loyalty was selective. Caroline, for example, deserved nothing but staunch faithfulness. Tommy Shelby, on the other hand, could kindly fuck himself when it came to loyalty.

           “Alfie?” Caroline prompted again when he failed to respond.

           “Sorry, sorry.” He shook his head. “I-er-I probably should inform you of the conversation I had with your aunt.” The two walked through the entrance of Camden Gardens. Anticipating a longer conversation, Alfie found them a spot to sit. Pilot curled up by Caroline’s feet and waited patiently.

           “Oh dear, I hope she wasn’t harsh on you.” Caroline’s brow wrinkled. “I spoke with her and she said our relationship could continue. But if she was trying to deter you…”

           “No, no, weren’t nothing like that.” Of course, it had been like that. But Alfie wasn’t trying to drive a wedge between her and Julia. “In fact, we came to the same conclusion, wouldya believe it?” He smiled nervously.

           Caroline laughed softly. “No, you are both so stubborn.” She teased.

           Alfie rubbed the back of his neck. “You ain’t wrong.”

           “What conclusion did you reach?” The young woman was hopeful that after her positive conversation with her aunt, things would work out. Although there was always the worry that Julia had managed to sway Alfie’s judgment again and convince him to distance himself from Caroline.

           “We…um.” He looked down at his hands once he noticed they were trembling. Why on Earth was it so difficult to ask a simple question? He could storm into battle without a lick of fearful sweat or quivering knees. Yet this one woman had his tongue tied and palms clammy.

           Caroline became nervous at his inability to get the words out properly. “Alfie…please don’t tell me you don’t wish to see me anymore because of what my aunt said.” Her voice was soft with anguish.

           “No!” He burst out, trying to stop any doubt. “No, no, absolutely not. I wouldn’t allow that to happen. Not again, at least. Fuck, I’m sorry…” He groaned and tried to straighten out his thoughts. “I s’pose I oughta just say it out.” He gently took Caroline’s hand in his. “Your aunt and I spoke and…I’m just repeating meself. I’m sorry.”      

           “Alfie,” She squeezed his hand. “Just say it.”

           “Would you marry me?”

           The shock on Caroline’s face was clear once the five-letter word left his mouth. Marriage. Something they’d discussed but it appeared Alfie was keen on taking things slow. Now after a conversation with Julia, he was prepared to pitch a Chuppah with haste. “Do you-do you want to marry me or did my aunt force you into it?” It had always been a fear of hers. Julia attempted to have Caroline engaged many times but men simply weren’t willing to take on the responsibility of a blind wife. But with Julia’s wealth and influence, it stood to reason that she could twist a man’s arm. However lonely Caroline felt sometimes, the last thing she wanted was to be in a marriage where the man felt trapped.

           “She didn’t force me into anything, love. I s’pose…I were tryna prove myself. Prove that I would never abandon you like she thinks I will.” Alfie raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Now I may be rushing into things but I don’t want Julia or you to think that I’m gonna be skipping town one day. I intend to stay beside you, whether you’re me wife or not.”

           Caroline’s eyes filled with tears. His words were so genuine, so committed. She nodded. “I’ll marry you.” She whispered, hardly believing the events that just transpired. In just a few moments, with just a few words, their lives had changed so drastically.

           “Yeah?” Alfie perked up in surprise.

           “Yeah.” She laughed shakily and leaned in to kiss him. “Yes, of course, I will.” Her words crossed his lips with a warm breath.

           Alfie could exhale a sigh of relief. As he inhaled, he realized they would be preparing for a wedding. He would be entering a life of marriage very soon. No doubt Julia would hasten the preparations, trying to test Alfie’s loyalty.

           “Funny thing ‘bout your aunt. She insisted on a dowry.” Alfie informed his bride-to-be after they drew apart from the kiss.

           “A dowry?” She laughed. “Of course, she’s so traditional, I wouldn’t expect nothing less. What did you ask for then?” She asked teasingly.

           “Erm…a dog.” He admitted sheepishly. “A mastiff pup. So, I hope you won’t be bothered that we’ll have three large dogs in the house.”

           Caroline grinned. “I wouldn’t want it any other way, you silly man.” She murmured and pulled him close for another kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~~

           “Heard Julia’s inviting practically all of Camden to the wedding,” Ollie remarked.

           It had been a few days since the announcement of the engagement. The community was stunned, to say the least. Despite the rumors about the seemingly odd pair, they didn’t think the relationship would persist. Now that Julia had announced the wedding, people were trying to figure out Alfie’s motives. The man had a reputation for being a clever businessman. And perhaps it was no mistake that he would target the young woman who stood to inherit her aunt’s great fortune. After all, what sort of Jewish bride could Caroline really be? And Alfie certainly wasn’t the sympathetic type so he wasn��t marrying her out of pity. Most in Camden Town didn’t consider Alfie to have normal human emotions. He was a myth, a larger-than-life figure. Rumors of his deeds led people to believe that he was void of compassion and of all things, love.

           “Yeah, ‘cause she wants to make sure I won’t fucking run away when the time comes,” Alfie muttered from his desk and handed a few signed documents to his assistant.

           Ollie frowned. “You wouldn’t do that though.”

           “Damn right I wouldn’t but she don’t know that. This whole fucking town’s been gossiping ‘bout me. Tell ya what Ollie, you can spread this ‘round.” Alfie took off his glasses to look pointedly at the young man. “I ain’t gonna take a single bit of Julia’s money once we’re married. All of it goes to Caroline and that’s that. See what people think once they hear that.” He grumbled and slid his glasses back onto his nose.

           “I’ll let them know,” Ollie promised. He knew the man much better than most people of Camden Town. Sure, he saw the worst of Alfie’s temper, but the two had long chats together that revealed the softer nature to the intimidating man. And if anyone spent a day with Alfie, they’d see how Caroline shone a bright light on his heart that everyone assumed was missing. Perhaps in time, they’d see Alfie’s true intentions. But Ollie was afraid that even after the wedding, people would still talk.

Tag list: @zazasblogxx​ @thinkingsofamadwoman​

Masterlist

[ashantesstuff]

Us Against The World

Chapter One: The New Girl

Summary: Alyssa Williams meets Billy Hargrove, the stereotypical bad guy and arsehole of Hawkins High but instead of stiring away, something about him draws her to him and him to her. They are contrasting in every way but find a way to fight together perfectly. 

3.7k words

A/N: Horrible summary but I hope you enjoy and sorry for any mistakes. Constructive criticism is very much appreciated 😊

DISCLAIMER: Imma put it bluntly...I don't care if you hate the fanfiction because you believe Billy is a racist. Either way, this is a different representation of the character as is most romantic fanfictions about him. Also if you're going to criticise me while reading Billy x Steve fics or tbh any Billy x anyone fanfiction...please reevaluate because either way, you're reading material that doesn't conform to how Billy on the show acts. You can also keep in mind that people grow and it may surprise some of you that not all racists...stay racists. Some get educated and change. I don't condone the violent actions of his character all of this is a different representation of the Billy in the show. Good day :)

DO NOT REPOST MY WORK!

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! Without removing the cover from her head, Alyssa smashed her fist down on the alarm clock, silencing it and letting out a triumphant grunt. Immediately after, she was ready to go back to sleep not wanting to deal with the challenges of the day; however, her father, as usual, was not giving her that chance to avoid school. “Before you think about going back to sleep, I suggest you get yourself out of that bed.” He strolled in with no care in the world and pulled back the curtains allowing light to flow in. Alyssa let out a frustrated and annoyed groan, fully burying herself in her covers and pillows to hide from the light as well as her father.

“Dad, please, can I just stay home?” Her voice sounded rough from just waking up. “I promise, I’ll do some school work, just don’t make me go.” Her voice sounded whinier than she cared to admit and without seeing her dad’s reaction she knew he probably had his hands on his hips and was shaking his head in disapproval. It was to be her first day at Hawkins High after moving to the city a few days ago; she’d been dreading the thought of starting at a new school and had begged her father to change his mind and let her be homeschooled but came to no avail.

Alyssa felt the edge of the bed dip on the opposite side and then decided to sit up, removing the covers; knowing her father was going to begin his grand speech about how starting at the new school would be a good change and a chance for her to make friends. “Listen, Pumpkin, I know how much you’ve been stressing about this and I know what I’m asking you isn’t easy,” Alyssa lifted her knees and rested her head on them as he spoke. “But please try and just socialise with the other kids. I know it’s been tough since-” Alyssa raised her hand as a signal to stop him.

“I know, dad. It’s just what if there is a repeat of last time? What if the other kids don’t like me?” Her voice was small and filled with sadness. She could feel the tears forming in her eyes, despite trying to fight them off. Her dad sighed and pulled her into a hug, holding her tight and stroking her hair; without being able to stop it, tears flowed down her face and she couldn’t help but sob into her father’s shoulders. 

After a few moments, she calmed down and her father looked at her with reassuring eyes. “Hey, if those kids don’t like you, it’s on them because they are missing out on befriending a cool girl like you,” He wiped away her tears and she couldn’t help but smile. “It doesn’t matter if they like you or not. What matters is that you stay true to yourself and don’t lose yourself trying to please other people,” He gave her a serious look, placing a hand on her shoulder and forcing her to look him in the eyes. “Promise me you’ll try to engage with others and you won’t lose yourself for any of those people.” 

“I promise,” Sniffling a bit then nodding. “I’ll be myself and…I’ll try and make friends.” She hesitated on the last part but couldn’t help it. She knew that her dad wouldn’t go easy on her if she didn’t make that promise. Promises in the Williams’ house were sacred and had to be kept which Alyssa had apparently made law when she was five years old.

With that, he gave her a satisfied grin. “Breakfast will be ready.” He got up from the bed and made his way to the door. “Start getting your stuff together, then.” and with that, he left the room. Alyssa plopped back down on her bed, looking at the ceiling while the urge to scream began growing inside her.  She knew the week to come would most likely suck and she hated the fact that there was no way to avoid it.

The drive to the school was short. The whole ride, Alyssa could feel her stomach sinking like she was on some rollercoaster that she desperately wanted to get off of. Her hands began to feel sweaty and warm. When they arrived, she looked at the students piling into the school. Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she turned to her dad. “I’ll see you later then, love you.” It was quick short and without emotion. She gave him a kiss on the cheek, before making her way out of the car. Her father repeated the words before waving goodbye and speeding off.

The smell of sweat, rubbish canteen food and cheap cologne filled the halls of Hawkins High School. The corridors were overtaken by students either chatting or making their way to their assigned classrooms. Alyssa rushed through the crowd, brushing past people as she tried to navigate through the sea of bodies. She muttered a sorry, here and there to those she bumped into and received glares in return by some. So far so good, she thought sarcastically to herself.

Alyssa had made it to her classroom in record time, considering that she got lost a few times and had to ask people for help. Though she was sure classes started at eight, the classroom barely had any students occupying the seats. The teacher looked unimpressed as he sat down looking around at the scene that he must have come accustomed to. Alyssa walked up to his desk, feeling a little uneasy as the eyes of the students were glued to her. “Erm, hi.” She sounded awkward and unsure

“Can I help you?” He looked at her with dead eyes that were emphasised by the eyebags under them. He had a thick beard, that looked slightly unkempt, and shaggy brown hair that looked slightly greasy and untouched in a while. He tapped his pencil on the desk and rested his hand underneath his chin, as he waited for her to answer.

Alyssa couldn’t deny the annoyance that coursed through her at his tone and posture. She kept a smile on her face, though, like she practised many times. “I’m new here so I just wanted to-” She was cut off when he slammed the book down in front of her. Blinking a few times, she looked down at the book then back at him as he began to speak.

“This booklet has everything you need to know about what we have covered so far,” he leaned back in his chair and looked over at the door as the late students began to pile in. “If you need help, ask someone in the class and you’re seated front row at the window” He nodded his head in the direction of the seat, as he got up from his seat and got ready to begin his lesson. Alyssa grabbed the booklet feeling annoyed but not daring to say anything as she quickly took her seat.

Math wasn’t her strongest subject and she struggled to actually focus on the lesson as she kept looking outside daydreaming about what she wanted to eat later and whether or not her father would be home to have dinner with. Ever since he had been promoted from his job, he spent less time with her and though she tried her best not to show it, she really wished he’d settle for a nine to five job knowing full well that her father’s dream as a doctor had existed longer than ger.

As she began getting lost deeper and deeper into her thoughts, the roar of a car engine stole her attention. The car was electric blue and what looked to be some kind of Camaro; Alyssa sat there with both hands on her chin taking interest in the scene outside over the algebra equations Mr Mundy had been throwing at the class. The longer she watched, she saw the driver emerge from the car; the guy had blonde loosely curled hair that was longer at the back than the front, thick eyebrows and overall attractive features from what Alyssa could see.

“Alyssa!” she jumped at the sound of her name and quickly whipped her head around, Mr Mundy looking displeased. He had one hand on his hip and the chalk in his hand was pointing towards her. “For someone who is struggling in math, you seem to be talking quite the interest at the ongoings outside.” Heat rose to her cheeks as those around her snickered and she felt herself sink slightly in her chair. Mr Munday was about to continue before the bell rang and Alyssa let out a little sigh of relief.

Quickly heading for the girl’s toilets, she pushed past everyone not caring about their reactions. The door hit the wall when she pushed it open, she immediately closed her eyes and calmed herself down before any tears could escape. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her chestnut eyes were slightly red as they were readying the tears, her curly afro was a cloud around her head as her bangs cover her forehead.  “Hey.” A soft voice spoke to her and she turned to find a girl with short brown hair in slight waves holding her books to her chest and giving her a sad look. Alyssa felt like she recognised her from somewhere but she couldn’t think where.

“Don’t let what Mr Mundy and the rest of those arseholes get you down,” That’s when she realised that she probably recognised her from her math class. “He’s just bitter that his wife cheated on him and the other students are just…arseholes, for lack of a better word.” Alyssa gave her a small smile picking at the edges on the grey jumper she had on. The girl stepped forward to extend her arm. “I’m Nancy Wheeler.” Alyssa accepted the handshake.

Alyssa found herself to be taller than Nancy by a few inches. “I’m Alyssa Williams.” They both stood there in a while of awkward silence for a minute, not really knowing what to say next to one another. Alyssa was tempted to exchange goodbyes and leave but then Nancy spoke up.

“So I’ve got science in a few minutes and lunch after,” Nancy began. She had a hopeful look on her face. “When is your next free period? We could meet up and chat. I could also show you around the school.” Nancy shrugged. Alyssa could almost hear her dad nagging her to say yes so she nodded with slight eagerness. Nancy looked relieved and they both exited the girl’s toilets.

“I’ve got literature now so we could meet in the canteen after?” Alyssa suggested. They both parted ways agreeing to meet at lunch and Alyssa felt proud of herself. It had been a couple of years since she dared to make friends and talk to people. When she strolled into her literature lesson, she had a smile on her face.

For that lesson, she was met with a much kinder teacher than Mr Mundy had been. Alyssa took a seat at the back of the class. She couldn’t help but feel in a better mood knowing that she had befriended Nancy; It had been too long since she had been very social. Less than ten minutes into the lesson, the classroom door swung open to a tall figure. The whole class automatically looking at the door to the face the intruder; Alyssa was quick to realise that it was the same guy she had saw during her math lesson.

The teacher, Ms Peterson, looked unamused but not surprised either so Alyssa assumed it was a regular occurrence. “Nice for you to join us, Mr Hargrove.” She greeted him with sarcasm evident in her voice and the reply she received was a disinterested grunt as the boy made his way to the back of the classroom setting to the right of Alyssa. When Alyssa turned to have a better look at him, she found that he was already studying her so she immediately faced the book in front of her feeling slightly embarrassed. 

Throughout the whole lesson, she could feel his gaze on her but she avoided looking at him, happy that her hair covered most of her face and hit her nervousness. When the bell rang, she let out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding. “Before you all leave, there’s a group assignment on Shakespeares that I want completing by next week.” She was met with groans. “You can choose your own partners if that makes you happier. That’ll be all.” And they all piled out of the classroom; Alyssa feeling too shy to ask anyone to be there partner.

Heading straight for her locker, she couldn’t help but think about that guy from her lesson and whether he was watching her or her paranoia was playing tricks on her. She couldn’t deny that she felt flustered at the thought of him watching, after all, she found him extremely attractive. As she was thinking about him, a small smile was turning the corners of her mouth. “What’s got you so happy?” The voice startled her and she jumped, whipping her whole body around to see who spoke. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” His apology didn’t seem so sincere with the grin on his face

“It’s fine.” Was all she could say when she finally settled down from her fright. They both stood there staring at each other for a minute, while the other students around them were staring at the Hawkins bad boy engaging with the new girl but neither noticed them. Instead, she was staring into his ocean blue eyes as he was staring right back into her hazel ones; after a while, she realised what she was doing and then diverted her gaze. “Did you want something?” Her voice caught him out of his daze and he blinked a few times looking away. She thought she saw a slight tinge of pink on his cheeks and heard him curse himself under his breath.

He leaned against the lockers and tilted his eyes to look at her. “I was thinking we should be partners for that literature assignment,” It didn’t sound much like he was asking her. “Seeing as either of us has a partner.” He shrugged. Alyssa couldn’t deny that she was surprised, out of everyone in that lesson he was asking her, She immediately became suspicious of him. Her eyebrows furrowed and shit bit her lip, thinking about all the reasons he came to ask her about it; she’d noticed his eyes had moved to her lips while she did that.

“Is this going to be a one-sided partnership where I do all the work?” Raising her brows while questioning. A smile played on her lips as he fawned being offended. “What? You ask, out of everybody in our class, me to be partners with and expect me not to be suspicious?” Though she was being serious there was a playfulness in her tone and he laughed a bit, smile lines forming at the corners of his eyes. She couldn’t help but chuckle, his smile and laugh were a bit contagious. 

Those around them looked shocked by the interaction between the two. Probably never once seeing Billy interact with a girl like Alyssa before; he placed his left hand on the locker beside Alyssa and leaned in close enough for her to smell and feel the cigarettes and the mint from his breath. In a pathetic attempt at a shield, she raised her books to her chest and tried leaning back at bit though she was met with the cold surface of the locker. “From what I’ve seen of you today, you’re the smartest girl in class,” Then she started noticing the people watching. “And I need some help in the subject so how about it, doll?” Her heart raced at the nickname.

With a chuckle, she playfully shoved him away from her as she contemplated her answer for a few moments. “Sure.” He looked surprised by her answer, almost as surprised as her. She had no clue what was coming over her but she felt something in her gut telling her to agree to it though her head was screaming at her. “As long as you take part and don’t lounge about, we have a deal.” She straightened herself and presented him with her hand to shake. Smiling, he accepted.

After exchanging contact details, Alyssa was getting ready to leave, remembering that she told Nancy she would meet her at lunch. Before she could go, he grabbed her arm gently, sending a jolt straight through the both of them and he pulled his arm back like he’d been electrocuted. Clearing his throat, he looked bashful. “There’s a Halloween party tonight,” he began. Alyssa could help but notice a bit of his confidence gone as he scratched the back of his neck. “I was wondering if you’d like to go with me?” 

Before she could think to reply, an unfamiliar voice came from behind her. “Leave her alone, Hargrove.” The guy the voice belonged to had thick brown hair, an average build and displeasure written all over his face. Beside him was Nancy who had her arms folded while giving Billy a stern look. Alyssa looked back and forth between them all, confused by the sudden tension in the air.

Billy’s demeanour changed from the nice guy he was being only moments prior and he snarled at the other guy looking ready for a fight. “What’s it to you, Harrington?” They were getting into each other’s faces, daring the other to make the first move and Alyssa stood there baffled as it had all escalated in a matter of seconds. The two guys gave each other such intense glares that if looks could kill, they’d both probably drop dead but before anything could happen, Nancy stepped in between them.

“Steve leave it and let’s just go,” she placed her hand on his chest but he didn’t move his eyes for Billy’s. “Please,” she stressed. Clearly, Nancy didn’t want a fight to break out, just as much as Alyssa didn’t. Reluctantly, Steve backed down and began walking away with a huff; Nancy then turned to Alyssa signalling her to come along to. “Let’s go.” She grabbed Alyssa’s hand as they walked away. Not before Alyssa took a quick glance back at the gorgeous blonde. He just gave her a wink and then turned to leave as well.

Once they got to the lunch hall, Nancy grabbed Alyssa’s shoulders looking at her with concern “What the hell was that all about?” Her voice sounded shaken with worry and anger; Alyssa was confused as to why she was being so overactive, considering the fact that she had only been talking to Billy and nothing major was happening. Steve was even giving her a glare, not necessarily targeted towards her but towards the thought of what Billy had been up to.

Looking at Nancy, Alyssa spoke. “He was just asking me to be his partner for our Literature assignment” Alyssa shrugged and frowned. “What’s the big issue, anyway? you guys are making such a big deal out of this.” Looking between Nancy and Steve as they exchanged glances with each other, Alyssa stared at them urging them to answer her. Besides the fact that he was a huge flirt, Billy didn’t seem that threatening towards her so couldn’t understand the tension.

Steve sighed. “Listen, that Hargrove guy isn’t someone you want to be around,” he gave her a soft expression, continuing. “My name is Steve, by the way, wish we could’ve met under better circumstances,” He outstretched his hand for her to shake and she accepted it. “Hargrove is an arsehole and the only reason he was speaking to you was to get into your pants or something. The guy has anger issues and an ego bigger than his future, so I suggest staying away.” While he said it with a joking tone, there was still a seriousness to his voice and the way his brow twitched when talking about Billy, proved that he was holding back insulting comments.

Alyssa just nodded, not really knowing what to say. She knew that she probably should head her friend’s warning but there was something about Billy that got under her skin and not in a bad way. It felt like an invisible force drawing them in together and she just wanted to get to know him. All of him. Not in the way that most people would interpret, though.

After, they all sat down to enjoy their lunch while asking questions about Alyssa and vice versa. They all seemed genuinely interested in the fact that she wanted to become a doctor in the future and enjoyed hearing her tell stories about her life back at home in England. “Hey, maybe we should take Alyssa to Tina’s party as a celebration of her arrival,” He asked Nancy and then turned to her. “What do you think? Would you dad be alright with that or do we have to sneak you out?” He had a mischievous grin on his face.

“No, he’ll be fine with it. Most likely excited that I’m going out a being a teenager and stuff,” Though she didn’t say it out loud, she wanted to also see Billy again but she kept that to herself knowing that it wouldn’t garner a positive response if she said that. “Though, I don’t really have much to wear.” She stated. Never have gone to a party before, she didn’t have many clothes in her closet that screamed “I’m here to party” and Alyssa wasn’t keen on getting bullied for her choice of clothing.

“How about I come to your house and help you pick something out? I’ll bring some of my own clothes just in case.” Nancy suggested and they all agreed on the plan and with Steve picking them up from Alyssa’s house. The bell rang and they all parted ways with farewells; Alyssa’s mind couldn’t help but stray towards Billy and even though her friends told her to stay away, her heart was telling her otherwise.

Tag list: @charmed-asylum

[marimeetsmischief]

the Safety of a Mask - Chapter One

read on Ao3

summary: Two years ago, Ladybug and Chat Noir faced off against Hawkmoth for the last time. Two years ago, Marinette Dupain-Cheng and Adrien Agreste were forced to give up their miraculous in the months after the final battle. They never got the chance to tell each other who they were, or have any kind of life together. Two years ago, everything just... stopped.

Marinette has been locked in grief for two years and no one even knows what happened to Adrien. The betrayal of his father, Nathalie, the permanent loss of his mother, Plagg and his Ladybug, he had every reason to grieve.

But now Paris is faced by a new villain, with an all-new Miraculous, and all anyone wants to know is...

Where are Ladybug and Chat Noir?

A tiny set of pink lips parted widely, a soft and sweet yawn escaping them. As she always was this early in the morning, Marinette Dupain-Cheng was exhausted. Even with years of filled up schedules and even a double life for a while, she had never quite adjusted to the lack of sleep. Now, even though she was twenty years old, she was still just as exhausted by it as she had always been. It was hard for her to find much energy anymore, or inspiration or creativity of any kind. It wasn’t exactly hard to pinpoint the moment those things had left her either. But, as much as she wished otherwise, there was nothing she could do about it anymore.

She took a moment to stretch, yawning again before letting her arms fall at her sides, hitting her hand on a macaron display in the process. The little wire tower wobbled for a moment as she froze in place, praying for some kind of good luck to keep it from falling, but it was pointless. Her luck had left her two years ago, she knew that much. The tower shuddered one last time, and as it started to settle, one of the legs happened to shake right off the edge of the counter, toppling the whole thing over and covering Marinette in the pastel cookies.

“Figures,” she muttered hollowly, dusting them off of her and sighing helplessly. It was a good thing that her and her parents had learned to be prepared for this kind of thing. She picked up the macarons carefully, and arranging them haphazardly with the tray of croissants she had overcooked slightly this morning when she had fallen asleep in the kitchen. Because of her frequent mishaps, they had decided to have a little section that was aptly named the “Marinette Special,” which was just a teasing way of saying pastries and cookies that were half off because of some accident or another. At least this way, the thought had been, they don’t completely lose out on money. And sure enough, people didn’t mind buying dented macarons or crunchy pastries since Tom Dupain’s recipes were still the best around. After she’d set those up on the discount tray, she disappeared into the back, grabbing a replacement tray of macarons to arrange on the wire tower.

Coming back into earshot of the front door, she head the little bell jingle and whispers of the tiniest voice leaking into the kitchen. Practically throwing down the tray, Marinette dashed out of the kitchen, looking around wildly for the source of the voice, trying desperately to spot what she was so sure had to be the little red kwami. When her eyes landed on a little girl in the arms of her mother, she tried her best not to be surprised. After all this time, she wasn’t sure what she expected.

—-

Two Years Before

“Master, please, you can’t,” Marinette pleaded tearily, holding the red kwami to her chest and slowly backing away from the Guardian she had trusted so wholeheartedly.

“Marinette, I would not ask for this if I was unsure. The powers of the Miraculous will be needed elsewhere, and I cannot make another mistake with them.” Wang Fu’s words were solemn, the whole speech dripping with sadness at the heartbreak he had to inflict on a girl he cared deeply for. Marinette and Tikki were both in tears, not sure how they could ever say goodbye to each other. Fu had already collected the black cat Miraculous, having hoped it would be the easier of the two, but Plagg had put up much more of a fight than he ever had before. After having to fight through that interaction, the poor old man was tired, and thoroughly broken.

“Oh Marinette, I’ll never be gone from you,” Tikki said softly, pain in her voice as she floated up, kissing the tip of her chosen’s nose. “You’ll always be my Ladybug, Marinette. And we’ll be together again soon, I just know it,” she added, trying to show some kind of smile and bravery. Marinette could do nothing but sob once more and wipe her eyes, nodding. With shaking hands, she slowly took the familiar earrings off, holding them out to Master Fu and dropping them into his hands. The sudden coldness on her earlobes broke her heart more than she thought it would. She closed her eyes and turned away, crying softly as the door opened and shut with a very final sounding click. “Tikki, I renounce you,” she mumbled, barely audible at all. Her shoulders heaved with body racking sobs, feeling the warmth of her friend leave her once and for all, like all the light in the world had gone out.

——

Marinette quickly shook her head, forcing the memory from her mind and trying to focus on the customer in the bakery, taking a moment to comprehend that both the girl and her mother were frantically pointing at something behind her. As soon as she was alerted to it, her nose recognized the smell of smoke and she whirled around, rushing into the kitchen.

“NO! No no no no no,” she muttered angrily, flinging the door of the oven open, and grabbing for the tray. In her rush, she had forgotten that her hands were bare, and screeched rather loudly. By now, the smell of smoke and the scream of pain had alerted her father to some kind of crisis and his heavy steps sounded on the stairs, rushing down them to find the problem. When he got down the stairs, he was greeted with the sight of his poor daughter on her knees in tears, clutching her hand carefully with a tray of blackened cookies next to her. Upon seeing him, she cried even more, trying to make her way onto her feet without using her hand somehow.

“Papa, I’m so sorry, I spaced out and-��� he quickly cut Marinette off and pulled her into a crushing hug, petting her head carefully.

“Shush now, sweetheart, you hurt yourself, please don’t apologize.” Tom knew his daughter had always been clumsy and a little odd, maybe even rough around the edges, but she had been so much worse in the last year especially. She had never burned her hand this badly before, and it broke his heart to see her apologizing to him when she was the one hurting. He pulled away, helping to lift her onto her feet and finally met her teary eyes with the softest look only a concerned parent could hold. “It’s okay, Marinette, I’ll handle this, and you go to the hospital to get that hand checked out, okay?”

At first she wanted to protest, trying to muster the strength to play off the burns and convince him that she was okay. When she looked into his eyes, she knew that there was no fooling him though, and just nodded dejectedly. She started up the stairs, tearing up again as she climbed them. She made a beeline for her room, ignoring her mother’s attempts to talk to her, concern laden in her voice. She grabbed her purse, and pulled her apron off, forgetting for a moment about her burned hand only to cry out when she used it to grasp the rough fabric. She descended from her room, stopping at the top of the stairs into the bakery when she heard her parents talking.

“Tom, I can’t stand seeing her like this,” Sabine sighed tiredly. Even though she couldn’t see her mother’s face, Marinette could hear the tears starting to creep into her voice.

“I know, honey, but I don’t know what else to do. You know as well as I do, nothing we’ve tried has worked. She doesn’t talk to anyone, she doesn’t go out, she doesn’t even sketch designs anymore!” Her father’s voice was shaky, pain present in every wobbly syllable. Tom Dupain was always the steady one, the rock in the great storm of life. At least, that’s what Marinette thought of him. But because of her, he was hurting, she thought.

“Well maybe we could give her a break from the bakery. Or even get her out of Paris, send her on a trip with her grandmother? We have to try something.”

Deep down, she knew that it was only said out of worry. She knew her parents loved her dearly, even with all the accidents and vacantness she had held lately. But when she heard those words, the only thing her brain could process was that they wanted to get rid of her. And in her mind, they were right to. She had fallen apart after everything that had happened, and she honestly wasn’t sure how she would ever be okay again.

Somehow, Marinette held back the overflow of tears that was gathering at her eyes, keeping the floodgates up long enough to run down the rest of the stairs, out the door and halfway down the block before letting it all out.

——

To be entirely honest, Marinette had no idea how she had managed to make it all the way to the hospital. That had to be some kind of miracle, of course, given her track record. She had been in a daze for the whole walk there, vaguely knowing where she was going, but not much more than that. Thankfully, she had found the hospital somehow and headed for the first set of doors she saw, too many tears in her eyes to bother reading the signs around her. The automatic doors whooshed open in front of her, and she stepped into the chilly air and hugged her shoulders tightly. She hadn’t anticipated this level of air conditioning, dressed in just a pink tee shirt and black skinny jeans. Marinette awkwardly approached the front desk, finally realizing that she probably wasn’t at the right entrance, but not sure how else to get there but ask directions.

“Uh, erm, hi, I’m looking for the emergency room?” she asked, her voice hesitant and soft as she stumbled over the words. At first, the woman at the front desk seemed annoyed, slapping her magazine closed with a loud sigh. However, as soon as she noticed Marinette’s tear stained face and red eyes, her gaze softened and she took pity on the girl.

“It’s a little confusing to find it from here, give me a second and I’ll call someone to escort you, alright?” she said, trying to be as comforting as possible with her tone. Then, she picked up a walkie talkie off of her desk and pushed the call button and began to talk into it. Marinette at this point had nodded and looked around her, trying to find some sign of where she was. The inside of the room was stark white and bare, bright fluorescent lights that could have given her a headache. She’d always hated the way hospitals were cold like this, even though she knew it had to do with cleanliness. Finally, someone showed up and the nurse at the desk motioned for her to follow him out the door she had come in, which she quickly did. Or rather, tried to, almost instantly crashing into a tall man dressed in designer looking clothing. She fell to the floor, toppling backwards slightly with a squeak. Quickly shaking her head to clear the confusion and disoriented feeling from her limbs, she scrambled up, muttering high pitched apologies as she rushed to follow the orderly. Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at the person she had knocked into, confusing herself when she thought that they looked a little familiar. As she hurried out the door, she didn’t notice the blonde head of hair shake in disbelief, or the bright green eyes widen in recognition. She definitely didn’t hear the person softly mumble her name as they watched her speedwalk to keep up with the orderly’s longer legs. What she did notice, however, was the lettering over the doorway that read “St. Bernadette Psychiatric Institute.”

What a place to mix up with the ER, she thought to herself, shaking her head. I’m lucky she didn’t see my excessive crying as a danger and have me committed. She shuddered at that thought, not even remembering that the man she had run into had seemed familiar in the slightest. Noticing that her guide was already a few paces ahead of her, she tried to stop thinking entirely, picking up her pace in order to not lose sight of him. By the time they had reached the emergency wing, she was thoroughly winded, and thanked him profusely between panted breaths before heading for the correct set of doors.

——

After about four hours of waiting and talking to doctors and nurses, Marinette left the hospital with her hand carefully bandaged, a prescription for a topical salve that would help it heal, and instructions to change the bandage every day. With all the time she had had to think and figure her mind out, she felt a little soothed, though not enough to be completely relaxed. She had no idea how she was going to talk to her parents after she had left the house in such an emotional state. It was even harder to think about telling them that she had heard their conversation about sending her away. She wasn’t sure why she was so opposed to the idea, but something in her was screaming at her that she had to remain in Paris. It wasn’t like she really had anything there for her at the moment. She wasn’t taking any classes, didn’t have any internships, and she couldn’t even remember the last time she had even spoken to someone that could be considered a friend. In fact, if she really thought about it, she hadn’t really spoken to anyone after she had taken her final exams at Françoise-Dupont. If she was in a better state of mind, maybe that would bother her more, but as it was, she wasn’t really sure how she felt about it.

Losing Tikki when she hadn’t expected it had taken a lot away from her. It was almost as if all the progress she had made while being Ladybug was heavily reverted, and she ended up even worse than she had been when she took on the mask. Her creativity had plummeted, her clumsiness skyrocketed, and even her luck got worse. Of course, if she had lived a normal life, it would have just been labeled as depression. But she wasn’t exactly normal, and she knew that. There were times when she almost wished she had never even become Ladybug in the first place. After growing so used to having Tikki and her powers, Marinette had grown to feel kind of useless without them. In her mind, her classmates had probably been relieved when she drifted away from them and eventually just vanished from their lives. It wasn’t like she could remember how much they had tried to stop her anyways, the last months of her time in school flashing by like a meaningless blur. But that was two years ago. Was two years a long time to go without really having friends? Did it really matter, in the long run? After all, no one had made any recent attempts to reach out, so she had to be right about her absence being some kind of relief… right?

“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” she groaned out loud, picking up her pace as she walked back to the bakery. She wanted to get back already and have this awful conversation with her parents, not even caring what the outcome would be anymore. Even if her gut told her to remain in Paris, she didn’t see why she had to listen to it, especially since she had reminded herself once again that she had nothing to keep her here. Maybe if she went with her grandma, she could find another source of inspiration, or anything at all to keep her going, and get her off of the train towards lifelessness she was stuck on. It was a hard decision to think about, the idea of leaving the place she had been raised, even if only for a month or two. By the time she had made it to the bakery, she was thoroughly confused and conflicted, having twisted her mind up with every pro, con, and what if scenario.

“Mama, Papa, I’m back!” she called out to the empty bakery, looking around. Apparently they had closed for the lunch break already, so she popped upstairs and found them sitting at the table, a sandwich already prepared for her. That little gesture put a smile on her face and she greeted them both with love, kissing their cheeks softly.

“Marinette, sweetie, how’s your hand?” her mom asked her immediately, standing up to check on her and make sure she was okay. She just shrugged it off, chuckling in a way that was a little less forced than normal.

“It’s alright, they said the burn was only a second degree, so there might be some blistering but I’ll be okay. I picked up the prescription salve they gave me on the way back.” She sat down at the table with them, trying to figure out how to eat the sandwich with only one hand before her mother stopped her, laughing and shaking her head.

“Here, here, let me cut it into small pieces,” she said, standing up and grabbing a knife, cutting the sandwich into eighths that were small enough to be picked up with only one of Marinette’s dainty hands. “Do you want anything to drink, sweetheart?” she asked after she had cut the lunch up, moving to the fridge. “There’s still some lemonade left from yesterday’s lunch, if you want that.”

“That’s perfect, mama, thank you,” she said softly, becoming increasingly worried by the careful way they were treating her. They had always been fairly gentle with her, but this porcelain doll treatment was even more worrying than normal. She hurried to swallow the bite of sandwich she had taken, wanting to talk before they got the chance to say whatever they were clearly worried about bringing up. “Listen, I know I haven’t… been exactly myself for a while, and I’m sorry it’s worried you so much. With everything that happened at the end of my last year of school, I think I got a little confused with what I wanted and who I wanted to be.”

She paused, pursing her lips and wrinkling her eyebrows in thought as she searched for the right words. It was hard to understand what she wanted to say, even for her. Did she want to stay or go? Should she even bring up that she had heard their conversation? Would that just cause more problems, or should she just approach it head on like she always had so much trouble doing. So many years of carefully crafted and elaborate plans, sometimes she thought she had forgotten how to just be direct, even with herself or her parents.

“Please don’t send me away,” she finally admitted abruptly, looking down at her plate as she willed the tears not to fall. She gritted her teeth and steeled herself, trying to appear to be steady, even just for her parents' sake. “I understand why you think that might be a good idea for me, but here, with you, is where I belong.”

Her parents were definitely shocked by her sudden eloquence. It definitely wasn’t what they expected from their daughter. They couldn’t help but be proud of her for it though, and nodded, glad that she had managed to tell them how she felt about it all. None of them could really phrase any of the intense emotions in the room, so they settled for exchanging a set of loving and understanding looks before settling in to finish the lunch in silence. Thankfully, it wasn’t awkward, and the silence didn’t last the whole way through. After about ten minutes of quiet chewing, Marinette dropped an entire slice of tomato on her lap, groaning exasperatedly before meeting her parents eyes, all three of them bursting into cheerful and amicable laughter. A little bit of tried and true Marinette brand clumsiness had been exactly what they needed to get back to normal, and the meal continued with a series of teasing bread related puns from her father and amused giggling from her mother, punctuated by the odd groan or grumble from Marinette. This was who they had always been, after all. For all their messes and worries, the Dupain-Chengs were possibly the least dysfunctional family in Paris, and that would never change.

[tenroseforeverandever]

Optimal Distance

Characters: Tentoo; Rose Tyler; Tentoo x Rose

Tags: lemons; lemons on video chat; mutual self-applied lemons; basically loads of lemons!; and the usual fluff, hurt/comfort, humour stuff

Summary: Rose has been feeling sad, lonely, and a little bit envious, left to endure the dreary London winter, while the Doctor has been posted on assignment in Rio, setting up a new Torchwood branch. But a comment the Doctor makes about a strangely bare desk in his otherwise cluttered study inspires Rose to find a way to bring them closer together, even though they are half a world apart.

Notes: This fic is one of many that had been lingering, stagnating in my collection of unfinished fics, just waiting for inspiration to strike.

Many thanks as always to my wonderful betas, @rose--nebula and mrsbertucci. You are absolutely brilliant, and I have no idea what I would do without you. And thanks to @aintfraidanoghosts who is always a voice of inspiration and encouragement (especially if she hears lemons on the menu!) I love you all!

I made quite a few tweaks and edits since they saw it, so as always, any mistakes are mine.I hope you like it!

Also read on AO3 and Teaspoon

OPTIMAL DISTANCE

“Done! You should be getting it any second now!” Rose crowed into her mobile with a rather disproportionate sense of triumph. All she had accomplished was to send the Doctor an email, albeit one with a very important file attached; a file she’d had to navigate his shambolic cataloguing system to find, and that only after she’d excavated his laptop from beneath heaps of books, papers, and crumpled sticky notes on the floor beside his desk.

“Got it!” he cheered. “You are brilliant, you are! A real lifesaver, Rose Tyler! See? My lucky pants, near or far. It’s a good thing you couldn’t come with me, after all. Where would I be now, eh? Without you holding down the fort?”

“Yeah, right,” Rose muttered with a sulky huff, her victorious mood evaporating as she plopped down in the desk chair. She fought against the prickle of tears. She refused to cry about it anymore. It was her own fault she was restricted to paper-pushing for another six weeks. To be specific, she was tasked with reviewing and classifying field reports, a chore that only served to rub in the fact that she wasn’t out in the field, herself, defending the Earth from both alien and earth-born threats. Instead she had to read about it second-hand.

She knew she deserved every bit of punishment she’d received, from her brutal dressing-down from Pete and her subsequent demotion, to her month-long stint inventorying the Small Parts Department (literally the “nuts and bolts” of Torchwood, and ten times as dull as it sounded.) She had been careless and impulsive on a mission, showing off for the sake of a dare, and had nearly gotten herself killed.

The worst part had been the look on the Doctor’s face as he’d rushed into the Torchwood infirmary, not knowing what her condition was, thinking he might have lost her. The guilt she’d felt over worrying him would have been enough (a kazillion times over) to curb any future reckless, thoughtless acts. After everything they had been through, with only a single, human lifetime each, pledged to be spent together, she had nearly thrown it all away in one rash moment.

As it was, she had been lucky to have come away with only deep laser burns to her left shoulder.

She and the Doctor had clung to each other all that night, desperately making love until they were too exhausted to move.

That had been weeks ago now, and Rose was chafing at her restrictions, especially since Pete seemed to be intentionally sending the Doctor to conferences in the most wonderful, exotic locations around the world, places Rose was dying to explore with him. But Pete resolutely refused to allow her to join him.

On this current trip, the Doctor was helping establish a new Torchwood base in Rio de Janeiro, addressing the fledgling team on the importance of employing diplomacy and mediation in First Contact situations. Rio, for God’s sake! And here she was, stuck in the middle of the damp, chilly London winter. She huffed again over the phone.

“Would it help if I said I wasn’t having fun?” the Doctor asked over the upbeat sounds of Samba and boisterous voices in the background. She could just picture the scantily clad, feather-adorned (female) dancers.

“Yes…” Rose picked at the worn piping on the leather arm of the desk chair.

“Oh…”

“Sure doesn’t sound like anyone’s ready to listen to your First Contact presentation. Don’t know what the rush was…”

“Weeell, lunch is almost over, and we’ll be heading right back in. Then, I’ll be cracking the whip! But, blimey, the Brazilians know how to party!  As you can probably hear, they’d arranged for some entertainment over lunch: live band, dancers, the lot! Didn’t want to seem churlish.”

She’d been right about the dancers, then… “Don’t worry, Doctor. I’m just feelin’ sorry for myself. I should be gettin’ to bed, yeah. Loads of field reports to review, tomorrow. You have fun.”

“Right… weeell…” Rose could picture him scrubbing the back of his head with his right hand. “Thanks again. And for the record, I do wish you were here, love. It’s just not the same without you.”

“It’s a bit lonely here too.” She looked around his study, filled with reminders of his presence: it was cluttered with books and papers; an assortment of swivel-chairs, beanbags, and exercise balls; and seemingly arbitrary writing surfaces at various heights and orientations. The traditional desk, where she was currently sat, was essentially an afterthought, a horizontal surface suitable for a computer or a place to deposit bits and bobs, books, and papers. Except it was completely clear of clutter and serving no purpose. It was a beautiful piece of furniture, but she couldn’t imagine the Doctor ever using a desk like that.

“We should redecorate your study when you get home, Doctor,” she mused.

“What? Why?”

“Well, for one, this desk is taking up a lot of valuable space. We really should get rid of it. It’s nice. I bet we could sell–”

“No!” he cut her off. “I love that desk!” There was an overtone of panic in his voice.

“But you don’t use it for… well… for anything.”

“I’d rather hoped to use it someday… erm…” His voice trailed off, but quickly returned with his classic exuberance. “It’s nice and sturdy, Rose, and just the right height.”

“What the hell for? The right height for what?” Honestly, she was afraid to ask, but it was just lovely to talk to him and listen to him prattle on about nonsensical things. She missed this when he was abroad.

“Weeeell…” he stage-whispered into the phone, enthusiastic, but clearly not wanting anyone else to hear, “the height is exactly the optimal distance to take advantage of the length of your legs…”

“Wha? My legs…?”

“Blimey, Rose! This is not a good time. I’m not able to control this stupid body the way I… erm… weeell…” His tone became clipped, irritable. “I need to be focussed for this presentation.”

“Oh, never mind.” Though Rose’s curiosity had been piqued by his cryptic comments and the urgency in his voice, she knew he was on a tight schedule. “You better go give that presentation. Go on, then. Love you. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Love you, too.”

It was only once she was in her bed, half asleep, with her thoughts restless and drifting, that she realized exactly what the Doctor wanted that desk for… She was suddenly wide awake, the whispers of a plan forming in her mind.

 --ooOoo--

Rose had spent the better part of the night ordering the things she needed to set her plan in motion. The online shop guaranteed next-day delivery and she hoped everything would be there when she arrived home from work. If she managed to slip away for the afternoon (without Pete finding out) as she’d planned, she would be able to message the Doctor just before his lunch… perfect!

She was relieved to have been able to escape the confines of her office with no one noticing, except Donna, the administrative assistant who, being every bit as brilliant as her Prime Universe counterpart, noticed everything. But she had just winked at Rose and signalled with a swipe of her thumb and pointer finger that her lips were sealed.

Rose’s excitement grew when she arrived home to find several large packages waiting for her in the hallway by the door of her flat, kindly left there by the landlady. Rose beamed, her heart pounding as she bustled into the flat, hurrying to get everything set in motion before she chickened out. She had never done anything quite as bold as this before – at least in terms of trying to seduce someone – and she rather hoped the Doctor would be… receptive. Considering he had seemingly procured the desk for a very specific (erotic) purpose, she figured he would be.

An hour later, she was turning up the heating against the chill of the wintery air. Her new outfit was not exactly intended to keep her warm. To be honest, she didn’t think she’d ever worn anything so barely-there (and glittery) before. She flushed, looking at herself in the mirror. It was a bit generous calling it an outfit at all. It was really just strategically placed jewelry.

It was a Samba ensemble, made of thin strips of pink, yellow, and clear crystals. The bra was a halter design, with clusters of gems dripping in simple floral patterns from her throat to just above her breasts. A single, large sparkling clear crystal shone between her breasts, supporting a band of smaller clear crystals that curved below them. Her nipples were (only just) covered with bright pink and yellow crystal flowers. She turned around to look at herself from the back. Her bum was essentially bare, the lower part of her outfit, a thong, impossibly skimpier than the bra and crafted of more of the glittery crystals. Matching wrist and shin cuffs adorned her limbs. Not for the first time that afternoon, she thanked the stars for her Torchwood training and active lifestyle for keeping her fit and trim.

After applying her most alluring make-up, she was ready for the final piece of the puzzle. With shaking hands, she positioned the headdress over her hair. It was heavy, heavier than she’d expected, encrusted with crystals over her forehead and in a band around her head. A pink and yellow fountain of ridiculous, great, feathery plumes erupted from the top.

Rose laughed at her image in the mirror. Ridiculous didn’t begin to cover it: it was completely daft. But the Doctor would love it… or so she hoped.

She made her way to his study where she had set up cameras to take photos of herself using a remote control. Her first pose had her facing the camera, one stilettoed foot hitched up on the desk, and her opposite hand touching her sex through the thin fabric of her bejewelled knickers. She made a point of allowing her tongue to poke out at the corner of her smile. That always drove the Doctor mental.

For her next pose she leaned over the desk, her bare bum inviting the Doctor to take her from behind, as she looked suggestively over her shoulder at the camera. She elected to forgo the third pose she had planned. She’d had to stop her headdress from toppling off several times during the second pose and was feeling rather hot and bothered… and not in a sexy way.

Regardless of the headdress mishaps, she was able to select an image she liked from both sets of photos and upload them to her mobile.

So, you like Samba, do ya? she texted the Doctor, along with the two photos. Meet me for lunch… video chat. I’ll show you my moves.  

If she’d worked out the timing right, he should be receiving the messages about ten minutes before he usually stopped for lunch. She intended to make sure there would only ever be one Samba dancer in his future. Her.

She giggled nervously. She really hoped he would take the bait.

She didn’t have to wait long. Her phone vibrated on the desk. She laughed at the Doctor’s message: Blimey! Don’t move! I’ll be there in five minutes. Meeting adjourned!

He’d taken the bait all right – hook, line, and sinker!

Now for the really challenging part: video phone sex. She’d never done anything like that before. She hoped she could pull it off.

 Rose scrambled to set up her mobile on the apparatus she’d purchased, just for this purpose, at the same time as she’d bought her Samba costume. She took a few quick test shots of herself, perched on the edge of the desk with her leg hitched up the way it had been for the first of the photos she had sent the Doctor a few minutes earlier. It took a few rushed and panicked adjustments, but she eventually got the angles just right to ensure the Doctor would get an eyeful!

She was just situating herself on the desk with her leg up again when her phone pinged with the Doctor’s incoming call on video chat. Her tummy was in knots with equal parts anticipation and mortification. Her fingers shaking, she depressed the button on the remote control she’d programmed to her phone and accepted his call.

The Doctor’s eager, bewildered face filled the entire screen, his eyebrows rising into his hairline at the image before him. “Fuuuuuuck…”

He was swearing, a sure sign she’d gotten his attention in the best possible way. There was only one time he ever swore (well, mostly) and that was during sex. Rose smirked as he reflexively licked his lips, boosting her confidence even more. Her voice still trembled, though. “Like what you see, Doctor?”

His hand ruffled his hair. (Rose was jealous of that hand.) “Weeell, I mean… yes! Of course, I do! Blimey! What’s not to love?” Two hands ran through his hair this time.

“B-better… better than the Samba dancers from lunchtime yesterday?” Rose pressed her lips together, and dropped her leg from it’s provocative pose, and she slid off the desk, suddenly uncertain again and feeling vulnerable, both craving and dreading his response.

The dazed shock on his face softened, full of sincerity and love. “The only person I’ll ever want to dance with, Rose Tyler, is you.”

“I feel so… stupid… doing this.”

“NO! No, no, no, no! This is perfect. Brilliant!”

“I don’t know what I’m doin’…”

For several anxious moments, they watched each other in silence. Then, suddenly, the Doctor spoke, his voice husky and low: “Oh, Rose, I wish I could touch you. I wish I could lean you over that desk, take you from behind, and fuck you senseless.”

Rose released a tense breath. He seemed to be taking the lead, putting that unstoppable gob of his to good use.

“But first, first I’d love to have you like this, facing me. I’d spread your legs and–”

“Like this?” Now that she was relaxing, Rose found herself quite eager to play her part. Holding her headdress in place, she hopped up on the edge of the desk again, leaning back on her hands, her legs splayed.

“Yes, just like that! Beautiful! You’re fucking gorgeous!”

Rose bit her lip, her breath hitching as a flood of warmth pooled low in her abdomen. Blimey, she loved when he talked dirty.

“I’d kneel down before you, goddess that you are, and pull aside those skimpy knickers and bury my face between your thighs.”

“Like this?” she repeated, drawing the soaking strip of fabric to one side, exposing her dripping core to the Doctor.

“Oh, you’re so wet, Rose. I just want to taste you.”

“Guuuuuuuhhh… yeah! Love your mouth on me.”  

“Oh, yes! I’d dip my tongue inside you, savour the taste of you (you taste so good, Rose!), and lick you all the way up to your clit. Fuck, you’re perfect,” he blurted as Rose used her finger to simulate the actions he described.

She sighed at the sensation, closing her eyes, wishing it was his tongue lapping along her aching slit, twirling around her clit.

“Oh Rose, my Rose… I’d stroke that lovely clit of yours with my tongue, up and around, up and around…”

Rose groaned out her pleasure, her fingers dancing over her damp sex. “God, Doctor, I love it when you fuck me with your tongue. Please,” she begged, looking him in the eyes, “I want to see you. I want to touch you too. I want my hands on your gorgeous, thick cock.”

“Fuuuuck, Rose! Wait! Just give me a moment.” His face disappeared from the phone. “Keep going!” his voice called from the background. “I’m still here, licking you, sucking you.” There was a loud clattering noise, and the image on the screen spun around. And then Doctor appeared again, from further away wearing only an oxford. His cock, long and hard, bobbed up against the fabric, leaving a wet stain on the front of the shirt. “There. I’ve propped my mobile up. Can you see me, love?”

“Yeah. ‘S good. So good!”

“Are you still touching yourself?”

“Yeah.” Rose’s eyes rolled back as she pressed down on her clit.

“So I see,” he moaned. “Oh, love…”

“I want you inside me, Doctor. I want to feel you fill me.”

Rose watched with a hooded gaze as he wrapped his hand around his cock. “Oh, I want that too. I want to feel you so hot and tight around me. Nothing feels better than that.” His hand stroked down, then up, with a twist at the top. “You’re so soft and wet…” down again, “and so fucking…” up and twist, “tight!”

At the same time, Rose plunged two fingers inside herself, finding that oh-so sensitive sweet spot, as she continued to work her clit with her thumb. She moved her fingers in and out, matching the rhythm of his stroking hand, the jewels around her breasts chafing her nipples with delicious friction as she moved. She added a third finger, stretching herself wide. “Oh, you’re so thick and hard… I love how you fill me. You feel so good!”

“Fuck, Rose… so do you. You look so fucking sexy.” His hand began to stroke faster. Rose watched, mesmerized, as the dark, throbbing tip of his cock disappeared and reappeared from the circle of his fist. “Are you getting close?” His voice was tight, strained.

Rose continued to work herself, thighs trembling, slick, wet sounds accompanying her lusty groans. “So close…” she whimpered, feeling the familiar heat burning in her core, the pressure building. Her head lolled back… and suddenly she yelped as her headdress tumbled to the floor behind the desk. “Oh no! No!” Her hand stopped moving as despair welled up inside her.

“Rose! Don’t stop. Keep going.”

She wailed, “It’s no use.”

“You’re so beautiful, my precious girl. Oh, let me touch you more. Let me feel how warm and wet you are… I want to fuck you forever and never stop.”

Rose watched him on the small screen of her phone looking so wonderfully earnest, his cock in his hand, still hard, glistening with pre-come. He was bloody hot, and he was hers. The shock of losing her headdress was forgotten in a fresh rush of desire, and another flood of arousal, warm and slick, coated her fingers. “Touch me, Doctor,” she breathed, her thumb renewing its caresses over her clit.

“Oh, yes love… I want to run my fingers over your body; run my hands up your thighs and deep inside you. I love the sounds you make when I stroke you…”

“Please,” she whimpered, arching into the pressure of her thumb on her responsive skin.

“Let me fill you again…”

“Yes!” She watched, in awe, as his hand slowly resumed its motions – up, down, twist – over his long, hard member, and her fingers began their pumping motions again, curling and rubbing against her sweet spot rebuilding her sense of urgency with every stroke.

They were soon lost in their passion, both keening and groaning in a haze of lust and need. The fire within Rose burned hot again, deep in her sex, as she rolled her body over her fingers. The Doctor’s hand increased its speed once more. He was getting close, she could tell, he looked so wonderful and dishevelled, and his cock pulsed with every stroke of his hand. “Doctor!” she cried out. “I’m… I’m… gonna…”

“Hnnnngghhh…” he groaned. “Come for me. Let me see you come!”

Rose’s body vibrated with the need for release, her hand frantically pumping, her thumb pressing down, circling her clit, the heat and pressure building within her… and then, the Doctor shouted. Mesmerized, she watched as his seed spurted in ribbons from him, coating the front of his shirt, drizzling over his hand. The look of ecstasy on his face was enough to bring her over too. Her sex throbbed, grasping around her pumping fingers as she arched off the desk, the burning pressure in her core suddenly exploding outward, engulfing her.

 --ooOoo--

“Well, I need to get out of this ridiculous get-up,” Rose chuckled, pushing herself up to a sitting position. She had made her way back to the bedroom and lain down on the bed, while the Doctor lay on the bed in his hotel room. They had stayed that way for many wonderful minutes, gazing into each other’s eyes and talking quietly as they came down from the high of their orgasms.

The Doctor pouted. “And I suppose I need to get back to my meeting. They’ll all have finished their lunches.”

“Oh my God! You didn’t get to eat! Sorry. I guess I should have timed this better…”

“What? NO! This was perfect! A brilliant surprise. I feel perfectly satisfied.” He winked and flashed her an impudent grin. “I just can’t wait to take you over that desk in person, and peel that ‘ridiculous get-up’ off you, myself!”

“How much longer do you think you’re going to be there?” Rose bit her lip, clutching her mobile and regarding the Doctor’s image with imploring eyes. Training new teams of Torchwood personnel and operatives could be a time-consuming business and was an open-ended job. She and the Doctor could potentially be separated for several more weeks or…

“Just a few more days.”

“Really? You’re not jus’ sayin’ that?”

“Rose, (mostly) Time Lord here! If there’s one thing I know about, it’s time. Have you ever known me to misjudge…?”

Rose gave him a pointed look.

“Nah, don’t answer that. But honestly, love, we’ve only just started getting this lot familiarized with all the tech, today, but they seem to be a quick study, and a few of their key people will be returning to London with us for a tour and more in-depth, hands-on experience. Then Pete’s going to be relocating some of our more capable people to Rio for a few months to get things up and running properly. So, at most, another week.”

“A week?”

“At most… I promise. Now, as much as I would prefer to spend the day here with you, I have to act the responsible adult (complete rubbish, that!) and get back to my meeting. I’ll see you later, love.”

“Not if I see you first.” She blew him a kiss and offered him a little wave of her fingers before disconnecting their call.

 --ooOoo--

Five days later, she stood, poised sexily (she hoped) in the doorway of the Doctor’s study, wearing the Samba outfit, minus the ridiculous headdress (it would just get in the way), and watching as the Doctor pushed his way through the door of their flat. Her heart thrummed at the sight of him.

“Honey, I’m home,” he called out cheekily, making her laugh out loud.

“Right here… erm… Sugarbear,” she droned, her voice as sultry as she could make it through her giggles.

“Sugarbear? Really, Rose,” the Doctor closed the door behind him, “of all the names you could…” As he turned and took a step into the flat, his gaze locked onto her, eyes darkening as they roved over her bejewelled body. “Blimey… now this, this is a proper welcome home!” He dropped his bags and coat, leaving them behind, forgotten, as he strode toward her across the room, loosening his belt along the way.

Rose shuddered at the sight. Bloody hell, he was fucking gorgeous. And he was here. Home. With her. Her Doctor.

“You. Inside. Now,” he commanded, his hands settling over the bare skin of her waist, guiding her backwards into his study with firm pressure. Rose’s core ached in anticipation, a yearning heat coursing through her. His lips crashed against hers as they staggered further into the room, the kiss equal parts demanding and desperate, and Rose was sure she had never felt so desired, so loved.

When her bum hit the desk, she gasped, and suddenly, all the emotion she had been suppressing over the last few months surged to the surface: guilt and remorse, loneliness and jealousy, all whirling together in a maelstrom of unfettered passion, love, and vulnerability brought on by the Doctor’s assertive touch. The tears she had been holding back gushed over her cheeks.

“Rose? Love?” The Doctor broke the kiss, looking down at her with concerned eyes. “What’s wrong? Is this not all right? Was I too… weeell, enthusiastic?”

“No, oh my God, no,” she wept. “It’s… it’s perfect… Better than. I jus’… I jus’… I missed you… I didn’t realize jus’ how much…”.

In one swift movement, he swept his hands behind her legs and lifted her to perch on the edge of the desk. Then, spreading her thighs, he stepped between them and tipped her chin up for another marvelous snog, still passionate, but this time it was a sweet and tender, unhurried sort of passion. Rose melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, drawing him against her body and breathing in the comfort of his scent. They eventually drew away from the kiss with gentle pecks and nibbles.

They pressed their foreheads together, and panting softly, Rose spoke into the space between them, “Sorry, I’ve gone and ruined all this,” she gestured to the desk.

“Nah, don’t be silly.” He dabbed the tears from her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “Besides, I have a bit of news too. Might as well get it over with.” He sighed dramatically and pulled slightly away from her to fish in his jacket pocket. He pulled out an official-looking Torchwood envelope that he tossed down on the desk beside her.

“W’at’s this?”

“My new marching orders, I’m afraid. I leave in two days.”

“Two days,” she sobbed. “But you jus’ got home and–”.

Taking a deep steadying breath, she dragged a hand through her hair, pulling it back from her face. “God, I sound so needy and selfish… but I just missed you.”

“And I suppose, the fact that I was in Rio,” he smirked at her, his left eyebrow arched, “had nothing to do with it?”

“Oh, that just made me miss you even more, but I admit, I was a bit… envious.” She chuckled, leaning back to look him in the eye. “But you know that stuff doesn’t really matter, yeah, all the travelling? Never did. Just that we’re together. That’s what’s important.”

“Oh, I know,” he reassured her with a kiss on the forehead. “And you know I feel the same... don’t you?”

She nodded, placing her palm over his single, human heart. “Yeah, ‘course I do.” 

“And that’s why, Rose Tyler,” his deadpan expression transformed into a brilliant smile, “I’m happy to announce that your assignment is in that envelope too. This time, you’re coming with me.” He beamed at her, waggling his eyebrows and looking very pleased with himself.

She gawped. “But… wait. What?”

“That is, if you think you can be ready to go on such short notice.”

“You wanker!” She swatted his shoulder. “Of course, I’ll be ready!”

He giggled. “But, really, I mean… if it’s too much trouble, I could always just go back to Rio on my own, I suppose.”

There was a long silence as Rose processed what he had said. When she finally found her voice, the words tumbled from her mouth: “Shut up! No way! Rio? RIO?”

“Yu-p!” He grinned. “We’re the experts Pete’s going to send over for a couple of months to make sure everything’s up and running properly. He said he only wants to send the best, and weeeell… I mean look at us. The choice is obvious.”

“I don’t believe it. There must be a catch.”

“No-pe!” He popped his “p” again. “He wants to make sure the Brazilians get everything exactly right. And the best part is, we’ll be there for Carnival. It’s just a few weeks off.”

“What? Carnival? Really?”

“Yes-siree, Rose Tyler! You can even wear this outfit again, in an official capacity this time, of course, complete with headdress. And ooooh, we’ll bring the baby TARDIS along, too. She’ll love a change of scenery!”

“I still don’t believe Pete would just… Nah, you must ‘ave said somethin’ to ‘im, yeah? Not that I’m complainin’. It’s just he’s been so… lecture-y lately.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s been a right misery. And now this sudden change of heart…?”

“Weeell, I admit,” he pulled on his right ear, “I was all ready to go in today, guns-a-blazing, to try to convince him that enough was enough, but believe it or not, he had already made up his mind. He gave me the news during my debriefing this afternoon. By the way, you’re to meet with him tomorrow–”

“Urrrghh, that’ll be fun…”

“–to go over… erm some… stipulations, but essentially, it’s all set. Said he thought your diplomatic skills would be hugely beneficial over there. Personally,” he flashed her a cheeky grin, “I think he was just getting sick of your constant moaning.”

“Oi, Mister!” She feigned offence. “Is that so? Watch out! I’ll give you constant moaning!” She grabbed his tie and dragged him toward her for another impassioned kiss, then reached between them to fondle him through the fabric of his trousers. As she sucked and nibbled along his jawline, tracing her fingers up and down his growing length, a strangled sound tore from his throat.

She smirked. “Now, there’s the moaning…”

“Stop!” He grabbed her hand, his eyes blazing into hers, and she quivered in response, the hot rush of renewed arousal pooling between her legs. “No more teasing. Brilliant as the video-chat sex was, I’ve had enough of foreplay and imagining over the last few days to last me a lifetime. I am going to take you right here, right now, against this desk, and fuck you so hard you see stars.” He scrabbled at his trousers and boxers, pushing them down over his slim hips. Looking utterly debauched, with his suit jacket, oxford, and tie dishevelled but still in place, he took his thick, throbbing member in hand and gave it a few hard pumps. “You ready?”

“Am I ready? Fuck! I’ve been ready for days. Could hardly think of anything else.” She licked her lips as she took in the sight of his impressive length. “My fingers are no substitute for that.”

With an impatient growl, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her off the desk. Then he spun her around and pressed in behind her, rutting against her bum. “This all right?”

“God, yes!” she sputtered, the ache of desire burgeoning inside her as he encouraged her to lean forward over the desk, applying a steady pressure to her back, until her breasts pressed against the surface, making the jewels of her outfit rasp over her taught nipples.

With a nudge from his foot, he prompted her to spread her legs, opening her to him. “Oh, yes,” he groaned, “the optimal distance, indeed!” Rose shuddered as his slender finger stroked over the sodden strip of fabric covering her sex and she arched into the contact with wanton abandon.

No further invitation required, he yanked the fabric aside and plunged into her welcoming depths.

She saw not only the stars he’d promised: entire constellations burst before her eyes.

[msjr0119]

Hold On

Part 8- This is all my fault

Nobody got injured at the Homecoming ball, they all get separated into different safe houses- for safety.

Riley and Drake had confirmed that they had feelings for each other, however Drake believed Riley should be with Liam. Heartbroken, she moves back to New York. Only keeping in touch with Hana, Maxwell and Olivia.

Riley meets lawyer, Nate Cooper and begins a relationship with him. In Cordonia, Drake begins to court Kiara.

Nine months after Riley had left Cordonia- there is a reunion, but not the reunion the friends had hoped for.

*Characters belong to Pixelberry*

If you are under 18 please do not read this series. If you do, you are consenting that you are over the age.

Series warnings: Suicide, domestic abuse, swearing, stabbing, smut 🍋. If any of these triggers affect you do not read!

Tags- @annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @drakesensworld @ladyangel70 @kingliam2019 @bbrandy2002 @butindeed @bascmve01 @drakewalker04 @pedudley @captain-kingliamsqueen @duchessemersynwalker @insideamirage @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @kozabaji @texaskitten30 @ibldw-main @kimmiedoo5 @nikkis1983 @dangerouseggseagleartisan @gnatbrain @walker7519 @lodberg @fbloveschoices @cmestrella @choices97

Bit of a rubbish chapter- but the next one is the one that you’ll all be waiting for 😊

********

“Drake?”

Liam fixated on his friends frown- shit! He didn’t want Drake to find out about his child like this. This was the literal description of a ‘bombshell’. He knew Drake would arrive soon, but didn’t expect him to sneak in like a burglar.

“Well Li? Aren’t you going to answer the Duchess and myself?”

“Drake, I’m not talking about this here. It’s not appropriate. It was Riley’s secret, that she trusted two friends with. I found out by mistake, whilst sat with her. Let’s go for a walk?”

“Liam, I’m exhausted. I’ve just been on a tiring flight here- not knowing why I had to come. I don’t want to go for a walk. Can someone just explain what is happening? And why we are all at a hospital!”

All the friends face gazed down to floor. Liam led his friend into the quiet room where Beth was still holding her childhood friends hand- talking about the past. The men entered quietly. Beth didn’t realise and continued talking...

“Ri, you have to wake up soon. Remember at middle school, when some girl picked on me. Who was there at my side? It was you. You had all this spunk, and everyone stopped picking on me because you was my friend. I’ll do anything to help you. I wished you’d opened up about Nate. Myself and Leo had our suspicions. We are here for you. Everyone is....”

“Hi Beth.”

Beth wiped her tears on her hoody- her mascara smudged mimicking the look of a panda bear, before noticing she had company.

“Hi Liam, sorry I didn’t know anyone was here. I assume you are Drake? I’ll leave you both to it.”

“Yeah, nice to meet you finally Beth.”

******

When Beth had left, Drake looked over to Riley, noticing how poorly and fragile she looked - hooked up to different machines. His heart nearly leapt out of his chest when he realised this was real- and not an awful dream. He felt as if he was going to stop breathing, his breathing increased rapidly- until he couldn’t control it. Liam ushered him to sit down and told him to breathe.

“What happened Li?”

“She, she tried to take her own life. Life hasn’t been a walk in the park since she left Drake. When we saw Olivia and the others rushing away- they were coming here. Leo had informed them about Riley’s situation. Some people jumped in the river and pulled her out.”

Drake couldn’t comprehend what was being explained. Frozen in shock, Drake’s phone began to vibrate constantly awaking him from his trance. NOT NOW KIARA - he muttered under his breath. Liam had a feeling who was on the phone, as Drake slammed it onto the table. He believed he owed Drake answers on behalf on Riley, then Drake could explain the situation to Kiara.

“You know the one and only time you slept with her?”

“Yeah....”

“She became pregnant. She was going to tell you. Possibly come back. Until Maxwell informed her that you was courting Kiara. She lost your baby six months ago. I’m so sorry Drake. If she didn’t... you... you’d have been at a hospital holding your newborn baby.”

“This is all my fault!”

Drake put his head in his hands, he couldn’t believe everything that had happened. Guilt. Sorrow. Regret. Many emotions ran through his mind- he now wondered if this was the reason no one told him immediately. Liam knelt down next to his friend, placing a comforting hand on his forearm. His baby blues fixated on his friends muddy brown eyes.

“Drake, I’m to blame too. At the masquerade ball, if I told my father I didn’t want a social season and gave Riley a chance, we could have been married. If she loved me back that much. As time went on, I wanted her as my Queen, I was ready to pull out of the sham wedding- but she refused to see me. I now understand, that you was probably that factor as to why. The only thing we are to be blamed for was letting the woman we love slip through our fingers; for not protecting her, for not keeping her safe.”

“Li, you know that I would have never left her on own- I’d have never pushed her towards you, if I could foresee that she was carrying my child. Is ... is she going to wake up?”

Liam bit his lip. That was hard to hear- it was as if, because she was pregnant she meant something to Drake. But without the baby, she meant nothing to him. Liam didn’t know how to respond to that without causing friction- so just elaborated on the last question Drake asked.

“The staff said she was lucky. It’s just a waiting game now.”

Liam sat next to Riley’s bedside, held her hand as he had been doing the last few days. However, in front of Drake he missed out that one regular gesture - kissing her hand and holding it close.

“Ri, Drake is here now. I told you we’d get him here. Come on Riley, you’re a fighter. It’s been days now. We all want you to wake up- to see the beautiful adventurous spirit we call our friend....”

Drake, looked down at Riley and then at Liam. He was trying his hardest to wake her up by talking to her. Was the others doing this too? Maybe I should try?

“Hey Brooks, I always told you that you was going to be trouble...”

Liam looked at Drake and gave him an encouraging smile to continue. He knew this type of thing wasn’t his friends forte.

“Well, I love how you all kept it a secret from me. I care about you Brooks. That last conversation we had.... it... it was all a lie. Every word of it was a lie.... I’m so sorry. I don’t know, if you’ll ever forgive me for everything I’ve done since?”

Liam gazed at his heartbroken friend. He cared for them both, so couldn’t berate them for them falling for each other. Knowing now was not the time to be selfish, he needed to push his own feelings towards Riley away. Concentrating on helping his best friend, after the bombshell that had just hit him like a ton of bricks was his priority. He bent down into the locker and pulled the scan out- passing it to Drake.

“Here. She had two copies in her purse. One was for you. She still kept it close to her after all this time. Read the note, that’s attached to it. I assume this was the first scan she had? And that she never got the chance to give it to Lady Hana or Lord Max.”

Dear Hana and Max,

Please pass this onto Drake if he ever finds out about the baby. I want to tell him myself but I can’t find the words. He’s already rejected me- I’m not giving him this as a way to win him back. I don’t care about that. This little ones true father has a right to know. I’m not wanting to break him and Kiara up either, he will always be my friend and I will be happy for him. But if he wants to be a part of their life he has the chance to be. I’m not going to force him. Love ya both. Ri x

“I never got the chance to be in their life... it got taken away from me. She hates me. All the fake ‘I’ll be happy for him’ ...I don’t care what you say Liam, this is all my fault. You wouldn’t have done this. Bertrand did exactly what I did. And I hated him for him. But I’m just the same.”

“If I had Riley tell me she loved me, I wouldn’t let her out of my sight Drake. I’d keep her close to me. You had that opportunity, and messed it up. And then you jumped straight into Kiara’s bed the minute it messed up. The only difference between you and I, is that I’d have not gone to the nearest girl, I’d have been fighting for this one. I didn’t have the opportunity like you did. She never allowed me to get close to her after I messed up with my coronation choice.”

The two men remained in silence. All that was heard was the beeping from the machines keeping Riley alive and the echo of the staff running up and down the corridors saving people’s lives.

*****

“So who was the daddy?”

Olivia said, demanding an answer from Max - knowing he was the closest to Riley. Everyone’s prying eyes watching and ears listening.

“Erm, it was Drake.”

“And no one told him? Told us! That baby was my nephew or niece! My moms grandchild!”

“It doesn’t matter now Savannah. There’s no baby. And Drake is fucking Kiara. You really think Drake would step up after he fucked Riley over?”

Olivia raised her eyebrows at the other Walker, who also ran away whilst pregnant- she wasn’t little miss perfect either.

“Liv! It was still his baby! It was a Walker!”

Liam walked out of the room, into the middle of all the commotion- leaving Drake alone with Riley.

“Olivia! Savannah! That is enough! He’s staring at the scan of his baby. Riley is lying there not waking up. We don’t need this right now. If and when Riley wakes up she can explain to him- if she wants. This is between the both of them, no one else.”

“Sorry Liam.”

Savannah muttered before she ran out of the waiting room grieving for her niece/nephew that she never knew about. She was cross with her brother and his actions. She didn’t want to see Drake- she knew all about his conversation with Riley before she left, and now because he lied about his true feelings- they had all lost a part of their family.

“How can you be like that Liam? You’re still in love with her- but are pushing her back towards the person who left her- the person who broke her heart. And who is may I remind you, now with Miss France.”

“If she wakes up, she will decide what she wants to do Liv- until then, I think we should not discuss her personal matters. But yes, I am in love with her. I always was. Ever since I met her in that bar, I loved her. It was love at first sight. But I also let her go, I also broke her heart. None of this is just Drakes fault. Love makes you do crazy things....”

[kitseis]

THE PURPOSE (SANS AUs X READER) - ACT 1; CHAPTER 3 (Part 1)

When you opened your eyes, you half expected to awaken in a hospital room. But, instead, you found yourself in a musty little cabin space on a creaky old bed.

Just like when you fell asleep.

You blinked in shock. It wasn't a dream? No, that couldn't be.....it must have been, right? There was no way that soreness that you originally felt could have disappeared so quickly, not after being hit by truck. Not only that, but you had been there for hours, and you didn't even feel hungry. It could be possible that, in this realm, the limits of your body could have adapted. Or maybe time didn't work the same way there? You had read many a book where the alternate realms behaved as such, and your system could still be used to your original time. It was logical. You were an intellectual--you thought many of these things at once, causing one huge headache. Wanting to shake it off, you slid out of the bed and ran your fingers through your (h/l) hair, which luckily wasn't too messy. You wandered over to the edge of the floating island, gazing out upon all the others. Looking upon the view, most of them holding the unique doors you had noted earlier, apart from the one you were on and a select few others. For the first time, you also noticed that the center island held on exceptionally large chunk of land, almost resembling a garden full of extraordinary works and devices. You assumed Ink created all of it, considering he had devised this entire world. It really was quite spectacular. For years you had been plagued with anxiety and loneliness, but here you felt a sort of serenity, and for once, you didn't feel completely alone.

"(Y/N)!"

You snapped out of your thoughts and looked down. There, far below you, you saw Ink waving at you. You smiled and waved back. Internally you wondered if they had been discussing your fate, or if they had figured out how you got here, and how to get you out. Despite all the joy you felt there, a part of you still yearned to return to your world. You wanted to redeem yourself, wanted to prove to all of the people who judged you and broke you down that you were worth it. Yet....something didn't feel right about it.

Shaking away these thoughts, you made your way down the bridge to Ink. As soon as you met with him, he said, "Come on." He led you to the huge middle island, a rope ladder to climb up to it. There awaited Dream, kneeling beside a beautiful, clear pond. Multiple of his little vials, filled with small spheres, were lined up before him. When he heard you approaching, he shifted his attention away from his current activity. "Oh!" he exclaimed, "You're awake, (Y/N)!"

You made your way over to him and crouched beside him. "Are these....?" A memory rushed through your mind. It was of the first time you came to this world, when Dream had found you. He had opened up one of these, and everything you had ever seen and experienced in your life had flashed before your eyes.

These vials held your memories.

Something about this made you uncomfortable. Someone--a stranger, at that--holding every single memory you had in the palm of his hand. Beside you, Dream frowned. He could feel the negative aura drifting from you. He wanted to lay a comforting hand on your shoulder, but decided against it. He might just make it worse. Instead, he replied to your question. "Yes. I've had to review them, as to try to determine just what is it that allows you to come here," he explained, "Before, I assumed it was because of your timeline. But I've realized it's just....you."

You shuffled a bit. If this was supposed to be encouraging, it wasn't. You didn't like the fact that he had seen every moment of your life. Dream could tell this, realizing he was digging himself a deeper hole. Nevertheless, he knew he would now have to go on with his cruel theory. "It...it seems that each time you experience a sort of near-death occurrence, you come here. Only, before, it wasn't as severe. This last one may very well have caused enough trauma to keep you here for quite awhile...."

"So, it has something to do with the accidents?" you confirmed. You had figured such, considering the fact that both times this had happened were after you had encountered an immense amount of pain, along with unconsciousness. First, it was the alleyway, and now the truck. And all the time between them, the visions of this world kept returning. And then there was what Dream said about your 'timeline'....did it have something to do with you, maybe? You hated to put importance upon yourself, but you had never heard of anything happening to anyone else, nothing like this at least.

This in mind, you regarded the nearby Ink, then looked back to Dream. With that, you stood up. "I don't mean to be rude," you stated, "But...I think I want some answers about this place. About what you called my timeline, about the AUs I've heard about, about this 'core code' thing...." You took a deep breath. "I don't want to be in the dark anymore." Ink and Dream exchanged glances, then you saw Ink smile softly.

"Okay," he said, "I think you deserve as much. You might want to sit for this, though. We have a lot to talk about."

The three of you sat by the pond, in a small triangle. You held your knees tight to your chest, anticipating the answers to your questions.

"Well," Ink sighed, "To begin, I should probably explain the AUs. AU stands for Alternate Universe, parallel dimensions and such." He spoke with a certain solemnity you had never captured from him before, and it kept you completely drawn in. "There are countless AUs--" Ink motioned around to the doors, "Each of these doors leads to their respective AU. The most well-developed ones are Undertale--the original--Underfell and Underswap."

You tilted your head at these names.

"I'll get to that," said Ink, "These are just names assigned to these universes by the ones who exist outside of them. They create these different AUs."

"Like...God?" you questioned.

He chuckled. "Not quite, but close. All of these AUs exist within this realm that we--Dream, you, myself--live in. I don't entirely understand it, actually, but I assume I'm not meant to. Within these AUs, there are also multiple timelines. That's where we get into your story, I think."

You blinked. All of this was so much, so complicated, but you thought you were getting the gist. At least, you hope so.

Ink continued. "I think the timeline you sprout from is one of the original universe, the one that started it all--Undertale. Specifically, the timeline where the Fallen Child--Frisk--made peace with the monsters and led them to the surface to join with the humans. Am I correct?"

You nodded. "That...sounds right." Dead on, actually, but you were too enveloped in his elucidation to say anything more.

"But...." Ink proceeded, "Something went wrong, it seemed. Somehow, there was a defect in your specific timeline. Something like the possibility of you not belonging there."

His words struck your heart like a lightening bolt. Somehow, though he hadn't meant it in a hurtful sense, it still made you feel a pang of sorrow. You shifted your eyes down, trying not to let on the fact that the idea bothered you.

Ink frowned. What was wrong? He didn't mean it in a cruel way, but obviously it still wounded you. He felt bad, but he knew he had to go on. So, he tried to save it. "Which means you have a specific reason for having been there in the first place." You looked up again, and he internally gave an exhale of relief, and smiled. "We'll have to figure that out later, though. You obviously have something that makes you stand out compared to others, especially in your timeline. Otherwise, you wouldn't be able to get past the core code to access this world." Score. Totally saved it.

"The core code is what protects this place. The way to get into it is....erm....unsettling." Ink laughed nervously. "Which could partially explain the unpleasant way you arrived. It could have supplemented for the actual portal. So, do you think you understand now?"

"I..." You weren't entirely sure, but you assumed this was probably as unclear as it could get. "It's....a lot to take in, but I think I get it." You gave a firm smile and nodded. "Yeah, I think so...still confusing, but I think it'll clear up eventually. But...does that mean that this place is also an AU?" As soon as the words left your mouth, Ink stiffened, his eyes opened wide, as if you had shocked him. You felt a tap on your shoulder.

"That's...a touchy subject," Dream whispered to you. You felt a pang in your heart. Feeling compassion for the odd skeleton, you scooted closer to him and patted his shoulder.

"Sorry...I didn't know," you said bashfully, "You don't have to answer." Ink relaxed a bit, and his normal, casual smile settled back onto his face. He laughed and rubbed his neck.

"Haha, it's alright." He stood up and stretched. "For now, though, let's figure out what to do, before Error finds out....he'll want to...er....dispose of you, if he finds out." Ink chuckled nervously. You gulped. You didn't like the sound of that.

"But, wait, who's Error?" you asked.

"He's the destroyer of AUs," Dream told you, "He sees them as imperfections, as glitches and mistakes in the multiverse. He'll go into the AUs and...." Dream shivered. "He...completely obliterates them from the inside out, and he'll keep the Sanses of those AUs as...puppets."

"Each AU has it's own Sans?" you queried, though it was more of a statement, "I'm guessing both you and Ink are both variants of Sans?" You remembered the Sans from your world. A quirky, pun-loving skeleton with not an ounce of seriousness in him. He was so different from these two that it was hard to believe they were technically the same entity. "That's....weird."

Dream laughed. "Not once you get used to it."

Suddenly, Ink intervened. "Something's off..." You and Dream looked up at him. His face was set in a severe expression. "Speak of the devil..." Ink whispered, and took off.

"What's going on?" you inquired Dream.

Wide-eyed, Dream gazed at you. "Error." He grabbed your hand. "Come on. We have to get somewhere safe." He pulled you along, persuading you down the rope ladder and rushing your way opposite of Ink's direction.

"Will he be okay?" you asked as you ran.

"Ink's dealt with Error plenty of times before," said Dream, "He'll be fine. We just need to--" Dream was cut off my an ear-piercing static, causing both you and him to collapse, clutching your ears. You forced yourself to look in the direction of the noise. There, in the stark whiteness, opened a black hole rimmed with glitched-out colours. Behind all the static, you hear a deep, sinister howl of laughter emanate from the hole. Then, out of it came corrupted black hands, clutching the sides of the portal as the being dragged himself out.

What came from the chasm was unlike anything you had ever seen before. He was made of a malfunctioning black matter. His eyes were a swirl of red, yellow and blue, and he held an insane amber grin. He wore a bright red shirt underneath a heavy black coat with a dark, grim blue fur hood, along with blue-striped charcoal basketball shorts. His legs glitched between red and black, along with his fingertips and face. In fact, all he did was glitch as error messages emitted from him. This must have been Error, there was no doubt about it. Who else could it be, for crissakes?

"H̪͝e͕͑H̩́Ēͅh̫͠Ẽ͎ḧ̜́e̛̹!̩̎ the disturbing creature cackled, "Well, well, look-see what we have here!" His voice was deep and defective, changing from what sounded like radio waves, to high-pitched squeals, to low, demonic rumbles. As he emerged from the void, you could feel the world around you shake. The empty whiteness suddenly whirled into a pit of deep blackness.

You tried to stand, but found that the change had left you weak. Your head pounded and your stomach churned, your bones and muscles aching and throbbing. You clenched your abdomen in pain, hardly able to bare it.

You heard footsteps approach. Clenching your teeth, you gazed upwards. There he stood, grinning down at you maliciously. Cocky bastard, you thought furiously.

He leaned down, his face now inches away from yours. "You're unique," he pondered aloud. He then stood straight up again, snapping his fingers. Within a moment, blue strings burst from his fingers and shot straight towards you. Just as they were about to reach you, and arrow went flying towards Error. You looked the direction the arrow came from and saw Dream standing there, poised with his bow and another arrow ready to go. Error screeched in pain, clutching his side, where the shot had hit.

"Come on, (Y/N)!" Dream's usually soft and kind tone was now solemn and severe. You scrambled to your feet, following after Dream as he darted in the opposite direction. "We have to find Ink," Dream heaved, "Error must have somehow caused a distraction elsewhere as to get to us. Ink is the only one who can contend with Error. We wouldn't stand a chance--"

"(Y/N)! Dream!"

In the distance, you could see Ink rushing towards you. At the same time, you could hear Error's static not far behind you. You picked up pace, but before you could blink Ink darted past you, ginormous paintbrush in hand. You stopped and looked to see him clash with Error, tossing the bugged skeleton fly backwards. Error clenched his teeth, curling his hands into fists. In another instance, the same blue strings as before shot from his fingertips, attempting to wrap Ink, but the paint-covered Sans cut them off easily.

"(Y/N)!" Dream called to you, but you were mesmerized by the fray. When Dream had called your name, Error had somehow blasted Ink backwards. His gaze shifted to you, and he smirked.

"(Y/N), huh?" He chuckled. "W̛̮ó͎u̗̍l̬̽d̥̎n͇͆'̟̚t̔ͅ ͕͊y̡͂ȏ̦u̳̇ ̣̕l͉͋į̽k̰̀e̡̒ ̲͒t̜̉o̜̔ ͙͗b̰͌e̬̔c̖̓o̡͑m̼̈́e̻̍ ͔̅â̬ ͈͐p͓͑ā̭r͍͆ṭ͋ ǒ̜f̲͘ ͕̓m̼̈y̤̅ ̖͝c̡͊ò͇l̪͆l̨̉e̜͝c̥͘t̻̐i̢̊o̓͜n̆͜?͍̂" He lunged for you, but at that moment you felt yourself being dragged away from him. You whipped around to see Ink, who had grabbed your wrist and was now pulling you towards a mysterious looking door, on an island connected to the ground by a bridge similar to the one you had seen Ink build. Dream followed closely behind, firing an arrow every-so-often to keep Error back as best as possible.

"Where are we taking her?" Dream shouted.

[tenscupcake]

the null hypothesis (7/?)

fitzsimmons. teen. ~3k this ch. *sincerest apologies to my readers patiently waiting on ep. this one is far easier to update since it’s finished. bear with me! as soon as work slows down it’s first priority.* but, as per usual, this fic is a freakin' blossom of pure joy in my life and reading through it again takes me to a completely different place. i hope it brings some of that happiness to you guys, as well. <3 summary: roughly one out of every six people can't feel touch; that is, until their soulmate touches them. fitz and jemma are two indignant contributors to that statistic, content to devote their lives to science rather than searching for their supposed 'other half.' both too clever for high school, they head off to university at sixteen, completely unaware their fates are about to become intertwined. but in a world where soulmates don't always match, it's not always easy to confess to a stranger. a soulmate au with a twist. this chapter on ao3 | back to chapter 1 on ao3

By the fourth week, Fitz genuinely can’t imagine his life without Jemma. Which is stupid. He barely even knows her. They’ve yet to spend any time together outside of this lab.

It’s just... everything about her.

How intently she listens. How she never stops talking about physiology and biochemistry but he doesn’t mind listening to it. The constant intellectual challenge she presents – he finds himself studying harder these days merely so he always has a new topic with which to impress her. The way she says his name even when it’s not necessary, almost as though it’s just fun for her to say. And damn it if that recipe she sent him wasn’t the best bloody sandwich he’s ever had.

He hasn’t talked to her since Wednesday, when he texted her saying as much.

That sandwich was delicious, he’d said.

It had taken her a little over an hour to respond. The longest hour of his life.

Glad you enjoyed it! :D

He hasn’t initiated a conversation since, and to his dismay, neither has she.

But this is very new, this tenuous friendship they have. He doesn’t want to push it by getting too clingy.

When he walks into the lab and sees her already there waiting for him at their bench, he does his best to act like he hasn’t been dying to see her all week.

He has no way of knowing, of course, but it seems like she’s as pleased to see him as he is to see her, and the mere thought has his heart soaring.

He has half a mind to drag out today’s experiment by purposely messing up on certain steps. Knocking over a beaker here, adding an incorrect volume there. But he thinks better of it, for two reasons. First, Jemma would probably catch him before he made any time-consuming mistakes and prevent him from committing them. Second, whether or not he was successful in delaying the experiment, she’d probably think he was clumsy or less intelligent as a result. And he absolutely cannot have that. He’d rather have an hour less time with her than disqualify himself from her companionship for making himself out to be denser than he is.

So he goes along with their usual highly efficient pace, dividing up tasks whenever they can, taking turns when they can’t. Both of their methods and quantitation flawless.

Fitz expects the daydreams about her when he’s in another class, or alone back at his dorm, or eating dinner with suitemates that are trying to be nice him.

But today, it’s getting hard not to daydream about her even when he’s with her.

He can’t stop imagining what it’d be like if they were in a proper relationship. How many things that are currently off-limits would be commonplace, even expected. Wrapping her in hug when he sees her, simply because he missed her and he’s ecstatic to hold her in his arms again. Sitting next to each other on his bed in the evenings, watching Doctor Who, putting his arm around her to pull her closer. And more explicitly romantic things, too. Like kissing her.

It’s only recently he’s started ponder that concept. Kissing. He couldn’t bear the thought of it for most of his life: an awkward, messy practice that seemed to have little purpose except to spread germs. But with a bit of time to process his newly functioning neurons (and conclude that he rather likes them), he’s softened to the idea. From what relatively little he knows of anatomy, he’s aware that lips are among the most sensitive spots.

That in itself is intriguing: a touch of hands feels quite nice, now, so how much nicer would a touch of lips feel?

On top of that, there’s the fact that lately his eyes always seem to subconsciously drift to Jemma’s mouth when he’s looking at her. Her lips are pink and enticing in a way he can’t really make sense of. And, a scientist through and through, he can’t help but grow more and more curious why he’s so drawn to them. What everyone else is always fussing about. If they’re as soft and smooth as they look. What they’d feel like pressed against his.

The lab is over too soon, again.

During the ten minutes they spend cleaning up and finishing their recorded observations of the session, Fitz is trying to muster up the courage to ask her to do something with him. He really needs to start showing her he wants to be friends, not just lab partners. Being proper mates is the only way he’ll ever find out what he needs to know, because he’s already spent of ideas contrive another platonic touch within these walls.

He decides to go with asking her to get dinner with him. It’s just a friendly gesture, perfectly innocent. The school’s café is hardly a romantic setting. Loud, bright, crowded.

When Jemma offers him her usual goodbye as she puts her things into her bag, she has a brilliant smile reserved for him as always.

Fitz takes a deep breath. Now’s his last chance.

But, after only a fraction of a second being on the receiving end of that smile, he’s suddenly gripped with terror that it could likely disappear as soon as he’s asked. Turn into a cringe, a frown, or something else unpleasant as she tries to think of a way to let him down easy.

His question dies right on the tip of his tongue.

Instead, he says the same thing he always does when she inevitably says goodbye to him.

“See you.”

What he doesn’t expect, as Jemma walks past him for the door, is the light touch of her hand on his exposed forearm.

Fitz nearly has a bloody heart attack.

As soon as she’s cleared the doorway, the goggles and pen in his hand clatter to the floor as he hurries to investigate the newly sentient spot on his left arm. Tracing the shape of Jemma’s hand, testing the sensitivity of the area with the tip of his finger.  

Having skipped lunch, he’d been planning all day to get some food straight after this lab, but dinner in a crowded cafeteria is just about out of the question now. He rushes straight back to his dorm, instead, his hand hardly leaving his arm. It’s embarrassing, that even the fourth time this has happened, it still affects him so strongly. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders how he would be able to stay conscious – survive, even – if this were happening across wider areas. The tiny patches she gets in any one instance are just about enough to reduce him to hysterics. As long as Jemma is around, he can hold himself together all right, but once he’s alone again, it always catches up with him. The calm façade crumbles, and fast.

As he’s rushing down the fourth-floor hall to his room, he passes by the RA’s door, and can’t help but notice it’s open.

Phil is in there, seated at his desk, his attention fixed on his computer. He’s got his glasses on, which means he’s in study mode. Fitz knows he has his qualifying exam coming up (he’s a doctoral student in history), and would hate to disturb him. He glances at the posted advising hours for the week posted on the whiteboard. Then checks his phone. Yep, right in the middle of them.

Phil had been nicer than anyone else on the floor the day Fitz moved in. Had said repeatedly that he could come to him with anything, school-related or not. Always has a smile and friendly greeting for Fitz when he sees him. Makes the occasional stop by his room to make sure he’s settling in okay, ask about his coursework.

Fitz looks down at his arm. Feels his heart thudding against his chest. This soulmate business is becoming a real problem. It’s properly taking over his life. And Phil seems like a good person to talk to. Friendly, and an order of magnitude more mature and professional than the undergraduates filling out the dormitory.

It couldn’t hurt to try.

Fitz knocks lightly on the open door. Phil turns around immediately.

“Hey, Leo,” he greets him with a smile.

Odd. The only person he’s spoken to in person with any frequency the last few weeks is Jemma, and she exclusively calls him Fitz. It sounds almost strange to hear ‘Leo’ spoken aloud now.

“Erm, you can call me... Fitz,” he says, tenuously.

“You got it,” Phil nods. “So, Fitz, what can I do for you?”

“I actually just wanted to ask you something, if I could.”

“I’m all ears.” He swipes off his reading glasses and tucks them into the pocket of his shirt. “Why don’t you sit down?” he gestures to the plush couch next to his desk.

Fitz hurries over to it and sits on the end closest to the desk, dropping his bag on the floor at his feet.

“I have a... problem.”

“Mhm,” Phil nods, as though that much was obvious by Fitz walking in here at all. “What kind of problem?”

“It’s...” Fitz breaks away from Phil’s overly concerned gaze. It’s obvious that he cares, whatever the problem is, and is eager to help. Fitz doesn’t want to disappoint him with a problem as trivial and common and romance. “A girl,” he confesses with a grimace.

“Someone you like?” he asks.

“To say the least.”

“Tell me about her,” he prods.

Fitz takes a deep breath, bouncing his fingertips together. “I think she’s... my soulmate.”

“You think?” Phil asks, a smile on his face like Fitz is making a joke.

“Right, okay, she is,” Fitz admits.

“Did you meet her here?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you like her?”

“Yes, I do,” Fitz rushes out, feeling the need to come to her defence. Phil had asked as though disliking her were even an option. “She’s... incredible.”

“So, what’s the problem?” Phil asks, genuinely looking confused.

“The problem is, I don’t know if I’m hers.”

Phil gapes at him for a long second before asking incredulously, “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I mean, I don’t,” he snaps without intending to. “I haven’t told her. We haven’t talked about it.”

“How’s that even possible?” The way he asks, it’s almost a statement that he doesn’t intend Fitz to answer.

Fitz sighs. He’ll have to start at the beginning, then. 

He walks Phil through a (very) abridged version of the whole story – from being bullied in high school to that life-changing handshake and its lonely aftermath.

“Fitz, I completely understand you being nervous to come clean,” Phil says, once he’s had a few moments to process. “But you have to find out if your hers, too.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I know.” That much, he’d figured out on his own. “But how?”

Phil doesn’t answer his question, but his face scrunches up in thought, and he stares at Fitz as though the answers are written on his face somewhere.

“Has she tried to touch you at all since then?” he asks.

“Well.” Fitz thinks back to the last few weeks. “Yeah.”

He tells Phil about the pen, and the tie incident, and her touching his arm earlier.

“I honestly can’t believe you were able to keep that quiet.”

Fitz throws himself back against the couch, exasperated. “Is that all you got out of that?” he throws his hands up dramatically.

“I just... I can’t imagine! When I found mine, I freaked out.”

“You’ve,” Fitz interrupts him shakily, surprised. “You’ve got one, too?”

“Mhm.” Phil nods, and Fitz leans over on his knees again, more rapt than before. “And I’m serious, I don’t think I could’ve contained myself if my life depended on it.”

Fitz is silent for a few breaths. Trying to make sense of it. He’s never been able to talk candidly about this soulmate stuff with anyone who’s actually experienced it. His parents hadn’t, and of course, all his friends were in the same boat with him, yet to find the soulmates they’d never asked for.

“Who is she?” Fitz asks.

“Her name’s Melinda. She’s an undergraduate in another department here.”

“So... are you... I mean.” Fitz works his hands around each other in a vague spherical motion, though he has no idea why. “You’re together?”

“We are.” Phil nods.

“And you’re... happy?”

“Well, life has its ups and downs but, yeah. I’d like to think so.”

Wow. Fitz sits back again, letting that wash over him. The concept is almost impossible for him to comprehend.

“Also, I don’t want to get your hopes up,” Phil continues, “but, it sounds to me like there’s a real chance Jemma is experiencing the same thing you are. Just, for whatever reason, she’s equally shy to admit it.”

Fitz’s panic level shoots up. His eyes widen, and he covers his face in his hands and takes a few deep breaths. But it doesn’t help much.

Hearing Phil’s story, the possibility of success here seems to much closer to his grasp. He’s starting to believe Jemma might actually be his match after all.

It’s dangerous. It’ll only crush him worse if he’s wrong.

“You okay?” Phil asks, when Fitz is silent for too long.

“Yeah, just... how do I tell her?”

It’s becoming too real, the thought of confessing. He’s able to keep calm about it most of the time (at least apart from moments when she touches him someplace new), because actually telling her has been out of the question. But now Phil is here and saying these things and encouraging him and applying this pressure and... before he knows it he’s basically hyperventilating, trying to blink moisture out of his eyes.

“Fitz, it’s going to be okay.” Phil stands and puts a hand on his shoulder, rubbing his thumb there a few times. Fitz can’t feel it, not really, as it’s not a place Jemma has blessed him with her touch, but he nonetheless appreciates the sentiment.

Fitz nods, trying to believe that.

“What was your plan, before you came to me?” Phil asks.

“I didn’t really have one, I suppose,” he admits. “I thought I’d just... be her friend. Eventually it’d come out, somehow.”

Phil sits on the couch next to him. “That’s not a bad plan,” he says, and he sounds sincere. “I’d support you if you wanted to do that.” There’s a pause where it seems like Phil is trying to decide how best to phrase his imminent qualifier. “But I do think it might be better to get it out in the open. You’ll either be pleasantly surprised,” he changes his tone for the latter half of the sentence, “or you’ll get to move on. It won’t consume you anymore.”

“You’re right.” Fitz nods, but all the anxiety slams into him even harder. He buckles over at the waist, holding his head in his hands because it’s suddenly too heavy to support. “Oh, God.”

“You can do this, Fitz. I have every confidence in you.”

“Just... how?” he over-emphasizes the second word.

“Well, it shouldn’t be someplace as public as the lab. Maybe invite her to study, to lunch, casual, nothing serious. Not a date. That way you’ll have some measure of privacy, and an easy out you wouldn’t have otherwise.”

“She does talk about studying a lot,” he recalls out loud.

“There you go,” Phil encourages.

“Thank you, Phil,” Fitz says, turning to him. “Really.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says, patting him on the back.

“You can’t even feel this, can you?” Phil says suddenly, realizing he’s made the wrong sort of gesture.

“Not exactly, no,” Fitz admits with a chuckle.

“Where all has she gotten you so far?”

He runs Phil through the list. Inside of his right hand, some of his left, the spot on his arm, the couple patches on his neck.

“Oh, and a little spot on my nose, here,” he adds, touching the tip of his nose with his finger.

Phil smiles, shaking his head. “It’s a brave new world.”

“What about you?” Fitz asks after a moment.

Phil suddenly looks nervous for the first time since this conversation began.

“Well,” he tilts his head, failing to hide a guilty grimace.

“What, everywhere?” Fitz asks, eyes bulging wide.

“Well, don’t act so scandalized,” Phil defends himself. “We’re both adults. And we’ve been together five years now.”

Fitz takes a deep breath and exhales it slowly, resting his chin on his hand. He can hardly imagine such a thing; it’s overwhelming for him to get one new square inch of sensation on his arm.

He knows it’s still a big if that he is Jemma’s soulmate at all. But somehow, hearing that things have gone so well for Phil, that he started exactly where Fitz is now and has come so far, is reassuring.

“I’ve got to find out,” he says suddenly, with more conviction than he ever has.

Like I said,” Phil says, smiling again.

His smile is somehow reassuring, in itself. Fitz really should come to him for advice more often.

[hysterialevi]

In the Smoke pt. 2 (Cobblebats)

From Bruce’s POV

Entering the parlor, Oz and I stepped into the warm, quiet room and shut the door behind us as we approached my mother, who happened to be talking alone with another guest. She looked slightly troubled and her brows were furrowed in concern, almost to the point where her expression was angry. It kind of worried me, and the comradely atmosphere from the party outside started to disappear. Though, when I checked to see who was keeping her company, I understood why.

Sitting across from my mother was the one and only Mayor Hamilton Hill, snobby and serious as always with his nose high in the air. I guessed my father finally found him, just like he said he would. But I didn’t recall hearing anyone announce his arrival, and he definitely didn’t come to greet me. I would’ve remembered. Maybe he just slipped in at some point, away from the crowds, and didn’t want to draw attention to himself. Despite our many differences, that was one thing we had in common, and that I could understand.

“Mom?” I called out, causing them to stop their conversation. Before answering me, she leaned forward and whispered something to Hill under her breath.

“...we’ll discuss this later.” She didn’t give him a chance to refuse.

Hill didn’t seem too happy with that and grimaced at her, but complied regardless. “...of course, Martha.” 

His intense glare moved over to me. I suddenly felt my body stiffen up.

“Ah,” Hill said with a fake smile as he stood up, “and there’s the birthday boy. I trust you’re having fun tonight, Bruce?”

I quickly exchanged looks with Oz, who had practically flattened himself against my side out of nervousness, and I found myself suddenly feeling the urge to leave the parlor as quickly as possible.

“...yes, Uncle Hamilton.” I replied in a monotonous tone.

“That’s good to hear.” Hill turned to Oz, a disapproving look coming to his face. “And look who else is here...Oswald. Cobblepot.” He said his last name in a degrading way. “...I wasn’t expecting to see you this evening...but, then again, I suppose the two of you are very close, yes? ...Almost like brothers.”

“That’s right.” Oz responded with a certain sharpness, almost like he was telling Hill to back off, and he picked up on it straight away. Hill brought his attention back to me.

“Well, I’m glad you stopped by, Bruce. I’ve been meaning to personally give you your present.” 

Reaching over to the coffee table, Hill picked up a smaller, light box that had been wrapped in bland, boring paper, and pretty much shoved it into my grasp. It was clear he couldn’t care less about my birthday.

“It’s nothing extraordinary, but I think a young man like yourself will enjoy it.”

I saw my mother giving me a “look.” I smiled as best as I could. “Erm, thank you. I appreciate that you came tonight.”

Completely ignoring my thanks, Hill straightened his tie and stuffed his hands into his pockets, heading for the parlor’s door. “Well, I should get going. I know your mother’s been wanting to speak with you, and I’m afraid that--as fun as this has been--I have other things to attend to. We’ll speak again some other time. Until then, enjoy the rest of your party.”

Pushing his way past us, Hill hurried out of the room and and possibly even out of the manor, the rest of us subconsciously letting out a breath of relief that we didn’t even know we were holding. 

“Arrogant old, prune.” I heard my mother mutter once he was gone. Well, she wasn’t wrong. 

“Are you okay, mom?” I stepped next to her. She rubbed my shoulder in a comforting manner. 

“I’m all right, son. But thank you for asking. Are you boys having fun so far?”

Oz put his hands on his hips. “Well, we were until the discount Alfred Hitchcock showed up.”

Martha chuckled at that. “They’re both certainly suspenseful.” 

She rose from her chair. “Listen, Bruce, I know that this party is full of people that you probably don’t even know that well, and I understand you don’t enjoy being in large crowds. So, I was wondering if you’d like to do something a little less flashy after the party. Something a bit more cozy.”

“This party’s perfectly fine the way it is, but what did you have in mind?”

“I was planning to take you boys to see that superhero movie you’ve been wanting to watch for so long.”

Oz’s eyes widened. “But they’re not even showing it yet, are they?”

Martha dug into her purse and pulled out three movie tickets. “For us, they are.”

“Aw,” Oz frowned, “normally I’d go in a heartbeat, but my dad wants us home early tonight. Have to leave early tomorrow for some conference out of town, and all that. I’m sorry, Bruce.”

“It’s okay, Oz,” I reassured. “We could go see it together sometime when it’s actually out. Besides, you’re here now. That’s what matters.” I turned to my mother.

“Thanks, mom. I’d love to go see it.” She smiled. 

“Well, all right, then. It’ll just be you and I. Some mother-son time.”

“Wait, what about Dad?”

She hesitated for a moment before replying. “Your dad’s...busy. He has lot of work to complete. He wouldn’t be able to make it.”

I knew that wasn’t the truth, and that something else was going on, but I didn’t push the subject any further. My mother would tell me when she was ready.

“Oh, okay.” I said, a little disappointed. “I understand.”

“Good boy.” She bent down and placed a kiss on my forehead. “Just survive for a couple more hours, and we’ll be out of here before you know it. Until then, you two stay safe and have fun, all right?”

“Yes, mom.”

She lightly tapped my back, guiding me towards the door as we stepped outside, the sound of busy chatter and laughter welcoming us. 

“Now, run along and enjoy the rest of the party,” Martha said. “There’s still plenty for you to do. We’ll open the presents later. I’ll see you soon, Bruce.”

And with that said, Oz and I wasted no time in jumping back into the friendly chaos of the event, resuming our previous activities as we set up even more “traps” around the manor, grabbing snacks along the way and horsing around like there was no tomorrow. I had to admit, I felt a little bad for disrupting the other guests with our pranks, but the more time I spent with Oz, the more I began to love the adventure he always brought with him, and we spent the rest of the night having the time of our lives in our own little, childish worlds that would never truly leave us.

LATER THAT NIGHT

CRIME ALLEY

After the party ended, and I finished saying goodbye to the guests--including a particularly long goodbye to Oz--my mother took me to the movies just like she said she would, and even though Dad wasn’t there, we still managed to have quite a lot of fun. The movie was everything I had expected, plus more, and neither my mother nor I could stop talking about it even after we left the theater. It was one of the few, rare occasions that I got to spend time with my parents, and it felt like all our other worries had vanished entirely.

Strolling down an empty street, the two of us walked hand-in-hand, satisfied but exhausted, and began making our way back home. There was a light shower of rain tonight, and the air was cold enough to turn our breath into mist. Normally, I wasn’t the biggest fan of the cold, but after enduring the stuffiness of the party, the crisp temperature was a welcoming change.

Unfortunately, the peaceful atmosphere quickly disappeared when the subtle but frightening sound of someone cocking a gun broke the silence. My mother immediately came to a halt and thoroughly searched the area around us as she pushed me behind her, when we both heard footsteps approaching us.

Not too far away from us, I spotted a rough man dressed in dark, thick clothes with a hat covering his head, and his weapon was aimed at my mother.

"Mom?” I whispered.

“Stay calm, Bruce,” she said in a firm but soothing tone. “Don’t let your fear take control. Just keep your head clear.”

The man got closer. I could feel my heart hammering, and a flash of anxiety surged throughout me.

“Martha Wayne,” the man said with a chuckle. “I thought I’d find you here.”

Martha extended a protective arm in front of me. “Now, what is it that you want? Money? I’ll give it to you. Just please, don’t hurt anyone.”

He scoffed. “I’m afraid you’ve got it all wrong, sweetheart. This ain’t a common mugging.”

Martha took a better look at the man. “....Joe Chill...? Why are you--oh, no.” She shook her head. “No. This is wrong. Tell Hill he’s making a mistake.”

Joe shrugged. “Sorry, but business is business.”

I violently flinched at the gunshot that suddenly fired from the gun and let out a sharp gasp, drops of red liquid splattering all over me. I looked upwards.

My mother simply stood there, staring blankly in the distance with her mouth hanging open as her body started to slightly sway, her grip on my shoulder loosening. 

“...m-mom?” I whimpered.

After a second of deathly silence, she finally collapsed to the concrete ground in front of me, her eyes rolling into the back of her head as her breath gradually weakened and a puddle of blood began expanding underneath her head.

“Mom!” I repeated desperately.

Frozen in place and unable to move, I watched in paralyzing horror as the murderer rushed over and tore off her pearl necklace, afterwards slipping her wallet out of her purse. 

And just when I thought the nightmare was over, the barrel of a gun wandered into my line of sight, pointing directly at my forehead. I could feel myself trembling. He was...he was actually going to...

I shut my eyes and prepared myself for what was about to come, tears streaming down my cheeks when, like music to my ears, the sound of police sirens began to wail in the distance. The murderer took one last look at me before gathering the things he had stolen and running off into the night, leaving me alone with my mother’s body. Without even meaning to, I fell to my knees in defeat and put a hand over hers. I started sobbing.

“MOM!”

[littlereyofsunlight]

thaw depth

Written for Steggy Positivity Week, Day 1: Agent Carter Timeline

Idiotville, population: Steve Rogers

Steve didn’t like airplanes so much these days.

It probably had something to do with how he’d crash-landed one in a frozen wasteland once. So he wasn’t very keen on working through the fear.

He’d still been asleep when he’d been flown back to New York from Greenland, so that had been fine. When summer had taken a turn into fall and Steve shivered just thinking about the winters he’d passed when he was younger, he’d jumped at the room and board Howard had offered him in Los Angeles. Steve borrowed one of his cars and drove cross-country rather than board Stark’s private plane. He’d been out west a few months now, and he was pretty sure he hated it. But winter wasn’t over yet.

Now here he was, on an airfield. He wasn’t even there to fly, but his palms were still sweating and he’d been having a hard time swallowing past the lump in his throat. Worst of all, Edwin kept clucking over him like some deranged mother hen.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather wait at home, sir?” he asked, giving Steve yet another worried once-over.

“I’m fine,” he said again through grit teeth. I’ve been through worse than this, he thought. Then again, Jarvis had been there to see part of the aftermath of that, so Steve felt he couldn’t blame him for his concern. Even if it was driving him nuts.

A small plane taxied up and men rushed over with the staircase, ready for the passengers to disembark. Steve straightened his spine and shoved his hands in his pockets, determined not to show the thoughts suddenly racing through his head. He focused on the propeller as it spun on the nose of the plane, pushing down the nausea that came rushing up with the memory of another prop whirling just under his feet, miles up in the air.

And then she was there in front of him, and the rest fell away.

Steve had yet to get over seeing her in civilian clothes. She always dressed impeccably, in a way that flattered her figure in the most distracting–but plausibly deniable–ways. Today, despite the transcontinental flight, was no different. If it was possible, the lump in his throat grew even bigger. It had been months since he’d seen her and Steve found her effect on him had not lessened with time apart.

“Mr. Jarvis, thank you for fetching me.” Peggy gave a warm smile as Stark’s butler reached for her bag. “Hello, Captain Rogers.” Her tone was decidedly cooler as she breezed past Steve. Perhaps the same could not be said for his effect on Peggy.

“Agent Carter,” he said, trying to sound only mildly pleasant as he opened her car door. His voice shook, though, so the effect was ruined. He snuck a quick peek up at her face, but she was inscrutable behind her sunglasses. He tried to think of something else to say, but his thoughts were drowned out by the roar of an engine as a plane taxied by. Steve flinched and quickly climbed into the back seat, slouching down against the leather upholstery.

Peggy sat straight-backed in the front passenger seat, waiting patiently for Jarvis to load her bag into the trunk and settle into the car.

“How is Mrs. Jarvis these days, Mr. Jarvis?” she asked as he started up the engine and began to reverse out of their parking spot. Another plane went by and Steve closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deep.

“She’s very well indeed, Miss Carter, thank you for asking. She’s expecting you for dinner this evening.”

Steve could see Peggy freeze. She started to turn toward him, ever so slightly, but stopped herself. “Oh! Well, that is very kind of you, of course, Mr. Jarvis. But I might—that is—I’m afraid I must check in with Chief Sousa straight away. He’s expecting me at the office, and I can’t say how long i’ll be at work.” Right. Sousa. The guy Jarvis had said Peggy’d been sweet on back in New York. That’s why she was here, to see him. To help him with a case, Steve corrected himself.

Now they were on the highway, headed away from the airstrip. Steve unclenched his hands and tried to arrange his features in a bland expression when he saw Peggy glance at him in the rearview mirror. She’d taken off her sunglasses and her dark eyes were fathomless. There was nothing cold in her gaze, though; no reflection of the tone she’d taken with him earlier. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as he first thought.

Jarvis glanced up in the mirror at Steve, as well. “Of course, Miss Carter. I would be happy to drop you there, if you have the address.” He and Peggy passed the rest of the ride in pleasant conversation, while Steve mostly pretended not to be listening from the back. They didn’t discuss Peggy’s work with the SSR any further.

Steve realized he’d really, really missed her voice. He wished she’d say his name.

 Mr. Jarvis was still a bit tender from the punch he took earlier in the evening, so Mrs. Jarvis sent Steve to fetch Peggy from the Auerbach Agency late that night. He’d heard all about the excitement while Ana pressed a raw steak to Edwin’s jaw. Steve could read between the lines well enough to know that Peggy and Sousa had stumbled onto something far larger than a strange murder.

As he waited in the car, he noticed a young woman standing across the street. She seemed to be waiting, too. Steve watched as she looked at her watch and then up at the windows on the third floor, the ones with the blinds drawn but the lights on behind them. He could just make out the shadows of two people up there. Steve drummed his fingers on the wheel and continued to watch the woman out of the corner of his eye. She didn’t seem like a threat, but that didn’t mean anything.

A dark-haired man with a crutch crossed the street in front of the car and headed straight for her. Steve had never met the man, but he’d listened to enough of Jarvis and Howard’s stories to know that he was Daniel Sousa. Steve saw him lean down and give the blonde woman a quick kiss and a smile, and they left together. Steve’s heart skipped a beat. Sousa had a girl. Who wasn’t Peggy.

To hear Jarvis tell it, the only thing that had kept Peggy and Daniel apart in New York was the job. She wouldn’t open herself up to the criticism and ridicule of dating a colleague. But then Sousa had taken the chief job out west, and Peggy had realized too late her feelings for him were as strong as they were. Jarvis had told him that was right around the time Howard had located the Valkyrie, and Steve on it. Peggy had apparently welcomed the distraction, though by the time Steve was recovered enough to even contemplate making up that dance he owed her, he barely ever saw her. And certainly not alone. Besides, by then Edwin had told Steve all about her new life. She’d moved on.

There was a movement in the window. Steve could just make her out, up there in the shadows. Peggy had seen the kiss. What he wouldn’t give to know what she was thinking in that moment. Had she known before now? Or had she come to L.A. hoping for something?

In the window above, the light went out.

She hesitated when she saw who was behind the wheel. Steve sighed. Not that it should matter to him. He and Peggy were hardly even friends, anymore. He wasn’t sure how it had happened. Maybe they were just good at working together, but didn’t have a connection beyond that. He’d gone over their time together during the war so many times on his trip out here. It was clear he’d allowed himself, in the rush and drama of wartime, to read more into their interactions than was actually there. She’d kissed him, yes, but he’d been about to fling himself into the jaws of death. He had died. She never expected him to come back.

Whatever they’d had then, she clearly wasn’t interested in rekindling it now.  

He started up the engine as she climbed into the passenger seat. “Thank you for driving. I’m sorry to make you come out so late.”

Steve focused his eyes on the road. “Not a problem. I don’t sleep too much, anyways.”

“You’re still having nightmares, then?” She gave him a sharp-eyed look.

He blanched. “You know about those?”

“I’ve never met a soldier returning from war who didn’t have them, at least at first. Just because the war has been over two years now doesn’t mean you would be immune.” Peggy checked her vibrantly painted nails. “In my personal experience, the first year back is the worst. It should get better soon.”

This was too much information, but not quite enough. The question bubbled up from his throat before he could stop himself, words running together as he fumbled not to sound too accusatory. “Who did you, I mean were you—uh, how did—”

“Me, Steve. I’m speaking of my own nightmares.”

The relief that flooded through him didn’t last as he took in her exasperated tone. It was their first conversation since he’d decided to leave New York and he was making such a mess of it. The first time she’d said his name since she arrived, and it was while she was mad at him. Didn’t that just figure.

It was late enough that traffic back to Stark’s home was minimal. Steve and Peggy didn’t speak until he’d turned into the drive. He’d been chewing over his latest mistake, trying to figure out the right thing to say to turn things around, but it had evaded him. Still, he had to try. Even if he couldn’t be eloquent about it.

“I’m sorry.”

She’d already reached for the handle to leave, but stopped at his admission. “Are you?”

He summoned his courage and looked her in the eye. “Yes.” 

She held his gaze for what felt like forever. “All right.” She got out of the car.

His shoulders sagged. It wasn’t much, but at least she hadn’t shot at him. He made to follow her, but something on her seat caught his eye. She’d dropped a business card for a Dr. Wilkes, physicist at Isodyne Energy. And Dr. Wilkes had dropped what looked like his personal number on the back. Steve’s stomach sank.

“You forgot something, Agent Carter.”

“Hmm?” She turned back to him and he handed over the card. She quickly looked down at it and back up at him a few times. “Oh. Erm, yes, thank you.”

Steve headed for the door.

“He’s a witness, Steve. He knew the victim.”

“Okay,” he said over his shoulder. Why she felt the need to tell him that, he didn’t know. “Looks like he might be interested in knowing you, too. You sure do work fast.” His cheeks burned. He knew he shouldn’t let himself get worked up. Who she saw was none of his business. Though it rankled that she’d leapt right from one workplace entanglement to at least considering another. Or else why hadn’t she left the guy’s card at the office?

“Steve Rogers.” Peggy’s voice rang out imperiously. On impulse, Steve ducked. “I won’t have you speaking to me that way.”

He gulped and turned to face her. Peggy’s eyes blazed but her tone was ice cold.

“Don’t you dare insult my professionalism, Rogers. You know what I went through in the service, and you can’t imagine the hell it’s been since coming back. I would have hoped that you, of all people, would have a modicum of understanding and compassion for the position I’m in.” She took a breath and the shift of the detailed neckline of her red dress drew Steve’s focus to the way her chest heaved. He at least had the decency to feel chagrined when he realized just where he was looking. Peggy continued, “You convinced me once that you weren’t like all the rest, but I seem to have been mistaken. I thought, even if you didn’t want me anymore, you would at least treat me with decency and respect, but–”

“What?” Now his full attention was on her words. “Peggy, I don’t what?” He took a cautious, hopeful step back towards her.

His interrogative brought her up short. She cast about for a moment, looking as unsettled as he’d ever seen him. Then she took another breath and he could see her gather her dignity about herself once more. “It’s all right, Steve. We made no promises to each other, not really. I’m not holding you to account for anything that went unsaid between us. It was a different time.”

“Peggy,” he found his voice was suddenly hoarse, “I have always wanted to be with you. I never stopped.”

She shook her head. “But you never said–after you were back, you didn’t say anything.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair. If he’d thought he’d made a mess earlier… “Well, I was in a plane crash, and then I was a block of ice for a while. And then I woke up and the whole world had moved on.” He gave her a small, rueful smile. “Jarvis told me you’d moved on. I guess I was too scared to ask you if it was true.”

Peggy rolled her eyes, but took a step towards him. “I kept waiting for you to ask after the dance I’d been saving for you.”

“We were never alone. And you had so much work on your plate.” He took another step of his own.

“Yes, well, I was after a very dangerous fugitive!” Her words had none of their former bite, and she looked up into his face with a soft, open expression he never thought he’d see from her again. “I thought we could simply continue on as before, when you had your mission and I had mine. But then you left.”

“I’m sorry.” He reached out a hand, and she took it. “I couldn’t face the cold.” He reeled her in. “Not without you.”

Peggy twined her arms around his neck. “You idiot,” she said, tears in her eyes, “you wouldn’t have had to if you’d just said something.”

Steve smiled down at her. “Okay. In that case, Agent Carter, may I have this dance?” 

“Sod the dance,” Peggy surged onto her toes and kissed him, hard.

read on AO3

[ravenclawwriting]

intertwined

Hermione Granger x Pansy Parkinson Warnings:  HP spoilers

Pansy Parkinson felt lonely. And she never thought she actually would be.

~~~~~

After the war, there was a small percentage of students returning to Hogwarts to finish their schooling. Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy, and The Golden Trio were some of them.

It was mid-September when Pansy realized Draco wanted absolutely nothing to do with her. She had tried, for days, weeks. Poured her effort into a friendship that had developed into being tragically one-sided. A relationship that was probably damned from the start.

And when Draco began dating Harry Potter, it was if Pansy has never even existed to him at all.

That’s when the loneliness began to settle in her chest - like a helpless man trapped in quicksand.

~~~~~

By the end of September, the staff at Hogwarts decided that because of the underwhelming number of students attending school this year, all four houses would be bunking together, additionally to provide a sense of closeness and house unity.

Pansy considered it a bad omen when she was placed in a dorm with Hermione Granger - and only Hermione Granger. 

The two girls completely ignored each other for five days.

~~~~~

The thing that had finally caused a conversation between Pansy and Hermione had been, interestingly enough, literature.

Pansy had been sprawled across her bed, laying on her stomach, quill scratching against parchment for a Transfiguration essay with an approaching deadline.

“The Great Gatsby?” Hermione suddenly blurted out from her side of the dormitory, causing Pansy’s head to snap up, her short hair brushing alongside her neck.

“What?” she said, peering at the bushy-haired girl across the room.

“You’ve read The Great Gatsby?” Hermione reiterated, bobbing her head toward the old paperback resting on Pansy’s bedside table.

“Oh,” Pansy said, glancing at the book before turning back to Hermione. “Yeah. I think it’s the best book ever written - that I’ve yet to read.”

“Really?” Pansy found Hermione’s surprise a bit amusing. The dark-skinned Gryffindor pushed herself up on her own bed and folded her legs underneath herself. “I wouldn’t say it’s the best, but easily in my top fifteen.”

Pansy couldn’t stop the smile from creeping onto her lips. “Top fifteen? You’re insane, Granger.” She sat up and pushed her essay aside.

“I’m not insane, I just like books,” Hermione said, pushing a strand of brown hair out of her face. “And apparently you do too.”

Then they talked about books, amongst other things, into the night.

That’s how the two formerly opposing roommates became an unlikely pair of friends.

~~~~~

Pansy eventually opened up to Hermione about all her regrets. How she felt it wasn’t fair - it wasn’t fair that Draco had seemed to be completely forgiven by almost everyone - and she had received the short end of the stick.

It had always been hard for Pansy to communicate her true thoughts and feelings - but Hermione had managed to draw it all out of her.

And Pansy was trying to convince herself that she wasn’t developing feelings for her.

But it was so damn hard - Pansy was enthralled by so many aspects of Hermione Granger. 

The way she would gently bite her lip as she diligently completed her homework. The way her bushy hair would bounce as she walked across the room. Her utter fascination with books, and her constant push for Pansy to read all of her favorites. The way she would pour her heart into things she felt passionate about.

The way she had forgiven Pansy for who she used to be.

~~~~~

Pansy decided to do it one cold winter afternoon.

She was going to kiss her.

She didn’t know how; she didn’t know when. But she wanted, no, needed to do it.

And it was rushed and sloppy, the way that it happened.

Hermione was slightly bent over Pansy’s sharp shoulder as she explained a potion they had to make for class. Pansy’s pale fingers clutched the duvet of her bed as she watched Hermione’s lips move, bend, curve, press -

She leaned over suddenly and kissed Hermione hard on the mouth.

And she felt the other girl’s surprise, and worried for a moment that she had made a huge mistake. Ready to apologize, Pansy started to pull away -

But Hermione grabbed both sides of her face and kissed her back, even harder. Pansy grinned against Hermione’s silky lips.

After all, Slytherins have always had a knack for getting what they want.

~~~~~

After speaking to Hermione in depth about it all over several weeks, Pansy was finally convinced to do the thing she had been itching to do every since they all returned to Hogwarts.

It was a Wednesday, and Pansy had approached Draco and Harry at their spot in the Great Hall, an encouraging Hermione watching from not too far away.

“Hey,” she said hesitantly, glancing between the two boys. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Draco blinked at her, and then cleared his throat and abruptly stood up. “Yeah, sure. I -”

“Sorry, not you,” Pansy blurted, not actually meaning to sound so rude. “I meant Harry.”

Harry looked surprised as he stared at her, but nevertheless obliged right away. “Alright,” he said, placing his left hand on Draco’s shoulder as he stood up. The blonde boy sat down slowly, all whilst looking at Pansy as if she had sprouted an extra head.

Harry followed Pansy around the corner and out of the Great Hall, and she could feel Draco’s eyes digging into her back like sharpened daggers.

“What’s up, Parkinson?” Harry asked, crossing his arms over his chest and peering at her with his emerald green eyes.

“I just wanted to say-” she began, before realizing how difficult it was to actually say the words. “Erm, I, um...”

Harry Potter grinned at her, and she couldn’t help but envy his easiness around everyone, even her. His smile did seem to put her a bit more at ease - maybe it was contagious.

Pansy pressed her lips together and returned the grin. “I wanted to apologize. For everything I did, how I acted before the war. I just feel horrible about who I was. And, um-”

She began to get flustered, so naturally her fingers brushed through her thick hair. She just had the words a moment ago, but they had managed to fall into some abyss, unreachable.

Harry sensed it. “It’s okay, Pansy.” That stupid, effortless grin was still strewn across his face, but this time Pansy could tell it was wider.

“But it’s not,” she said. “I almost turned you over to...”

She couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Really, it’s fine,” Harry reiterated, uncrossing his arms. “I forgive you.”

She had never heard those words before. They echoed in her ears for a moment, and she felt like a weight had lifted off of her shoulders. Her slightly chapped lips cracked into a smile as she replied, “Thank you. That means a lot.”

“Of course,” Harry said. “And, if it means anything, I’m really glad you’re with Hermione.”

Pansy’s grin grew for miles.

~~~~~

They were intertwined.

Figuratively, and, quite literally, as Hermione’s head rested comfortably on Pansy’s chest, their ankle bones clashing as their feet twisted together underneath the cotton sheets of Pansy’s bed. A low-hummed song was pouring from Hermione’s lips, and Pansy was inhaling the sweet scent of her hair.

Pansy’s fingers trailed lightly up and down Hermione’s arm, and she could feel the goosebumps protruding from her skin.

Even Pansy wasn’t expecting the words to fall off her lips.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

A stifling silence filled the room then, as Hermione abruptly stopped humming. Pansy’s fingers lingered over one section of Hermione’s arm as she realized what she just said out loud.

“Really?” Hermione whispered, barely audible.

Pansy swallowed. “Yeah. I, uh, I didn’t mean to say it right then and there, but... I meant it.”

Hermione turned her head to look at her then, and Pansy’s chest filled with relief as she saw the enormous smile on her love’s face.

“You’re a dork,” Hermione said, smile not fading in the slightest.

Pansy knew that was just as good as I love you too.

[apathetic-revenant]

chapter one, part 5

A HEIST UNDERWAY

In Which Rare and Daring Deeds Are Attempted and Absolutely None of Them Go According To Plan

fortuitous mistakes are made, librarians are strangely oblivious, and rigorous academic discussion takes place.

She eventually found that Mr. Vervain had led them back to the divination section. He took a few circles around the area, looking for any potential witnesses, but the aisles were empty: evidently all the students had since been shepherded away, and the librarians convened back to the office, or wherever else the head librarian was sending them.

Satisfied with this, Mr. Vervain took out his notebook and began scribbling furiously across the pages. Ms. Harcourt watched with interest, but none of what he put down made any sense to her at all. It did not even seem to be any proper language, rather a collection of symbols and letters and numbers all swooping across the page in strange and intricate patterns. Mr. Vervain hummed a little as he worked, or occasionally made a clicking sound with his tongue against his teeth.

Finally he put his pen down and paused to look at the sigil on the palm of his free hand. It had faded from stark black to a darkish gray, slightly blurred around the edges. “I'm glad I used that spell,” he said, half to himself. “It works in complement with this very nicely. But we need to move quickly, now, before it expires.”

“We?” Ms. Harcourt asked. “I don't even have the faintest idea what you're doing.”

Mr. Vervain sighed. He seemed to be frustrated with something; she hoped it wasn't her. The day had gone out of bounds enough already without her angering an actual magician. “Perhaps not,” he said, “but some degree of cooperation will have to occur, considering that at the moment I have only one hand to work with.”

“Erm,” she said. “Well, whatever I can do to help...”

Mr. Vervain tucked his pen behind his ear and handed her the notebook. “You can hold this open,” he said. “Much less inconsequential than it sounds, I assure you...thank you. Now...”

He took off his glasses and placed them carefully in his breast pocket. Having known him for less than an hour, Ms. Harcourt was surprised that she had already grown used to his face enough to find that it looked rather odd without the addition of lenses. Not that she had never observed that phenomenon before, but on Mr. Vervain it was especially pronounced; it showed the dark spots under his eyes and in general made him look less enigmatic and more exhausted.

While she was considering this-magic, she supposed, would have to be a fairly tiring profession-Mr. Vervain located a fine-tipped brush, which he laid on top of his notebook, and the little pot he had taken out earlier, which he opened. He had to brace it under his chin to pry off the lid with one hand, a sight so strangely awkward and ordinary that she almost giggled, before he set the pot on top of the notebook, dipped the brush in it, and then closed his eyes and carefully drew the substance in spiraling lines over his eyelids.

When he opened his eyes again they looked more unsettling than ever, but Ms. Harcourt still could not have described exactly why.

Mr. Vervain put the jar and brush away in a pocket and began to walk up and down the aisle, running his fingers over the spines of the books and murmuring rapidly. Ms. Harcourt could not make out the words any better this time. In fact, she was not entirely sure that they were words: it seemed almost to be some strange kind of song, or recited poetry, made up of noises fitted together into a rhythm that gave them a meaning they did not have on their own. She followed, holding open the notebook, but in fact Mr. Vervain never seemed to look at it.

It occurred to Ms. Harcourt to wonder why, exactly, she was even still here. Mr. Vervain had gotten her out of confinement so that she could refer him to the information she had collected; but now that was done, and surely he had no more use for her. He hardly had any obligation to help her out of her situation, especially considering the degree to which her plan had inadvertently inconvenienced him. This hardly seemed to be the time to bring it up, though.

Mr. Vervain seemed to go on muttering and walking back and forth for a great length of time, although in truth it could hardly have been more than a few minutes, dragged out unnaturally by the looming fear of being discovered. Ms. Harcourt was beginning to wonder if the spell had failed after all, or perhaps it was working but in a way which was only noticeable to Mr. Vervain.

Then the glow began.

It started as something barely perceptible, the faintest suggestion of illumination around Mr. Vervain's fingertips. Ms. Harcourt thought she was imagining it at first. But it grew, stronger and stronger, and began to spread out into thin glittering lines like morning cobwebs, stretching between the the bookcases. Then the books themselves began to glow; only in faint distant spots at first, but the spots grew quickly, and spread out and touched one another, and in very little time every book on the shelves around them was glowing with that soft white light, all bound together by the lines crisscrossing all around them like the rigging of a ship.

But it did not stop there. The lines continued to shoot out from shelf to shelf, taking the light with them. Ms. Harcourt, craning her neck around the end of a shelf, saw the light rapidly taking over the entire library, or at least as much of it as she could see from where she stood. She thought she could see things in the rays of light now, something like letters but not in any alphabet she knew, and there was a rising noise: a thin, scratchy, whispery, rustling noise, the noise of pens scratching and paper being turned, transmuted somehow into something that was almost a voice.

Mr. Vervain stopped murmuring. “Oh,” he said. “Oh dear.”

This was hardly the sort of thing one ever wanted to hear from a magician. “What is it?” Ms. Harcourt said, her own voice low, more because it seemed somehow appropriate than for any particular practical reason. If this didn’t get them discovered, nothing she could do was going to. “It seems to have worked...or something did.”

“It worked,” Mr. Vervain said. “It worked a great deal better than I expected. I only intended to use it on the divination section. But I seem to have...erm...inadvertently woken up the entire library.”

Ms. Harcourt looked around at the rays of light stretching out into the distance. There was surely no way they could remain hidden now, she thought. There would be a commotion any moment now. She waited for the sounds of angry and panicked librarians, but they somehow failed to materialize. “What do you mean, woken up?” she asked. “How can you wake up a library?”

Mr. Vervain raised his eyebrows. “You can wake up just about anything if you know how. What do they teach at this school?”

“Nothing that's been relevant to my experiences so far,” Ms. Harcourt muttered.

“Well, the full theory is rather too lengthy to go into at the moment. Suffice to say that libraries are powerful enough places on their own. But a library of magic...and one as old as this...” Mr. Vervain sighed and rested his chin on his free hand. “I suppose I really should have known better.”

“Well,” Ms. Harcourt said, “You've learned a lesson that far too many great and terrible magicians never did.”

The words slipped out somehow before she quite realized what she was saying. She flinched away as Mr. Vervain turned slowly toward her, a completely astonished look on his face. Brilliant move, Harcourt, she told herself bitterly as she waited for the fallout; you meet a man in possession of a terrible and unholy power such as has not been seen on this earth for an age, and what do you do? You make a snide comment to him while you're literally in his grasp.

Mr. Vervain burst out laughing.

If she had thought about it, Ms. Harcourt probably would have imagined a magician's laugh as something sinister and wild, a mad cackle full of dreadful promises. Mr. Vervain's laugh was as low and understated as everything else about him, but it was pleasant and decidedly lacking in anything sinister.

“Well then,” he said, shaking his head, “that certainly put me in my place.”

“I'm sorry,” Ms. Harcourt stammered. She was terribly confused. “I didn't mean...”

“You didn't? That's a pity. That was a good one. You should be proud of it.” While Ms. Harcourt was still trying to process this, he turned to examine the nearest beam of light. “In any case, the time for self-recrimination is certainly not right now. It's worked in some fashion, so we may as well take advantage of it.”

He splayed out his long fingers through the light and began to speak again in that strange murmur. When he finished there was a long pause like a great intake of breath, and then the answer came rushing back in exhalation. Ms. Harcourt could not understand any of it, but she knew it was some kind of answer, from the way the crackling paper-voice of the library rose greater than ever before until it sounded like the rustling of an entire forest bent by the wind, and the way the symbols in the light swirled about and rearranged themselves into new, more complex patterns.

Mr. Vervain listened carefully, his eyes flicking back and forth along the lines of light. But whatever the library was saying did not seem to be encouraging. His expression, almost eager to begin with, grew slowly more discouraged, and by the time the library's answer subsided he was looking very downcast indeed.

“What is it?” Ms. Harcourt asked, wondering if the spell had somehow failed after all, or if perhaps the library itself was refusing to help.

“It doesn't know,” Mr. Vervain whispered. “It doesn't know. All these books and none of them have what I need.”

His shoulders slumped. He looked so devastated that Ms. Harcourt found herself trying to think of some way to comfort him, but she was too bewildered to figure anything out.

The library began to rustle again. There was something different about the sound now: in some way she could not quite have described, Ms. Harcourt thought it almost seemed as disappointed as Mr. Vervain.

“What's it saying?” she asked.

“It's upset,” Mr. Vervain said, rather dully. “It wanted to help. I think this is the first time in...well, in a long time that anyone has really used this library the way it was meant to be used. Really asked it something. And it couldn't give an answer. That's a great failing for a library. The worst thing, really.”

Ms. Harcourt considered this. It made a certain kind of sense, if one thought about things from the perspective of a library.

She chased that idea around in her head for a moment, feeling that it might lead somewhere. Libraries: books: books referenced other books. Did books talk to other books? Did libraries talk to other libraries?

“If it doesn't have the information you need,” she said slowly, “does it...maybe know where you could get that information?”

Mr. Vervain's eyes widened slightly. He spoke to the library again, much shorter this time. The library's response was brief but enthusiastic. Mr. Vervain hastily flipped to a new page in the notebook Ms. Harcourt was still holding open and scribbled several things down.

“I take it that was better news,” Ms. Harcourt said when the rustling died down again.

“In some ways,” Mr. Vervain said. “And in other ways...well, it is at least news. I was beginning to think I would receive absolutely none from this entire venture.” He tucked the pen back behind his ear and smiled at her. “Thank you very much for that idea.”

“Er...you're welcome,” Ms. Harcourt said.

The library spoke again, in a short, querying kind of way. Mr. Vervain cocked his head to one side slightly. “It wants to know if you have anything to ask.”

“Me?” Ms. Harcourt spluttered in astonishment. “Why would...I mean...I'm not...”

“Not a magician?” Mr. Vervain said rather dryly.  

“Well...yes,” Ms. Harcourt said, glaring at him.

“The library does not appear to regard that as especially consequential,” Mr. Vervain said.

“I-I don't know what to ask it,” Ms. Harcourt protested. “I wouldn't even know where to start. I'm not like you...”

“But you did come here with a question.”

“Yes, but, it's all sort of...well, moot now, isn't it?” Ms. Harcourt was growing so frustrated she almost let go of Mr. Vervain's hand to gesture at him. “I wanted a way to access the library as a secondary student, but I'm not even that anymore.”

The library rustled.

“And why did you want to access the library?” Mr. Vervain asked. “Because you had questions.”

Ms. Harcourt sighed. “Far too many to ask right now. I wouldn't know which one to start with.”

“Ah, well, that is certainly a dilemma I can sympathize with,” Mr. Vervain said. “Still-are you certain you have nothing to ask? This is quite the rare opportunity.”

Well, and there it was. Opportunity. What all this had been about in the first place. What was the sense in wasting it now that it had come along?

Ms. Harcourt took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to put aside all her confusion and nervousness and dreadful anticipation of the immediate future, and thought hard.

A number of things came to mind, questions she had had at one point or another in her time at the university-how does this work? why does this do that?-but they all seemed rather petty at the moment: worth knowing, certainly, but not worth expending such a chance. What else?

The thought arose to ask could I really be a magician? It was tempting to put the matter to rest then and there, and perhaps stop Mr. Vervain's remarks to the contrary. But asking a question to which one already knew the answer, just to settle a point, was hardly a worthy use of this opportunity; and anyway, she realized that even if she knew it to be true that she was no magician, she did not really want to hear the library say it.

What was a worthy use? It couldn't be a question just for her, she realized. Everything has consequences: her actions today would have an impact on the university, especially on the other secondary students. It seemed only fair to address this balance somehow. Mr. Vervain had said that there might be some chance for good to come out of the university's anger, if she moved forward instead of turning herself in, and here that chance seemed to be.

Perhaps she should ask her original question, turned around a little: was there a way to make all this available to the secondary students? But...she could feel the power of the library all around her. Not as strongly as Mr. Vervain, perhaps, but it was there, in the greatness of the sound when the library spoke, in the way the light seemed to go on forever. She thought of the note in Mr. Vervain's voice when he realized how well his spell had worked after all, and got the uncomfortable image of herself casually removing a stone and breaking open an entire dam, all the water rushing forth and wiping out everything in its path. She had already caused more of an impact than she had ever meant to today. She could not afford to be careless.

Everything has consequences.

“We do not have much more time,” Mr. Vervain said gently.

Ms. Harcourt did not feel herself equal to this task. Maybe if she had the time, she could think of what, exactly, was the right choice, but...

She needed help. Well, it was a library, wasn't it?

“Ask it...what it thinks I should ask,” she said. “What does it think someone like me should know?”

Mr. Vervain's eyebrows shot up. He spoke to the library, and the library responded in a slow, almost hesitant way, like pages being slowly shuffled. Whatever it said made Mr. Vervain's eyebrows go up even further.

“It has a question for you,” he said.

“For me?” Ms. Harcourt was so surprised her voice came out in a bit of a squeak.  

“Yes.” Mr. Vervain spoke softly, hesitantly, like someone translating a foreign language word by careful word. “It's not sure how to answer your question because...it's not sure what someone like you is. That is...” He frowned and mouthed something to himself before going on. “The library isn't concerned what people do with its information, not really, you understand, its job is simply to provide the information...but it doesn't understand the way things are done now. People come and study its books, but they don't take away the magic with them like they used to...sorry, that's a bit hard to describe but I think it's saying that people don't cast spells from the books anymore. They just look at them. The library...” Mr. Vervain's eyes widened slightly. “The library is concerned. Things aren't being done the way they should be done. It doesn't understand what happened.”

Ms. Harcourt stared at the symbols in the light, which moved in a way that did, somehow, seem concerned. “You mean the library...doesn't know that magic isn't done anymore?”

Mr. Vervain looked at her and then, rather pointedly, back at the beams of light.

“Er...right,” Ms. Harcourt said. “It doesn't know that magic is...not generally done anymore?”

“I don't think so,” Mr. Vervain said. “It's been asleep for a very long time. Or something like asleep...”

Explaining the history of the fall of magic to a library felt a little bit beyond Ms. Harcourt at the moment. “Tell it...erm...tell it the people who come here, they're not magicians like in the old days. They study magic, but they're not going to use it.”

Mr. Vervain told the library this. The library responded with something that did not seem entirely satisfied, or happy. Ms. Harcourt shifted nervously, and wondered exactly what the library could do if it was displeased.

“So, you are one of these new magicians, then? You study magic, but you don't wish to use it?” Mr. Vervain shrugged in the face of her annoyed expression. “I'm only repeating back what it says.”

Ms. Harcourt sighed. “No. Not quite. Tell it I'm not a proper magician-I'm not going to be a proper magician. I'm not supposed to know...” Her eyes widened as a terrible thought occurred to her. “Is it-is it going to be angry with me? Because I broke in, I'm not supposed to be here?”

“I...wouldn't think so.” Mr. Vervain paused, listening for something, and shook his head. “No, I don't think...you broke the traditions of the university, but as far as the library is concerned...you didn't break the wards, you didn't take any books away. If the librarians let you in willingly, then you're supposed to be here.”

“But I tricked the librarians.”

Mr. Vervain shrugged. “I don't think it really understands that. Nor does it understand the university restrictions. It might if someone had explained them to it, but no one did. No one's spoken to it in a long time.”

It took Ms. Harcourt a moment to realize all the implications of this. “You mean the library doesn't understand about non-accredited students?”

“No. Not in the least.” The library rustled encouragingly and Mr. Vervain nodded along. “It understands different kinds of apprentices, I think...and it...oh. It's asking if that means you're an academic magician instead of a practicing one. It understands that distinction.”

“No.” Ms. Harcourt sighed. “I mean, yes, but...Tell it...there are no practicing magicians these days. There are only academic magicians anymore.”

“That is demonstrably untrue,” Mr. Vervain said dryly.

“Well, I don't-you explain it, then, since you know so much!” Ms. Harcourt burst out, and instantly regretted it. “I'm sorry. I...”

“I can't explain it,” Mr. Vervain said. His voice was surprisingly kind. “It's your question, you see...and you really needn't flinch like that. I'm not going to strike you.”

But it was difficult, standing there under the scrutiny of Mr. Vervain's strange, strange eyes, while he worked spells that should not have been, not to feel a little afraid of him, and afraid of the great voice of the library demanding answers she did not know how to give.

Ms. Harcourt felt very small and insignificant just then, and also very tired and confused. She was nearly ready to simply give up, tell the library she didn't know how to answer its questions, leave all the magic and wondrousness to Mr. Vervain and go home. Which, of course, she could not do, not just now. She did not feel worthy of being caught up in this strange tale of magic and great deeds; it ought to go to someone better, who could hold their head higher.

Quite unexpectedly, she felt Mr. Vervain's hand briefly squeeze hers, and looked up in astonishment to see an encouraging smile on his face.

Ms. Harcourt took a deep breath. “Tell the library...tell the library that these days, the university teaches magicians...not like the old magicians, but...never mind that...it teaches magicians and it teaches people who can't be magicians but just want to know something about magic. Just for the sake of knowing. And I'm one of those people. I want to know about magic, but I'll never be a magician, not like people are nowadays, and not...certainly not like they used to be. Not like you, I suppose.” She ducked away from his strange eyes. “Tell the library I'm sorry, I can't be a magician like it used to know. I just wanted to know a little more.”

Mr. Vervain looked at her sadly and spoke to the library. The library shuffled and said something that seemed no less confused than before. Ms. Harcourt's heart sank; she did not think she could take much more explaining.

“The library doesn't understand your distinction,” Mr. Vervain said. “Between wanting to know about magic, and being a magician.”

“What...” How could a magical library not understand such things? “You have to be, well, you have to have certain qualities to be a magician. You have to have the right blood. The library doesn't know that?”

“It...does, but in a very different sense than you do, I think.” Mr. Vervain paused, and then began to speak rapidly to the library, in an almost secretive, confiding sort of way that made Ms. Harcourt wonder very much what he was saying. Perhaps it involved some magical secrets beyond her comprehension.

The library began to rumble. The bookshelves almost seemed to be shaking. It did not sound confused any longer; it sounded very certain indeed.

“Ah.” Mr. Vervain looked pleased. “It understands now. It knows what you need to know.”

“Oh?” Ms. Harcourt said, wondering how they were still undiscovered. “Well, what is it?”

“I think...hmm. Pardon me.” Mr. Vervain reached over, took the notebook from her hand and tucked it back into his satchel, and then gently took her open hand and guided it toward the light.

“I think you should hear it for yourself,” he said. “Try to listen.”

“But...I can't,” Ms. Harcourt protested. “I'm not-”

“But I am,” Mr. Vervain said, almost sternly. “Trust in me, if you will not trust in yourself. You are part of this spell. I guarantee it to you.”

Who was she to argue with a magician about how magic worked? Ms. Harcourt held out her hand in the beam of light and tried, though she was not sure how, to hear the library.

At first she could hear nothing more than she had heard before, the rustling of pages, the creaking of the shelves. She could see nothing more in the light than the same strange symbols, drifting about in slow patterns. She tried to find some meaning in it all, craning her head as if to make out the words of someone calling from far away, searching among the rush of sound and movement for something she understood.

It came slowly at first. A symbol that seemed briefly familiar, or a whisper of a page that seemed almost like speech. She listened harder. Another moment of meaning, then another, and then they began to stack up, connect to each other-she was almost there, she could almost understand it...

When it came, it came all at once, understanding as clear and sudden as though someone had switched mid-sentence from a language she had never heard to her native tongue. It was not that voice of the library sounded any more like any words she knew, or that the symbols became a familiar alphabet, only that for a moment she understood how it all worked, and in the movement of letters, in the feel of a pen on a page, in the rustling whisper of a forest long dead, she understood what the library wanted to tell her.

YOU ARE.

She gasped, and in her shock it all fled away and became nothing more than incomprehensible noise once more, but the memory and the meaning remained, clear and sharp and impossible to argue with. She almost let go of Mr. Vervain's hand in her surprise, but thankfully he had more presence of mind and held on.

“But...” she said. “But!”

“You have it from a very great authority,” Mr. Vervain said. There was a decidedly sly smile on his face. “What more reassurance do you need?”

“I don't understand!” Ms. Harcourt cried.

“Well, perhaps we can discuss the matter at more length later,” Mr. Vervain said, checking the sigil on his hand. It had faded even more, to a very blurred light gray. “For now, though, I'm afraid we cannot remain much longer.”

The library spoke. Ms. Harcourt almost thought she understood it, for a moment, but then it was gone again. Mr. Vervain looked surprised. “Oh...it has a request.”

“Oh?” Ms. Harcourt said weakly.

“It wants to...give...it wants us to take a book. It wants...it wants to work with magicians again. Like it used to. I can't quite make out what it means, but it thinks it's important. It's...the way things should go.”

“But you can't take books out of the library!” Ms. Harcourt protested.

Mr. Vervain smiled sharply. “You can if the library gives you permission.”

Ms. Harcourt felt a bit dubious about this, but she supposed that if Mr. Vervain wanted to attempt to tamper with the library wards, that was his business. She was still reeling from the library's message.

“Come along then,” Mr. Vervain said, tugging at her hand, and she abruptly found herself being pulled into a half-run down the aisle.

“Where-where are we going?” she managed to stammer as they reeled down the corridor, passing through one beam of light after another.

Mr. Vervain slowed down a little, glancing around him. “I'm...not quite sure, but I think I'll know when I see it. Ah, this way.”

He set off again, and it was all Ms. Harcourt could do to follow him.

[whitewolfofwinterfell]

1) Ilove your meta about tvd and it would be perfect if the writers saw them too. I however don't think stelena can be endgame,'cause we don't have enough time. The time jump works for Stelena,they have history and the emotions are allready there for the audience. But we don't have enough time to prepare the audience for a break up for Steroline. They've spent too much time building up that relationship for end it and have the audience emotionally satisfied. I remember them starting to

(cont.) build Steroline really early on,when Elena turned vampire. I think that’s too much ground work to get rid of in one or two episodes. I guess Delena too but Damons death could clear that. Obviously Stelena would make sens,storywise and other but I don’t think the writers have as good vision about the show that you have. They don’t remember everything and don’t notice little details as you do. I’ve heard actors say fans pay more attention than writers. But thank you for giving me a little hope. 

Firstly, thank you! I’m glad you liked my meta. Secondly, I do understand your point completely, but at the same time I kinda have to disagree. 

You say there isn’t enough time to prepare the audience for a Steroline break-up, but since they’ve already broken up once because of Stefan becoming human, it would hardly be a surprise if they broke up again. Particularly since the reason they broke up still exits - Stefan being a vampire. 

Also, look back at the track record of break-ups on TVD. Do you think the writers prepared us for Stelena breaking up? Do you think there was enough time for the viewers and fans to get used to that? In 4x01 Elena told Stefan she chose him because she loved him and it was the best choice she ever made, in 4x02 they were waking up in the woods together, making out in the woods and celebrating Elena being alive, in 4x03 Stefan allowed Elena to find enjoyment and happiness in being a vampire by taking her on his motorcycle and they later got hot and steamy in the bedroom, in 4x04 Elena told Stefan he was the one getting her through her transition and then had an awful experience feeding with Damon and realised all she wanted was comfort from Stefan and in 4x05 when Elena saw Stefan walk into the room at Tyler’s house she literally ran into his arms and was overwhelmed with relief. There were signs that D*lena were developing with her hallucinating about him when she was under the influence of the werewolf venom and the two of them dancing together when Damon taught her to feed and probably some other moments that I’m forgetting, but ultimately the beginning of season 4 showed Stelena’s relationship to be pretty solid. They were clearly still in love and the only issues that they were really up against was Elena dealing with her transition. It doesn’t matter which way people try to spin it, the time between the Stelena break-up and Delena get together was shockingly fast. In 4x06 Elena was under the Hunter’s curse for the entirety of it, so she wasn’t even in her right mind and yet she came out of that and immediately knew she wanted to break up with Stefan, yet before that there was no real signs that she didn’t want to be with him. And in 4x07 Elena told Caroline she was trying to figure out her feelings, but she wasn’t at all. Elena showed absolutley no shame or hesitation in flirting with Damon the second she’d broken up with Stefan, making heart eyes at him and flirting with him, then going back home to jump his bones. I don’t understand how anyone can see that as being natural progression or as happening in a timely fashion. Any development of build-up D*lena had was essentially ruined by how much they rushed them actually getting together. 

But getting back to the point, the writers aren’t afraid to speed things along or rush a break-up if that’s what they want to do. I’m not by any means saying they will do this with Steroline by breaking them up, but I’m saying that to assume that it’d be impossible would be naive. Despite what people like to convince themselves, ultimately, the writers don’t care about what the audience wants. The Originals were some of the most loved characters on the show and they got rid of them, Katherine is one of the most loved characters and they didn’t just kill her but sent her to hell, Kai has been one of the most popular new characters to ever be introduced in the late seasons and they didn’t hesitate to kill him off, Elena was the main heroine upon which the show was centered and they continued the show without her. I regularly check the official TVD Facebook page just to see the kind of things people comment, because I feel like often the only opinions available on here are very biased by the fandoms I’m a part of (so Stelena, Bamon, Forwood) and it’s more objective to look at those comments. And do you know what is the most popular comment I see on practically every single video? “Bonnie Bennett deserves to be happy.” So many people love Bonnie and just want to see her have a great storyline involving her magic and to have some real development and happiness and that’s been a huge thing amongst fans for the last 4 seasons, if not more. Have the writers listened? Have they buggery. There are some scenes or ships that have most likely been written in because of a push from the fans, but generally the writers don’t care what we have to say and especially now. Like you said, the fans notice more of the details than the writers and we point it out to them all the time. If they actually listened so many things that have happened wouldn’t have happened. Even something silly, like I saw someone call Julie out on the fact that when Alaric became human his compulsion wasn’t reversed, but Stefan’s was and her response was, “Tell me who stayed compelled after Alaric became human?” or something along those lines. And it’s like, erm….Elena for a start. Is she really that ignorant to her own show? Elena stayed compelled right up until the end of season 6 when she took the cure and became human. And guess what? Elena didn’t suffer any complications from her compulsion being undone. It’s absolute bullshit and little things like this prove that the fans are definitely more observant and on the ball with what’s happened in the past. (I’m pretty convinced most of us could write the show better than they could to be honest haha). 

But going back to my actual point. This is the last ever season. Why do they care about listening to fans and making them happy? It’s not like they need to keep people tuning in for more episodes or to make money. They’ve already made all the money they’re going to make and actually by shocking or upsetting viewers by breaking Steroline up, they’d probably get more people talking about it and more media coverage. If anything, the finale is probably going to be one of the first episodes in seasons where we’re going to get exactly what the writers want. It’s the last ever episode and Julie and Kevin are so invested in the show. I wrote a book a few years ago, which I spent 2 years writing and although it’s terrible, it’s so special to me because it’s a piece of my heart and soul and I worked on it for such a long period of time. The writers have been working on TVD quadruple the time I spent writing my book, just imagine how invested they are. If they’ve got lost in particular plots or made mistakes in their storytelling, the finale is their chance to put all of that right and for them to end it however they want. Personally, I don’t think anything is off the cards, including a Steroline break-up. 

And you’re welcome! I’m glad I gave you some hope, even if it was only a small dose haha.