kayoenfreer

You sat in Draco’s room, pretending to read one of the books that he had left lying around. It was a Dark Arts textbook that he had no doubt lifted from Snape when the man’s back was turned. It was only a matter of time before the professor noticed and came to reclaim it, all thunder and anger. Draco was pacing, a hobby that had taken up much of his time recently. He paced first one side of his bed and then the other, before pacing in a U shape to make sure he paced every bit of exposed floor. You thought to ask him what was ailing him this time, but he seemed keen on continuing to pace, and so you elected to let him. “It&#

“Come on, mom, I had a check-up at the academy just before I left. I don’t need another one.” You looked up from the reports you were analyzing to see Doctor Beverly Crusher escorting her son into the Medical Bay. You had heard stories of how the boy had matured since going to the academy, but you didn’t expect him to be this attractive. You bit your lip and pretended to keep working. “Stop complaining, Wesley. I just want to make sure you didn’t bring any sickness from the academy back on the ship.” You smiled and looked up at the two. When Beverly turned to grab a scanner, he made eye contact and r

An audible groan drew your attention away from your video game just as the announcer narrated the Fatality. Your best friend had been at your apartment all day trying to draft a single email. "What's wrong, Matthew?" You asked, pretending that you didn't already know. He tapped the keys furiously and then set the electronic to the side. "Ramona is getting close to a guy named Scott Pilgrim. The League is sending me to deal with him. You frowned and closed your laptop screen, pulling it away from him. "Maybe lay off the league stuff for a while? You don't even like Gideon." The glare this drew from Matthew was hardly a surprise. "This isn'

Important Note: This is NOT a oneshot, read part one Here. You corked another Elfroot potion and placed it on the shelf. Donations to the clinic were at an all time high as more Darktowners tried their hand at adventuring. Many were injured after leaving the city, but they brought back with them elfroot and other helpful herbs. You looked up from your work and caught Anders looking at you. You locked eyes for a moment and smiled, then he went back to working. You studied him as he used his healing magic on a young girl’s cut. A poultice would have done just as well, but she was enraptured by the light blue glow of his hands. Anders wa

Important Note: This is not a Oneshot, Read Part One Here. You turned out to be the best decision Anders had made since fleeing to Kirkwall. Where he was Justice, and Magic, and Speed; you were Caring, and Kindness, and Patience. With you around, the people of Darktown stopped expecting constant magical care, and had begun to prefer your gentle ministrations. They all seemed to flourish under your care, even Anders. The trek from Lowtown to Darktown was one that Anders always told you not to walk alone. Even the Almighty Hawke had problems with Darktowners. Pickpockets, bandits, small-time thugs, and the carta all lurked along the way to An

Anders could feel Justice crackling at the edge of his awareness. The mage was tired, but there was still so much to do. Even magic would not speed up the process of boiling rags to use as bandages. He heard the hinges on the door creak open and the sound was like daggers down his spine. If it weren’t so good at warning him of intruders, he would have pulled the door down years ago. He frowned when he found himself praying that it was something easy. He should not feel so reluctant to help the poor souls of Darktown. Travelling with Hawke had given him illusions of higher purpose, and even Justice’s stirring had not been enough

You coughed for what seemed like the millionth time that day. You had lost count. Whatever the number of coughs, to Sherlock it was too many. You could see his agitation in the nearly imperceptible shift of the corner of his mouth. When you first met Sherlock, you thought he was emotionless. The only thrill he seemed to experience came from the solving of a case. Over time, you'd learned that that was not the case. He was harder to read than most, but his emotions were there. "You're sick, [First Name], you must see a doctor." "This from the man who wouldn't go to the hospital after being stabbed three times? Unbelievable." "I was underco

There was something about a gunshot that you found much less personal than any other form of attack. Knives required being up close and either surprising or overpowering your victim. Poison required sleight of hand or blind trust. Barehanded attacks required passion. Bombs required premeditation. But guns. Guns were easy. Long range, rapid fire, not impossible to get your hands on.  Impersonal. Ironically, your love life had begun to center around getting shot. Or avoiding it, as it were. When you met Sherlock Holmes for the first time, you were running. Not literally, at least not at the time, but running nonetheless. Three months ear

“You, Pietro Maximoff, are a menace!”  You say with a laugh as Pietro sets you down on the couch in his basement. “And you, [First Name] [Last Name], are an enabler.” He responds, ruffling your [Hair Color] hair. You laugh and stick your tongue out at him, but you don’t deny it. Ever since you realized that Pietro was like you, the two of you have been wreaking havoc together. Earlier that day, you had been using your power of light manipulation to make a laser pointer and target things for Pietro to take. It started out simple: A pencil on the floor, an eraser at the edge of a desk... but the stakes had slowly

“Unlike you to bring a date, Mycroft.” Sherlock said flatly to his brother. It didn’t take a genius to determine that Sherlock did not approve of Mycroft inviting strangers into their parents’ home. He had been watching you since the moment you walked into the house with his older brother. At first glance, he thought you were just another of Mycroft’s assistants, but your phone remained out of sight, so that was ruled out. A good thing too, Mother hated when either of them brought work home with them. Mycroft chuckled softly and shook his head. You were a dear friend of his, yes, but a date? “She’s