#Chapter Five gets a post to itself. In case you too did not remember which is the chapter where It Happens

[regallibellbright]

I’m rereading alongside a Tor.com reread club from back after Gentleman Jole and the Red Queen was first published.

Some excerpts as they pertain to the current book:

“In most cases where I’ve only read the book once, it’s because it hasn’t been convenient. I lost my copy, or it came out after A Civil Campaign and I was busy rereading that. Whether I’ve read the book one time or a thousand, I usually give it a thoughtful skim before embarking on the reread. This time, we’re flying blind because Mirror Dance is terrifying.” - Staring Into the Abyss of Mirror Dance

“Nothing clearly bad has happened yet. Mark gets on the Ariel and no one gets tortured or dies. That’s it. We’re OK. Everyone is OK except Mark.” - Chapters 1-2

“As of the end of chapter four, no one has been killed.” Chapters 3-4

I share Ellen Cheeseman-Meyer’s sense of looming dread. Here it comes.

[iviarellereads]

Network Effect, Chapter 14

(Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For the link index and a primer on The Murderbot Diaries, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

In which, well, did you see that coming?

Murderbot calls out to Art, and Art asks if it knows what it is. It knows its designation, "Murderbot 2.0". It feels weird, not having its usual sensory inputs. At least when its brain was the gunship, the gunship was its body. Now, it's just sentient killware in a storage drive.(1)

Art shares video input of Amena, looking anxious in one of Art's cameras. 2.0 (which I will henceforth just call 2 for ease of typing) remembers that it found Art's cameras annoying at one point, but not why.(2) It remembers its media archive, and finds that some of its recently accessed files are available, for comfort more than practicality, since killware might forget who it is and who it was designed to want to kill.

Amena asks if 2 can see her, and after fumbling to find the comms, it replies that it can. She asks if it feels alright. Then Art talks to her without 2, and she says 2 has to leave but she wants it to be careful, please.(3)

Art tells 2 that it's pursuing the B-E explorer vessel, and it can use the explorer's attempts to make comm contact to deploy 2. Art asks if 2 understands what that means. 2 snarks that it's not literally a baby, it remembers helping to write the directive. Art says that doesn't make it easier.(4) 2 says Art can have a crisis or get its crew back, and to pick. Art says to ready for deployment.

2 expects to feel something in the transmission, but one minute it's in Art's storage, and the next it's comm code on the explorer. It gets to work, its essential function not hampered by juxtaposing a consciousness accustomed to having a humanoid body. It has to strike a balance between taking control, and allowing its presence to be detected. The B-E SecSystem has been wiped clean, so it partitions itself there, in case it runs into trouble it can come back and find itself again.(5)

SecSystem's access to cameras helps a lot in gathering intel. The B-E ship isn't quite as heavily wired as MB's old company requires, but it's close. It finds a bunch of dead, but eight live Targets on the bridge. As it examines them, 2 feels TargetControlSystem on its peripheral senses.

Knowing it doesn't have much longer, it keeps searching the cameras, and finds a room with seven human occupants, all apparently unconscious. Four of them are in B-E livery, but one is in a blue jacket of the right shade, and the other two wear casual clothing, no indicator of affiliation at all, but again an 80% match for three of Art's crew.

There's also a SecUnit, standing outside the room with the humans. It was ordered to stand down, but since the humans are still alive inside, its governor module hasn't fried it yet. 2 feels very weird about looking at another version of its original body. It knows it could overwrite the unit, but it doesn't want to.(6)

2 freezes the governor module, so nothing sets it off, and sends the new unit a company greeting. 2 knows the unit isn't company, but it will recognize the protocol as not necessarily hostile. After four seconds, a reply, asking to identify. 2 doesn't want to lie, it's too important, so it says it's a rogue unit, operating as killware, trying to rescue endangered clients.

The unit doesn't respond, and 2 knows the information will be unexpected, plus units are discouraged from fraternizing, so it suggests just talking, because there's no protocol for this discussion. The unit says it's not sure what to say. 2 finds this an encouraging response, since it's not murder.

2 says three of its clients are in the room behind the unit, but asks if the unit has seen the other clients, sending images of the missing crew. The unit says SecSystem is down, but it has some archived video, which it shares and summarizes. Eight humans were brought aboard, but five disembarked at the dock. The unit says the Targets ran out of the implants, which seem to function something like a governor module, and went to the dock to send the humans without implants to the surface.

At further prompting by 2, the unit shares that the Targets tried installing something on the explorer drive, but it failed, and they'd deleted the bot pilot so it couldn't assist. The attempt to harness Art as a weapon against future system incursion failed. In the attached clips, 2 can see how the remnant on the drive is looking rough. The drive is obviously not wormhole-capable, and their attempt to take Art has ended with Art hunting them.

The unit adds that the Targets have fought among themselves on board, as though they were split into at least two factions, which can be exploited to get the clients back. It includes clips of the Targets talking to each other. 2 asks about what they mean by spreading something to the humans, but the unit doesn't have anything on that.

While 2 is thinking, the unit asks if 2 has information on its SecUnit 2 (no relation). SecUnit 1 was killed by the Targets, and 2 was left on the dock. After a 1.2 second hesitation, it adds that it is SecUnit 3. 2 wants to lie, but wants 3 to trust it more, so it tells the truth: the Targets left it immobile on space dock, after killing the B-E humans it left there, and its governor module did the rest. 3 thanks 2 for telling it.

2 picks up a conversation on the bridge, about trying to make an engine failure look convincing. 2 asks 3 about the bot pilot, and 3 confirms it was deleted, but 3 has a basic piloting module. The admission heartens 2, and asks if 3 can get the humans to the shuttle and off this ship, where Art can pick them up. 3 politely reminds 2 that its governor module is holding it in place.

There's no option for 2 but to admit that it can disable 3's governor module, and it offers to do that whether or not 3 helps it. This is too much for 3, who gives a canned negative response. 2 needs another tactic.

We didn’t have time for me to show it 35,000 hours of media and I didn’t have access to my longterm storage anyway. And that had worked on me, but I knew I was weird even for a SecUnit. Maybe it would trust me more if it knew me better. I pulled some recent memories from the files I’d brought with me, edited them together, and added one helpful code bundle at the end. :send helpme.file: Read this.(7)

3 accepts the file, but shows no response. 2 takes the opportunity to look at the rest of the ship, carefully, leaving packets of code in useful corners to deploy later. It also tweaks some of the stealth code to prevent the Targets from using it on the ship's plating again. It knows that to disable the solid-state screen device on the bridge, to free the humans, it's going to have to get uncomfortably close to TCS.

2 finds the seven channels for the seven implants, and tweaks one, to be sure it's right. One of the humans twitches. It's going to have to be very fast to do this without TCS or a Target hitting a kill switch on them.

Reconnecting with 3, 2 says it's found the signal for the implants. They can retrieve all the humans, together.

Something was coming and I broke the connection. Just in time, because .05 seconds later, targetControlSystem found me.(8)

=====

(1) When I asked "What's coming for MB?" I bet you couldn't have guessed THIS. Well, unless you've read this before, too. (2) Establishing the limits of how much of MB is "data" to be copied like this, and how much is individuality, uncopiable. Of course, it's not going to be laid out on easy, markable lines. (3) She's taking this baby thing so seriously and I love her for it. (4) Easier to send its best friend to its death. Even if it's "just" a copy, it's a copy close enough to have the same drives and responses. (5) This is that Mickey gif if I ever saw it in practice. "It's a surprise tool that will help us later!" Indeed. (6) Taking over another consciousness is no different from the murder our Murderbot also hates, because it values life, as long as that life isn't threatening itself or its clients or its friends. (7) Finally, the full context of the helpme files. (8) How can you keep doing this to my heart, Martha Wells?

[luuxxart]

LUXX THE ROBOT AU??? HELLO YOU NEVER TOLD ME ABOUT THIS IM IN LOVE PLEASE ELABORATE

AH WELL,, YOU SEE,,,, i hadn't really intended on doing anything w it for a while but then i made some good doodles and i was like. ah i guess i'll just go ahead and do somethin with this lmaoooo

so info and doodles are under the cut and here's the mentioned post in case this gets buried in the eventual tag haha

i kind of just started doodling the idea in december. i dont remember why lmao but,. it was a thing (Ren was originally going to be based on Sumire as well and utilize Prince Charming). and then i did these two drafts of a comic for the new year lmao (i might finish them later but for now here they are)

so heres the basic gist of the au without going into spoilers (jic i want to actually write this in the future, and,,,, i do have a small piece of a beginning bit of prose)

five years after the events of Royal, shadows are on the rise again, and specifically, they are present outside of palaces, much like in Port Island. Okumura Foods is rebranded into Okumura Tech, and with help from the Kirijo Group, a new line of Anti-Shadow Suppression Weapons which are not as advanced as ASWs like Aigis or Labrys so as to avoid any unecessary thinking on their part and so they can be mass produced.

(also yeah i know im missing an "S" there. im not taking chances. but in the fic futaba and akira will be calling them a**-bots. its too funny to pass up)

however, it becomes increasingly clear that they need a free thinking weapon to take care of some of the bigger shadows, so Okumura Tech goes through a few constructions, trying to recreate Aigis. nothing is really working. the personas they're trying to produce are overwhelming the Plumes of Dusk. in fact, a few end up being total disasters that have to be destroyed at all costs.

finally, they manage to recruit Mishima, who is just coming out of college with a doctorate degree in AI design (having switched from a degree in general coding, inspired by the advent of ASWs). instead of just using the Plumes of Dusk, Mishima introduces the idea of AI to aid the Plumes in persona construction. think the Cores from Portal, except they can't be separated from the ASW or the Plume of Dusk.

so Mishima, still worshipping the ground Joker walks on, constructs an ASW in Akira's image, codenamed Joker, who ends up rebelling against Okumura Tech (feeling that something nefarious is afoot). Joker renames himself Renegade (Ren for short) and just kind of adopts Amamiya for a reason i'll have to figure out as i write.

Mishima's persona is half-AI based and half-awakening. Talos is an AI that he designed, but when he gets so stressed out that he awakens his persona, the AI sort of merges into his psyche. He's a Nav (just your regular old Otacon guy in the chair archetype) but he can do damage if need be. (also im bringing this meme back bc i love it)

also, Ren's persona is. a secret. mostly because its a reference to a real AI/antivirus and that reference sort of would reveal the antagonist. i dont want to reveal that before i even write the story haha

the story itself is told between Akira and Ren's perspectives at vastly different times. Akira's starts when Mishima shows up at his door after a major disaster at Okumura Tech. hijinx and romance ensue. Ren's starts when he tracks down Akechi, hoping the former Detective Prince will help him figure out why the shadows resurfaced in the first place and if there's anything going on under the surface of Okumura Tech.

oh and this is very much detached from anything regarding the Uncle Adachi AU haha im still using Mishima's persona user design and persona from the Bunny AU tho. itd be a short fic. hopefully six chapters at most. probably more mature than Everyone's a Ki/ller??? remains to be seen.

and yes. haru and mitsuru would of course also be major characters.

[organabanana]

What spring does to cherry trees || Supercorp

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Supergirl (TV 2015)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: None

Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor

Characters: Kara Danvers, Lena Luthor

Additional Tags: mostly fluff, with some porn for flair, pre-canon, but also, post-canon, tooth-rotting fluff.

Summary: I want to do with you what spring does to cherry trees. What does that even mean? It's taking a simple I love you and putting lead-lined glasses on it to keep its power contained. No offense, Mr. Neruda, but that's just weak. Kara doesn't like poetry. Until she does.

Notes: Written for a very patient anon who prompted me with “Seeing the cherry blossoms in Washington DC” but I got sidetracked by Neruda and my favorite of his poems and it turned into This.  It's poem number fourteen, found in "Veinte poemas de amor y una canción desesperada" (Twenty love poems and a song of despair) by Pablo Neruda, which you can read here (Spanish) or here (English). I mostly translated the lines I needed myself, so I can't guarantee they'll match the official translation (I'm also not sure there is such a thing as an official translation, so there's that). With special thanks to the most patient anon in history for the prompt, to @lavenderrry for praising my vibes, and to @emiltons for the gorgeous graphic.

[ao3 link]

The first time Kara encounters Neruda's poetry she's nineteen and bored. In her defense, she thought taking a poetry class would make her feel sophisticated and cultured, but all she feels is annoyed at the insistence of using language to obscure your message rather than share it.

And yes, yes, she gets it. It all sounds very pretty and evocative. It's just Kara has been hiding her true self in plain sight for the last six years, and she can't understand why anyone would willingly and needlessly do that to themselves. To their feelings. She may never have been in love, but Kara is pretty sure if she ever is -- if her heart ever feels full to the brim with the kind of big feelings her professor keeps making them read in metaphors and symbolism -- she'll want to make them clear as day.

I want to do with you what spring does to cherry trees.

What does that even mean?

It's taking a simple I love you and putting lead-lined glasses on it to keep its power contained.

No offense, Mr. Neruda, but that's just weak.

***

Kara doesn't take any more poetry classes, and she doesn't think of Neruda (or any other poet, for that matter) for years. She has so many other things to think about. She moves to National City and starts working for Ms. Grant. She grows into herself, she thinks. She becomes Supergirl and feels more like herself than she has since her pod left Krypton. She dates, a little bit. Dips her toe in the dating pool, if you will. She meets Lena Luthor.

And that's the second time she runs into Neruda. Right there on a shelf in Lena's living room, on a book that looks well loved and well read, spine full of small cracks and lines from being opened over and over again. Kara has always thought you can tell a lot about a person by looking at their shelves.  

"Pablo Neruda," Kara says, one finger tracing a line down the spine of the book like she's trying to read something in the pattern of the cracks, "I didn't know you liked poetry."

"I don't dislike it." Lena's heels click-clack on the hardwood floor before she sets the bottle of wine and two glasses on the coffee table and sits on the couch. "Have you made up your mind on what we're going to watch?"

Kara can hear the faint electrical hum of the TV being turned on, but she's a bit too distracted by the book to focus on deciding whether tonight is a night for a romantic comedy or an epic drama. She couldn't say exactly why this book feels important. It just does. Maybe it's because Lena keeps so much of herself hidden somewhere not even Kara's X-Ray vision can reach, and finding little clues about her thoughts and feelings feels a lot like she's struck gold.

Yeah. Maybe that's why.

Her fascination with the book only grows when she pulls it out of the shelf only to find the title written in Spanish. "Veinte poemas de amor--"

"And a song of despair," Lena finishes in English. "Atonement? I've heard good things about it."

"No way. I said I could be persuaded to watch a tear jerker, but I did not sign up for actual depression." Kara brings the book along when she walks over to sit down next to Lena. She's so focused on the book, still, that she miscalculates her landing just by an inch or so and her thigh bumps against Lena's as she settles on the couch. But Lena doesn't move away, and Kara figures there's no reason why she should. They're friends, after all. Close friends. Figuratively and now very, very literally close.

"I didn't know you spoke Spanish." Kara speaks again, breaking the silence before it solidifies into something potentially awkward.

"I don't. It's a bilingual edition. Can we please pick a movie?"

Kara would love to do exactly what Lena wants. In fact, giving Lena everything she wants has become sort of a constant in this fledgling friendship between them. It just feels nice, you know? Giving her what she wants and making her smile. But this book. It's all so very distracting.

"So. Do you prefer the twenty love poems, or the song of despair?"

Lena rolls her eyes, but she can't quite hide the amused smirk behind the glass when she sips her wine, so Kara knows she's not nearly as annoyed as she's trying to appear.

"What is it with you and Neruda? I didn't know you were a poetry fan."

Kara scoffs. "I'm not." She still remembers the feeling of relief washing over her when she saw her passing grade on that stupid course and realized she'd never have to read another line of poetry in her life. "I don't even like poetry. I'm just curious, that's all."

Lena cocks one eyebrow at her. Studies her, in a way that makes color rise to Kara's cheeks and has her wondering if Lena can see through people, too. 

"Anyway!" Kara shakes her head like she's hoping that'll make the blush fade. "The love poems, or the song of despair?"

"The poems," Lena finally concedes, "and I'm very surprised you don't like poetry. You seem the type."

"What?" Kara is already thumbing through the edge of the book, trying to find the place where it'll open naturally and hopefully show her which of the twenty love poems Lena happens to like the most. "What does that even mean?"

"Well, you have a big heart. Big feelings." Lena looks into Kara's eyes like she's trying to read all those feelings right there in shades of blue, and Kara finds herself looking down at the book just in case. Just in case all those big feelings she can't even name herself are there for Lena to read. "Seems like a recipe for liking poetry."

Kara shakes her head and pushes her glasses up, just in case. Just in case the lead in them can shield more than just her powers. And just as she's about to argue -- just as she's about to tell Lena precisely why she doesn't like poetry -- she opens her book and her gaze lands on a familiar phrase.

"Quiero hacer contigo," she reads out loud from the page on the left, and her fingertip is already finding the next verse on the right when Lena finishes for her.

"What spring does to cherry trees."

If Kara was just Kara Danvers, she'd have missed it all. She'd have just heard her best friend speak a line from a poem that -- much like most poems -- means very little to her. But she's not just Kara Danvers. So Kara hears the way Lena's heart beats just a little bit faster. The way her breath catches just so. The exact fraction of a tone her voice drops when she speaks. The faintest hint of a sigh.

"See? This is why I don't like poetry." Kara chances a look into green eyes, and she's so very grateful Lena has no superhearing to tip her off to the way Kara's heart seems to trip all over itself.  "'I want to do with you what spring does to cherry trees'. What does that mean?"

Kara swears -- she swears -- she catches Lena's pupils dilating just enough to make her think she knows exactly what the poem means. 

"It's not about what it means, Kara. It's about what it makes you feel." Lena lets out a soft chuckle, something light and airy like this is just a silly little conversation with no weight to it at all. Like she can't feel the way the air itself seems to have changed into something new. 

"Is it your favorite line?" Kara pretends she can't hear the way her own voice has changed, too.

Lena shakes her head. "No. My favorite is actually--"

Kara hears the DEO alarm before Lena's fingertip can make contact with the paper, and she almost considers ignoring it. She almost considers letting whatever danger is looming over this whole city have at it because finding out what's Lena's favorite line in her favorite poem seems far more important right now.

But of course, that would be crazy. Crazy! Kara would never.

"I'm so sorry, Lena, I--" Kara stands up, already hearing Alex's voice telling her where she's needed as she pulls her phone out of her pocket and pretends to read a text, "I have to go. I forgot I had this thing with--"

"Go." Lena's smile is just small enough to make Kara's heart twist in an uncomfortable way that's become familiar since she started lying to her friend. "Sounds important. I understand."

Kara nods, just once. "Tomorrow?"

Lena's smile doesn't grow, but it suddenly reaches her eyes, and something settles in Kara's chest. "Of course. Tomorrow."

Five hours later, foe defeated and safely locked away at the DEO, Supergirl touches down on Lena's balcony. There isn't a single light on inside the apartment, and Kara hesitates for a second by the sliding glass door. She shouldn't sneak into Lena's apartment in the middle of the night. That's a little creepy, right? Even if she knows Lena's said over and over again Kara's welcome any time.

It's just.

That book.

Lena's favorite line.

Kara may never be able to sleep again if she doesn't find out what it is.

So with a non-zero amount of shame at her own choice, Kara ends up sliding the door open and slipping into Lena's living space. She listens for Lena's breathing to make sure she's asleep, and once she's satisfied that's the case she makes a beeline for the shelf and the now-familiar book. It doesn't take her long to find the page she'd been reading before, and soon enough she's reading the lines Lena had been pointing to.

How you must have hurt getting used to me, to my savage, solitary soul, to my name that sends everyone running.

The words wrap around Kara's heart like a vice. If she could do it without blowing her cover and putting Lena in danger, she'd go in her room right now just to wake her up and tell her what Kara thinks about her soul. About her name, too, while she's at it. She'd tell her everyone else is free to run if they want, but Kara isn't going anywhere. 

But she can't do any of those things. 

***

The two lines stay with Kara, sort of swirling under the surface of her thoughts. She never actively thinks about them -- about poetry in general, for that matter -- but they're there. 

She remembers them sometimes. When their friendship grows and strengthens and one day Kara realizes Lena may be the person she loves the most in the world (tied with Alex). When the secrets and lies catch up with her and she thinks she may have lost Lena for good. When she finally gets Lena back.

It's been five years since she snuck into Lena's apartment that one night to find out about her favorite line in her favorite poem. Five years since she's actively thought about Neruda and the book and the words inside it. But for some reason, when Kara wakes up a couple hours earlier than she needs to and finds herself unable to sleep, she feels like that's precisely what she needs to read to soothe her brain. Maybe poetry will have the same sedative effect it used to have in college.

Wearing only an old t-shirt, Kara walks out of the bedroom and into the living area, scanning the shelves where she thinks she last saw that book. It's hard to keep track when your book collection has multiplied and turned into more of a home library situation than anything else, but she eventually finds it -- spine still cracked and pages still well-loved and well-read -- and settles down on the couch.

Kara flips from poem to poem, not really paying attention to any of them. A line from the third and then two from the eighteenth and a word or two from the seventh, eyes flicking between the Spanish lines and their English counterparts on the other side of the page. It's soothing, in a strange way. Like white noise, she figures. Nonsensical but calming. Until she lands on the fourteenth. 

"Oh, those cherry trees," Kara half-groans in a whisper. The cherry trees and the spring and the convoluted way to say I love you. And Lena's favorite lines. 

Kara feels it all over again. The pang of pain at the sight of that line.

My name that sends everyone running.

It lands different this time, five years into a friendship that turned out to be so much more and nearly went up in flames at one point. Because of names and lies and... well. Everything else. Lena was right after all, wasn't she? It's not about what the poem means. It's about what it makes you feel. And right now Kara feels a lot more than she'd be able to put in words if she had to.

Maybe Mr. Neruda was on to something after all.

"Hey," Lena's voice is laced with sleep, and Kara smiles as she listens to her footsteps bringing her closer, "what are you doing? It's the middle of the night."

Kara wouldn't call it the middle of the night -- more like a very early morning, really -- but she's not about to argue. "Reading. I couldn't sleep."

"Everything all right?" Lena reaches the back of the couch and makes the most of the rare height advantage over her girlfriend to press a kiss to the top of blond hair. "Why couldn't you sleep?"

Kara opens her arms before Lena can even think about sitting next to her instead, and smiles at the familiar weight of Lena sliding onto her lap. Even as she shrugs off Lena's question, Kara is already burying her face against the soft skin of her girlfriend's neck, breathing her in and letting the familiar scent filling her lungs soothe her like no amount of poetry ever could.

"Kara," Lena's fingers slide into blond hair, blunt fingernails scratching at Kara's scalp and making her hum in delight, "that's not an answer."

"No reason. I'm just not tired anymore I guess." A deep, content sigh. "Baby, you're so good at that."

There's still a slight crease between Lena's eyebrows, but that doesn't stop the smile Kara's praise brings to her face. "You'd tell me if I had to worry?"

Reluctantly, Kara pulls away from the warmth of Lena's neck. Her arms wrap around Lena's waist as she looks into green eyes. "You know I would."

And Kara watches Lena let the words sink in. They've had this conversation before, and Kara knows they'll have it again. They both have sore spots that need special care from time to time. And just to keep Lena's mind from going down any sort of rabbit hole, Kara decides it's time to continue a conversation they left unfinished five years ago.

"It didn't hurt at all, you know. Getting used to you." Kara shows Lena the book she's been holding, and grins when Lena smirks as the reference clicks.

"I thought you didn't like poetry," Lena chides, taking the book and flipping through the pages until she lands -- unsurprisingly, if you ask Kara -- back on poem fourteen.

"I don't. It's like... giving feelings a secret identity."

Lena arches one eyebrow, looking somewhere between amused and curious. "Care to explain?"

"Well, you know," Kara leans in to steal a quick, soft kiss, "say I want to kiss you. I can just say it. That's better than hiding it behind some kind of... flowery metaphor that'll make you wonder if I'm even saying that in the first place. Right?"

There's this look on Lena's face. Kara knows it well. It's like a challenge. Like she's playing chess and she's already thinking six moves ahead and knows you're toast whatever you do from that point on. Kara finds it nothing short of delicious.

"So you're saying," Lena says, and there's victory right there simmering under the surface of her words because she knows -- she knows -- she's won, "you'd rather I say 'this is a lovely sunrise we get to see together'," Lena's gaze drops to the open book in her hand to refresh her memory on the line she's about to quote, but she makes sure she's looking into blue eyes once again when she speaks, "than 'so many times we've watched the morning star burn, kissing our eyes, and over our heads the grey light unwind in turning fans', right?"

Kara swallows, hard. Her cheeks burn with a blush that will simply not be contained, no matter how hard she tries to keep some semblance of dignity. Her mouth feels dry all of a sudden, heart beating just fast enough -- hard enough -- that she's sure even Lena's plain human hearing can pick it up. And the look on her girlfriend's face lets Kara know she knows exactly what's currently happening to her.

"W-- well." Kara blinks, shaking her head like she's trying to physically clear the fog inside. To her credit, she thinks she manages to sound more indignant than turned on. "I mean that's unfair. You made it hot."

Lena lets out a delighted chuckle that hits Kara right in her heart, like a little pinball ball making it ding with the knowledge that Lena Luthor is happy enough to laugh. Really, truly laugh. 

"What?" Lena asks, still grinning, fingertips teasing the soft hairs at the back of Kara's neck like it's nothing -- like she doesn't know what she's doing to her. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Ohh no, ma'am," Kara grins, cheeks still burning with the feeling simmering down low in her belly but too charmed by her girlfriend's teasing smile to stop, "you don't get to pretend you didn't do that on purpose."

"Kara," Lena says, in that way, because she knows, she knows, she knows Kara's weaknesses so perfectly well, and Kara wouldn't have it any other way, "I was just quoting Neruda, I didn't do anything."

"You did the voice thing!" 

"What voice th-- Kara, if you can't just admit plain language and poetic language are simply not on the same level I--"

"You purred the words! How is that fair!?"

Kara presses her lips together like she can retroactively keep the words from exiting her mouth. Too late, though. Lena looks positively delighted.

"I purred the words?" Lena echoes, barely able to keep a straight face. Actually, you know what? Scratch that. She's openly pleased with herself. Smug, even.

"I mean. I mean," Kara says, and she touches the bridge of her nose with one fingertip because for a moment she's forgotten there are no glasses to push up at all, "obviously it's not the same. Poetry and prose, they're inherently--"

"Different, right," Lena finishes Kara's thought, "so you see how you'd use one or the other depending on how emotionally charged--"

Kara shakes her head. "But you don't need flowery metaphors to convey emotion! You can just say what you mean and mean what you say."

"But you just said it yourself. It felt different when I just said it's a sunset, and when I quoted--"

"You purred poetry at me, Lena, of course I'm going to feel a certain kind of way!"

And there it is. Kara feels it in her bones. The checkmate Lena had seen coming a mile away. She sees it right there in the smirk on her girlfriend's face. In the way Lena's pupils dilate just so. The way her tongue peeks out to lick her lips as she looks at Kara like she's lunch.

Or, you know. Breakfast, as the case may be.

"You feel a certain kind of way?" Lena shifts on Kara's lap and they've been together for long enough that Kara absolutely knows there's nothing innocent or coincidental in the way Lena's night shirt (Kara's high school gym t-shirt, mind you) rides up to expose Lena's lace-covered ass. "What kind of way is that, Supergirl?"

Kara perks up at the sound of her name. Her other name. Because maybe it wasn't checkmate after all. Maybe it was just check. Because the thing is, it's not just Lena knowing all of Kara's weaknesses. That knowledge very much goes both ways. And Lena calling her Supergirl? 

Oh, Kara is absolutely not the only one who's feeling a certain way.

"You know." Kara shrugs slightly, pretending to still be the mouse in this little game. She rests one hand on Lena's knee and lets her palm slide up her thigh, slowly, listening to Lena's heartbeat speeding up with each inch of skin Kara explores. "You know the way I mean."

Lena's breath hitches just so when Kara's hand slides further up, and Kara savors the sound of Lena's heart tripping over itself when her fingertips drag along damp lace.

"You're listening, aren't you?" Lena cocks her eyebrow, but her lips stay parted and her breathing comes in short, warm puffs so the whole thing really doesn't come off as stern as Kara is sure Lena would like. 

"Hmm?" Kara knows she's probably pushing her luck, but she bats her eyelashes anyway, her face the very picture of innocence as if her fingertips weren't tracing the very edge of Lena's panties, hinting at what they could (will) do if she just happened to push that fabric aside. "Listening to what, baby?"

Lena tries not to -- Kara can see the struggle right there in her eyes -- but she whimpers anyway, quiet and just barely audible to the human ear. 

"Kara." It tries to sound like a warning, but it falls just this side of pleading instead. Lena blushes so very pretty when she's feeling a certain kind of way.

"Yes, Lena?" 

"You're listening," a breath, slow and measured like she wishes she could take in a deep one but her lungs can't quite cope with that right now, "to me."

"Well, I mean," Kara shrugs slightly, like she can't feel the warmth of Lena's pussy against her fingertips, "I try to. I feel like it's good girlfriend etiquette."

Lena is trying so hard to look at least moderately annoyed. It's not working at all, but Kara can see that's her intent. She also knows exactly what Lena means, too. She means Kara is listening to her. To the beat of her heart and the air in her lungs and all the tiny, inaudible (for everyone else) sounds that tell her exactly how much Lena wants her. 

"You're listening to what you're doing to me." Lena drops the book on the floor to wrap both hands around Kara's neck, hips shifting forward just enough to get more contact with Kara's hand between her legs. Kara knows Lena doesn't need superhearing to notice the way Kara's breath catches in her throat. 

"And what am I doing to you, baby?" Kara won't cross the barrier of Lena's panties just yet, but her fingers becomes more purposeful, less teasing as two fingertips press against Lena's clit through damp lace. Lena's eyes flutter closed and she takes in a sharp breath that sounds almost like a gasp, and Kara rewards such a gorgeous sound with a kiss to Lena's jaw. "What Spring does to cherry trees?"

Lena must feel Kara's teasing grin even if she can't see it, because she lets out a breathless chuckle even as her hips start rocking to meet the movements of Kara's fingers. "Just admit poetry can express richer emotions than prose ever cou--"

Kara's mouth is on Lena's before she can finish her thought, and Kara would maybe feel a bit guilty for interrupting, but Lena's fingers fist in blond hair and pull her close and there's no way someone who's offended would kiss her like that. And Kara isn't even listening anymore, because Lena's tongue is in her mouth and all she can hear is her own heart thumping along anyway.

When she breaks the kiss, Lena keeps Kara close. She's panting slightly, breath hot and wet against Kara's lips and pupils so dilated Kara wonders if she can see her at all. A quiet, hitched moan escapes parted lips, and Kara swears there's nothing in the world -- in the universe, really -- more beautiful than Lena when she's like this. Like putty in her hands. And Kara just can't resist. 

"Admit you purred," she whispers against kiss-swollen lips, knowing if there's one chance for her to win an argument with her girlfriend this must be it. When she has Lena rocking against her fingers, wet and wanting and just the right amount of needy to get her to give in, for once. 

"Kara." It's practically a whine, and Kara swears it sounds like victory. Until she sees the glint in her girlfriend's eyes, and Lena gets her checkmate move after all. "Shut up and fuck me."

Kara feels the words rather than hears them. They hit right between her legs and spread all over her body, and you know what? Kara really is okay with losing under these particular circumstances.

Two fingers hook under the crotch of Lena's panties and Kara tugs lightly, almost like she's testing the strength of the lacy fabric. "Do you really like the..." Kara's voice trails off as Lena pulls the t-shirt up and over her head, blue eyes staring unabashedly at her girlfriends breasts as she struggles to finish her thought, "...these?"

It's just polite to ask before tearing someone's panties to shreds, if you ask her, even if you're currently transfixed at the sight of her breasts.

"I don't care." Lena's voice is doing that thing again, except this time Kara is pretty sure she's not doing it on purpose at all, it's just that's what Lena sounds like when she needs Kara now and isn't that just the best thing ever? "Baby, please, I don't care."

Kara doesn't know if she rips the panties off first and then leans in to catch Lena's left nipple with her mouth or if it happens the other way around, but she honestly doesn't care either, as it turns out. All she knows is two fingers slip inside Lena in one smooth, firm thrust, and her free hand grabs Lena's right breast, and then--

"More," Lena moans, breathy and greedy, but when Kara starts thrusting harder into her Lena shakes her head, "no, no-- more fingers," and Kara lets out a quiet whimper around the stiff nipple between her teeth. 

Kara pulls her fingers out of Lena and stretches her ring finger to join the first two before sliding them back inside. Her movements are slow and careful, all of her senses focused on detecting even the slightest hint of discomfort in her girlfriend until her three fingers are fully inside Lena. 

"Go on, Supergirl." 

Lena's tone is just the right amount of teasing to make Kara chuckle lightly, mouth leaving Lena's breast to trail kisses up her sternum and to the freckles on her neck as her arm starts pumping once again. She's so very close, Kara can tell, and even more so when she turns her wrist just so to press the pad of her thumb against Lena's clit.

Lena's fingers dig into Kara's scalp, into the strong muscle at her shoulder as Lena holds on and rides Kara's hand, hips rocking hard and fast in time with Kara's thrusts. Kara couldn't listen to any one thing if she tried. It's a symphony of sighs and moans, whimpers and ragged breaths and stuttering heartbeats that nearly overwhelms her senses until she feels Lena clench around her fingers, hips losing their rhythm as Lena comes with Kara's name on her lips.

Kara pulls her face away from Lena's neck just so she can look at her. Watch her come around her fingers and then relax, chest heaving with the effort of trying to catch her breath. Kara swears there can't be a more beautiful sight in the universe, especially not now, with the sun rising and bathing Lena's damp skin in early morning light. And as much as Kara tries to suppress it, there's a thought running through her head. A line from that stupid poem with its stupid cherry trees.

A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body... 

"You're thinking very loudly," Lena whispers, already resting her head on Kara's shoulder as her fingertips play with the hem of Kara's shirt, "what are you thinking?"

For a second, Kara considers telling her, but Neruda's words aren't what comes out when she opens her mouth. "Just how beautiful you look," she says, which is in fact the truth. Kind of. She can't let Lena win every single time, right?

***

"Apparently the first cherry trees got here in 1910, but they had to burn them all because of a bunch of insects." Kara holds the little guide book in her hand as she reads, her other hand safely in Lena's as they walk along the Tidal Basin. "These ones are newer, from 1912."

 "Oh, like the Titanic!" Lena looks delighted with the coincidence, and the bright smile on her face makes Kara lean in to steal a kiss from her lips. Her fiancée is super cute when she lets her inner dork show, if you ask Kara.

"See? I told you buying an actual guide book would be worth it!" Kara holds the small book in her hand with the pride of someone who's just won an argument (for once). "Where else are you going to get that kind of high quality trivia?"

"You do know the prototype L-Corp keychain I gave you last week can access Google, yes?"

"Not the same."

"Not to mention the actual supercomputers we all carry around in our pockets. Or the high-tech communicator in your wat--"

"Lena!" Kara groans. "Look around! The cherry blossoms! The quaintness of springtime! A romantic stroll along the river! Where's your sense of romance?"

Lena chuckles lightly, her free hand sliding up Kara's arm to wrap around her bicep. And Kara would complain about the obvious use of one of her many Lena-related weaknesses, but you know what? It works.

"Kara Danvers," Lena says, voice low and teasing, "that's all very poetic."

Kara rolls her eyes, but she can't quite stop the bright smile that's already appearing on her face. "Don't you start with me," she warns, not very convincingly. 

Lena presses a kiss to Kara's shoulder, and it makes color rise to Kara's cheeks even through the soft fabric of her cardigan. Even after all these years. But she figures if there's one day to be particularly enamored with one's fiancée, that's the day she's scheduled to receive a Presidential Award for her contributions to science and the betterment of humanity.

Not to brag. But Kara is proud.

"I love you," Kara says, because she can't not, "and I'm just so proud, I--"

Lena presses a finger to Kara's lips, stopping what was potentially about to turn into a whole speech about the many ways in which Lena Luthor could not possibly be any more perfect if she tried. 

"Kara," Lena warns, all cocked eyebrow and slightly pursed lips, "you promised. You promised you wouldn't cry before the actual ceremony."

And Kara would argue. She'd argue that she's perfectly capable of going on about Lena's many virtues without actually crying, but you know what? Her eyes are feeling just a tiny bit misty already so she's just gonna go ahead and trust Lena on this one.

"You know what I also love?" Kara presses a kiss to the pad of Lena's finger and obediently changes subjects. "Sushi. Let's go get some." Kara starts walking away from the beautiful soft pink trees and in the general direction of the street festival, tugging Lena along. She's all for the romance of blossom-watching, but she'd be lying if she said hearing about the culinary side of this whole festival hadn't excited her a bit more than that.

It's only when she hears a sigh coming from Lena that Kara's focus shifts from food to the woman next to her. That wasn't a happy sigh. 

"Are you okay, baby?"

Lena smiles. It's not a fake smile, but there's a hint of something in it that isn't fully happy, either. "Yes. Yes, I'm fine. It's just... between the cherry blossoms and all this talk of sushi, I guess it made me a bit nostalgic for Sendai." 

"Sendai?" Kara looks at Lena with curiosity written all over her face. "What's Sendai?"

"Oh, it's a city in Japan. I lived there for a few months for an exchange when I was in college. Did I never tell you?" Kara shakes her head, her face the picture of delight at getting to learn something new about Lena. "There was this little restaurant near Tohokudai, I swear they had the best sushi in the world." Lena hums, letting her eyes flutter closed for a second like she's trying to imagine the taste. "I'd do anything for some negitoro maki from that place right about now."

Kara listens intently to her fiancée's words. She knows it's just a silly little comment. She knows Lena will be perfectly happy eating the undoubtedly delicious sushi currently being sold at the street festival. And yet.

She can't resist a chance to make Lena just that little bit happier, can she? 

So Kara looks around to make sure they're not being watched, and lets go of Lena's hand. "Be right back."

"Where are you--?"

But all Lena gets is a quick kiss and a gust of wind on her face before Kara disappears.

She's only gone for a couple of minutes -- just enough for Lena to wander back towards the cherry trees -- and when she comes back she's holding a small box which she immediately presents to Lena.

"Sushi for my... sushi," Kara lets out a chuckle, her now-free hand coming up to scratch at the back of her head like she's aware she may have gone just a little bit overboard but she's hoping it won't be too much, "Sendai's beautiful, by the way."

Lena's smile is soft, and Kara has a feeling -- not to toot her own horn -- if she'd been listening she would've heard Lena's heart skip a beat. 

"Kara Danvers," Lena sighs, shaking her head like that'll do anything to hide just how charmed she is right now, "you're something el-- what's that?"

"Nothing," Kara shifts slightly and puts her hand -- and the little carton box it's holding -- behind her back, fully intending on letting the focus of this moment be on her romantic gesture, but Lena raises one eyebrow and Kara loses her resolve. "Potstickers." Kara's voice is quiet as she shows Lena the box. "What? I was in the neighborhood!"

"In the neighborhood of," Lena squints slightly as she reads the words on the box, "Shanghai?"

"Well, China is next door to Japan, if you think about it."

Lena chuckles, clearly too charmed by this whole thing to even continue teasing Kara about it. "Thank you. For this. You didn't actually have to fly all the way to Japan to get my favorite sushi, but I appreciate it."

Kara shrugs, chopsticks already grabbing the first potsticker in the box. "I'd go way farther than Japan to make you happy. You know that."

"I do know," Lena nods, looking just a little thoughtful, like she's just now realizing she fully believes Kara would stop at nothing to make her happy, "you even promised when you proposed."

Lena wiggles her finger, flashing the kryptium ring that's been there for a few weeks now along with a teasing smile, and Kara can only shrug. "Well, I meant it," she says, popping the potsticker in her mouth and leaning against the trunk of a nearby cherry tree.

"I know," Lena says again, but this time she's smiling, amusement shining in her eyes, "if only Lex had figured out the one true way to have the world in the palm of your hand is to make a Kryptonian fall in love with you."

"To be fair, I really don't think your brother is Kal's type."

***

Eight hours later, they're seeing the Tidal Basin from above, the cherry blossoms looking nearly white in the moonlight. They could be in National City already, but Kara figures there's no reason why she can't take the scenic route with Lena in her arms and enjoy the view without the crowds and the bustle they experienced earlier today. Perks of being your own private jet.

"Go a bit lower, baby," Lena's voice is soft against Kara's ear, like she's afraid if she speaks too loud she'll break the spell and they won't feel like the only two people in the world anymore, "I want to see the flowers."

Kara doesn't make her wait. Lena's just been awarded an actual medal by the President, and spoiling her a little is the least Kara can do. So she dips until they're hovering just above the soft pink blossoms and then a little lower still, close enough that Lena can smell the sweet, fresh scent of Spring.

The night is clear and quiet, just cool enough for Lena to reach for Kara's cape and pull it forward to wrap it around herself. Kara holds her a little closer, just enough to hopefully provide a bit of extra warmth, and she figures it was the right move when Lena slips one arm from under Kara's cape to reach for the tree and pick a particularly pretty blossom from one of the branches that's closer to them.

Lena looks at it for a moment, twirling the little stem between her fingers like she's pondering what to do with it. And then she turns and tucks Kara's hair behind her ear, sliding the small flower between soft blond strands and smiling when she's satisfied it'll stay exactly where she wants it.

"Happy?" Kara chuckles, something soft and quiet and a little teasing because there's something equal parts amusing and endearing about Lena's perfectionism when it comes to silly little things like putting a flower in Kara's hair.

"Very."

And there's something about the way Lena smiles, more with her eyes than with her mouth, that makes Kara see, clear as day, just how serious Lena is. How sincere, when she says she's very happy. 

Maybe that's why Kara gets a little transfixed just looking at her, suddenly aware of just how different this Lena -- the Lena wrapped in her arms and her cape, wearing her ring and smiling with a smile that's just Kara's -- is from the Lena she first met all those years ago.

"Kara Zor-El," Lena's voice is soft just like the sound of Kara's true name on her lips, "what are you thinking about?"

And Kara wishes she had the words to tell her. But how does she even begin to explain what she's feeling right now? How she's still the same Lena that made Kara's heart trip all over itself the first time she saw her, but she's so very different all the same time. Brighter. Lighter. Loved. God, she's so loved, and Lena knows it, finally, and that's what's different, maybe. Not just Kara's love, because Lena's had that from the very first day, probably, but the fact that Lena can feel it now. 

How do you put that in words? I love you just doesn't feel like enough. 

And then it hits her.

"I'm thinking," Kara smiles, cheeks pink with the knowledge that she's just been proven wrong, "about what Spring does to cherry trees."

[beskarberry]

Silver and Steel

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 2 (The Mandalorian x f!reader)

It was then you noticed the open wall next to you. The steel panel was slid open to reveal a vault packed corner to corner with more firepower than you had ever seen in one place. Your eyes roamed from blaster to rifle to flamethrower, noticing that not all of them were made for five fingered hands. This wasn't just an armory, it was a trophy case.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 7.5k

Content warnings: ALOT. Descriptions of violence (a little spicier than canon) blood mention, near death experiences, hurt/COMFORT, fluff, smut exhaustion sex, top!reader.

A/N: I hope y’all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it but yeah PLEASE READ THOSE CONTENT WARNINGS!! It all works out ok in the end! Also good chunks of this was inspired by a particular filk song called Call the Navigator which I’ll link in the replies so the external link doesn’t ef up my post.

<-Previous Next->

"Med pack... junk....junk....spotchka?....is that all you've got?"

You were bent over a deep supply crate, your legs barely touching the ground while you dug through what you had hoped would be the food stock. There were several banged up tins of rations and a handful of miscellaneous junk, but nothing that looked real food. You were clean and dry after your shower, but the energy that had been spent in this very supply room just an hour or so earlier had to be replenished. "Where’s the rest of it?"

The silence coming from the cockpit was expected, but still frustrating. With a huff you grabbed two food tins and made your way through the old ship towards the ladder. At the top though a small antechamber you found your new comrade seated in the pilot chair, fussing with the buttons on the console. On either side and slightly behind his chair were two other passenger seats, though the one on his left was missing a good deal of padding. The cockpit was poorly lit save for the lighted console and the dusty starlight overhead. Though you were in the air, you could tell you were still on Tatooine. Hooray. Why are we still here? The great Dune Sea stretched out on all sides, sparsely dotted with sand people villages, but you couldn’t see any of the large space ports such as Mos Eisley or Mos Espa. In the ships’ darkness you couldn't tell what the lumpy thing was in the other chair, probably blankets or laundry. You went to toss it off the seat when a pair of huge black orbs peeped out from the heap of fabric.

"The fuck is THAT?!" You rocketed backwards, dropping the food tins in the process. The bug eyed creature made a soft cooing noise and lifted the rest of the blanket off itself, allowing two gigantic green ears to pop into view. It didn't look like a threat, in fact it looked kinda cute, but you knew it could still be dangerous. A pair of stubby three-fingered hands made grabby motions at you, the little creature giggling at your bewildered face. " Where'd you find this thing, is it some kind of pet?"

"He's not a pet." Finished fiddling with the console, Mando turned in his chair to readjust the blanket that had slumped off of the small beastie. It squealed happily and wiggled in its comfy cocoon before noticing the food tins that were still on the floor. He pointed the tiniest claw at them and chirped at you, demanding to be fed. "You'd better give him one of those before he gets mad."

It took you a moment to process what he said before scooping one of the tins off the floor, peeling back the lid and placing the dish in the seat next to the little thing. He greedily scooped the mystery mash into his tiny toothy mouth, gibbering between bites. You picked the remaining tin off the floor and leaned against the door frame, watching it happily chow down.

"If it's not a pet then what is it?"

"He's my..." the Mandalorian paused, fishing for the right words to say, "...he is my child."

That was not at all the answer you expected, if he had said emotional support gremlin you would have been less confused. The baby was still making a mess of his dinner, almost dropping his plate before Mando snatched it and set it carefully back in his lap. You had seen first hand that there was a human under all that metal plating, and your tired brain fizzled trying to make the connection between the two very different beings. Mando could tell by your puzzled face that he had some explaining to do.

He told you the tale of how he had been charged to bring the baby in as a high credit bounty, but after he used the reward to get new armor he went back and stole the child away from its captors. He talked about the Mandalorian concept of a 'foundling' and that he himself was one too. At some point you had popped your food tin open and started eating, though you were so captivated by his story that you couldn't remember doing so. When he'd finished you set your empty dish on the busted chair and gently held your hand out for the child to grab with one mush covered paw, who babbled excitedly at his new friend.

Behind you his parental guardian was rigid, ready to take you out if you made one wrong move against his precious cargo. Though he had been the one to steal you away and forgo freezing you in carbonite he still didn’t exactly trust you, your reputation as a hunter-killer was what had driven your bounty so high. He knew you were disarmed, but what else could you be capable of? However, you weren't paying mama-hen Mando any mind. Instead you let the baby play with your hand a bit before he returned to his food. You decided that the only place left to sit was on the floor. Squished into the tiny space between the passenger and pilot seats was cramped, but it gave you a fantastic view out the rounded transperisteel window into the vastness of the night sky.

“Your story sounds awful familiar.” You turned your attention to the metal clad man, watching him fidget with the steering controls. “You abandoned a guild reward for anothers wellbeing, like I did. Someone that didn’t deserve to be dragged back in cuffs. Is that why you picked up the puck on me? Some kind of kindred spirit something or other?”

“We’re nothing alike.” He was watching out the window, focused on flying the ship to unknown destinations, but he was bouncing the leg farthest away from you. So when the cogwheels turn in your head, the machine moves somewhere else. If you hadn’t experienced his human body first hand you could have easily convinced yourself he was a droid.

“Now that’s not true. You told the guild to get fucked because your moral compass was pointing the other way. I didn't just let that quarry go y'know? It was more than that. There was... there was someone she had to get back to. And the New Republic was just gonna lock her ass up and for what? It wasn't right." You remembered that Togruta woman, pointing a blaster at you with tears in her eyes and her belly swollen with a child that did not belong to the man she was being forced to marry. A few thousand credits weren’t worth another child being made an orphan, and you gave her your ship to escape in while you led hunters on a wild-bantha chase away from her. You knew it drove the guild insane but you wouldn’t have it any other way. A tiny green foot poked itself out from under the blankets by your head, bringing you out of your reverie. On reflex you tucked it back into the safety of his blankies.

Though you thankfully didn’t remember much of your early childhood, you knew you had come from Corellia. You didn’t know if you had parents or siblings, but there had been many other young street urchins in your alley behind the shipyard, and all you had then were each other. You never planned on having any kids yourself, but they were still something to be protected. At all costs, if necessary. “I’m guessing this little dude is happy with that decision.”

Mando had begun to take the ship closer to the ground, it was almost totally dark outside but you could see on the radar there was a large mountainous formation up ahead. Carefully, he landed the beat up craft on a sturdy outcropping of rocks, kicking up whirlwinds of dust and sand. Far out over the sand you could see a collection of lumpy looking ruins that were slowly succumbing to the march of the dunes. You guessed this was where your quarry was hiding out.

The baby was starting to get sleepy, his huge eyes disappearing slowly as the weight of his eyelids became too much. His little head rolled forward, threatening to toss him off his seat. Your big mean bounty hunter heart couldn’t take it, so you scrambled to your feet and scooped the baby up in your arms, sitting down in his seat to get him situated in your lap. He fussed and squirmed a bit, but you had learned a no-fail trick from the Corellian ship builders that would often help to sneak orphaned children onto their ships and off that skughole of a planet towards a better life. Many years ago they had done the same for you.

“Oh, I have sailed the midnight sea from Hoth to Arvala-5.

Seen the Cloudshape Falls of Alderaan, met rocks that were alive.

But soon I came to realize as world to world I roamed,

That nowhere in the galaxy could really be my home.”

The songs you knew were often sang by whole crews of starship sailors, loud enough to shake their durasteel walls, but you dropped your voice low and soft to turn the star-shanty into a lullaby. The baby was watching you with glittering eyes, he had stopped his wiggling and curled up tightly against your chest.

“So call the navigator, set the course and go!

We've stars and planets to explore, my wild heart tells me so.

Beneath the metal decking I can hear the engine sigh

And all I need is a mighty ship and a staaaa-aarr to guide her by”

A tiny yawn betrayed his wondrous eyes, and he gave up and closed them shut, rubbing his little hands on his face. You lowered your voice to almost a whisper.

“I've seen a million beauties and I've known a million fears,

And life is what I've found between the laughter and the tears.

Still I will sail the last frontier through worlds both tame and wild,

And marvel at their strangeness with the wonder of a child”

Soft snores were your only applause, the baby having drifted off mid stanza. You hummed a few more lines of the song to be sure he was asleep. The cockpit was as dark as the surrounding sky, but the glint of silver caught your attention. Starlight reflected off the beskar plates in a way that made the black of his visor seem darker than the heart of a collapsed star, and just as deadly. The Mandalorian was watching you intently, completely motionless.

The precious moment with the baby had made you very forgetful of the dangerous situation you were actually in. You had been captured, you were this man’s prisoner and yet here you were all cozy in the chair with his adopted son in your lap. You glared back at him, matching his fierce gaze when the little green bundle moved to get more comfortable, one tiny hand catching claws in the top you were wearing; a tunic that did not belong to you.

“Here, you take him then.” Your voice was hushed so as not to wake the child, and you raised him up gently to try and unhook him from your shirt. Immediately there were two gloved hands coming to lift the baby off of your lap. He was a monolith of leather and metal, but the way he pulled his son in close was so gentle that all the ferocity of his profession dissipated like mist. Mando carefully tucked the blanket under the sleeping little baby and wrapped him up tight before slowly turning away from you and the flight deck to head down the ladder in total silence, leaving you alone in the dark.

You watched him go, the top of his shiny silver head disappearing into the floor. Without the sounds of life in the cockpit the quiet of the night weighed heavy on your ears. He still hadn’t told you why he had kept you out of the carbonite, all you had done was let him use you as his personal play-thing... and maybe murder off some of his bounty hunting competition, but that wasn’t much to go off of. You had done worse for much less. Put your skills to better use, that’s what he had said. Absently you toyed with the end of your sleeve, no, not your sleeve. His sleeve.

That was another thing, what reason did he have to show you hospitality when his first interaction with you had been so violent? Binding you and marching your ass through the desert after he had fucking shot you. Your escape plan had almost worked, ha! All you would’ve had to do is tire him out and run but that had backfired entirely. The apex of your thighs still thrummed with sensation, warm and blissful. Though you’d had lovers in the past you usually didn’t still feel them so deeply afterwards. The smell of the fresher soap still clung to your body and clothes. Clutching at the collar of your sweater you pulled it to your face and breathed deep, letting the heady scent of it fill your lungs.

“Let’s go. We have work to do.” The modulated voice coming from the ladder startled you from your guilty indulgence and sprang you to your feet, but the source of the voice was already back down the ladder. You sheepishly followed suit.

“You plan on telling me what we’re up to exactly?” Down below the Mandalorian was loading himself with ammunition, each and every slot on his many bandoliers was packed to the brim with charges. His pulse rifle was slung over one shoulder, clanking up against a new piece of equipment you hadn’t seen before. Some kind of jet pack maybe.

“I have two bounties to catch on Tatooine. One of them conveniently fell into a sarlacc pit. The other one's hiding out down there." A bounty fob blinked red in his hand; quick flashes indicated that the target was close by. “If you help me with this, you’re off the hook. I’ll tell Karga you’re dead and the guild will stop sending hunters after you. But-” He turned to face you, he was holding your beat-up old back pack by one ratty leather strap. "If for one second I think you'll turn against me, I'll take the half credits for your corpse."

"You're one to talk!" You hissed, storming up to the gunslinger with the ferocity of a lothcat. "You kidnapped me! I didn't ask to be here."

The man in question didn't budge under your verbal assault. "Do we have a deal or not?"

He forced your backpack into your arms to accentuate his point. You ripped it from his grasp and stormed to the other side of the cabin. Everything was still inside; a pack of bacta patches, a few mementos, three busted tracking fobs and some blaster charges. Speaking of blaster-

"Where’s my gun, Mando?" Your question was answered when you turned back to face him. He was holding it by its barrel, extending the grip towards you. You met his visor with contempt, but took the old blaster from him carefully as not to cause a misfire. It would be nice to not be on the run from a guild you had pledged your loyal services to for so many years, that now wanted you delivered back to them in carbonite; and you knew that Karga would trust his favorite hunter. The life of a moisture farmer wasn’t what you dreamed of when you escaped Corellia. Fuck that. "Yeah, it's a deal. One hunt and I'm gone."

It was then you noticed the open wall next to you. The steel panel was slid open to reveal a vault packed corner to corner with more firepower than you had ever seen in one place. Your eyes roamed from blaster to rifle to flamethrower, noticing that not all of them were made for five fingered hands. This wasn't just an armory, it was a trophy case.

If he didn't want you to ogle his wares he should have closed the panel, but instead he joined you at the wall, picking up some extra plasma cartridges and a vibroblade with a curved handle, which he pushed into your hands. "Will that be enough?"

Either you trust me or you don't, pick a side, tin can. You didn't answer him right away, opting to pull a chest holster and another couple of blasters down from the wall. You cinched the holsters tight and tucked a blaster in on either side, slung a disruptor over your back and stuffed the knife in your boot. Once you had everything in place you stuck your fists on your hips like a superhero with a confidant nod. "Yeah, that should be good."

Mando was watching you with intensity, his visor going over each of your weapon choices. He tugged on your holsters’ cross straps to make sure they were secured. You rolled your eyes at him, "I know how to dress myself, sir."

No answer. Typical. He stopped fussing with your straps and turned back to the wall, selecting a heavy multi-ammo bandolier. He stepped closer to you, wrapping both arms around your waist to fit the belt in place on your hips. You tried to convince yourself that it was the cool beskar of his chest plate pressed up against you that sent a shiver down your spine. The physical contact was over as quickly as it had been initiated, and then he was back in the vault fishing out the tiny silver explosives that fit neatly into the circular latches on either side of your belt, handing them to you without a word. Finished with his selection he pressed a few buttons on his vambrace, one to slide the armory shut and another to summon an egg-shaped hover crib to float to his side. Inside its shell the child was sound asleep, a heart-melting smile on his tiny little face. As adorable as he was, you furrowed your brow in confusion.

“Is he coming too?”

“Where I go, he goes.” Mando said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He strode back to the supply crate you had been digging through earlier and packed a handful of rations into a bag for the journey through the dunes. Cool desert air gusted into the stuffy cabin as the access ramp fell open, and the three of you headed out into the darkness of Tatooine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your dreams were hazy and feverish, shots of blaster fire flickered through the fog from unknown assailants. The smell of blood and blast plasma strong in your nose even while unconscious. You saw the sneering face of a Twi’lek twist in agony and purple blood painted his face before he winked out of existence, replaced in your mindscape with bloody hands. Your hands. Then there was cold beskar on your cheek and strong arms hauling you from the carnage. Harsh wind in your ears and the ground spiraling away beneath you. The howling wind so loud you couldn't hear the questions being barked in your face. Pain, the smell of burning skin, then nothing. You felt objects moving frantically nearby, and something soft and green was pressing into your ribs. Your eyes, heavy as they were, fluttered open to see two huge black orbs staring up from your side where bright red blood was staining the sheets under you. Is that ... my blood?

“Hey green bean...what’cha up to?” Your voice was hoarse and weak, scratching its way out reluctantly past chapped lips. Talking made your head pound, you reached up to cradle your aching skull when two leather tipped hands caught yours and held them steady.

“Easy... Don’t move too much. Please.” Your hands were gently set back down at your sides, shooting pain up your arms. A large black and silver body was hunched beside you, frantically sticking bacta patches to your skin.

“Mand...do? What…what happened?” Your voice was barely a whisper, so faint the recycled air of the cabin threatened to whisk it away.

“You got the bastard, but that fucking Twi' managed to get a shot off in your gut point blank before he went down. You shouldn't have survived that but you did.” Is that a compliment? He was wrapping a long gauze bandage around your arm, fixing the bacta patches in place so they could do their thing. It hurt, but not as much as you thought it should have. Down by your side the child had rolled into you face first, passed out cold next to an emergency cauterizer. Mando nodded at his sleeping son, “And if it wasn’t for him, you’d be dead for sure.” 

The baby? How is he involved with this? Thoughts echoed loudly in your skull, and you decided that thinky time was over. The little guy had the right idea, you should sleep now, embrace the comfort of the dark behind your eyes, let it swallow you whole.

“Hey hey hey! Not yet. Stay with me, ok? You need to drink something. Here.” An armored hand slid under your head, urging you to sit up just enough to take a drink out of the metal canteen pressed against your lips. “You need to stay awake, just for a little while.” Cool water graced your dry mouth and dripped onto your chin. Embarrassed by your mess you tried to wipe the droplets away but once again your arms were halted in place. A rough piece of fabric dabbed at your face.

“I’m not a baby, Mando. I can take care of myself.” The creeping sting of blast-burn that still scalded your skin told you that might not be true. The bacta was just starting to seep into your bloodstream, but it would take some time to work its magic.

“I know that. I was with you down there in the fray. A rancor would have been less terrifying to face than you. But right now I need you to hold still.”

Another compliment? Or was that sarcasm? You’re losing your edge, tin man. You tried to roll your eyes but the effort made your head spin; you glanced around the cabin, trying to avoid meeting the visor that was pinning you to the cot. Strewn about the floor of the ship was what was left of your holsters and weapons, splattered with red and purple blood. You couldn’t be sure, but it looked like one belt had been blasted to smithereens, torn strips of leather the only indication it had been there at all. Farther away you saw a dark block in the carbonite freezer. The Twi’lek from your nightmare was frozen solid, though from his limp posture you guessed he had stopped moving long before he was put in the chamber. One of his long lekku had been cut clean off, and even in carbonite you could see the wound was fresh. Something long and curved stuck victoriously out of the center of his chest. Your vibroblade, lodged to the hilt in his sternum.

Mando was still kneeling on the floor by your side, and though you couldn’t see his face his hunched shoulders gave you the feeling that he was distraught. He still had your head resting in his palm, his thumb absently toying with your hair. Maybe it was the bacta running through your system that made you start to feel warm and gooey on the inside, but the sensation of his hand on your scalp felt... nice. Nice to be touched in a way that wasn't just for survival. Though you had already felt his hands on your body this was something else entirely. Sincere. Maybe it was just the first time somebody near you wasn't trying to kill or capture you. You foolish girl, you've already been captured. Are you so lonely that a gentle touch makes you melt? Maybe it's you that's losing your edge.

"You should have left me for dead, cashed in on that half credit reward."

"That is not The Way." His mantra was rehearsed, spoken as easily as he drew breath, but you could hear the exhaustion in his voice.

��Well... thank you for not letting me bleed out.” You could see the top of the baby's green little noggin still curled up against your side, though the part of your ribs he was leaning on didn’t have a single mark. You looked for the blast wound that Mando was supposedly talking about, but aside from a handful of plasma burns your skin was smooth and healthy; the pool of dried blood under you was the only indication anything had been there at all. What kind of mando magic is that? And what did he mean about the child? Your first thought was how disappointed you were there wouldn’t be a good scar. Your second was realizing your top was missing. Shreds of it were still on your shoulders, but the front had been ripped off completely to get to your vanished wounds. Mando seemed like he didn’t even care, he had been so focused on patching you up that the idea of modesty was thrown out the window, but you couldn’t help teasing him. “There’s not a scratch on me, Mando. You just wanted me topless, didn’t you?”

His thumb on your scalp froze, his visor going from your face to your chest with rapid snaps. Without letting your head drop he used his other hand to tear his cloak from his back and throw it over you and the sleeping baby. “Better?”

Party pooper. “Yes, thank you.” Why is he being so nice? He must have ulterior motives, right? Why keep me alive if not to cash in on that bounty? You decided to push his buttons some more. “This bed sucks. Is this why you're so crotchety? Because you sleep on this Maker-forsaken thing? It’s making my back hurt.”

The cot you were on was spartan at best, more of a cloth covered bucket than a bed. It was recessed into the wall opposite of the armory, bits of machinery and droid parts hanging over the space above you. There wasn’t much of a gap between your head and the durasteel plating of the ship’s hull. Your teasing was rewarded with a long, tired sigh. The hand that cushioned your head moved down to your shoulders, pushing on you so that you sat up straight. You scooped the baby off of your side and into your arms, trying to ignore the dried blood from your wounds that stained the sheets before swaddling the sleeping bean in his father’s cloak. The metal man rose from the floor, letting go of you just long enough to remove his cross-belts and unlatch his chest plate, setting them on the floor with a dull thunk. He squished himself between the wall and your back, his dorsal plate scraping loudly without its cape. He scooched one armored leg around you until it was between your hip and the wall on your side, pulling you into his lap and turning his whole body into a pillow, letting your torso rest on his. He was used to the sharp metal bed frame, but that didn’t mean you should be subjected to it.

“Is this ok?”

You could only nod, your cheeks flushing red with a mix of emotions. It was more than ok, his formidable body was warm and comfortable. His arms wrapped around your waist, helping to support not only you but also his foundling. The spice of him was strong now with him on your back, worn leather and metal and that damn fresher soap that was making a fool out of you. Underneath his steady breathing the sound of something rhythmic caught your attention, it was quick and faint, but unmistakably the sound of his heartbeat. His heart is racing. Listen to that engine purr.

Behind you a man with a name you may never know watched your chest slowly rise and fall with each breath, not with lust but something unfamiliar though not unwelcome. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, whether from the ordeal of keeping you alive or the fact that you were in his arms again he couldn't be sure. He sighed, trying to convince himself to calm down, but the deep breath he took only flooded his senses with the essence of you, threatening to melt the beskar off his head with the heat rushing to his face. He couldn't help the way his fingers traced over your skin, careful not to undo any of the bacta patches. He jumped slightly when your hands found his, but the weight of the child still in your arms made it difficult to reach your fingers. The glove you were touching was suddenly empty, and a bare hand snaked out from under the cloak that kept you modest. With the press of a button the child’s pram floated its way over to you from the supply crates. The baby’s adopted father carefully lifted the sleeping creature off your lap and into his hover crib, another button press on the vambrace and the shield door slid closed.

His hand returned to the safety of the cloak, pulling the other glove off before finding your fingers again. His skin was so warm you couldn't help but imagine his hands somewhere more intimate. Evil, evil bacta... Maybe you wouldn't have to.

"I should thank you properly." It was impossible to hide the tiredness of your voice, but he was close enough you only needed to whisper. His grasp tightened around you, your once plush pillow was now a rigid wall of muscle.

"You should go to sleep." the sound of his baritone words so close to your ear made your skin prickle. Too late for that. Slowly you guided his hand down your belly until your tangled hands bumped into your belt line. A low growl rumbled out of the modulator.  “Cyar'ika... you need to rest."

The alien term of endearment made you hum, but you ignored his words of warning and pushed his hand under the tough fabric till his fingertips found your heat, both of you gasping softly at first contact. His free hand fumbled with your button, and after some difficulty you undid it for him along with the zipper. With space to work, with his wrist moved freely, lazily rolling a calloused fingertip against your clit; remembering his lesson from the first time he experienced your body, his touch was light as a feather.

There wasn’t much you could do for him in the position you were in, so you leaned back against him and relaxed, letting him enjoy you at his own pace. The bottom of his helmet was pressed into the crook of your neck, and though it was sharp you could feel something warm and soft underneath it. So there is a real man under there. Scruffy stubble brushed at your skin and sent goosebumps down your chest. Under the beskar his eyes followed the prickling trail that lead under the tattered cloak you still wore to your breasts, watching the way the fabric pointed where your nipples grew hard for him. His other hand couldn’t resist finding its way to your pert peaks, rolling them between his fingers in that way he knew flushed you with heat. Soft gasps rewarded his ears as he worked at your breast and clit, rubbing them in tandem. Your hips rolled into one hand and your back arched into the other, urging him to help you build your climax. He obliged, adding a second finger to pinch your clit softly between strong digits until you fell apart around him.

The pressure that was building behind you and pressing into your spine told you that if you wanted more from him you would have to give him a better angle. You started to get up, but the hands on your sensitive spots held you in place.

“What about your injuries? I don’t want to hurt you.” What injuries? There’s nothing left! His voice was filled with sincerity, a far cry from your first encounter. You didn’t answer him, instead you found each of his hands and squeezed them with a hum, asking him to trust that the bacta had set in and made you comfortable enough to move from your impromptu med bay. He slid his fingers out from your burning core, dragging the wetness from your cunt over your skin until his palms were on your back, helping to push you up off of him. The teeny tiny bed frame made it difficult to spin yourself around until you were facing him, and even more difficult to kick your pants off as you passed over top of him, but he never took his hands away from you to keep you steady until you were seated in his lap.

Straddling his waist you rolled your hips over where his cock was hidden from you, making him shudder under your legs. His arms glided from your knees to your hips, languidly making their way up your sides and past your breasts to the last remaining tatters of the black knit sweater he had allowed you to wear. Hooking a thumb under its ruined edges, he slid it up over your arms and cast it away into the darkness of the ship. His hands went right back to working at your breasts, massaging them like dough in time with your grinding hips. You took a moment to admire how he looked underneath you, his remaining armor glinting in the hazy ship light as his hands searched for every sensitive inch of your chest. You knew from legend that his helmet could never be removed in front of you, but you’d never heard anything about the rest of his clothes. Where his chest plate had been was a strappy flak jacket dotted with magnetic fasteners. Your hands went slowly to the first clasp, and the hands that were so indulged in you froze, his body stiff between your legs.

“Is this ok?” The irony of you repeating his question from earlier back to him made your lips turn in a sly smile. 

“Y-yes.” His voice was nearly imperceptible, and you realized that he was shaking. You looked to his visor, watching him nod in consent before you continued. He dropped his hands to your hips, pulling down on your thighs and rutting up into you while you busied yourself with the complicated under armor until it fell away at his sides, revealing a pair of suspenders and an identical black knit tunic as the one that had been shredded off of you. You didn’t have the energy to peel every article of clothing off of him, so this would have to do. Without his cloak bunched around his shoulders you were able to see the flesh of his throat, so warm and inviting that you wanted to sink your teeth into it.

You bent down to nibble at the exposed skin, and the filthy moan that rattled out of the helmet sent shivers down your spine. The taste of him was exquisite, better than you could have imagined under all that fabric and leather. The overwhelming cocktail of his scent straight from the source made you bold. You kissed your way around the edge of his helmet where the metal met his skin until you found his pulse point and made good on your desires. His body convulsed when you bit down, sucking at the tender skin until you left blooming marks that would be there for days.

“Cyar'ika... Please...“ There was that word again, you didn’t know what it meant but the way he breathed it like a prayer felt like warm honey in your belly. Releasing his tormented neck you ran your hands down his broad chest until your thumbs bumped the leather suspenders that lead you down to his waist line where you were able to tug the edge of his shirt free, giving you a delicious window of his tummy; well-muscled and dusted with dark brown hair. 

“What’s wrong, tin man? Nobody ever touch you like this before?” He was still shaking while you ran your hands under the edge of his shirt and through the soft treasure trail of fuzz from the top of his belt line to the bottom of his ribs. He couldn’t answer you, his breath caught in his throat at the sensation of your hands on his skin, but you were starting to put the pieces of his puzzle together. No, probably not.

You decided not to torture him any longer. The fabric of his pants was nearly stretched to capacity and wet with your slick. You had to stretch one leg out onto the floor to get enough of a footing to lift yourself high enough off him that you could free him from the canvas prison. His cock nearly burst out of its confines, and your face flushed red at the sight of him standing proudly at attention, twitching in your hands with a flood of shimmering precum made just for you.

His chest was heaving, ragged breaths forcing their way out of his modulator before you’d even taken his length. You used your hips to notch him at your entrance and his grip on your thighs clenched like a steel trap. Slowly you lowered yourself onto him, letting him fill you until you were stretched wide. Your eyes met his visor, though from the way it was tilted you knew he was watching himself disappear into you. His arms wrapped tightly under your ass as he thrust into you hard enough that he lifted you off the cot, quickly scooting both your bodies down the bed until he was flat on his back. You tried to stay upright, but his pounding soon had your head spinning until you were falling forward into his chest, digging your arms around his shoulders in a way you were becoming familiar with. Your hands found their way to the back of his helmet to where his hair line started, sneaking a few fingers under the metal edge to tangle in his curls. The Mandalorian’s hands were on your waist, holding you in place while he rocketed up into you, filling the ships cabin with the sound of wet slaps. His thick cock hit different from this angle, grinding up against the sweet spot deep inside you with each rut until you started seeing stars behind your eyes. He could feel you building up around him and he quickened his pace until you were gasping his name.

“M-mando! I... I’m gonna....” Your muscles coiled with heat until you burst, your sweet cunt fluttering around his still pumping cock until he went cascading over the edge of ecstasy with you, his helmet vibrating with a guttural roar. His feverish body shook, giving you a few short thrusts to milk the cum from his cock until it spilled out from where he was lost inside you.

His shaky arms held onto you so tightly, as if you would blast away into space if he let go. The endorphins flooding his head made him want to pour his heart out and tell you everything, bare himself in body and soul for the first time in his life. He wanted to tell you how nice you had looked in his clothes, how the loose knit fabric draped over your breasts was a work of art; even more so when you were standing before him armed to the teeth in his hunting trophies. How seeing you slice that fucking Twi’lek to ribbons was more graceful than any ballet. The sight of the bloody hole that had been burned into your side had made his skin crawl. Mando wasn’t ready to explain the child’s healing powers, he barely understood them himself; but if it wasn’t for the baby he would have been burying your corpse instead of tending your wounds. Instead of experiencing your living body like he was now.

His heart fluttered at the thought of his foundling healing you with his baby sorcerer magic, his tiny green paws pushed on your side where the blood was spilling from your wound. The thought of you dying for his bounty made him sick, but pride flushed the sensation away when he thought back to that first day with you up in the flight deck. How when his baby boy was restless that you acted, not with malice but with tenderness and care. He'd never wanted to rip his helmet off faster in all his days than when you sang his son a lullaby, the sweet tune of it filtering through his sensory equipment, and he longed to hear it as it was meant to be. In that moment he had been entranced, but the fierce glare of his visor had made you feel threatened. He didn't want that. He wanted to make you feel safe. The same way you had made his child feel, the same way you made him feel now. Like the galaxy itself couldn’t tear you from him.

But the ugly truth was that soon it would all end when you both went your separate ways. All the feelings he wanted to confess to you died in his mouth, leaving a bitter taste that brought him back to reality. You still straddled his waist, and though the blood had long since left his cock it still sat neatly in your heat, letting him feel your gentle heartbeat around him. Carefully he pulled himself free from the apex of your thighs and rolled you both sideways onto the unforgiving cot, letting gravity shuffle you down until you were nestled in the crook of his arm. He couldn’t help brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, meeting your half lidded eyes with his own behind the visor.

“I don’t think I can get to the fresher this time.” Your voice was barely a whisper, and the edges of sleep crept unbidden to your eyes; the traumatic activities of the day finally winning over your endurance. “You’re probably going to have to burn these sheets.”

Mando hummed with indifference, though for you he would burn all of Tatooine down if you asked. All the lovely thoughts that had danced through his mind came rolling through again, haloed in the warm light of afterglow. Only one made its way past his lips, sneaking out of the helmets’ modulator like a prayer.

“How does the song end?”

“Mmm?” You were so close to sleep, so cozy and full of cum that you knew would be a fun mess for morning-you to clean up. You wracked your brain trying to remember what the hell he was talking about. The star-shanty? “Why, do you need a lullaby too?”

“N-no. Just curious. When you leave, my foundling might ask me about it.” Liar. The calloused hand gliding up and down your spine brought the original contract you made with him ringing through your skull. One hunt and I’m gone.

“Leave? I’m not going anywhere until I see you tell Karga face to face that I’m rotting in a sarlacc pit. No take-backs. That old dog will probably dance when he hears he won’t have to part with his credits and I want to catch it on holo-corder.”

The rumbling sigh deep in his chest sounded more like an engine powering down than a mortal man, and it told you more than words ever could. The arm you had around his chest was met with strong fingers that intertwined with your own. He doesn’t want me to go. Who are you, Mandalorian?

“Tell me anyway? Please?” His arms tightened like a fortress around you. His words were distant, echoing out from somewhere in dreamland instead of right by your ear. Alright you big softie, if you’re going to beg me. You sighed heavily against him, trying to recall the songs of your distant past. 

“The nights are long between the stars, and lonely too for me,

I wonder how I might have fared with home and family.

But the bonds of friendship I have formed will last my lifetime through,

Security is not for me, my dreams are all of you.”

The same soft snores that had been your original encore with the baby now ghosted in your ear, muffled by the mysterious beskar helmet but still unmistakable. Like father like son. 

The weight of his arms around you was like nothing you had ever felt in your years on the run. You had traveled so far and met so many living beings but not once had you let another share your bed while you slept. You could get used to this. The thought was the last you had before sleep overtook you, your body slumping against his while you dreamed of silver and steel.

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Why the “Nalu wasn’t the original plan“ party is STILL a big deal.

It's been five years since I made one of my favorite posts on this blog.

If you don't know, it's a post celebrating the fact that Mashima didn't plan to make Nalu canon from the jump. Not only that, he wasn't planning on writing it canon. Not only that, his preferred way of writing Nalu was decidedly not romantic.

As someone who has never bought into Nalu, I was very skeptical when I first heard this. The reason behind the title is that I wanted to be crystal clear this was an accurate source. (Also, I was a full-time undergrad student.) I didn't want to be fooled by something that didn't actually come from Mashima. I only made the post after I was sure that the sentiment really did come from Mashima.

It's safe to say that it hasn't just changed how I think about Nalu. I can't think of Fairy Tail or the discussions fandom had regarding ships the same way. It's not an exaggeration that this revelation has made me like Mashima as a writer much more in retrospect. 

However, it doesn't seem as though fans of Nalu (and certain critics of it) understand why this is such a big deal. I've seen a couple of posts that question the importance of this. "Why is it such a big deal that Mashima didn't originally plan to make Nalu happen?" I feel as though I should talk about this one more time.

Before we get too far into this, let's remind ourselves of what Mashima confirmed in his afterword to Special Request.

He didn't intend to write Nalu as romantic. Even though this chapter, among other events in the series, led people to believe otherwise.

As of the time this post came out, he was writing them as somewhere between friends and lovers and liked that dynamic.

Let's get two things out of the way now. 

One, this doesn't mean that Mashima won't make Nalu canon. I've said this many times before, but it's worth repeating. Mashima has very much strayed away from his original plans for the series in many respects. Not just in the sense that Fairy Tail lasted longer than he originally expected. Mashima wrote Fairy Tail without much in the way of long-term plans. Given what I've also read from him on this subject, this doesn't necessarily mean he went at writing the series without plans in mind. However, he had much fewer concrete plans than either of his other long-running series.

Even as fluid as those plans might be, let's not forget who we're talking about in Mashima. We don't give the man the nickname Trollshima for no reason. As vindictive as many who call him that are, the man is not as predictable as many would believe. Not many could have seen Natsu and Zeref's relationship coming from just chapter 200. Not many people could guess that Happy was more than just a flying blue cat. Zervis was treated like a crack ship up until the chapters that confirmed it came out.

I would love nothing more than to see Nalu fall flat on its face in terms of canon. It doesn't seem as though that won't be the case, as of the time I'm writing this post. However, that might prove to be less true in time with future revelations. As far as I'm concerned, Nalu is still a possibility.

Two, I don't want people to think that Mashima's words mean people can't ship Nalu. This is an entirely different post (that may or may not already be published), but I think it's totally fine to like a ship that isn't canon or tending towards it. Nalu was likely always going to be popular to some degree, regardless of Mashima's writing. It's hard to think of a series where the two leads aren't shipped together, despite what canon does. People will ship the main characters even in situations when canon says they're not meant to be a ship. (read: I can think of at least two semi-popular sibling ships.)

You need to remember that Fairy Tail S wasn't published fairly early in the life of Fairy Tail. The chapter itself was originally released in 2007, just over a year after Fairy Tail started publishing. It's part of Volume 10, which was published about six months after that. If this afterword came out around then, this wouldn't be a big deal. The series continuing past that point wasn't in Mashima's original plan.

Both volumes of Fairy Tail S came out in September 2016. This was about a year before the series would officially end. The same day they were released, volume 57 came out. Those were the chapters we almost lost Gajeel in. (Assuming you believe his life was ever in any real danger.) Weekly Shonen Magazine had already published chapter 501 of 545. We were more than halfway through with the final arc of the series. 

If you can't already tell, that's what makes this revelation a big deal. Mashima's comments refer to most, if not all, of his writing of Nalu in the main series. He never wrote any of the big moments claimed to be Nalu moments to be romantic. They were all written with that "more than friends, less than lovers" idea in mind.

And what's crazy is that, after that afterword came out, there's not a whole lot that Nalu does together in the main series. What happens next? Lucy warming up Natsu? Their interactions in the last two chapters? Nalu's definitely had better days over the years than that. 

But even those moments weren't written with the perspective of them becoming a couple.

One of my favorite Nalu moments in Fairy Tail is the Rainbow Cherry Blossoms. In the special all-color chapter, Lucy gets sick right before she's able to see the titular trees. (It's not as impressive in black and white) So, he digs one up, puts it on a boat, and sends it floating near her house so she can see it. Even as an omake, it's a great sign of the relationship they have. 

Mashima didn't write that thinking they'd become a couple.

A lot has been made about the various different moments where people hint at Nalu becoming canon. One time I think of a lot is when Virgo gives them clothes from the Celestial Spirit World. She mentions that they're almost like a couple. I once mentioned that this would have been interesting to bring back when Lucy sees Natsu passed out in chapter 200. Even though things play out differently, I'm often left thinking about how it did happen.

Mashima didn't write either moment thinking they'd be a couple.

One of my favorite omakes is Natsu and Asuka. It involves my favorite character showing off his parenting chops as a favor for my favorite Fairy Tail ship. The one thing everyone else seems to talk about is Natsu and Lucy almost kissing. Loathe as I am to admit it, that isn't insignificant. To be clear, Asuka's idea of Natsu and Lucy's relationship as being similar to her parents is the product of her naive views of the world. Still, plenty of fans have definitely wished that Natsu and Lucy would kiss already.

Mashima didn't write that thinking they'd be a couple.

I could do this all day.

I wouldn't even be in the wrong. I've said this before, but Nalu fans have taken nearly every interaction involving Natsu and Lucy as proof that the ship will be canon the chapter after it happened. It's not just that this has gone past the moment of credibility. I'm often worried by just how gung-ho fandom is to see Nalu happen. 

"Okay, Mashima might not have been writing Nalu romantically in the main series. But what about the sequel? Surely he's going to make Nalu canon there, right?”

Uhh...

"Also, when are you going to talk about fiction affecting reality?"

I'll get to that second one eventually. But, for the first one, well...

Have you been reading the sequel?

Have you been seeing how fans have been reacting to the sequel?

It's not just that Mashima hasn't done a whole lot to make Nalu canon. It's crazy that I can say that without worrying about bias. People who actually like Nalu are worried that Mashima hasn't done a lot to confirm the ship. If it was just that Natsu and Lucy's relationship was stuck in neutral, that wouldn't be as big a deal.

It's that Mashima's made two different alternate versions of Nalu in implicitly sexual relationships.

It's that Mashima's made every ship in the Big 4 progress further except Nalu.

A long time ago, Mashima made a sketch of Natsu and Gray grabbing different girls. Obviously, Gray grabs Juvia. Natsu, on the other hand, grabs Lucy, Lisanna, Erza, and Wendy. One chapter of the sequel has that same scenario play out while adding Mirajane and Cana into the mix for Natsu. I don't think anything in the sequel has made me laugh harder than seeing Natsu punch a version of Lucy willing to be groped.

I'm not entirely sure that there's one way to make a couple romantic. You have to remember one of the biggest ships in the series involves one character brutalizing the other on their first meeting. There are plenty of different paths to romance, with all kinds of twists and turns.

These types of things don't tell me that Nalu is on any such path. It seems easier to say that Mashima hasn't changed his approach to the ship. Call me crazy, but it looks like he's still writing them as decidedly not romantic. One might even argue he's writing specifically to dissuade people from shipping Nalu. (I wouldn't seriously do this, in case you're wondering.)

I've said this before, and I'll say it again. Despite all of this, Mashima still can make Nalu canon. I don't believe that anything I've said means that Mashima can never make Nalu canon. There's enough time in the series that some drastic change could happen to make Nalu canon. (A scenario I caution readers to temper their expectations about.)

But I'm not holding out for such a scenario. In all likelihood, Nalu will end the sequel in the same way Mashima preferred: more than friends, less than lovers. And no one in fandom might be happier than I will if and when he does.

In Conclusion:

Mashima's revelation is NOT important because it means Nalu will never become canon. It's important because it changes how we understand the different Nalu moments throughout the main series. Though, there's little to suggest to me that Nalu's becoming canon anytime soon.

[bluejayblueskies]

the before, the after, the in-between

Chapter Six: mixed reunions Words: 4.2k

Relationships: Jon & Daisy, Jon/Martin, Daisy & Basira Tags: Post-Canon, Scottish Safehouse, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mute Jon, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies

Work Summary:

There was no knife, no blood, and Jon was not dead. And when he heard a strangled noise from beside him and looked over to see Martin standing in the doorway of the safehouse, flung open and letting in the frigid bite of near-winter and sunlight, there was sunlight, he felt such a dizzying, intense wave of relief that he could hardly breathe around it.

Then, he opened his mouth to say Martin’s name, and nothing came out, and all of the relief fell away in an instant.

.

Jon wakes up in the safehouse in October of 2018, alive and well but without the Eye and without his voice. In the days that follow, he finds himself confronted with a world that has reset itself in space and in time, a version of himself that is no longer the Archivist, and the fact that death during the end of the world had not been so permanent as it had seemed.

Chapter Summary:

Basira seems happy to see you, Jon writes.

Daisy exhales slowly. “Yeah. She does.”

Jon waits for her to elaborate. When she doesn’t, he sighs, taps his pen on the paper a few times, and writes, And is that a good thing or a bad thing?

Daisy stares at the page a long while. Just when Jon thinks she’s not going to answer him at all, she says, “It’s… good. Just odd. Feels… like she shouldn’t be.”

Read on Ao3 (link in source)

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven

Or read below:

(cw for mentions of gun and knife violence, mentions of death/murder, mentions of blood)

Stars are just beginning to fill the sky when there comes a knock at the door—two crisp taps, unhurried, but with a heavy insistence that has Martin standing from the couch quickly, mumbling, “I’ll get it,” and crossing the room while Daisy and Jon watch from where they’re still sat on the couch.

“Hel—oh, yes, come in,” Martin says as he opens the door and Basira immediately pushes past, her eyes scanning the room in front of her with a firm intensity. “Nice to see you too,” he mutters as Basira’s eyes find Daisy, and a wide-eyed expression crosses her face so quickly Jon can’t pin down what it’s meant to be.

“Daisy,” Basira says, and then she’s across the room and standing in front of Daisy, hand halfway outstretched towards her. “It’s… it’s really you?”

Daisy’s hand twitches where it’s clasped in Jon’s. He gives it a subtle, reassuring squeeze. “It’s really me,” she says quietly.

Basira’s eyes scan Daisy’s face, the outline of her body, as if searching for imperfections. After a moment, her eyes find Daisy’s again and she nods, as if confirming something for herself. “Right,” she says, retracting her hand and dropping it to her side. Next to him, Jon can feel Daisy tense slightly, though her face remains carefully calm. Basira takes in a deep breath, lets it out, then steps forward and wraps her arms around Daisy’s shoulders, bending down at an awkward angle to do so.

Daisy goes rigid for a moment before softening. Her hand slips out of Jon’s as she tentatively returns the hug, her hands ghosting across Basira’s shoulder blades and her fingers tracing the hem of Basira’s hijab. Basira exhales again sharply, gripping Daisy a little tighter as she does so, and says, “I thought you were gone.” Her voice is even, but there’s a layer of desperation underneath it that makes it sound choked at the edges. Jon suddenly feels very out of place, and he tries to subtly shift towards the other end of the couch to give them space.

“I was,” Daisy says, voice muffled by the fabric of Basira’s hijab. “But now I’m not.”

Basira laughs a bit unsteadily. “Right,” she says again. “I… I wondered if you were back. Didn’t want to think about it too hard, though. Just in case.”

Daisy is quiet for a moment. Then, so quietly Jon almost doesn’t hear, she says, “I’m sorry, Basira.”

Basira grips her tightly for a moment more, then pulls back so she can study Daisy’s face. “Don’t be. You didn’t force me to do anything. I made you a promise, and I kept it. That’s just how it was.” She exhales slowly. “Besides, none of that matters now. You’re back, and that’s a good thing. God knows there’s enough that’s wrong in the world right now.”

Daisy sits very still, a strange sort of tension keeping her rigid. “You’re… not angry?”

Basira frowns. “No. It was hard, but it wasn’t… it wasn’t you, Daisy. You were trying to be better, before, but you did what you had to, and so did I. It’s just how it was; no point in being upset about it.”

Daisy looks down at a point just beneath Basira’s eyes. “Yeah. No point,” she echoes. After a moment, she says, “You’ve been… okay, then?”

Basira’s lips purse. “I’ve been managing. Finding my own way. Dealing with…” She waves her hand in the air, an encompassing gesture, and Jon doesn’t miss the way her eyes flick over to him. He’s not particularly fond of it, though he fights back the scowl. “It’s been a mess.”

“You said it’s been bad,” Martin says, coming up behind the couch with four mugs of tea carefully balanced in his hands. He passes the first one to Jon with a thin-lipped smile, then to Daisy and Basira in turn. “What does that mean?”

Basira sighs and blows across the surface of her tea in an attempt to cool it. “Well, after you… reset the world? Which we’re going to have a long conversation about, by the way.” She looks pointedly at Jon, who looks pointedly back and takes a sip of his tea to hide his glower. He’s still a bit irritated about the whole… group decision situation. Maybe more than a bit. “I woke up in the Institute, still sitting at the same bloody desk I’d been working at when everything went to hell. I knew something was off straight away, because that feeling of being watched? It just wasn’t there. Didn’t matter how, didn’t matter why—it just wasn’t. So I assumed that the plan worked and the Fears were gone, but I didn’t know yet that we’d been thrown back in time or whatever. Got up and started looking around, trying to figure out where Georgie and Melanie went. Yeah, it was weird that everything looked the same, but I’d seen weirder.”

Basira takes a long sip of her tea. Out of the corner of his eye, Jon sees Daisy shift, setting her still-full mug on the side table and tapping her fingers on her thigh in a rhythmic pattern. He thinks, for a moment, about reaching out, but instead, he just curls his fingers tighter around his own mug. “The place was pretty empty,” Basira says finally. “Before the change, the blood and stuff was all cleaned up about a week after that last attack on the Institute, and then it was just me and a few others. Rosie, a couple of people from Artefact Storage. The people who’d survived and who weren’t smart enough to just… stay away. Rosie was still at her desk. She looked like she’d seen… well. She looked like she’d seen what the rest of us had seen. And…”

Basira exhales slowly, and for the first time, she looks… hesitant. Like she’s not sure she should continue. After a moment, Martin says, “And what, Basira?”

Basira looks down into her tea, her jaw set. “And him. Elias. Jonah. Whatever. Just… sitting behind his desk when I opened the door to his office. Like nothing had even fucking happened.”

A shock of something simultaneously icy cold and red-hot laces up Jon’s spine, and he nearly drops his mug. He looks at Basira with wide eyes, even as he thinks that it makes sense, of course it makes sense, everyone who died while the world was wrong came back, of course he would too, why would it be any different. He remembers the sensation of the knife tearing its way through Jonah’s throat, the heat of the blood as it had dripped down his hands and wrists, tries to juxtapose the image of Jonah lying dead on the Panopticon floor with the image of him sitting alive and well and breathing behind his desk once again, and feels sick. He doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath until the exhalation rips its way harshly out of his throat like it’s been punched out of him. He barely feels Daisy’s hand as it wraps around his, barely feels it as she takes the mug of tea from him and settles it on the floor so it won’t spill. He registers the brush of another hand against his arm, and he hears Martin’s voice from beside him, saying with concern, “Jon? Breathe, love. It’s all right, just breathe.” Then, to Basira: “Christ. He’s alive?”

“Was alive,” Basira corrects, and just like that, all of the air crashes back into Jon’s lungs and he takes a deep, rattling breath, his eyes focusing on her face as it twists into something that might be called a smile if one were being generous with the definition. “I… I didn’t really think. Just pulled my gun and pointed it at him. No Eye, no contract. No reason not to kill him. I wasn’t planning to shoot him, not really, but then he started rambling about- about apotheosis and failure and second chances, trying to convince me that there was no need to be hasty, that we could work something out. Called me Detective again. Just the same slimy bullshit, but without all the bravado and without the collateral.” Basira sighs and looks up from her tea, glancing at Jon with something unreadable on her face. “Melanie was pissed that I didn’t let her stab him.”

Jon makes a choked noise that he thinks, after a moment, might be a laugh. It’s devoid of any amusement, though, and might be bordering on hysterical. Beside him, Martin says quietly, “Shit. Well, uh. That’s… that’s good, at least?”

Basira grimaces. “Sure. It’s great that the bastard’s dead—again, I guess, assuming that you did kill him before everything went back to normal—but things are still a disaster back in London. I’ve been trying to keep them from tearing down the whole Institute, though don’t ask me why I even care about the place after all this. People are angry.” Basira taps her fingers on her thigh in thought. “It’s… probably for the best that you guys ended up out here, actually. Things haven’t been good for the people in charge of domains. They got ahold of Simon Fairchild, and it… it wasn’t pretty. There’s been some chatter about leniency towards the less actively malicious former avatars—I think that came up after they found Callum, actually, which… yeah, that’s a whole thing—but…”

Basira shrugs. But people wouldn’t be so forgiving towards the person who ended the world, Jon thinks with a wry, twisting feeling in his stomach. He fiddles with the notebook where it sits on his lap, but he doesn’t open it. After a moment, Basira continues, “So that’s the state of things, basically. Even though everything’s technically fixed, there’s still a lot of damage, and Georgie, Melanie, and I have been handling it as best we can. Though I think Melanie’s of the opinion that we should just let the entire Institute burn. She’s probably right, but…” Basira shrugs. “It’s just a building full of scary stories now. Might be able to make some use out of it.”

“Right,” Martin says with a sigh. “That’s… a lot.”

“Yeah,” Basira says, sounding weary. “It’s… it’s nice to have a break. To just appreciate the fact that everything’s better now, you know?”

Better for us, Jon thinks bitterly, and he can feel the edges of his mouth twitching into a scowl that he forcibly represses. He doesn’t think pointing out that they’ve condemned an infinity of other worlds to suffering for their own peace of mind would be beneficial, given they’ve already driven that argument into the ground and then some. Besides, he thinks as he rubs his thumb over the spine of the notebook, that would require him to open the notebook and writing it down, and Basira doesn’t know about his voice yet. He’s too tired to hear whatever surface-level pity she might be able to conjure up for him.

“I’ve missed you, Daisy,” Basira says, an increased vigor in her voice as she turns to face Daisy. She looks like she wants to reach a hand out towards her, but she doesn’t. “It’s been… hard. Being alone with all of this. I’ve had Melanie and Georgie, but I… I could use my partner.”

Daisy stares at her for a long moment. When she speaks, her voice is slightly more hoarse than usual. “You want me to come back to London with you.”

Basira nods, a slight frown forming on her face. “Do you… not want to?”

Daisy is quiet for a long moment. Her eyes stare down at the floor, focusing on nothing at all. “I don’t know,” she says finally, the words tense and choked, like the honesty of them pains her. “I… I need to think.”

Basira watches her for a few seconds, something stiff and rigid on her face. “All right,” she says at length, a touch of surprise and resignation lacing her voice. “That’s fine. I can’t stay past tomorrow, though—I have to get back and deal with what’s going on back in London. If you don’t want to…” Basira’s mouth flattens into a line. “It’s fine. I’ll understand.”

“It’s not—” Daisy cuts off with a frustrated noise, almost a growl. “I just need to think.”

“All right,” Basira says again, more placating this time. “I… won’t rush you.”

It’s quiet in the room for a long moment. Finally, as if at a loss for anything else to say and falling back on instinct, Martin offers a tentative, “Would… anybody like something to eat? You’ve been traveling all day, Basira, I don’t know if you’re… er, hungry or not.”

Basira stares at Daisy a moment more. Then, she sighs and says, “Sure, why not.”

“Great!” Martin says, sounding relieved. “Let me just… I’ll see what we’ve got that’s quick.”

He stands, and Basira stands in tandem with him. “I’ll help,” she says. “I’ve got some… things I want to talk to you about. And then after we eat, we’re going to discuss…” She gestures in the general vicinity of Jon and Martin. “Everything.”

Jon curls in on himself slightly. Martin just sighs and says, “Come on, then.” They disappear into the kitchen, and then Jon is left with Daisy on the couch, the faint clatter of cupboards opening and dishes rattling settling into the background.

Now that they’re alone, Jon reaches over and bumps his hand against Daisy’s, a silent question. When she turns her hand over, he takes it in his, threading their fingers together and squeezing firmly. With his other hand, he awkwardly flips the notebook open, ignoring Daisy’s sound of amusement as he clumsily takes his pen in hand and balances the notebook at the same time, and writes, Are you okay?

Daisy pauses for a few seconds before responding. “Yeah,” she says simply.

Jon waits for her to elaborate. When it becomes clear that she’s not going to, he writes, Basira seems happy to see you.

Daisy exhales slowly. “Yeah. She does.”

Again, Jon waits for her to elaborate. When she doesn’t, he sighs, taps his pen on the paper a few times, and writes, And is that a good thing or a bad thing?

Daisy stares at the page a long while. Just when Jon thinks she’s not going to answer him at all, she says, “It’s… good. Just odd. Feels… like she shouldn’t be.”

Jon raises an eyebrow and gives her hand another gentle squeeze. After a moment, Daisy continues, “Even after the coffin, there had been this… weight, between us. I knew she was glad I was back, but I could also tell she was disappointed. She tried to hide it but, heh, she’s always been easy to read for me. She wanted the person I was before, and I knew that, deep down, she was frustrated that I wasn’t that person anymore. I was never… angry with her about it. I understood. Basira’s practical, always likes to have the upper hand. And me choosing to ignore the Hunt… it wasn’t practical. Not for her. She was happy to see me, but she also wished it was a different me. It just… feels weird that it’s not the same now. I’m different, and Basira doesn’t like different. She doesn’t like change.”

There’s been a lot of change lately, Jon writes. Then, while Daisy’s reading his words, he continues, She went through a lot after you were gone. With everything that’s happened, the world the way it is, I

Jon pauses, and Daisy waits as he taps the pen on the paper, leaving little half-formed dots of ink where it makes contact. After a moment, he sighs and finishes, I think she’s just glad that you’re back. Whatever version of yourself that may be.

Daisy looks towards the kitchen. There’s the gentle murmur of voices, too quiet to make out any words above the sound of things sizzling in pots and pans. “Maybe. I… don’t know.” There’s a pause, and then she says, quieter, “Maybe she’s just glad that I’m not a monster anymore.”

When Jon goes to write, she squeezes the hand of his she’s still holding tighter, shaking her head. “Don’t. It’s… complicated.” She’s quiet for a long moment, looking away from Jon and focusing on the faint light streaming in from the kitchen. “The parts of me that she valued the most,” she says at length, “the ones that made me a good partner, that made me strong—they were all that was left by the time she found me after the change. They were all Hunt. And I knew when she looked at me, when she pointed her gun at me, that she saw me. Not the Hunt, not some… monster. Me. But I don’t… know if she believes that it was really me.”

Daisy grimaces, like she’s not happy with the words. Carefully, giving Daisy time to stop him if she wants, Jon writes, You don’t know if she accepts that all the worst parts of yourself are still yours.

Daisy is quiet for a moment. “Something like that,” she says finally. “She… she said it wasn’t me. That the person she hunted through the apocalypse wasn’t me. And I don’t know how I’m supposed to tell her that it was. That it is. It feels like…” Daisy blows out a breath. “Basira’s good at compartmentalizing. It makes her a good partner, a good… hunter. But if I go with her to London, and she just… puts everything that happened during the change behind us, I don’t think things are going to last.” Daisy huffs out a laugh. “She’s stubborn. I like that about her. Can also make things… difficult.”

Jon laughs through his nose and writes, Yeah, Martin’s like that too sometimes. He hesitates, then continues, So what do you want to do?

Daisy studies his face for a moment. “What do you want me to do?” At his look of surprise, she continues, “I can see it on your face. You have an opinion, so just… spit it out. Write it down. Whatever.”

Jon scowls. I do not, he begins to write, before his hand stills, leaving the sentence incomplete. He takes a deep breath, exhales, and scratches the words out with a bit more force than is strictly necessary. Next to them, he writes in thick, dark lines, I want you to stay. Then, quickly after: But you should go with Basira.

Daisy reads the words and hums. “Why?”

Because she’s your partner, Jon writes, irritation and a strange sort of sadness mixing in him and twisting his lips into a grimace, and because she needs

“I meant,” Daisy says, bumping her knee against Jon’s to cut him off, “why do you want me to stay?”

Jon blinks at her, surprised. He looks down at the paper, holds the pen tightly for a moment, and then writes in careful, neat letters, Because I like you. Does there have to be another reason?

Daisy hums and, after a moment, shakes her head. “No. I guess not.” She bumps her knee against Jon’s again, a bit firmer this time. “Thanks. But you’re wrong, you know. About Basira.” Daisy looks at the kitchen again, where the sizzling has stopped and there’s the faint clattering of dishes. “She doesn’t need me. She’d be fine without me. Always has been.” She sighs. “And so would you.”

Jon nods and squeezes her hand. I know, he writes.

Daisy sighs again, leans her head back against the couch. “I think,” she says after a moment, “that… I have to do what’s right for me. Not me and Basira, just… just me.”

Jon is about to ask what that entails when Martin’s voice floats over from the kitchen, telling them that the food’s ready. Daisy doesn’t say anything more as she stands, snorting softly as her maintained grip on Jon’s hand pulls him to his feet as well, and together, they head into the kitchen.

The first half of the meal is spent in relative quiet. Basira keeps shooting looks at Martin, who returns her gaze with something firm and unyielding. Jon shifts in his chair and nibbles on his cheese toastie, trying very hard not to grab his pen and start tapping it on the table just to fill the tense, awkward silence between them all. Finally, Basira finishes her sandwich, looks at Martin again, sighs, and says, “Martin filled me in on what happened.” Then, at Martin’s glare: “What? I’m not talking about it. I’m just… acknowledging it.”

“Good,” Martin says, pinching his toastie just a bit too firmly between his fingers. “Because there’s not much to talk about. Which is why we agreed not to talk about it.”

Irritation washes over Jon, and he tries to squash it down. He can’t help the way his knee starts bouncing under the table though, and he takes a sullen bite of his toastie. Not much to talk about. Sure. For a moment, he entertains the thought of dropping the sandwich unceremoniously, grabbing his notebook, and scribbling out, Thanks for asking for my input before telling Basira your version of events and saying that there’s nothing to talk about, but he pushes the thought away and takes another, bigger bite to distract himself. It’s fine. Martin’s… Martin’s right, it’s not the time.

(He’s still upset that he didn’t even get the slightest say in the matter. It’s fine.)

Rationally, Jon knows that Martin is just trying to avoid what would probably turn out to be a long, spiraling, extremely upsetting conversation-turned-argument. Irrationally, he wants to push the words we’ve condemned a thousand realities to hell; are you happy now? into Basira’s face and watch her try to defend herself. Was it worth it? he wants to ask. Was it fucking worth it, just so you can have your happy ending?

He doesn’t ask. He knows what her answer will be, and he doesn’t want to hear it right now.

It’s fine.

“So,” Basira says, not so much breaking through his thoughts as driving a battering ram through them, “the Fears are gone. For good. And they took your voice with them.”

“Basira,” Martin hisses.

“Just making sure I’ve got all of my bases covered,” Basira says defensively.

Jon glares at his plate. He sets his sandwich down, suddenly no longer hungry. He takes a deep breath, looks up at Basira, and nods. His fingers itch towards his notebook; he keeps them still.

“Hm.” Basira taps a single finger on the edge of her plate. “That… that makes sense, I guess. What with Annabelle’s whole… thing.”

Jon’s stomach squeezes. Throat tight, he nods again, looking away. His eyes land on Daisy, who’s sitting beside him and watching Basira with something unreadable on her face. Her toastie is sitting on her plate in front of her, completely untouched. Then, stiffly, as if preparing herself for a difficult truth, Daisy says, “I... know a little bit of BSL. Picked it up back when I was still a PC. It’s not much, but… it’s something.”

Basira looks at Daisy, her finger stilling on the side of her plate. When she speaks again, it’s quiet, and she doesn’t sound surprised. “You’re not coming with me, then.”

“Sorry,” Daisy says roughly. “Just… need a bit of time. Soon, I promise, just…”

“… just not now,” Basira finishes. “It’s… all right. I understand. Honestly, with things the way that they are out there right now, it… it might be for the best. Just until things settle down.”

“Yeah.” Daisy picks at the edge of her toastie. “You’ll… be safe, though?”

Basira takes a deep breath, and when she lets it out, her lips settle into a smile, thin and bordering on humorless but still warm in its own way. “Always am.”

Daisy laughs a little, just an exhalation of air through her nose. “Right.”

It becomes clear that none of them plan to eat more, so Martin and Jon clear the plates and stack them in the sink while Daisy and Basira sit at the table. Basira says some things to Daisy in hushed tones, and Daisy responds under her breath, and Jon takes wet dishes from Martin and wipes them down with a towel and stares out the window into the darkened sky and focuses on the sensation of cloth under his fingertips so he doesn’t lose himself in the inky black swirling thoughts that are threatening to drag him down.

“Hey,” Martin says quietly by his side, letting their fingers brush as he hands him another dish. “You all right?”

No is probably the honest answer. Jon is sure that Martin can see it on his face even as he nods and busies himself drying the plate in his hands. To his eternal gratitude, Martin doesn’t push, even as his mouth flattens and he continues scrubbing the dishes in the sink with careful, methodical motions. Jon is sure that, at some point, something will crack and Martin will push. Push until it all breaks and shatters and crumbles into a million tiny, sharp pieces. But for now, Jon dries dishes and scratches his thoughts into the back pages of his notebook where they’ve begun to pile up into messy tangles of words and emotions and focuses on the fact that, when Basira leaves in the morning, Daisy will still be here.

That, for now, he thinks, will have to be enough.

[the-girl-in-the-box]

Not Today XXXVI

A/N: So! Another update a week later! Unfortunately, due to my schedule, this seems to be about what I am capable of at the moment- an update of this somewhere around Saturday night or Sunday morning, and an update on Can You Imagine? somewhere around Tuesday afternoon. As that is the case, please be on the lookout for new chapters following that schedule until things calm down on my end! If things slow down, or if I somehow manage to get ahead, then I will HAPPILY begin to post more often once again! However, if that does not come as soon as I would like, this does seem to be doable, and it does seem to be doable for the near future. With that said, another pretty major canon divergence has begun in this chapter! Hopefully, I’ve hinted at it well enough without outright spoiling it ;) And, either way, I hope you enjoy the chapter, and look forward to updating this again next weekend! Skål!

Summary: When Ivar takes the throne of Kattegat, Lagertha flees to Wessex along with Björn, Ubbe, Torvi, and the Bishop Heahmund. There, they seek the aid of King Alfred. This aid comes in the form of his sister, Aethelind, who agrees to travel to Kattegat and try to reason Ivar, who she spent some time with during their youth, when her grandfather King Ecbert hosted Ragnar Lothbrok in their castle. Now, she is the only hope for Lagertha and her supporters to retake Kattegat from Ivar the Boneless.

Masterlist

--

Oleg wasted no time. Little more than a day passed after they’d managed to get Hvitserk cleaned up, and he, Ivar, and Asta were being called to court before him. Well, before him and Katia, of course. Asta and Ivar were, understandably, a bit nervous about this meeting. Oleg had proven himself unpredictable, and though they both knew they’d not let him touch Hvitserk, they didn’t exactly want Oleg and Katia to know they were plotting against him just yet. So, they would have to be careful, and pray that Hvitserk was as well.

Just before they went into the room, Asta stopped Hvitserk, looking up at him seriously. “You warned me once to be careful of Ivar,” she whispered. “Now I’m warning you, be careful of Oleg.”

“Were you careful, Princess?” Hvitserk asked her with a pointed smirk and a small chuckle, and she rolled her eyes amusedly.

“I was,” she answered. “Until I no longer had need to be. But Oleg isn’t Ivar. I know what happened to Sigurd, but I know Ivar regrets what he did that day. Oleg killed his brother Askold, and I truly do not believe he could care less. He treats his nephew horribly, and Ivar and I have done all we can to stand between them, but there’s only so much we can do.” Hvitserk nodded a little as Asta let out a small sigh. “And that doesn’t even reach Katia,” she said.

“Katia?”

“Katia, Oleg’s wife.”

Hvitserk’s eyes grew large. “She is more dangerous than Oleg?” he asked in disbelief.

“In her own way,” Asta answered vaguely. “She’s cunning, I see that in her eyes. That, and beautiful, seductive, attentive…”

Hvitserk lifted a brow now. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Ivar needed to be warned that you were going to leave him,” he joked, and Asta chuckled.

“I’m not,” she assured Hvitserk. “But as good as those traits sound, that is why they’re the problem. They are good, and she’s almost too good. I can’t help my suspicions.”

“Suspicions that…?” Hvitserk prompted.

“That she’s hiding something.”

They spent little more time talking about those who currently ruled over Kiev, and soon rejoined Ivar to step into the throne room, looking up to where Oleg sat on Igor’s throne, Katia lounging by his feet. What Asta didn’t notice was the way Hvitserk’s eyes widened just a bit upon seeing her. Ivar was the first of them to speak up.

“Prince Oleg,” he greeted. “Princess Katia, your Highnesses. Allow me to present my brother, Hvitserk, just lately risen from the dead.” Asta had to keep herself from giving a roll of her eyes. Ivar was dramatic, even without watching him on the other side of Hvitserk, Asta could see that.

Hvitserk gave a simple, small bow, and greeted the pair, “Your Highness.”

“Another son of Ragnar Lothbrok,” Oleg commented curiously. “You are most welcome.” Hvitserk gave something of a small, half smile as Oleg informed him, “You arrive at interesting times.”

“So I understand,” Hvitserk answered. “My brother has told me that you intend to attack our homeland.”

Ivar glanced between the two men anxiously, and Asta noticed this, having glanced over toward him to see what he thought of Hvitserk revealing this, that they had talked. Clearly, he was wanting to know Oleg’s thoughts on this, far more than he was having any of his own thoughts on it at the moment. And so, her eyes turned instead to Oleg, in time to catch him almost laughing.

He hummed, before answering Hvitserk, “It was once my homeland. I’m only reclaiming the past. I trust you will be happy to join King Ivar and myself in this great undertaking.”

So, he went with the lie. She and Ivar knew the truth, that any papers giving Oleg claim to Kattegat were forgeries. There was an assumption then, Asta realized- Oleg didn’t believe Ivar would have told Hvitserk this, nor did he believe she had done so, herself. Interesting.

Hvitserk chuckled a little. “I have nowhere else to go,” he confessed, and all but Asta laughed slightly- though, she did give something of a small huff, emulating laughter, as not to tip anyone off. Truthfully, she hated that Björn and Ubbe had turned their backs on him. Sure, he had killed Lagertha, who they had both loved, but this was their brother, their little brother. A part of herself whispered that Ivar was too, and she found herself suddenly far less surprised. 

“Hearing this just makes me all the more glad to know Ivar found you,” Asta said, turning and putting a hand on Hvitserk’s arm. “That, and the simple fact that we have been reunited.”

Hvitserk offered her a small smile, and replied, “Yes, I am also very happy to see you again, and to be reunited with you, Asta.” Asta smiled at him sweetly, and squeezed his arm before releasing him as he turned back to Oleg. “And, I am at your service, Prince Oleg. I, too, need to reclaim my past.”

“The Prince and I are so happy to have you at our court, Hvitserk. Ivar has spoken a lot about you.”

Asta hadn’t expected Katia to speak up when she did, and turned to her with a curious expression. She watched her stand, and start to make her way down the stairs, moving in such a way that she demanded all attention be on her. Freydis hadn’t moved like that, Asta remembered. Even as a Queen, she had just moved like any other woman. Katia was good, Asta wanted to believe, but Freydis had been sweet, and warm, and gentle, in ways Katia was not. She swallowed hard as she remembered her, and closed her eyes briefly to stem any tears which wanted to leak from them.

When her eyes reopened, Katia was standing with Ivar now, and continuing, “When you were children, when you jumped ship… He told me that you always believed you were fated to be together, however many times fate itself seemed to pull you apart.”

She smirked up at him knowingly, and Ivar met this with a tight smile, nodding slightly to acknowledge what she was saying was true, and then she was moving on to stand in front of Hvitserk.

“I find, myself, that fate works in… mysterious ways,” she said, and rested a hand against Hvitserk’s chest. Asta lifted a brow as she watched the two lock eyes, a million words seeming to pass between them, and yet not one could she translate for herself. Looking then to Oleg, Asta found it curious how truly, deeply unsettled the man appeared.

Katia had behaved similarly with herself and Ivar for quite some time now, and yet Oleg had never seemed all that bothered. But, he believed them to be married. Perhaps it was, then, that he believed neither of them to be a threat to his own marriage? And with Hvitserk being unwed and also unattached… Who knew what concerns were beginning to work their way into his mind, as Katia finally returned to him. Both his eyes, and Hvitserk’s, followed her, until she returned to her place at Oleg’s side, lounging on the dais just in front of him.

“Our army’s assembling,” Oleg began, clearly wanting to return to a more professional topic. “Tonight, you will watch some of it parade past the Palace.” He paused in his speaking to reach down and run a hand through Katia’s hair, and she seemed to almost pull away from him, though not quite, an uncomfortable expression crossing her face. So, there was trouble brewing between them. “It should be an interesting experience,” he finished, and nodded to dismiss the Vikings who stood before him.

Ivar and Hvitserk exchanged a look which was unreadable to the Prince, but Asta… that woman was harder to read than the two men combined. He could see her looking into the eyes of his wife, seeming to silently communicate with her. How troublesome this so-called Prophet was, and yet, how bold. He slid his hand through Katia’s hair once more, trying to draw her attention away from Asta, and it worked. But there was something distant in her eyes now, and he looked up again to watch as Asta followed her husband and his brother from the room, wondering what thoughts the little witch might have just put into his beloved wife’s mind.

It didn’t take five minutes, once Asta had reached Hvitserk and Ivar, for her to grit out, “I want to choke him.”

“Who, Oleg?” Hvitserk questioned, tilting his head a little.

“Who else?” she almost hissed.

“Well, he’s the obvious choice, but I couldn’t blame you if you meant Ivar-” He was interrupted by a grunt as Ivar elbowed him in the ribs.

“Say what you want, but Asta would never do that to me,” Ivar said confidently. “She loves me too much for that.”

Asta’s cheeks turned a slight shade of pink, and she rolled her eyes. “Just for that, you’re dead by morning, Ragnarsson,” she teased, though her tone held very little levity to it. Ivar laughed, and Hvitserk found himself chuckling as well.

“So, you two for real then, hmm?” he asked curiously. “I mean, I saw it back in Kattegat, but I wouldn’t have thought after everything that happened…”

“Who else did we have?” Ivar pointed out, looking over at Hvitserk. “Who else did I have, hmm? Asta is the only one who did not ever leave me, who never betrayed me. There is no one else I would have trusted enough.”

Asta smiled softly at his words, and slipped a hand into his, wrapping her free arm around it and holding him a little closer as they walked. “Nor I, darling,” she replied, and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Ivar turned to her with a soft smile.

Hvitserk realized as he watched the pair that he hadn’t seen Ivar look at anyone that way aside from Freydis, nor Asta. Though he hadn’t known her long enough to know if she’d looked at someone that way before, he knew it was quite a special look. It was love, he saw in their eyes as they looked at each other, and he smiled slightly. With all luck, and the favor of the gods, he hoped he might also find someone to share that sort of look with one day.

They decided shortly after this that they were hungry, and seeing as they had not been to see Igor yet that day, busy as they’d been with Oleg, Asta and Ivar agreed they would go and fetch him. Hvitserk, having liked the boy well enough the previous time they had met, had no complaint about this.

Once they had him, they went to one of the smaller dining areas, and were served a meal, which they all sat around the table to eat. A light conversation was kept up for most of the meal, until it seemed to die out naturally. That was all well and good, though, as Ivar had something he’d been meaning to bring up. And, he did. He looked up at Hvitserk, who was still eating, and opened with a casual, “So.”

His brother looked up from his meal and prompted him, “So?”

Igor also looked up now, glancing between the two curiously as Ivar questioned, “What do you think?”

“About Oleg?” Hvitserk asked, a bit confused. Hadn’t they discussed him just a few hours prior?

“No, not about Oleg,” Ivar replied as though it should be obvious. “About his wife.”

“I thought she was… attractive?” Hvitserk said. “Rather provocative.” Asta smirked.

But Ivar was clearly not satisfied, and in fact, seemed a little irritated almost at Hvitserk’s response. “Nothing else?” he pressed.

“No,” Hvitserk answered. “What else?”

Ivar was stunned. Asta couldn’t keep herself from chuckling quietly at that expression of his. She recalled once likening it to a startled duck. He hadn’t quite believed her, but she’d still had a good laugh about it with him. She wondered if Hvitserk would find it amusing, as she did.

“You look like a startled duck again, darling,” she told him, and Hvitserk choked.

“You do,” he agreed easily.

Ivar now looked at Asta as if she had betrayed him, and he was deeply hurt by this. “You said you would never tell!” he accused, and she giggled.

“I still haven’t,” she defended. ��In fact, I don’t think Hvitserk or Igor would even think there was something to tell, had you not just given it away.”

Ivar tried to stammer some kind of answer about that out, but only met the expectant eyes of both his brother, and Igor. She was right, he definitely brought that one on himself. “Ah, she said I looked like a startled duck one time, and I said we should not let it out that I was so easily stunned by her. There,” he said. “Anyway, Hvitserk.” Asta giggled at how eager he was to move on. “She didn’t… remind you of anyone?”

“Katia?” he clarified, and Ivar nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “You saw her. You know who she looks like.”

“I do?”

“Of course you do, brother,” Ivar replied. “Freydis.”

Hvitserk blinked a few times, and Asta realized the ‘startled duck’ face might just have been hereditary. “Your… wife?” Ivar nodded and made a small sound as if to confirm this. “Freydis is dead, Ivar, I- I saw her body-”

“Yes, yes, yes, I know,” Ivar said nonchalantly. “I killed her. But they are identical. So much so, Asta and I at first believed she had come back somehow.”

Hvitserk nodded slowly as he took this in, seeming to think for a moment, before he finally said decisively, “You’re still crazy, Ivar.”

Ivar deflated a little. Before, whenever Hvitserk had said that, he’d let it roll right off his back like water off a startled duck’s wings. Asta decided to step in.

“It’s true, Hvitserk,” she said. “Take a closer look at her, next time we are all together. I know you didn’t know her overly well, Freydis, but… the resemblance is uncanny, at the least.”

Hvitserk sighed as he heard Asta backing Ivar up on this, not just letting him claim she believed it as well. Without truly believing it, he doubted the Princess would have said anything. “Alright,” he conceded. “I’ll take a better look next time we see her.”

Asta nodded, and offered him a small smile as a way of thanking him. But, the smile turned into a smirk, and she chuckled. “I don’t think you’ll mind doing that anyway, will you?” she teased. “I saw the way the two of you looked at each other.” She lifted her brows a bit, pressing her lips together in a knowing smile as Hvitserk tilted his head confusedly.

“What do you mean?” he asked, and Asta laughed lightly.

“Come on, really?” she questioned. “I could have drawn my sword right then and cut the tension between you, it was so thick.”

“No, you’d just have cut off her hand,” Hvitserk countered, which only made Asta laugh more.

“Indeed I would have!” she agreed. “Which makes one question, why was she touching you in the first place?”

Hvitserk paused, sitting back and blinking a few times as his brows creased together. It was a good question. Why had she touched him? She hadn’t needed to. Asta was right about all of this, wasn’t she? Katia had touched him unnecessarily, and in doing so, had proven her unpredictability. She really was just as dangerous as Asta said. But, did she truly look like Freydis?

When that night came, he was dumbfounded to say the answer was a resounding yes. Katia did bear a very uncanny resemblance to Freydis, and he suddenly found himself wondering just how hard that was on his brother and his not-wife. With all the talk of the other Russian prince, one whose name had been funny to Hvitserk, as it had sounded much like the word animal to him, and Ivar’s alliance with him to overthrow Oleg, it had slipped his mind to be on the lookout for. But, when they were confronted with her, it had slapped him in the face. If someone had told him they were twins, he’d have believed it.

Now, he stood on the complete opposite side of her, with Asta to his right, Ivar to hers, then Oleg, Igor, and finally Katia on his other side. He wanted to take another look, but the army had begun to march out, and he knew it would be suspicious if he was watching Oleg’s wife, instead. So, he turned his attention to the massive army, and tried to pay attention to what Oleg said as they marched by.

“Who can resist such an army?” he was currently questioning. “Nobody. Not King Harald. Not Björn Ironside. They are like children. They, and their gods, will be destroyed. This, my good friends, is the end of paganism. The end of the pagan gods.”

Asta whipped her head around to look at Ivar, concern for him and this endeavour filling her. This was quickly shaping up to seem like a horrible idea, and she could see the same thoughts circulating in his mind behind his watering eyes. This, if Oleg was to be believed, was meant to be the end of his gods, and Hvitserk’s, and all those of the people of Scandinavia.

She turned back to watch the army, a newfound look of horror in her eyes. The Vikings had brought a Heathen army down on her home once, and killed many people simply for being Christian. Now, Oleg would bring a Christian army down on the people of Kattegat, and many would be slaughtered, simply for being Heathen. Once more, she turned back to Ivar, and as soon as she moved his eyes landed back on her. For once, both were perfectly readable, and their expressions revealed quite the same train of thought.

What have we done?

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[janeofcakes]

Soulmates: How John Met Sherlock...Again Chapter 6

Sorry I'm late this time, my friends. I had a busy weekend and have now fallen victim to the blasted cold that's been making its way through my family. I don't seem to have it as badly as my husband did, thank goodness. I'm going to post and answer some comments, so if you get one from me that sounds a little bizarre, it's the cold medicine. Lol.

---

Monday morning is a busy one at 221B. Greg calls with a case in the middle of breakfast that has Sherlock scrambling to conscript Mrs. Hudson into taking Olive to school. He places his daughter’s lunch on the kitchen table next to her backpack and throws on his coat. Tipping down to kiss Olive on the cheek, he whispers I love you and have a good day. With that, Sherlock grabs a piece of toast and rushes from the room.

Olive sits at attention, the adrenaline of watching her father hurry around the room still in her veins, but it wanes as soon as she hears the click of the flat door. She lets out a long sigh and slouches a little into her chair. After the bits and pieces she had observed at Mycroft’s birthday party, she was even more curious about Gracie’s dad than when they left the park on Saturday. Something was off. John had absolutely no problem with her or her father until he met him, but had he only just met Sherlock two days ago? Olive isn’t so sure, especially after the way her uncles acted yesterday when she brought up the playdate refusal.

Olive raises her fork and chews on the eggs thoughtfully. Her father had been extremely irritated yesterday, in spite of trying to hide it, and Uncle Myc was definitely the cause. She has seen them argue before, of course. Perhaps heard is the better word. They avoid it when she is in the room and Uncle Greg usually distracts her somehow. Every so often, curiosity gets the better of her and she sneaks away from Greg to listen. Her father doesn’t seem to have ever gotten on well with his brother. Olive used to wonder if that is why she has no brothers or sisters, but dismissed the idea when she was five. She likes that it’s just her and her dad. The two of them against the world. Olive smiles to herself. Now she has Gracie too.

With that thought, Olive’s mind turns back to John. She had planned on cleverly asking Sherlock questions about him over breakfast and had even started working their conversation in that direction, but then Uncle Greg had phoned. To make matters worse, Mrs. Hudson will get her to school later than usual, effectively robbing her of all the time she has to talk to Gracie before classes start.

Olive grumbles around another bite, cursing the fact that she has to wait until lunch and that’s when inspiration strikes. Their class has library time at 10:30. She and Gracie can go to the computers, but search up John instead of books. Maybe if they know more about his past they can figure out how their fathers know each other because Olive is convinced they do.

Olive is just beginning to determine how best to communicate this to Gracie before library time when the door to the flat opens.

“Yoohoo,” calls Mrs. Hudson pleasantly, “Are you ready, dear? We really must be on our way.”

Olive glances at the clock to see how much time got away from her. Too much. She hops up and places her empty dishes in the sink. Pulling on her coat, she grabs her bag and lunch. Mrs. Hudson is smiling brightly as Olive runs down the hall.

“Good morning, Mrs. H,” Olive breathes as they hug one another tightly.

“Good morning, my darling,” Mrs. Hudson laughs warmly. “I take it Uncle Mycroft’s birthday was a success?”

“Yep,” Olive pops the P as she pulls away to look at her with twinkling eyes. “The cake was delicious. Thanks for the recipe.”

“My pleasure, dear,” Mrs. Hudson waves a hand as they pass through the door. She pulls it closed as Olive starts down the stairs. “And his presents?”

“He loved them,” Olive grins back at the older woman. “We pinned the donkey eight times and I won the most times.”

“Did you? That’s wonderful,” Mrs. Hudson chuckles to herself as she catches up with Olive in the foyer. “I’d give my good hip to see your uncle playing a party game. Must be Gregory’s influence.”

The mention of her other uncle jogs Olive’s memory and she turns, her face filling with glee, as she swings open the door to the building. Mrs. Hudson pauses in front of her, excitement already growing at just the look on Olive’s face.

“Uncle Greg asked Uncle Myc to marry him!” the girl all but shouts, throwing her arms in the air.

“Oh my goodness, that’s wonderful,” Mrs. Hudson clasps her hands together at her chin. “I always knew we’d find one for your uncle. Now we just need to find someone for your father.”

“Yeah!” Olive exclaims before she really considers Mrs. Hudson’s words. She frowns as they walk outside and down the steps to the pavement. They cross to the sleek black car waiting for them. The driver greets them as he opens the back door and they are soon on their way. All the while, one question rattles around in Olive’s mind.

“Do we?” she asks after the car has started moving. She slides her eyes to Mrs. Hudson, who looks at her inquisitively. “Do we want to find someone for Dad?”

Olive swallows loudly in the silence that follows. Mrs. Hudson’s face does not change, she merely tilts her head to the right as she considers. It doesn’t make Olive feel like she has asked something bad, but it was definitely unexpected.

“I mean, it’s always been the two of us,” Olive ventures with some uncertainty, “and things are good. Why add someone else?”

“Don’t you want your father to be happy?” Mrs. Hudson asks and Olive frowns mightily, clutching her bag to her chest tightly.

“He is happy,” the girl mutters defiantly.

 “Oh, of course he is. That’s not what I meant, sweetie,” Mrs. Hudson reaches for her arm and touches it gently. Still glowering, Olive raises her grey eyes to meet the older woman’s soft brown gaze. “Your father loves you dearly and he is certainly very happy. It’s just that his heart has so much love to give and it’s a different kind of love. Like the kind Mycroft shares with Greg. I call it romantic love.”

“Romantic love?” Olive raises a skeptical brow, tiny wrinkles forming on the bridge of her nose.

“Yes,” Mrs. Hudson continues in a solemn tone. “You will feel it too one day when you meet a boy or girl you want to spend your whole life with, to kiss and hug.”

“Like on the mouth?” Olive asks, straightening her spine a bit and pulling her head back. Mrs. Hudson nods with a little smile. “Like Anna and Kristoff?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Hudson laughs. “Just like that. Like Mycroft and Greg.”

Olive’s expression becomes very serious. She shakes her head and releases the vice grip hold on her bag.

“Uncle Myc and Uncle Greg are nothing like Anna and Kristoff,” she says flatly. “They’re more like that older one. Beauty and the Beast.”

“Ha!” Mrs. Hudson crows, throwing up her hands. “I won’t even ask which one’s the beast.”

Olive grins mischievously and ducks her head, laughing with the older woman. The car stops outside the school as their merriment dies down. Mrs. Hudson puts her hand on Olive’s before she moves to leave the car.

“Know that having someone in your father’s life will never make him love you less,” she tells the girl tenderly. “There’s nothing on earth that could ever do that.”

“I know,” Olive says with a grin. She dives for her godmother and gives her a big hug as the first bell rings. 

“Oh no. Hurry, dear, get to class,” Mrs. Hudson shoos her toward the door. “Sherlock will never forgive me if you’re late.”

“Thanks, Mrs. H,” Olive says, popping open the door. She runs for the three-story school building and is inside in minutes.

***

“So we are up to the number five in our multiplication table,” Mrs. Jennings finishes writing a large five next to a line of smaller numbers running from one to nine. She turns to face the class as she explains. Gracie is watching intently like most of the other kids, but Olive’s head is down while she scribbles on a scrap of paper. “As you know, these numbers are basically how many times five is added to itself, but there’s a secret to the number five that makes it one of the easiest to multiply. Start moving along the number line, writing your answers on paper and raise your hand when you know what the secret is.”

Heads go down as everyone begins working through the equations. Just as Gracie jots down twenty-five, she notices a folded scrap of paper on the desk between she and Olive, who is watching out of the corner of her eye. Gracie glances to the side and up to the whiteboard where Mrs. Jennings is slowly walking from side to side to make sure everyone is on task. Gracie licks her lips, leaving just the tip of her tongue poking out as she casually covers the scrap with her palm and slides it close. With the paper on her notebook where it can blend in with her work, she unfolds it and peers at Olive’s writing.

Your dad doesn’t like my dad.

Gracie blinks and furrows one brow while simultaneously cocking the other one. She nearly turns to look at Olive to ask an incredulous ‘What’ with her face, but resists the urge and scratches out a quick response instead. Folding the paper in half and sliding it back to the middle of the desk, Gracie raises her eyes to the front of the room again.

“All right. Who knows the secret?” Mrs. Jennings breaks the silence. “Teri?”

“You start with five and basically count by fives all the way up the line,” the girl answers from her seat in the second row. The pencil in her right hand is poised to write while the index finger of her left hand winds her long red hair around itself. Gracie watches knowingly at the nervous tell. It is just one of the many keys to observation Olive has taught her.

“Perfect. So why don’t we do that together, and remember to write it down as we go,” Mrs. Jennings moves to the whiteboard to write as well.

“Five, ten,” Teri begins and the rest of the class starts in with her until they reach forty-five. 

“And there is our multiplication table for the number five,” Mrs. Jennings remarks and turns back to the class. “Does everyone see how we got that?”

Heads are bobbing up and down when Gracie notices the scrap of paper again. She slips her hand over it and moves it close.

“Good,” Mrs. Jennings is saying. “Let’s move on to number six. Write out the number line with six as your common denominator.”

Gracie quickly does this, if a little messily, and opens the note. Olive’s words are clearly printed under Gracie’s own message.

(Gracie) He just met him.

(Olive) But he doesn’t like him.

Gracie frowns and glances at Olive, who is staring straight ahead at Mrs. Jennings so as not to give them away. Gracie underlines her previous statement and slides the paper back toward Olive. It is back on her side of the desk in no time.

There’s something going on though. He kept looking at Dad like he’d seen him before and he freaked out about a playdate at mine.

Gracie glances in Olive’s direction, wondering how she wrote all of that so quickly. Getting a little irritated by the accusation, she writes hastily in a jerky script.

He didn’t freak out.

She passes it back.

“Good job, Michael,” Mrs. Jennings interrupts Gracie’s train of thought. “Now, what is six times four?”

Gracie quickly scrawls twenty-four in her notebook and looks up to see the note again. She huffs quietly at Olive’s words.

I don’t think he wants to come to my flat. 

Gracie is about to pen a disgruntled response when Mrs. Jennings calls on her. Apparently, her frustration is more evident than she realized.

“Doing okay, Grace?” the teacher asks. “Are you having any trouble?”

“No, Mrs. Jennings,” Gracie answers respectfully. Mrs. Jennings nods and then asks Gracie for the answer, which she gives succinctly. 

“Yes, Grace. Excellent work,” Mrs. Jennings commends her. “Six times four is the same as adding six to itself four times.Does that make sense to everyone?”

Gracie scribbles ‘That’s ridiculous,’ beneath all the other messages. The scrap is getting full now, but her two-word response fits in the space perfectly. She pushes the paper away and starts writing the table for seven. Olive’s reply awaits her when she is finished.

No, it’s not. They obviously have a history.

Gracie grumbles deep in her throat and pointedly underlines ‘He just met him.’ again as Olive watches. The little blonde adds an exclamation point and looks at her friend smugly. Olive purses her lips, turns the scrap over and begins writing feverishly. ‘They KNOW each other.’

Gracie rolls her eyes and tears her own corner from her notebook. She writes quickly and shoves it at Olive, who reads it immediately.

Wait til library time.

Olive looks to her friend and gives a shallow nod right as Mrs. Jennings calls on her.

“Do you have an answer, Olivia?”

“Thirty-two,” Olive says smoothly, directing her eyes to their teacher.

Gracie’s eyes go wide and she looks at her friend’s notebook as their teacher compliments her work. Olive has already written the number line for eight. Gracie is a line behind, in spite of being sure that she was paying attention while reading and writing the last few notes. Thank god Mrs. Jennings had not called on her.

Gracie looks at Olive’s now smug face and blows out a breath that ruffles her bangs. How does Olive do it? It’s like she has two separate brains sometimes. The girls exchange a smile and return their attention to the white board, each one anxiously anticipating the day’s special.

***

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Gracie whispers from her seat across the table, leaning forward for emphasis. After what seemed like days, but was only an hour, their class had lined up and walked to the library. Gracie and Olive immediately went to their usual table where Olive presented all of her evidence, as she called it, that proved their fathers had known each other before meeting in the park. She pointed out everything from eyes widening slightly to changes in tone and bloody shuffling of feet. She noticed Gracie’s dad curling his left hand into a fist, which Gracie has never once seen him do. How did that mean he actually knew Sherlock already and how on earth did Olive notice all these things?

“It makes perfect sense,” Olive insists, her neck craned toward Gracie. She had hunched over, pressing her chest and arms to the table side as soon as she began laying out her analysis. It is her position of choice for intense conversation and plotting. “Just look at all the clues. There’s no other explanation.”

“There are plenty of explanations,” Gracie counters. “Maybe your dad reminds mine of someone.”

“And yours reminds mine too?” Olive barely contains a bark. “Nonsense. No such thing as coincidence.”

“If they know each other, why wouldn’t they just say so?” Gracie throws her hands up as far as she dares in this setting.

“Adults have secrets, Gracie,” Olive mutters in a low voice. “Just like we do. There’s something they don’t want us to know.”

“Like what? They robbed a bank together?” Gracie snorts quietly. “No. I’m sorry, Olive. I can’t believe it. My dad never met Sherlock Holmes before we met you in the park.”

Gracie’s words slow as she reaches the end of the sentence. Olive starts in on trying to convince her, but her voice fades into the background. Things click inside Gracie’s head and for the first time since the conversation began, it all makes sense. Or doesn’t, as the case may be. If her father knew Sherlock, why wouldn’t he just tell her? Why keep it to himself? Gracie presses her lips together in thought. ‘You can have a playdate eventually. Just give me some time,’ he had said. Sherlock is obviously someone he had not expected to run into, but he must have been special to John at some point. Why else would he…

“Are you even listening?” Olive’s irritated tone suddenly breaks through Gracie’s thoughts. She blinks and looks at her friend with wide eyes. Olive huffs. “I’m not going to tell you all over again.”

Olive sits back in her chair, arms across her chest and a petulant look on her face. It only takes a second though before she reads Gracie’s expression and leans in again. Her grey-blue eyes shift rapidly between Gracie’s and she cocks her head slightly in consideration.

“What is it?” her voice is low and brimming with excitement.

“They do know each other,” Gracie breathes, “and they must have liked each other a lot.”

“Why? Why?” Olive can barely stay in her seat and she struggles to keep her voice down. “What is it?!”

Gracie wets her lips, her eyes darting to the right and left, as she leans close.

“My middle name is Holmes,” she tells her friend quietly. 

“What?” Olive gasps in a hushed voice. Then her face swiftly morphs into irritation. “And you’re only just NOW mentioning this?”

The librarian shushes her from across the room instantly and Olive looks at her apologetically. When her focus is back on Gracie again, her expression is less disgruntled and more eager. Still, Gracie starts in right away, wanting to beat her to the punch. 

“It was that first day with Jones and everything in the lunchroom,” she says in a rush. “She kept calling you Holmes and I thought she meant me at first. It was so weird, but I got distracted with hitting her and just sort of forgot about it.”

Gracie stops and watches Olive for a moment. The pieces are clearly falling into place for her too as she stares back with wide, luminous eyes. Her lips are shaped into a perfect O, but she hasn’t made a sound yet. Gracie hops a little in her chair, skooching forward to its edge and placing her hands flat on the table.

“Why would Dad name me Grace Holmes Watson if your dad wasn’t important to him?” Gracie takes in a quick breath when Olive gasps loudly, her hands flying to cover her mouth.

The librarian shushes them again and Gracie smiles a timid apology this time. She nods at the librarian’s silent warning, promising they will do better and then turns back to Olive. Her friend’s face is absolutely astonished, her eyes filled with shock and wonder. Olive knows something. Gracie’s words have pulled some key observation to the front of Olive’s mind and Gracie must know what it is. Now.

Gracie opens her mouth to speak, but Olive’s lips part first. Her voice comes out shaky with emotion.

“Olivia Watson Holmes,” is all she says.

Gracie’s eyes double in size and her face goes slack. They sit for a moment in utter silence, unmoving while the world slows to a stop around them. Gracie’s body is tingling and feels like it’s floating. It is almost too much to believe, like it can’t be real. Surely their fathers must have been best friends for them to name their daughters after each other. But then what happened? How did Gracie’s dad end up in Bath and why did he never mention Sherlock?

“Gracie?” Olive’s eyes are on Gracie when her own come back into focus. Their gazes meet and both brows crease with determination. They are of one mind. There is only one way to find the answers they want.

“Google,” they say together and rise from their chairs decisively, hands planted on the table to push them up.

Minutes later they are each seated in front of a desktop computer in the library lab. As luck would have it, they even got two next to each other and in a corner where their whispers are unlikely to bother anyone. Olive is scrolling through links to article after article from ten to twelve years earlier, all of them solved by Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Meanwhile, Gracie does much the same, though she has just stumbled across a goldmine.

“I can’t believe this,” Olive murmurs in a breathy tone. “Look at all these cases. Your dad is the partner in his stories. Dad’s man, Friday. His conductor of light.”

“Oh my god,” Gracie mumbles in disbelief.

“What?” Olive crowds in next to her and reads the title of the blog on Gracie’s screen. “The Personal Blog of Dr. John H. Watson.”

“They’re all here,” Gracie’s voice sounds far away. She just can’t believe this is all real. “All of Dad’s bedtime stories. The Mayfly Man, The Hounds of Baskerville, The Deadly Tealights, A Study in Pink. Every last one, and more.”

“What do you mean?” Olive asks in a confused tone. “These are all Dad’s cases.”

“Our dads are Sam and Dean,” Gracie stares at the screen, selecting one of the links and scanning the page rapidly.

“Sam and Dean?” Olive furrows her brow. “What are you on about?”

“Remember I told you my dad has these mystery stories that he tells me at bedtime?” Gracie turns to look at her friend urgently. “Two guys named Sam and Dean solve them all. I always thought Dean sounded kind of like Dad, but…” Her voice fades away and she looks back at the screen. “He actually is.”

“Go back to the home page,” Olive says. Gracie complies and Olive points. “Look at this one. ‘My new flatmate.’.”

They both read quickly and then eyes meet, wide with shock.

“They were flatmates,” Gracie breathes, astonished.

“No way,” Olive mutters. “No wonder your dad doesn’t want to come to my flat.”

“Wait, wait,” Gracie clicks back and scrolls, not finding what she wants. “But what happened? Why did he move away?”

She clicks on different links and they both read as their library time ticks away. With only minutes to spare, both girls sit back in their chairs, completely overwhelmed with the knowledge they now possess.

“Dad faked his own death?” Olive is dumbfounded, her face slack with shock. “He never told me that story.”

“Dad got married and just stopped,” Gracie shakes her head in disappointment. “Your dad even wrote the blog about the wedding. I just… I don’t understand. Dad obviously loved what he was doing and with his best friend too. Why would he stop?”

“All right, everyone,” Mrs. Jennings calls from the stacks. “Line up and back to class.”

The girls close their searches after clearing the histories. Olive is always on about covering their tracks. They walk to the end of the line in defeat. Their investigation turned up more questions and confusion than answers. Standing in silent thought as they wait for the line to move, Gracie makes a decision. She has to have answers.

“I can’t not know,” she says sternly, determination bright in her blue eyes. “I’m going to ask Dad about it tonight.”

“What? No!” Olive grabs her arm and Gracie turns to glare. “We can’t just ask them about it. They won’t tell us anything.”

“Then how are we supposed to find out what happened?” Gracie growls with frustration. The line begins to move and she has to turn her back on Olive to walk.

“We’ll carry out our own investigation,” Olive says in her ear. “This is our case. Our first case.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” Gracie grumbles without so much as a glance backwards.

“I do,” Olive’s voice has some of its usual tenacity again. “I’ll teach you at lunch and we can talk to them tonight.”

“I don’t know,” Gracie replies hesitantly. “I’ve never done anything like this before. What if I’m no good at it?”

“Ha,” Olive huffs. “You’ll be a natural. Trust me.”

***

Gracie raises her eyes from the book propped on her chest where she lies on the couch. Lifting her chin just a bit gives her the perfect view of her father sitting in his chair with the day’s newspaper in his hands. At this point in the evening, he has it folded in half so she can easily see his face. Olive said that was of the utmost importance because Gracie will see what John doesn’t say.

Still not sure if she is ready for this, Gracie runs through the list of features to watch for. There are obvious ones like eyes and eyebrows, knee-jerk expressions that are schooled away, mouth movements. Olive went on for some time about how different ways of wetting one’s lips mean different things. Gracie had never realized there were distinctions. Then Olive went on about twitches and other such things that were lost on Gracie. Given the time, she is sure she could learn and understand quite a bit about it all, but certainly not from what little she gleaned at lunch.

Gracie looks at her father again where he sits completely unawares, his eyes moving from left to right across the words on the page before him. With a fortifying breath, she clears her throat and starts with a question she hopes to build on without giving anything away.

“Dad, how long did you have a best friend?” Gracie asks as casually as she can manage, but it comes out sounding more like she placed air quotes around the words best friend. She closes her eyes immediately, supremely disappointed with herself and then pops them open quickly to check on her father. Allowing a tiny sigh of relief upon seeing that John has not even lifted his gaze from the paper, Gracie’s confidence level bounces back up.

John is frowning in thought at the page, so he has definitely heard her. His mouth opens and he looks about to give some cursory answer, but cocks a brow and shifts his gaze to hers instead.

“What?” John replies with a tone of confusion.

“Your best friend,” Gracie continues, lowering her book to lay flat on her chest. “I know you had one.”

“Oh. Right,” John pauses, glancing back at the paper and then looking at her over the top of his reading glasses. “I feel like we talked about this already.”

“We did,” Gracie answers somewhat abruptly, not wanting to give him much time to think on that, “but you didn’t say anything. Just that you solved cases together.”

“Medical cases,” John corrects and Gracie wants to smirk as she thinks ‘Medical cases, my foot’.

“What was he like? What did he do? What’s his name?” Gracie rattles off, even as she hears Olive’s voice in her head reminding her that they can’t just walk in and demand names. Gracie nearly shudders, but hides it with the movement of pulling herself up to sit.

“Whoa, whoa,” John lowers his newspaper to let it rest in his lap. “Where is all this coming from?”

“Well,” Gracie pauses a moment to try and get her thoughts together. She has to salvage this. “Now that I have a best friend, I want to know more about yours. Did you really like him? The way I like Olive?”

“I loved him,” John answers without hesitation and he looks like the candid response surprises even himself. Gracie’s eyes widen tenfold as John clears his throat and shifts the newspaper pages noisily. “We were quite close.”

“Wow,” Gracie breathes. Now she is getting somewhere. She wonders if Olive is having this much luck with her dad. “You must’ve done everything together.”

“We spent a lot of time together, yes,” John says somewhat absently. Gracie tilts her head in amazement. He is trying to affect indifference, like the whole friendship was perfectly normal and not at all a special part of his life, and Gracie can tell. Empowered, she continues.

“Solving cases,” she nudges in a light tone.

“Working on cases,” John corrects for the umpteenth time. “Medical cases.”

“Hmm,” Gracie hums in thought. When John cocks a brow as if wondering what she is up to, Gracie moves for distraction with another question. “Did you have lots of sleepovers?”

Unabashed laughter bursts from John’s lips and the clever girl smiles to herself. Distraction successful.

“No, sweet pea,” John chuckles and then back tracks. “Well, maybe in a manner of speaking. We shared a flat, so I suppose you could say every night was a sleepover.”

“Wow. That would be so awesome,” Gracie repeats, truly in awe for a moment as she thinks of it. Living in the same flat as Olive so they could play all the time and do schoolwork together and she could help with Olive and her dad’s experiments. The thought of Sherlock brings her back around to the task at hand. She aims for idle curiosity when asking the next question. “So what happened to him?”

“Erm,” John’s body visibly gives a slight shudder and a feeling of concern begins to rise up in Gracie’s throat. She bites her lip and considers brushing the inquiry aside when John straightens in his chair. “Sometimes…things happen. Sometimes friends can hurt you. And then Mary wanted to move and we just...left.”

“So Mary wanted to go to Bath,” Gracie has never once called Mary Morstan her mother. John has always just called her Mary, so Gracie does too. It is hard for her to think of Mary as anything since she has no part in Gracie’s life. She found an old wedding photo once, but has never met the woman. “And you just went with her?”

“She was my wife, sweet pea,” John answers simply.

“Well, why didn’t you call him?” Gracie frowns. “Or text?”

“It’s hard to explain,” John sighs. “Sometimes the things adults do are hard to understand.”

“Dad,” Gracie says in a dull voice and blinks her eyes into a roll like she is already a teenager, “I’m eight and a half years old. I can totally understand complicated things and I want to know. I don’t want that to happen with me and Olive.”

“It won’t. Of that I have no doubt,” John assures her with a quiet huff of a chuckle.

Gracie shifts on the couch to face him fully and sets her book aside. Fixing him with a serious expression, she goes in for the kill, a move Olive had explained very carefully.

“You said friends can hurt you sometimes,” she begins, already seeing that her words have the desired effect. “I’m sure they don’t mean to. Can you honestly say that will never happen to me and Olive?”

John lets out a weary sigh, sets aside his newspaper and rises to join her on the couch. He looks at her with soft eyes for a long moment and smoothes back her hair. Gracie licks her lips, looking at him expectantly.

“He hurt me very badly,” John’s voice is little more than a whisper. Gracie can hear the pain and regret in it. “I tried to pretend it wasn’t there, but...it was hard. Very hard. Mary saw it. SHe didn’t like him much in the end, so she did a little looking and found us a place in Bath. We broke off everything, all communication with all of our friends in London. We started over.”

“Damn,” Gracie murmurs before she can think better of it.

“Language, Gracie,” John scolds with a fond frown.

“Sorry,” she says quickly and then pauses a moment before asking tentatively: “Mary’s gone now. She has been for a long time. Would you ever want to be friends with him again?”

John takes a deep breath and stares over her shoulder for a moment. His eyes are far away and almost wistful. She can already see his answer in his expression, but waits to see if he will put it into words.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “I think I would.”

Victory.

John blinks and returns his gaze to his daughter, who is trying not to look too satisfied with her success. He smiles and pulls her into a hug, kissing the top of her head.

“It’s getting late, my Gracie girl,” John says affectionately. “We need to get you to bed.”

“Okay,” they both stand and head for the loo. “Are you going to call your best friend while I’m sleeping?”

“Ah, no,” John answers as if the proposal is absurd.

“What?” Gracie stops cold and stares up at him, looking for clues. She was sure she had solved it. Why wouldn’t he want to call Sherlock? “Why not? You said you want to.”

“It’s been too long, sweet pea,” John says almost sadly. “It’s all in the past and can’t be salvaged. It just happens that way sometimes.”

“But Dad,” Gracie starts, determined to make him see why that is stupid. John’s hands are on her shoulders now and he is gently guiding her to the loo.

“That’s enough for tonight,” he says good-naturedly. “You’ll be grumpy tomorrow if you don’t get enough sleep.”

“Dad!” Gracie lets out a loud declaration, looking back at him as she walks. “I will not be grumpy.”

“Still bedtime,” John reminds with an amused smirk. Gracie turns to face him and crosses her arms over her chest. She narrows her eyes and gives him a stern look, the bridge of her nose wrinkling.

“Fine,” Gracie mutters and quietly stomps to the sink to show her displeasure without enough defiance to get in trouble. John walks away with a half chuckle.

Gracie considers their conversation as she readies her toothbrush and brushes. Her dad would clearly like to be friends with Sherlock again. Gracie thinks he still likes him very much and Sherlock didn’t seem mean or anything when they were at the park. Plus, she has Olive’s word for it too. Why couldn’t they be best friends again? 

Olive will have a plan, Gracie resolves as she spits in the sink. Once she tells her friend all about this at lunch, Olive will have a plan and they can put it into action. Satisfied, Gracie rinses her toothbrush, puts it away and heads to her room for a bedtime story.

---

No mortal danger in this story, but still so many compelling questions! What will happen?? Only The Shadow (ME) knows. Mwahahahaha! Maniacal laughter. Next couple weeks are going to be busy, but I intend to keep on my posting schedule. See you all soon! Love, Jane

@johnlock-rocks

[elyvorg]

Remember that analysis post of mine debunking the ridiculous myth perpetrated in this fandom that Kaito never apologises, in which I discuss how he actually apologises way more than he should? Well, while thinking about and writing that post, I also got curious. What’s the cold, hard data on that? What if I just straight-up counted every single instance of each character apologising throughout the main story of DRV3, in order to be able to indisputably prove at a glance that Kaito is actually one of the most apologetic characters in this game?

…I wasn’t willing to go so far as to play through the entire game again just for the purpose of counting every time a character apologised, mind you. But several months ago, I began watching yet another V3 Let’s Play – and since I was already committed to watching said LP all the way through, I figured I could count all the apologies as it went along and collect that data with minimal extra effort on my part. So here’s the full dataset, at last!

There we go. It is objective and indisputable that Kaito apologises the third-most out of any character in this game, behind only the incredibly insecure Gonta and the still-rather-insecure-and-has-the-most-lines Shuichi. And pretty close behind them, at that!

I noticed a bunch of interesting things while doing this, though, so I can’t resist the chance to break this down and talk about it in some more detail.

Data collection criteria

For the sake of Scientific Thoroughness, I should explain my exact criteria for counting these. Every way of phrasing an apology, be it “sorry”, “my apologies”, “my bad”, etc, was counted. I also decided to count statements along the lines of "I need to apologise for this", because that itself is essentially already expressing the apology, too.

If a character apologises multiple times for the same thing, each of those times counts separately. This isn’t a measure of how many individual things each character apologises for, but rather of how inclined they are to apologise. Even if multiple apologies are grouped together, such as “Sorry… I’m so sorry…” or “sorry, my bad”, those still count as two, because that’s essentially a double-strength apology.

I did not count optional dialogue that was mutually exclusive with other optional dialogue. Which is to say, I didn’t count any FTEs, since you can’t get all of them in a single playthrough, and as much as I might like to insist that Kaito’s and Maki’s FTEs with Shuichi should definitely be considered canon, I’m trying to be unbiased here. I also didn’t count any FTE invitation dialogue, even though you technically can get all of the first parts of those (the lines before you actually make the choice to invite someone) in a single playthrough, mostly because it’d have taken forever to go through them for absolutely everyone.

However, I did count optional dialogue in those bits where you’re free to talk to everyone in the room before advancing the plot by talking to a specific person, because that can all be assumed to be canon. The bonus item scenes also count, because they should be assumed to be canon, too. There may have been some apologies that I missed here, because the LP I was watching occasionally missed these bits of dialogue, and while I tried to check myself for these missed bits, I may have overlooked a few. But if so, it was definitely only a few and not enough to significantly affect the overall picture of the data.

I only counted Shuichi’s and Kaede’s apologies when they were spoken out loud. It’d be unfair to count their inner-monologue apologies as well when we have no idea how much any other character might also be apologising in their head.

The pregame characters’ apologies were not counted, because they are not the same people. I would have counted Tsumugi’s and Rantaro’s apologies prior to the “reset” if they’d had any, since they are already themselves from the very beginning.

Obviously there’s still a lot of inherent bias here towards the characters who get more screentime and more lines, such as especially Shuichi. There isn’t much I can do about that, short of counting the exact number of dialogue boxes that every single character has throughout the whole game and using that to normalise things. As you can imagine, I don’t want to do that. (Though, on the extreme off-chance that someone does somehow happen to have data for that lying around somewhere that they can access with minimal effort, I’d love for them to send it my way.)

Characters who totally never do anything wrong

I was not at all surprised to see that Kiyo and Angie never apologise for anything at all, sincere or not, warranted or not. Psh, what do you mean they might have done something wrong, of course they never do anything wrong ever.

Miu almost ended up on the zero-apologies list, too. Interestingly, the four times she does apologise in canon dialogue are all during the Virtual World trip. Three of them happen when people are frustrated that she isn’t telling them stuff about the Virtual World sooner, and one is for being about to murder Kokichi in the flashback to that. Since she never apologises at all the entire rest of the time, this is a neat sign that she actually does feel pretty guilty about deceiving everyone and plotting to get them all killed.

In another effort to be as objective as possible, I also counted every apology regardless of how sincere it was. However, in Kokichi’s case, I did keep a track of how many of his apologies were actually sincere, out of curiosity. (Other characters may have a few insincere ones here and there, but it only felt worth my time keeping track of that with Kokichi, because he’s obviously the biggest offender for this.) I included this information on Kokichi’s bar of the graph, because I feel that the implication otherwise given of him being the fifth most apologetic character in this game is deeply misleading. If you discount all of Kokichi’s screamingly insincere apologies, suddenly his apology count is just unremarkable background noise on par with most of the others.

It is notable – and also very unsurprising to me – that Kokichi’s five actual sincere apologies are all for things that, according to Kaito’s principles on this, he doesn’t really need to be apologising for at all. They are all within chapters 1 to 3. He never sincerely apologises for any of the many things he actually does wrong that really do warrant being apologised for, because Kokichi is totally never in the wrong about anything, you guys, and he definitely doesn’t ever murder anyone.

Three of those five sincere apologies happen when he’s hit his head during investigation 3 and is dazed and disoriented. Apparently Kokichi needs to be literally injured in order to be made to feel like anything is his fault for more than a brief moment. …That said, that evidently only works for accidental slip-ups that aren’t really his fault at all. Kokichi’s totally-never-in-the-wrong-about-anything defence mechanisms work full time to protect him from ever having to acknowledge and feel remorse for any of his many very real and deliberate misdeeds, even when he’s painfully poisoned and dying.

Kaede

Kaede’s apology count is very notably high for someone who was only alive for one chapter. If she’d stayed alive for longer, she’d almost certainly have rivalled Shuichi for total apologies. (So, technically, Kaito is probably only the fourth most apologetic character in this game. Still, though.)

You might assume that Kaede’s high count here is because of the murder she does, but actually only like two or three of them are related to that. Most of her apologies are evenly spread throughout the entire chapter. Some of it’s just general politeness, but an awful lot of it comes from her being too inclined to feel bad over not being as good a leader as she wishes she was, when she really hasn’t done anything wrong at all. Kaito is right to try and encourage her not to apologise when things aren’t her fault! She of all people needs to hear that!

Chapter-by-chapter

The majority of the rest of the characters aren’t that interesting to talk about. For the most part their low counts are basically just, like, background noise politeness, a vague measure of how polite that character is and nothing more. Very little of those counts has anything to do with how insecure that character is, or any actual things they do wrong that genuinely warrant apologising.

But for the other three of our most-apologetic characters, since they’re alive for several chapters, it’s kind of interesting to look at how their counts fluctuate from chapter to chapter. So here’s another graph, to help me break their huge counts down a bit more.

Shuichi

Despite him obviously having the most lines, I was pretty surprised that Shuichi ended up with the highest apology count overall. I wasn’t even expecting him to top Kaito’s count, let alone Gonta’s.

This conclusion did, however, seem a lot more likely once I’d made it through chapter 1 and seen just how much he apologised during that time. Geez, is that one hell of a headstart for even Gonta and Kaito to catch up to. My surprise over this was probably because, when I think about Shuichi, I usually think about the post-Kaede protagonist-Shuichi (perhaps especially because I usually think about him in a Kaito-centric context, whoops). So it’s easy to forget just how incredibly insecure – and also apologetic – he was in the very beginning.

Shuichi apologises exactly as horribly much as Kaede during chapter 1. Again, this is partly politeness, but also far too much of him having an inclination to feel bad over things that aren’t his fault because of how insecure he is. Kaede and Shuichi basically spend most of chapter 1 constantly apologising to each other for existing, and it’s heartbreaking. Every time I had to add another of theirs to my spreadsheet, I was all, “No! Stop it!”

What I find really fascinating about Shuichi’s count, though, is that he pretty much loses this bad habit entirely after Kaede’s death. Despite him still kind of moping around and struggling to know what to do until Kaito steps in to help, it seems like Shuichi’s resolve to carry on Kaede’s wish and believe in himself more really had already had a tangible positive effect on his confidence!

This also means that Kaito never has any reason to give Shuichi advice telling him not to apologise if he hasn’t done anything wrong, which he absolutely would have done if he’d spent more time with Shuichi in chapter 1 when he was apologising so much. As I mentioned in my original post about this topic, this fact is important.

Shuichi’s counts in chapters 2 and 3 are especially low. This is what background noise politeness from a character tends to look like – and it also pretty clearly proves that his and Kaede’s huge apology counts in chapter 1 are down to way more than them just being generally polite people who are getting the most screentime.

It might look like Shuichi gradually gets more insecure again as the killing game goes on, but that’s not actually quite why his count goes up again like that. Instead, it’s that, when something particular does go wrong, Shuichi still feels inclined to apologise for it a lot more than most people would. Turns out, most of his excess apologies in chapters 4 and 5 are spurred by very specific incidents involving Kaito.

Literally five of Shuichi’s apologies in chapter 4 are over the cell phone incident with Kaito during the investigation. That genuinely did warrant an apology – he should have thought to warn Kaito that he’d be logged out beforehand so he wouldn’t be so startled – but even then, apologising that many times was still rather excessive. Shuichi evidently felt really bad about startling his friend like that in the first place. But it also doesn’t help that Kaito reacted more strongly to it than he should have done, for reasons rooted in his own issues that Shuichi was completely oblivious to, which is probably a lot of why Shuichi felt he had to keep apologising.

Three of Shuichi’s apologies in chapter 5 are over the awkward situation between him and Kaito, albeit directed at Maki and not Kaito. This is despite Shuichi himself asserting that he doesn’t believe he should apologise for his actions in trial 4. Even then, he’s still feeling insecure enough about the whole thing that some unintentional apologies slip out of him anyway, not precisely about Gonta’s trial, but about not being able to fix the rift between him and Kaito. He seems to feel like that’s meant to be his responsibility, when he should be able to realise himself that it isn’t. The real responsibility to fix this is on Kaito. Once again, it’s Kaito’s issues – and Kaito not talking about his issues – that causes Shuichi to apologise for something more than he ought to.

Another three of Shuichi’s apologies in chapter 5 are over lying to his friends at the end of the trial in a desperate attempt to protect Kaito. (…Well, technically all of these apologies are part of the lie and therefore not really him apologising for lying – but his inner monologue confirms that he really is sorry for lying, which is almost certainly why he ends up fake-apologising so much within the lie. More on this principle in a bit when I talk about all of Kaito’s apologies in trial 5.) Again, this is another thing that does genuinely warrant an apology, but probably not three times? And while this one isn’t related to Kaito’s issues, it is still because of Kaito that Shuichi needed to try and lie to everyone in the first place.

(One more of Shuichi’s apologies at the end of chapter 5 is for Kaito’s death, because in his grief he’s hurting enough to have slipped back into feeling like everything is his fault. At least this is just the one, and Maki manages to talk him out of blaming himself any more than that.)

Without these specific incidents that he’s still a bit too inclined to feel bad about, Shuichi’s count would be three in chapter 4 and five in chapter 5. So, basically just background noise politeness again. Maybe he’s being slightly more generally insecure in chapter 5 than usual, perhaps due to Kaito not quite being there for him, and/or the whole despair thing. But he’s no longer constantly apologising for existing to nearly as much of an extent as he was in chapter 1.

Delightfully, in chapter 6, with Kaito’s death spurring Shuichi’s determination into overdrive, Shuichi’s count goes right back down to insignificant background noise politeness. Nothing at all happens to make him feel like he needs to apologise way too much.

This is exactly how I hoped it would end! He is being a hero and none of his actions here are anything for him to make himself feel bad about. Kaito would be proud.

Gonta

Gonta’s background-noise politeness in the earlier chapters is noticeably higher than everyone else’s, because there’s also quite a bit of insecurity and apologising-for-existing going on with him. But it’s still not, like, super high on its own. It might not even be quite as bad as Kaede, even accounting for him getting way fewer lines than her?

His somewhat higher count in chapter 2 could be because of the Insect Meet and Greet, but it could also be because the way Ryoma’s body was discovered made Gonta feel especially strongly that he should have been able to prevent Ryoma’s death.

But then, of course, there’s chapter 4. As you’d imagine, almost all of those are in the trial, and almost all towards the end of it. Poor Gonta. It also doesn’t help that there’s two Gontas in the room for the trial conclusion, and naturally I included Alter Ego Gonta’s apologies in Gonta’s count, too.

Kaito

For the first two chapters, when he doesn’t have any sidekicks and therefore no expectations to live up to as their hero, and/or when he’s not struggling with weakness and worrying that he’s failing those expectations, Kaito’s apology level is just unremarkable background noise like most other characters.

(Well, one of them is actually not background noise and is a meaningful, warranted apology for punching Shuichi at the end of trial 1. But because he correctly doesn’t apologise for this any more than he needs to, it kinda blends in with the background noise.)

Then chapter 3 happens, and, predictably, his count shoots way up. All but one of Kaito’s apologies in this chapter are over being sick due to his phobia. (And if I’d been counting the free time invitation dialogues, there would be another four added on here, again for being too sick to hang out with Shuichi.)

Of his five in chapter 4, one is genuinely warranted (for laughing at Maki’s katana story), and two are over being physically sick, goddammit, Kaito. The other two in this chapter are for letting Kokichi’s taunts get to him, which is also not quite a thing he should be apologising for. Kaito can’t help it if his emotions react in a certain way to Kokichi making him out to be worthless. He can control how he responds to it, but not how he feels over it.

Then there’s chapter 5, which somehow manages to even eclipse Kaito’s chapter 3 count – but most of this is about the trial. Only three of his apologies in this chapter are from the Daily Life. (Naturally, two of them are still over being sick. No, Kaito, stop it.)

Literally half of Kaito’s fourteen apologies in the trial boil down to being sorry for tricking and deceiving his friends. This is something that warrants an apology, according to Kaito’s principles, even though he’s doing this deliberately for the purpose of hopefully saving everyone. He is still choosing to hurt them as part of that, and that hurt deserves to be apologised for.

What’s interesting about most of Kaito’s apologies for this, though, is that they’re technically insincere. He’s apologising for tricking everybody while he’s still tricking them, which sure makes it sound like he doesn’t mean it. This even applies to the majority of these apologies that happen during the bits where he’s speaking in his own voice. Because “Exisal Kaito” is a fake and overexaggerated version of himself that he wants everyone to conclude was really just Kokichi pretending to be him, anything he says during those moments is never going to come across as genuine.

But obviously, there’s not a shred of doubt that Kaito really is sorry for tricking everyone the entire time he’s doing this. It says a lot that during those bits where he’s being himself, Kaito just so happens to have a particularly high density of apologies-per-line. He feels awful for being this insincere and deceptive towards his friends, and he really wishes he could just communicate to them how genuinely sorry he is for all of this. But because he can’t, the next best thing to try and scratch that itch is to just apologise anyway even though he needs them to assume it’s all fake.

Kaito even apologises a couple of times as Exisal Kokichi for lying to them! This is absolutely categorically not something Kokichi wrote into his script, because Kokichi never apologised for lying, not even in a blatantly-insincere-sounding way. Kaito’s desperate desire to express how awful he felt about this was just so strong that it even accidentally slipped into a couple of his ad-libs as Kokichi.

However, while Kaito apologises so many times for this, it’s not because he’s blaming himself a bit too excessively much for his wrongdoing like Shuichi was still liable to do at this point in the story. The only reason Kaito apologises this much for tricking everyone is due to how insincere he was forced to sound almost every time. He kept apologising again and again because each insincere apology never felt like enough, and he desperately needed them to know that he meant it.

When Kaito reveals himself at the end of the trial, he pretty much immediately apologises again for tricking them – once, and that’s it. This time, they know he means it, and that’s all he needs. He’s not going to wallow in his bad feelings any more than that.

This is also the case for the other genuine wrongdoings he goes on to apologise for in the conclusion. Kaito gives a double-sized but still concise apology to Shuichi for lashing out in trial 4 like he’d needed to give this whole time, and then one single apology to his friends for lying to them about his illness. He gets those apologies out like he should, but once he’s done so, he doesn’t linger on them and mope any more than he needs to.

Which is good! Look at Kaito finally following his own advice again and being emotionally healthy about this!

…Except for the part where he then goes on to apologise twice for dying on them. That one is still not his fault.

[sailormoonandme]

Where to start with Sailor Moon?

From time to time I’ve seen people ask about how to get into Sailor Moon or how they might introduce it to someone else. 

As such I’ve made this to (hopefully) help people out.

Introduction

So first of all you should know that the official name for the over all franchise is ‘Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon’. This can (and has) been translated a few ways, but the current official name is ‘Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon’. Basically everything connected with Sailor Moon carries this full official name, but for the purposes of this post I’m just going to shorten things to ‘Sailor Moon’.

Moving on,  there are in fact different versions of the Sailor Moon story, even putting aside the various attempts at translating the story into different languages. Each version is best viewed as its own entity, sort of how there have been various versions of Sherlock Holmes that exist independently of one another. 

For the sake of simplicity, I’m going to mostly keep this post to the original Japanese iterations of Sailor Moon, albeit from the point of view of an English speaking audience member.*

The main versions of the Sailor Moon story are as follows:

1) The Manga

The manga iteration of Sailor Moon began around late 1991/early 1992. It includes around 50 chapters, a handful of side stories and a prequel manga of sorts called Codename: Sailor-V. There have been several different English translations of this material over the years. However, my personal recommendation would be to experience the story through the ‘Eternal Editions’. These are easily available in print and digitally. As of this writing Codename: Sailor-V is scheduled to be collected in at some point in 2021, thus collecting all the manga stories.

2) The 1992 anime

This is the most famous iteration of Sailor Moon and loosely adapts the manga to the point where it is its own entity. It spans 200 episodes across five seasons, with each season being given its own subtitle. E.g. season 2 is referred to as ‘Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon R’. Additionally there were a handful of shorts and specials connected with the anime and three films. I have already compiled a watch list for the show that I hope will help you navigate everything.

Like the manga, there have been multiple efforts to subtitle the show into English, particular among fan subbing circles. However, the easiest way to watch the show with English subs is to do so via a streaming service (last I checked it was available on Hulu and Crunchyroll) or to purchase the DVDs and Blu-rays from Viz Media, although you can also purchase them digitally on Amazon.com too.

3) The musicals

 On and off since 1993 there have been stage musicals produced for Sailor Moon. If you ever see the term ‘Sera Myu’ being used by fans (or even official sources) understand that it’s shorthand for these musicals.

The musicals are based chiefly upon the manga and the original anime, although with some original embellishments here and there. The degree to which a musical cuts closer to the manga, or the anime or does something all its own varies from one production to another. I’m not very well read up on the musicals I must admit, but it is to my understanding that each production exists independently from one another beyond at times carrying over cast and staff members. In essence there is no particular order you need to watch the musicals in. However, if you want more info on the musicals see the below EDIT, which is more well informed than I am.

To my knowledge, (which is limited in this particular case) all the musicals have been filmed but there has never been any kind of official English release for them. There have however been fan subbed efforts made for all of them. 

4) The 2003 live action TV show

In fan circles this show is referred to as ‘Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon’ or ‘Pretty Guardian’ or ‘PGSM’. This is because it was the first piece of Sailor Moon media to bear that particular English translation of ‘Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon’. Basically if you see ‘Pretty Guardian’ or ‘PGSM’, understand it is referencing this show.

The show exclusively adapts the ‘Dark Kingdom’ storyline, the first storyline in every version of Sailor Moon. The show was made in a similar vein to shows like Kamen Rider or Super Sentai and the latter’s American adaptation, Power Rangers. However, it also incorporates elements of Japanese soap opera dramas too, original elements that were never in any version of Sailor Moon beforehand and many different spins on the plot points that had been covered before. 

To my knowledge, like Sera Myu, no official English release for this show exists, but English fansubs are out there somewhere. If you manage to find the show then you should watch the various episodes and specials in their original broadcast order. For this Wikipedia is your friend. 

5) Sailor Moon Crystal

Sporadically since 2014 a new Sailor Moon anime has been in production. This new anime cuts much closer to the original manga (although it still makes some changes ) than any other version of Sailor Moon. As of this writing, the show has yet to be completed and still has material from the manga left to adapt. The show is available to watch with English subtitles from the same sources as the original 1992 anime, including DVDs and Blu-Rays from Viz Media.

Like the original anime, Crystal’s story arcs and seasons have gone under different names. The first two seasons/arcs are officially just called ‘Sailor Moon Crystal’, whilst the third is explicitly titled ‘Sailor Moon Crystal Season III’. In place of a fourth season two films, Sailor Moon: Eternal Part 1 and Part 2, were produced. As of this writing, the Eternal films have yet to have any kind of English release. To make your life easier, watch this show in the order of the original air/release dates. Just remember the Eternal films are to be viewed after Season III.

Which version should you start with?

Whilst that is how the franchise breaks down, it is not the order a Sailor Moon newbie should try experiencing it in.

My personal recommendation would be to begin with the original 1992 anime and then move on to any of the other versions from there. This is because the original anime is aimed at a younger audience and was incredibly influential on basically every other version of the story. 

However, if 200 episodes or more is too intimidating for you, then simply check out the manga. It’s far shorter, skewed a bit older and tells a concise and complete story. 

And if you are still apprehensive then I’d highly recommend watching the first Sailor Moon film, Sailor Moon R The Movie. This is a very good film unto itself but it is a microcosm of the characters and themes that define the franchise as a whole. If you dislike this Sailor Moon just isn’t for you. 

P.S. If you are simply dead set against subtitles then you should know the original 1992 anime and Crystal have in fact been dubbed into English by Viz Media. In fact, the first four seasons of the original anime, along with the first three films, have two English dubs, variously produced by DiC, Cloverway and Pioneer. These dubs were made in the 1990s and early 2000s and are currently not legally available anywhere. 

*Things get more complicated when we consider that even in Japan there have been updated and altered versions of the Sailor Moon manga, anime, etc. We aren’t going to worry about that in this post though. They exist and maybe someday you might be inclined to check them out, but you know...baby steps...

EDIT #1: The following information comes from https://euribear.tumblr.com/

Just something I want to add on about the Sailor Moon Musicals.

If you see a musical with the word Kaiteiban (revision) at the end of the name, that means it’s a revised version of the previous musical. Things added or taken away, different cast members at times, etc.

Also, there are three musicals (technically four) that have a continuous storyline. Starring Miyuki Kanbe as Sailor Moon, Last Dracul, Transylvania no Mori (and its Kaiteiban), and Death Vulcan should be viewed in order.

The Bandai era of musicals were from 1993 to 2005.

The Nelke musicals started in 2014 and there was one each year for five years. One musical for each arc of the manga.

There are also the NogiMyu. These are musicals that solely focus on the Dark Kingdom arc and they star various members of the pop idol group Nogizazaka46.

There were two teams of cast members for the inner senshi for both years, 2018 and 2019. The same story overall, just different actresses.

There was also Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon The Super Live. My personal favorite, this was a musical performed only a few times. A couple of days in Japan in 2018 and then once in Paris in 2019 and then in Washington D.C. and later in NYC. I got to see this in person on one of the three showings in NYC. A dream come true. Unfortunately, this was never recorded, though they did release an instrumental musical album of the show.

[tundrainafrica]

Title: A Tale of Two Slaves (10/17)

Summary:  “Soulmates don’t exist. Fate doesn’t exist. Everything is a choice.” At that moment, Levi could only watch as she made the choice for him.“

Reincarnation AU. Levi remembers everything from their past life. Hange doesn’t.

Note: This took a while. I had this written out for a while, I just spent a good amount of brain cells trying to figure out where to cut this. It’s almost done actually. I’m expecting like (at the most) 5 more chapters so maybe I can get it done by the end of March if I muster up the courage and the effort to do all the final revisions to the last few chapters.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Other Chapters:1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Link to cross-postings: AO3

As Levi soon found out, Hange kept a folder online tagged ‘Levi Ackerman.’

The oldest pictures were dated more than three years ago and the first had been one of his cool down after his performance at his first tournament. There was variety in the pictures and they covered everything, all the way from warming up on the bench, positioning himself to run and those few moments right after launching himself in the air to the peak of his jump. She had even snuck pictures of his interviews.

The first time he opened it, he had first checked the dates to make sure he hadn’t been dreaming or assuming she of all people had been a fan. The weirdly strong emotions he had felt at the realization of the existence of such a folder had only made him all the more vulnerable and the last thing he had wanted to do was an act on an illusion or trick of the mind.

The experiences he had on the field clearing jump after jump had become routine over the five year period. Despite the changes among the faces in the crowd, the cheers that had only been getting louder and louder and of course, the oval that changed with the venue, sometimes the only thing Levi did remember was the blue sky staring him down and gravity pulling from behind.

Maybe that was why he had ended up in a state of disbelief the first time she had shown it to him.

How did you not notice her? Levi was sure he wouldn’t have anyway. She was a stranger, one stranger in a crowd of people. Although she may have been one unchanging face in a crowd of thousands of changing faces, she was still a stranger to him. And strangers just tended to blend in more easily.

A valid point. Yet the regret and frustration were still fresh inside him despite it having been weeks since she first gave him access to that folder

She had first showed it to him the morning after that eventful night, after having dealt with a hungover Nanaba. It was only in the evening that day after Hange had escorted her three friends to the station did she sit next to him on the bed and scroll through the pictures herself with Levi right beside her. Naturally, she was still hesitant to show that side of her, she scrolled a bit too slow at times, while a bit too fast at other times.

For a while their roles were reversed and Levi found himself prodding Hange for more details. Eventually, she did share the link to the folder in exchange for links to his story and Levi was quick to comply. They were both exposed anyway, there was no need for any more secrets between them. Only one condition that had seemed a little too frivolous at first glance, yet somehow Levi understood it.

Hange requested that he go through the pictures when she wasn’t around. And soon after she requested it, Levi realized he preferred that too. Despite the fact that he did trust her not to judge whatever she may find on the folders, there still existed an uneasiness at baring one’s heart out to someone in words one couldn’t control anymore having written the stories out too long ago.

Consequently, he requested the same thing from her. Do not read it while I’m around. When he told her the stories, he at least had control of his tones, his diction and the packaging of the overall story. Watching her read them, he knew he would find himself doubting the words he had written while at the same time vacillating between decisions to correct his previous writings or let her read. The constant self consciousness that came with the second option had just been too stressful of a prospect. He decided himself, he would rather have full control of the exposition or none at all.

The decision to have no control and no input, to be absent when he bares his heart out was not easy to make. And he continued to feel the traces of that struggle in the way he so easily lost focus and ended up mindlessly scrolling through the folder. His mind had shifted to other things more specifically the prospect of whether or not Hange was doing the same thing then and there.

She was only a phone call away. He could ask. But it had just seemed idiotic. Of course she wouldn’t be checking on it, she had been cramming for an exam that morning in between preparing for her mid semester thesis presentation. She hadn’t even bothered to say any greeting but an ‘I’ll follow’ before he left for the therapist that morning.

He looked through the messages in the waiting room, and up at the time displayed on the upper right part of the screen.

9:43. She was still in the middle of her exam. She won’t be checking on it.

Levi looked at the ceiling above him, allowing the plain white view above him to ease him back to his reality. How long had he been staring at the phone? He closely felt for the aches and discomforts around his body. The dull soreness that made itself known as he stared up at the white ceiling above him only served as a reminder that he had been a little too exposed to quick scrolls and the unnatural glare of his phone for a potentially unhealthy amount of time.

It was his first physical therapy session and Hange had pointed out that he should be early just in case. Consequently, he had shown up at 8:30 for a session at ten.

Just in case you get lost. Just in case there is paperwork which still needs to be filled. Hange would have done the paperwork already. He had ended up clocking that little doubt and that need for a little prophylactic thinking to caution on their end. First times tended to make people a little more cautious. And more importantly, what else was there to do on a Saturday morning other than sleep in?

Either way, that long wait had left him with eyes a little too tired yet at the same time, he was bored out of his wits. He looked around the waiting room finding something else to entertain himself with.

I only have seventeen more minutes to kill. It shouldn’t be too hard.

The atmosphere of the waiting room was nothing like getting lost in nature or on the road. It was stark white, bleak and a little too rehearsed. In other words, it lacked dynamic and consequently. it was too boring to find any amusement in. Of course, they wouldn’t want to stress out any patients with anything too fancy or overwhelming. Yet, the only thing which Levi could have found worth giving more than a passing thought to were the people around him.

And only when Levi started focusing instead on the people and not on the off-white plastered walls of the waiting room, he somehow was able to distract himself from the dragging motions of time.

There was an old man with a knee brace. A middle aged man with an arm in a sling and a girl with a casted right leg. There were others who could have passed up for nothing more than a visitor, until they stood up and Levi noticed in their gait the slight hesitancy to put one foot in front of the other. A small detail which Levi probably wouldn’t have noticed if he weren’t looking for it then.

As he preoccupied himself and reflected over the small details that could have told stories of the people around him, that natural reflection to one own’s self had him a little too focused, a little too fixated.

The door to the waiting room slammed behind him and the trance disappeared as quickly as it came and as silently as a bubble that had just been popped.

Levi found himself irritably following the sound of the footsteps that came right after the slam of the door. It reverberated across the quiet and tense room, so loudly that if Levi did look around him, he would have realized he wasn’t the only one who had been so abruptly disturbed by it.

“Aaaand... My rounds are over for today,” The man said looking not at all guilty for that rude awakening. He wouldn’t have known anyway, and as Levi looked towards the front where the man had settled by the nurse’s desk, he might just have been the only one in the room rudely awakened by that sound.

“Ah, Doctor Jaeger, That was quick,” the nurse commented a little too pleasantly for Levi’s taste.

“Not too busy of a morning.” The man said, or as Levi soon deduced, was Mr. Jaeger. He recognized that irritating voice and as he looked up at the man, taking in the gruff features, the blond hair and beard and the rounded glasses, he quickly grasped for the name.

Zeke Jaeger. He hadn’t even said the name out loud just yet, but somehow he tasted venom. Levi though had enough awareness of his surroundings and his own ability to quickly yet correctly guess names to have kept silent. Regardless, he continued to watch as Zeke lowered his voice, possibly whispering something about going out for a drink and some dinner with the nurse in front of him. He found himself silently judging that audacious invasion of privacy as Zeke looked over at whatever paper was on the teacher’s desk.

Ackerman?

If Levi had actually been a little more aware of his surroundings, he would have realized Zeke did not at all say the name loud enough for him to hear. It was the result of Levi having watched too closely as Zeke enunciated those syllables, having noticed as the nurse made eye contact with him and having heard peppers of conversations about a jumper and an injury.

“Oh… An Ackerman? Who does high jumps?.” Zeke confirmed it himself, as he once again spoke a few decibels louder, obviously with the intention of making himself heard.

It wasn’t anything new. The past few months, Levi started to realize that at the least, many people in the local scene were familiar with him.

“My brother’s best friend is an Ackerman too and she started jumping recently.”

“I don’t have any relatives who jump,” Levi answered, in an attempt to shoot that attempt of a friendly interaction down.

Zeke stared at him, looking surprised. “You sure? With how quickly she picked it up, I thought she should have been related to you.”

Levi kept silent, making no effort to look open at all to conversation. Somehow, Zeke didn’t seem to get the hint.

“She’s been sweeping their interhigh competitions since the start of autumn… With the pace at which she’s going, she might even replace you.”

Levi had gotten used to those types of comments, hearing them as whispers the few times he went out, seeing them on a few forums as people discussed his injuries. He shouldn’t have been at all bothered by the statement, having shifted his attention in life to things which weren’t jumping

The blond man in front of him had been crass and blunt and Levi was starting to feel the beginnings of a bad mood. The irritability only worsened even as Levi tuned out the blond doctor. His mind went elsewhere, as he instead decided to seethe silently at the insensitivity of that statement.

                                  A Tale of Two Slaves

Eventually Levi did get a break from that one-sided conversation. But the countdown to that break was slow and painful. He only noticed as he struggled under the trappings of that long and excruciating wait how long it really took for minutes to count down on a digital clock.

An eternity could have passed before Levi was called from the waiting room. As soon as the clock struck ten, Levi could not help but be more than slightly annoyed that she had been late.

If you’re early then you’re on time. If you’re on time, then you’re late. Any other day, Levi would have acknowledged the hypocrisy of that statement since although he was always early to training, he was never that religious when it came to academics. Having just bounced back from such an excruciating exchange with Zeke though, everything had just been pissing him off more than necessary.

It was almost remarkable how he managed to nod in return at the woman who met him at the exit of the waiting room. But Levi soon realized, as the anger quickly dissipated from inside him, she seemed like an old friend more than a stranger and like for all people, as long as there was history between them, he could save a little more patience points.

The woman who helped him up and led him to the room ahead was shorter than him yet had a way of handling herself that made Levi guess that she was at the least, a university student.

Levi didn’t need to guess anything else. Somehow, her name, her personality and the familiarity had all been somewhere in his head.

She cocked her head to one side in greeting and spoke up. “You can call me---”

“Petra,” Levi said. Somehow, he just knew her name. He had been inclined to complete that statement, only to make more real the nagging feeling in his head as soon as he had noticed her enter the room.

Petra’s eyes widened in shock. “Yes, how did you know?”

“It’s on your nametag,” Levi answered almost automatically, thanking the heavens she was wearing a nametag.

“Yeah, my bad. I get a little absent minded at times,” Petra patted her own head and gave Levi a wry smile.

Petra was hospitable. And when Levi thought that exact statement, he couldn't help but think how the word 'hospitable' had fit her so well. It was in her presence. She had this special talent, of finding ways at least to add color to the stark white hospital walls and the overly sanitized tiled floors underneath.

It could have been the tone or it could have been her word choice as she rattled off what could have been an outline of his physical therapy regime. As Levi did figure out, it could possibly have been the unique enthusiasm she had towards the whole patient recovery process

"So you're my physical therapist?" Levi asked. He never really did pick up what she was saying. He had heard enough about leg raises, timings on when to remove casts and knee bends that he at least guessed she knew enough about them to be one.

Petra though was quick to shake her head. "No actually. After college, I have plans of taking the exam. Then after that, I’ll be a physical therapist. I’m just taking advantage of this internship to learn more about the occupation.”

“It suits you,” Levi said. He kept his own comments brief. At that point, he did start to lose a little bit of awareness of his surroundings. His thoughts flew slowly back to his dreams.

Those first two encounters in the hospital had been two missing puzzle pieces. The stories had been an incomplete puzzle set of words and pictures and as he put it all together in his head, he couldn’t help but note how vivid the memories actually were. It took all his strength not to react, not to bolt out then and there, and go back home, to fill in the gaps on his laptop.

He put two names on his phone.

Zeke Jaeger. Petra Ral. Levi could have sworn there was more to remember and to write about.

And who did Zeke mention then? The other Ackerman? The other jumper?

The dreams were faint, as faint as the image an incomplete puzzle would make. Some parts were clear and vivid like a scenery behind a newly cleaned window. Others were hazy, his mind having filled up those gaps with blurry images. But the other Ackerman was there, and she moved fast enough to justify those blurs in the scene. Back when they fought the war, she flew in those cables much faster than he and Hange had.

I am strong. I am stronger than all of you.

                                       A Tale of Two Slaves

The pain that came with his first physical therapy session was excruciating and it only served to further aggravate the anguish and his eagerness to get home before the sceneries in his head faded into faint memories of something else.

He managed at least to keep himself in a good in-between, by repeating the mantra of that other Ackerman to himself as he went through each and every exercise.

They had started off slow, as slow as a walk in the park maybe, a few stretches here and there. While doing some of the stretches and the warm ups, he did wonder if he had attended the right therapy session. Some of the warm up exercises had nothing to do with his knee after all.

The actual challenge came when Petra and the physical therapist he had failed to get the name of, had him sit down. As soon as Petra unwrapped the brace and pulled it from underneath him, Levi felt the weight of his injury almost instantly. It didn’t help at all that he was looking right at it.

“We’re going to try bending it a bit. Maybe put some weight on it if we have some extra time” The physical therapist’s words felt ominous.

The surgical scars and the healed wounds on his knees from more than two months ago only served to rattle Levi a little more. He had avoided looking at the scars many times before during meetings with Erwin and Hange. The few times Hange did pull and prod at it, he had it stretched out on some pillow.

It was fragile. And it felt unnatural. There in front of him then, it was dangling from the exam table, gravity pulling it down from underneath. Levi swore that if he tried hard enough he probably could imagine it completely disconnecting from his body at that moment. And maybe if he did move it, attempt to stand up without the confines of a knee brace as support, it might just fall off.

“Hey, it happens to the best of us,” Petra said.

No, it doesn’t happen to the best of us. In the room at least, there were at least five other people struggling to do something so simple as to bend a knee. But Levi could have sworn, in the outside world he was surrounded by people who wouldn’t think twice about bending their knee.

“Just bend it as far as you feel comfortable.” Bullshit directions. Levi had to admit, he wasn’t comfortable having it bend at all. Just the sensation of having it dangle so easily in the air, at the mercy of gravity underneath was already unsettling.

Was it a challenge then? To get it to bend as far as he could?

The directions of the therapist were flawed and Levi naturally opted for a flawed response as well. The process of bending his knee had been slow and excruciating. Levi found himself closing his eyes a few times, finding some sort of a rhythm in the faint sounds of the heater in the room, the murmurs from all the way across the room.

Or maybe a mantra? From someone a little too familiar. I am strong. Stronger than all of you. Another Ackerman.

And the way Zeke had mentioned it was grating. Was it a challenge? A threat? Was it supposed to be pushing him to go further?

It could have been Zeke or it could have been that phantom Ackerman that had been a motivation at that moment. But something then had Levi’s heart racing, his mind going in circles.

I’m strong too. I’ll get out of this rut. He thought to himself, a weak yet still effective act of protest. It worked both as a catalyst for a burst of motivation and an odd source of rhythm. The flexibility of bending came in slow, steady but continued attempts. The rush of adrenaline came halfway through.

A few minutes later, he was sweating and maybe he had been shaking a bit before that. When Petra had mentioned the optimistic progress and the plan to at least attempt to put weight on his bum knee, Levi was quick to comply.

And maybe a little too reckless. They had least helped him next to a wall, a good place at least to lean his body in the off chance he did lose control.

“One foot forward then one back.” The therapist guided.

As he watched the therapist simulate that same position, Levi quickly followed suit. He remembered, he had put some weight on his leg. Back then the brace had kept his knee stable.

At that moment, the brace was off, and it would be his bum knee, exhausted from the prior exercises taking the full weight.

I’m strong. Levi repeated to himself. Bending wasn’t an issue before. He had been bending his knees, possibly before he even knew how to walk. It should have been nothing, The excitement of a while ago, the adrenaline rush, pushed him further. It had him so seamlessly balancing the weight from the back of his foot, to the foot in front.

And maybe his knee had been bending farther in, the weight of his body on it. Somewhere along the way he did start to feel the beginnings of a dull pain.

I’m strong. To keep going, Levi had to find an escape. Stronger than all of you. It was easy at least, to leave the movements to his procedural memory as he distracted himself with his own musings, willing himself not to forget what he had wished to write down.

Where did they all fit? The Beast Titan… The Survey Corps… The War… The Alliance?

“Levi, I’m sorry I’m late. The test ended later than I expected…” She came as a faint voice, but Levi was too far gone to hear it.

He had only felt her presence then, when the physical therapist called a break, when he had collapsed on the floor in exhaustion, his knee throbbing, his breaths coming in heaves. He only realized she had been watching for a good long while when he looked up to see the concern etched in her face as he caught her gaze.

“I’m fine…” He at least managed to say that much before he closed his eyes, allowing that few minutes of rest to gather his thoughts and steady his breaths.

“You shouldn’t have pushed yourself too hard. This is just your first session,” Hange said from right next to him.

He still had enough energy to process those words at least.

                               A Tale of Two Slaves

That night, Levi gripped his dream catcher a little tighter and pressed it close to the back of his phone as he scrolled through google links on the other Ackerman.

It hadn’t been hard to find her at all. Zeke’s tirade that morning had been more than a guide enough.

High school. Ackerman. High Jump. Those were the only three keywords he needed to figure out the whole name of that missing Ackerman. For a moment, he had expected to find his own articles, and had braced himself for the pain of sifting through old articles about himself in between looking at hers.

It turned out Mikasa Ackerman had been the talk of the high school high jumping scene for a while, and she had been the topic of at least 90% of the articles he was scrolling through on Google.

A few times they did allude to the other Ackerman. The older articles heralded her as a successor to the rookie Levi Ackerman, the newer ones that were dated past his injury called her the brand new Ackerman, a replacement.

A replacement to damaged goods. Levi had to add that part himself, an attempt to make a joke out of his shitty situation as he closed that last article. “Mikasa Ackerman,” Levi repeated those words so quietly to himself as he dropped the dreamcatcher haphazardly onto the table in front of him. It had been useless at that moment. Or maybe at the least it had been the reason he felt a little too frustrated at having looked through too many articles that evening.

He looked to Hange who was sitting on the dining table, looking deep in thought on something on her laptop. Mid semester presentations for her thesis proposal were coming up, along with a few new exams next week. She had been conscious enough to point that out at least and Levi happily gave her the space she needed.

The turmoil inside him at first seemed difficult to pacify.  Just watching Hange so focused and deep in thought had helped somehow quell whatever unresolved tensions and feelings were settling in his stomach then.

Maybe if he talked to her, the tensions might just disappear altogether. Levi deemed it worth the effort at least. “Hange? You okay?” He asked

Hange’s head shot up and she looked straight at him almost instantly. “Sorry, how long were you calling me? I’ve just been a little too focused on my exam on Monday and the thesis presentations on Wednesday… I don’t think I’ve been in the right mind for a while…”

Levi saw it in the way she looked at him, she hadn’t been focusing on his eyes. It was as if she were still probably seeing whatever words or numbers she was studying. She had been like that the past week since the line up of the thesis presentations were released along with the midterms schedules for all the exams.

Their kiss, their one night in the bedroom almost forgotten. Levi was sure though there was something that had been bothering her, maybe something that extended beyond academics.

I can ask about that after finals. Levi thought to himself, pushing aside that bout of concern. He could start with a light question at least, which didn’t involve Hange too much. “Have you heard of Mikasa Ackerman?”

“Mikasa Ackerman? The high school high jumper?” Hange asked. “Maybe I have been following her too… Lately...”

“She’s really good apparently.”

“Her jumping positions reminded me a lot of yours, so she had been fun to watch. I always did want to ask… Is she related to you? I did some research but I don’t see much which connect you both other than a few articles comparing you as jumpers and maybe speculating a relationship.”

Levi shook his head. “I never heard of her… Until today… A doctor mentioned her back in the hospital before my therapy session.”

“She only started making waves last month when her school made it to the regional competitions. No one really follows the district and the interschools… And apparently she only started jumping recently, during summer and she only started breaking records during the regionals,” Hange said. “That is… According to what I’ve read up on her.”

“So, you have been following her?”

“I still watch videos during study breaks,” Hange admitted. “And she just broke a few records a few weeks ago, of course they’d show up in my feed.”

“And you didn’t feel the need to ask me about it before? About an Ackerman doing the same jumping positions I did? You didn’t want to talk about it?”

“I thought of asking you about it maybe after exams. Besides, do you want to talk about jumping? After everything that happened?”

Levi put his phone down beside him and looked up at the ceiling above him. Of course he wouldn’t have heard of her until then, he had purged himself of all track and field news since the injury. The tournament with Nanaba and Mike and the round of research on Mikasa have been two exceptions and the feelings after that had only reminded him why he had spent his days actively making the effort not to think of the life he used to have. "I told you I'm fine," he said. He half meant that part at least, the writing had helped.

"No you aren't.”

Levi found himself shocked by how certain Hange’s tone had been. And for a second, maybe he had been a little irritated at the audacity of it all. Who was she to assume how he felt? But the surprise and the irritability had him silent and listening. Hange always had a reason for her conclusions. She never made assumptions so easily, he had known her enough lifetimes to be sure of that.

“There's a certain sadness to knowing you can't do what you used to before.” Hange continued. “I think everyone feels it, even a bit."

"A certain... sadness?" Levi asked.

"Wait, that does sound vague... Lemme think of an example." Hange paused for a second, looking up in thought. "Like maybe if you imagine people who’ve been skating or people who've been playing instruments their whole childhood. When they stop training or practicing these things altogether, these people can feel themselves lose their motor skills or their thinking skills that got them jumping double axels or playing arpeggios or pulling off vibratos like they’re second nature. And when they come back to it years later, I’m sure everyone feels the sadness or some sort of a frustration, looking back at their old self and processing the realization that they can’t bring their body or their mind to do something as effortlessly as they had done it many years before. Processing how they ended up so weak, so stupid after abandoning their old passions for so long."

“What if I’m an exception?” Levi challenged, still a little annoyed at such an assumption and at such a long unsettling tirade.

Hange shook her head. “You’re not. For a while, I wanted to entertain the possibility that maybe you and I are exceptions, maybe we can easily jump from one passion to another. When I was watching you during therapy though. I saw the terror in your eyes, the frustration, the sadness. ‘Why isn’t my body moving the same way it used to?’ Maybe you don’t want to think back to jumping because you don’t want to see how quickly your body has forgotten the motions, how quickly it had lost the flexibility and the strength to carry you over the two meter bars…” Hange trailed off. She avoided his gaze and for a while she had been staring at the blank wall in front of her. For a second after that, she did look to him, and there was a glint of realization in that. Realization at what she had just implied possibly. "But you know what, you might just be an exception. Maybe I’m just projecting." Hange added a second later.

Levi was sure though from the quick change of tone that accompanied those last words that Hange probably didn't mean it. On top of that, having heard Hange's small lecture, Levi almost immediately realized he wasn't at all an exception.

Her voice had been light as she mentioned that last sentence. It could have been a thoughtless comment. Hange didn’t make too many thoughtless comments though. “Projecting?” Levi asked.

Hange let out a short light laugh  “I’m talking too much, I should go back to work…” Her words seemed like a band-aid, a lazy coverup for whatever emotions had supported such a tirade in the first place.

Projecting? There was a reason behind that word use and Levi was more than eager to press on it.

Hange wasn’t listening anymore though. She was buried once again in whatever subject she had chosen to study for that night. She was in work mode again and she had gotten back to that mode as quickly as she had fallen out of it.

All questions can wait until after her exam week. Levi told himself. The word ‘projecting’ had stayed though. Hange’s words had left its mark and maybe it did have Levi reflecting on his own feelings, his own fear and his own frustrations at his regressing skills, the painful awareness of his body that was slowly forgetting the motions he had built over years. At the end of that tunnel of reflection, he did end up thinking back to that word.

Projecting. She had to be feeling something for herself to say something like that right?

Hange what are you projecting?

And that at least distracted Levi enough, enough for him to ignore the dull pain in his left knee, channel his focus elsewhere. The next few days, having been left alone in the apartment while Hange went about classes, lab work and library visits, Levi did manage to channel his energies to academics or to filling his gaps in his own stories: Levi Special Squad, the Beast Titan and something about some new rookies in the survey corps.

The pain in his knee never left though. It was nagging and annoying like a cavity. It was a pain Levi had assumed would disappear in time. His left knee had always been painful since the injury.

Yet, maybe his left knee had started to get a little frustrated at Levi’s negligence. Maybe it had started to get angry. It was a creature and Levi soon realized, it was a monster that demanded attention.

The night it demanded his attention so stubbornly, so angrily., it did it through sharp pains that coursed through him like bolts of electricity, it did it through a crushing sensation that left Levi almost unable to breathe.

And maybe it did have Levi hallucinating----Or could it have been dreaming--- of having saved one of his soldiers from being eaten by a titan.

                                      A Tale of Two Slaves

“Connie!

“Captain!”

In his dreams, he had been too out of breath, or maybe a little too distracted to have reacted at the crushing pain that had spread through him like bolts of lightning. The dream was hazy that Levi doubted whether he had been completely rooted in anything or not.

He had been flying. He had been in pain. And he had been pushing past the pain, slicing at a titan in every direction. And when he had seen one of his soldiers unconscious, about to be eaten by a titan, he had jumped in between the titan and the soldier so instinctively, so desperately that the in-between had been a blur. He found himself in the midst of an excruciatingly painful ordeal. He gritted his teeth, biting back any attempt to scream. For god knows if he screamed, he might just run out of energy, he might just pass out.

When he woke up to the dark room though, he processed almost naturally the fact that the circumstances his reality had offered him were different. The view in the middle of the night, the faint sound of cars had been different. He wasn’t in a battle field and as if his body had been completely aware of that, it did push past his attempts to subdue any reaction.

Even before he realized it though, he had been screaming. Only when his throat burned and the sounds faded into a whimper, only when the tears started to run down his face, only when he closed his eyes and keeled over, a pathetic reaction to the bombardment of stimuli, did Levi realize the pain of having his leg almost bitten off by a titan was still there.

“Levi! I’m here. What’s going on? Are you okay?” Hange was right next to him. Beyond the pain, that was all he could process.

Hange hadn’t been there in the dream. God knows where Hange had been when he was flying from titan to titan. God knows where Hange had been when he found himself, jumping in between his fellow soldier and the titan that had lunged to eat him.

And god, it was painful. Even past the dream, even when he started to realize that Hange was right next to him at least in the dark room at 3am. The pain stayed and it was crushing his knee, it was leaving him unable to even take any sort of a decent breath, his own coping mechanism reduced to ragged breaths in between tears.

“Levi, breathe…”

How pathetic where his own breaths sounding for Hange to have to coach him like that?

“Oh god, Levi, we might have to get you to a hospital?”

How pathetic did he look for Hange to have to suggest a hospital visit? When she helped him up at least, when she slung her free arm over his shoulder and helped him to a sitting position, he did at least feel the unnatural weight on his left knee. What was going on?

Everything after that, came as a hazy dream. As hazy as the fight against the many unnatural looking titans. In that dream, Hange had been absent for some reason he could not yet comprehend. And Levi found himself trying to push it away, instead focusing on the Hange in front of him who had put a blanket over him, who had dialed a number on her phone and who was rattling off medical jargon to someone on the phone.

“Erwin… I…” Why would you need to call Erwin at three in the morning?

After that, Hange had helped put a hoodie over him, she had called one more number. And within a few minutes, Levi found himself lying down on a taxi, half conscious, only hanging on by a thread at the view of Hange under the dim light of the taxi and the city lights.

Somehow, he was terrified of falling asleep again. Hange hadn’t been there in the dream. And she might just disappear if he closed his eyes. As he unwillingly held on to the crushing pain in his knee and the view of Hange who sat next to him on the taxi, he was awake. Only barely, but barely was enough to not fall into another world of dreams, a world of wars and a state of complete chaos and confusion.

Eventually, he lost consciousness but it had been a gradual process.

He had lost some sense of time along the way, his body having been too focused on Hange. The darkness in the taxi had quickly shifted to the stark white of the hospital as he was helped onto a stretcher. Then along the way, he may have heard Erwin’s voice rattling off something about a swelling knee that was crushing his joints and a knee aspiration.

Then there was something about painkillers, an IV, a slight pain in his hand before everything enveloped him again. Maybe at his peripherals, Hange had been by his bedside.

It was a huge improvement at least from the messages of his own dreams. And maybe it was relief that finally had him letting go of his tight yet weak grip on reality. The crushing pain on his knee hadn’t been from a titan biting it off. Hange’s absence in the war had only been a dream.

The last few things he had processed then before completely letting the darkness enveloped him, may have been the sound of a laptop opening next to him, a few wires pattering on the floor below, the sound of the mouse and finally, the relaxing rhythmic clacking of the keyboard..

Hange was right next to him and she wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

                                          A Tale of Two Slaves

“Sorry.” It came out as a croak but Levi was still hoping she heard it. Despite the haziness of the first few moments as he opened his eyes to the light streaming into the hospital room, despite the discomfort which came with a dry throat, it had been Levi’s first instinct to apologize.

Hange looked worse off than last night. He at least picked up enough images of her to know that there was a stark difference between the Hange of a few hours ago and the Hange then. The laptop hadn’t moved, it was still on the table next to his bedside, just like he had guessed it to be having fallen unconscious to the sound of the clacking of the keyboard.

Right then and there, Hange’s hair fell in chaotic waves, her glasses askew. And compared to last night where he saw panic, in front of him, he saw calm etched on her face, an ominous calm that somehow seemed even more alarming.

“Hange,” Levi said a little louder. The concern he felt only gave him the motivation to push past the discomfort of having just woken up. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you saying sorry? Hadn’t everything to this point been my fault?” Hange’s voice was soft, reflecting the ominous calm. It was cold, maybe even frozen. “"The reason the fluid built up in your knee was overexertion apparently. They’re guessing it was the physical therapy session last Saturday." Hange looked away. "I can't help but think... If I didn’t bring you to the tournament or talked to you about jumping , maybe you wouldn’t have pushed yourself too hard."

Levi had listened closely and he could have sworn he heard a crack in her voice. “But the fluid is gone right?” He asked. He noted that his knee was numb and to his relief, the pain had devolved into a dull ache, similar to the one he had been dealing with the past month. Not at all as alarming as it had been the night before.

Hange shrugged. “Maybe it’s the painkillers or maybe it’s the fact that they drained the wound. But don’t count your eggs before they even hatch. Your back to square one. All progress, out the window. Fuck this. Fuck all this. And you wouldn’t have been in this damn situation if he hadn’t fucked up way too many times. Was I pressuring you to jump? Was I pressuring you to recover quicker? Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned Elijah, or maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned MIkasa? Maybe I shouldn’t have let you go to that fucking meet in the first place.”

Levi kept quiet. Watching what had been Hange, leaving her laptop open on the table, watching her pace around the room, avoiding his gaze as she fell into her soft tirade had been unsettling. Even he couldn’t tell how it was making him feel. “It’s over. It happened. So many things had happened at once, it couldn’t have been anyone’s fault.”

“Fucking hell Levi, when I’m supposed to be writing about your injury, when I’m supposed to be writing every single bout of mini progress, writing out the mechanics of the injury… I can’t help but see… you were in no condition to jump. You were exhausted, your wounds from the first time we met were far from healed. But for fuck’s sake, if I had told you to wait it out a week, instead of letting you do jump after jump, maybe you’d be in class right now or maybe you’d be preparing for your next tournament… I don’t wanna write this anymore. I don’t wanna reduce whatever is going on inside you to a fucking case study.” Hange slammed her hand on her keyboard, and sat so violently on the chair, she had pushed it a few inches back.

“You need to graduate,” Levi said. What will Erwin think? What will your parents think?

“At this point, who cares? I’m miserable. I can’t fucking get anything written. I write a paragraph, I get self conscious and I delete it. I write out my interpretation of the numbers, of my findings, my gut wrenches then I delete it again."

“Take a break?” Levi weakly suggested.

Hange had laughed at that. The reaction came out of nowhere and Levi found himself speechless and maybe a little confused. Take a break? That had seemed like a natural suggestion. He had at least spent a good few seconds thinking in between listening to Hange’s rant to have come up with such a suggestion.

Either way, from the way Hange had laughed it off and slammed her laptop close, from the way she had sat back on the chair and looked at nothing in particular, the way she had avoided his gaze through the whole tirade and the fit that had followed, Levi was sure that had been the wrong thing to say.

A little ashamed at his own ability to have come up with something a little more comforting, Levi kept quiet. And for a second, he looked up at the own ceiling above him, and maybe distracted himself by appreciating the view from the wide hospital window, following the birds that were doing some sort of dance in the sky

For a moment, he did forget about Hange. She hadn’t helped at all to make herself any memorable, having kept silent.

The silence in that moment had been too peaceful, had been too otherworldly that it was only natural that it would be broken by even the softest and steadiest things.

Like an off-rhythm knock on the door.

“Hange?”

Levi recognized the voice even before his head popped up from behind the slightly opened door. “Moblit?”

Levi looked towards Hange. The latter sat unmoving on her seat, her head bowed down, her face unreadable. Even as Moblit opened the door a little wider and approached her, she hadn’t moved at all or even looked back to greet him. Levi bent over to get a better look at her and saw panic. A type of panic he had never seen before. Panic, confusion, maybe a little urgency. “Hange? Moblit’s here.” Levi managed to say. He kept his voice gentle, a natural gesture having to process Hange’s face at that moment.

“Hey Hange. Erwin told me you’d be here. The others were worried about you--- I was worried about you. You’re supposed to be presenting now."

Hange stayed silent. From what Levi could see, her face was frozen. Was that panic? Shock?

Moblit continued. "I explained your situation… They said they could push it back until this afternoon...You think you can make it?" Moblit paused as he got closer to her, as if waiting for her to say something. He had his phone out,as if ready to call the panelists at any moment.

"Hange. Go to the presentation," Levi said. It was difficult to bend over and make eye contact with her with her head bent down, her eyes downcast. He kept his words firm, hoping at least that was enough to reach her.

“I can’t…” She managed to say. She left her mouth half open, as if she had expected to say something after. She looked back up at Levi, then bit her lip. Levi could have sworn that was the first time he had seen her in such a loss of words yet at the same time, struggling to get something out.

“Hange, go. I’ll be fine…”

“You don’t understand, I can’t… present.”

“Hey, I’ll help you set up. We have until tonight.” Moblit scooched beside her on the table and typed out her password.

“No, you don’t get it, I have nothing…”

“Hey, I’ll help you get a powerpoint. We can revise your manuscript together. That’s what friends are for,” Moblit pressed as he pushed the laptop towards Hange. “Come on, type out your password.”

“No Moblit, there’s nothing in here. It’s over. I’ll try again next year.”

“It’s too early to give up Hange, remember how fast you got Elijah’s data processed? It helped me a lot.”

“You don’t get it do you?” Hange pulled the laptop towards her and angrily typed what could have been the password. The laptop booted to life and from where he sat, Levi made out the characteristic log in tone of the computer. “There’s nothing in the document. Just the introduction. No preliminary results. No observations. Nothing.”

Levi couldn’t see the screen from where he sat. But he did see the flashes of a changing screen through Moblit’s eyes. He could guess the results from the way Moblit’s jaw dropped and the way Hange just avoided both their gazes, keeping her eyes downcast.

Levi maneuvered himself to the side of the bed, getting Hange’s laptop at arm’s reach. His leg protested the action but that was the last thing on his mind. God forbid, what Moblit was seeing at that moment could have been Levi’s first assumption.

Hange… Didn’t you spend hours in the library getting everything written out?

Didn’t you spend whole days outside working in the lab?

Didn’t I fall asleep every night to the angry clacking of the keyboard?

Didn’t I wake up in the middle of the night to you in the dining room writing out your thesis?

She had been writing at least. The introduction, the review of related literature were all filled out. The methodology had been filled out. It was a far cry though from what she had made in high school. Each part had been furnished with links to sources, half completed sentences and maybe a few question marks here and there.

The observations and the results and discussions though, were all blank.

“Hange… You….” What were you doing? This can’t be it. Levi didn’t even know if he had said that last part out loud. His brain was on overdrive trying to prove his own quick conclusion wrong. He navigated through old versions of the document. His hands were quick, maybe they had been moving on their own and the PC couldn’t catch up.

A few times, Levi found himself tapping impatiently on the keyboard as the laptop loaded each version.

More links, more half completed sentences, and a very empty observations and results section. “We can get something written right? Help make a powerpoint? If we work together, we could get something presentable."

Moblit shook his head. He bent down next to Hange and spoke softly. “Does Erwin know about this?”

“I told him to just leave it to me… But I can’t. I can’t write this anymore.” Hange shook her head as she looked up at Moblit then up at him. There was some sort of a smile of resignation plastered on her face, reminiscent of the laugh of only a few moments ago.

That was what the laugh had meant when he had suggested the break.

Of course, she would laugh. There was no time for breaks. There was no time for work either. Hange was royally fucked.

Moblit left the room, neither Levi nor Hange asked for what. For a few more minutes, maybe for even an hour longer while Hange had been in her catatonic state, Levi did continue to look through her drafts, see what kind of sense he could make of the half complete sentences and the links to journals in her document with his limited knowledge on human anatomy.

His background had him very much unready to complete a thesis proposal on a technical subject he studied nothing about, let alone in the span of a few hours. Having been pumped with painkillers and sleeping drought only an hour before, his brain was in no state either to bullshit what he could. Despite all his desperate attempts to make sense of it, to write out something coherent, he found himself converting it back to the state he and Moblit had found it in.

Levi closed the laptop slowly and pushed it towards Hange. He was surprised and a little relieved to find that she did pull her weight, setting the laptop back on the table next to his bed.

Hange smiled at Levi and spoke up. “I appreciate you trying to do all this Levi but… I’ve given up already. I’m not getting this thesis done.”

It was a pained smile. A smile of resignation. A smile that was so clearly telling him that he had definitely wasted those last few minutes pouring through the versions of her document for nothing.

Levi took a deep breath and spoke up. “Then what’s your plan now?”

[pokeexehasstoppedworking]

Love Doesn’t Do Encores Ch11 Back To Motostoke

(Warning: Contains another fight between younger reader's mom and herself in a flashback. It was pointed out that I accidentally posted the wrong chapter by mistake. My apologies to my tumblr readers, Ill see to it this won’t happen again. Here’s the missing chapter for the events between Chapters 10-12. Enjoy.)

To say you two had a long night when you got back to your hotel room was an understatement. The boys jumped at the first chance they got asking Gloria how the dinner went to which she just let out a long drawn out 'Uuuuuhhhhh' and you had to cut in saying that he had just asked her about the gym battle and her day. Which she seemed thankful about you doing to save her the trouble. Luckily neither seemed too miffed about Glory getting to dine with THE Chairman Rose apparently, you certainly didn't enjoy the experience other than the free meal. You changed the subject by asking Hop when his battle was to which he proudly stated tomorrow. Alright! Seemed cleaned cut enough......Surprise, surprise it wasn't. The four of you ended up having to stay another two days instead for the one you all planned because Hop had lost the first battle with Nessa, visibly upset about the entire thing. Quite understandable. But to your surprise once meeting him outside the stadium he seemed...rather happy. Quickly finding out the reason not only because Nessa have him her ultra rare league card as compensation but that she offered to battle him again a second time first thing tomorrow morning to which he quickly agreed to. So the four of you agreed to spend another night in Hulbury. The next morning the four of you left bright and early for the stadium and after waiting for Hop to redo the gym challenge again, watched him battle Nessa for a second time. It was intense. It was stressful. And it was certainly rough on both parties. But you were SO glad Hop was able to win! Not only because you wanted him to win, but because you didn't want to spend another day in Hulbury. It was a close one too. With Hop winning two out of the three rounds but it was a good enough score to earn the badge! And he was proud to show it off as well when the three of you managed to meet up with him again outside the stadium by the Hulbury lighthouse.

He had smiled instantly shoving the bronze-golden badge out to you three with the same patterns that was on Gloria's water badge. "LOOK!! I FINALLY GOT IT! And on my second try too! Pretty good huh?"

"You were so cool out there!," Gloria excitedly complimented him smiling widely. "Now we're all caught up!"

"Doesn't make us less rivals y'know!"

"...Hey. Speaking of gym badges," you cut in gaining their attention as you gestured towards the badge in Hop's hand. "Do you guys know which gym you wanted to go to next?" You were really itching to get out of Hulbury by this point and just wanted to GO.

Gloria opened her mouth to speak but Hop beat her too it making all of you look back at him. "Actually, I have one on my mind."

"What is it?"

He turned to Gloria. " All right, Mate. You've got both the grass badge and water badge by now right?" She nodded confused. "In that case, we're both headed for Motostoke and the fire gym leader Kabu!"

All three of you stared shocked at him. The twins seeming at something else, and you because MOTOSTOKE. As in the city you all started in?! Hop wanted all of you to walk back ALL the way there to challenge a gym leader!? WHAT-

"What!? We have to go all the way back to Motostoke for that?!"

"KABU!?", both the twins yelled at him and you rose a brow at their reaction.

"....Ok. I feel like this is the part where someone tells me more about this gym leader."

With a slightly worried look Victor turned to you. "Kabu is the Galar Region's Fire Type Gym Leader and his gym's in Motostoke. He's also the only gym leader who's not from Galar himself."

"He's also the SECOND most powerful gym leader behind Raihan," Gloria jumped in frowning, "If Raihan and Leon weren't in the picture he could've easily gotten the title of 'Galar's Strongest Gym Leader' or the Champion itself. He's been known to make a whole bunch of trainers quit the entire gym challenge as a whole because they couldn't win against him." She turned back to Hop raising a brow. "Which begs the question on why do you want to go there next of all places?"

"Nessa suggested I go there actually." She did? That sure surprised you. "She said if I wanted more of a challenge for myself then he'd be a good canidate to battle before we reach Raihan. I thought it would be a great idea to challenge myself even more!"

.....Gloria hummed. "Actually you might be onto something. We can't get stronger unless we push ourselves..." She smiled. "Ok! Count me in too!"

"I think the both of you are in over your heads." Victor sighed. "But if that's where you wanna go then fine. We can take the train."

You felt internal relief you wouldn't have to walk again, but that begged the question. "Exactly how long would it take to get back there?"

"About another month by walking. Two weeks by corvinight taxi. And five days by train over nights too."

"Yeah..We're taking the train this time."

There was one tiny problem with that notion tho. The morning train had already passed so the four of you had to wait in the shade of the train station for at least another two hours until the afternoon train came rumbling up to the station at last! As nice as this place was, you wanted to leave as soon after you and Gloria attended the dinner with the Chairman and his assistant. After hearing he had come there often enough to have 'a usual' dish you didn't want to accidentally bump into them again especially after what you did and getting the off feeling about them. It was too weird, so you were glad to get on the train. You were slightly afraid you wouldn't be able to get on without paying but luckily you slipped through the bars quickly behind Gloria after she scanned her train pass in the slot and piled on inside with the rest of the kids and a few other people who either got on too or were leaving.

"Good Afternoon, Ladies and Gentlemen. We will be leaving Hulbury Station in five minutes. Please gather all your belongings and exit or enter accordingly. Next stop shall be Nester Town. Thank you for using Galar Transportation for your traveling needs," a man's voice came through the speaker over head and you gave it a raised brow. You had to remember there was more than one town in Galar since now it wasn't just a game. ...In fact with how big this region was, it must've been home to millions of people like a region back in your world.

The four of you all settled into the train cars and gotten yourself situated into one of the seats with the table between them. The twins on one side and you with Hop facing them as you sighed into the soft seat cushions. It would be nice not having to walk somewhere for once at least. You also assumed Sonia must've had the same idea about taking the train outta here because you hadn't seem her since she excused herself and ran out from the dinner about two days ago now. Oh well. Where ever she was, you were sure she was fine. After all you slightly remembered her reappearing later in the game too, so if events were going as they were in the original game then you would most definately see her again soon. But for now you sighed content to just tug off your backpack and leave it on the floor at your feet, your sobble taken residence on the table between you all, and you just leaning back into your seat and looking out the window waiting for the train to start moving again. Not really paying too much attention to what the others were talking about-

"How about I share with you a little tip about that leader, Kabu?" Your eyes blinked back over to Hop who was glancing at his phone you assume reading something. "From what I heard, he's holed up now in Galar Mine No. 2 undergoing special training."

"What?!," Gloria gave him a look. "He's underground while the gym challenge is goin' on? What kind of gym leader does that?"

"If he's in there then we can't take him on in Motostoke even if we zip right over there, putting the breaks on our gym challenge!"

"That's what I literally just implied....Wait. How long has he been in there?"

"Uh.." Hop quickly flipped through his phone's screen. "According to this...since about three days ago."

"WHAT? Who trains in a cave for three days straight? ...What if he's not out by the time we get there? We'd be waitin' for days by that point!"

"....So I say we head to galar mine no. two ourselves!," Hop decided lowering the phone from his face. "Let's go see what all the fuss is about!"

"Uh-...NO!!" All three teens looked at you as you frowned and crossed your arms in a stern pose. "No. No. HECK NO!! I went through one mine thank you very much and was almost caught by miners chasing us because someone wanted to take a short cut. We can go and wait for him like every other person."

"...You did what!?"

"Actually Galar Mine Number two is open to the public since it's naturally a part of the Wild Area," Hop explained ignoring Victor's earlier question. "It's full of a lot of water pokemon since it's connected to an underground spring. You can also find a couple Wishing Stars if you're lucky. ..Huh. Maybe that's why he went there?"

Unconvinced you rose a brow but sighed and leaned back into your seat just as the train gave a small little lurch before slowly beginning to pull away. The kids going back to talk among themselves about mines and gym leaders. Despite not walking, you had a feeling this was going to be a long trip back to Motostoke. ...And you weren't wrong either. The world went past as the train moved along as a rapid pace, the town of Hulbury quickly disappearing from view as it did. Replaced by nature and forests, and the distant view of the ocean side within a matter of minutes. As the talking of the kids and other passengers chatting in the distance continued you pressed your forehead to the window and closed your eyes. Peace allowing you to drift off for the moment as for once you had no worries and nothing weighed on your shoulders, so you got a well deserved break for once. The next five days for the four of you were a bit uncomfortable but managable. A lot more managable than camping at least. When night fell you four decided that you'd take the two empty seats across the small walk way from the four of you so each of you could have one place to sleep comfortably(or as comfortable as you could sleep on a train) and would take turns staying up to make sure none of you missed the stop at Motostoke. Or in case something else happened. Victor volunteered to stay the first night up that rolled around which you were thankful for and the other three of you slept. The next morning you woke and you were greeted with the sight of Victor barely awake leaning his head against the table. Guess he kept true to his word. He only had time to east a couple things Gloria shoved into his hands from your food rations into his hands before he ended up falling asleep leaning against the wall. You felt a little guilty for letting him stay up for so long but it was for a good reason. The second day went as well as the first. The train rode on, Victor slept most of the day away only waking up around sunset before going back to sleeping again that second night, Gloria excitedly showed you the battle between herself and Nessa from the League's official website as well. You watched and had to agree with Gloria that it was a very close call. Managing to defeat Nessa in the first round, losing the second, and then just BARELY winning the third. Good thing it was a good enough score to pass. She was certainly stronger than Milo from what you'd seen. When it came the second night Gloria ended up volunteering to stay up that time stating that she'd use her favorite videos of the League's past battles to keep her up as she always stayed up and never missed a detail when she did watch them. This being confirmed by Victor who looked a little worried over that but was too tired from last night to argue and it was agreed. Day three rolled around and it was the same as the first two. Only this time Gloria spent most of the day leaning against a slightly annoyed Victor snoring. Did she always snore? You must've been too deep in sleep to notice before now, at least Hop found his friends' situation amusing. And then guess who got volunteered by Victor to stay up that night as revenge for laughing at him. Hop wasn't very amused after that. And thus the fourth day came and everyone was awake minus poor Hop who laid upon one of the empty seats during most of the time there. But it was a matter of fact your turn to keep watch as they all slept and agreed without hesitation. After all it was only fair. During the entirety of the trip so fair you all rationed out the food you bought from Hulbury whenever hungry, and walked up and down the walk way between all the train seats if you needed to stretch your legs. Many people coming and going and sometimes giving the one taking up a whole seat to sleep a strange look before moving on. The conductor announcing each stop and as you all came to it. So far none were Motostoke but it was only a matter of time. That night you stayed up as slowly one by one the kids and your sobble fell asleep leaving you the only one awake as the sun set and was replaced with the moon and stars in the silent night. The dark nature of forests and meadows flew by quickly only with the occasional town or house in the countryside lighting up the landscape. It was actually rather peaceful and beautiful. You could almost fall asleep. And you almost did quite a few times but you managed to jerk yourself awake each time. Gloria had offered to let you stream some shows on her phone just as she had done before but you had declined the offer.....Maybe you should've accepted because your eyes slipped closed once. And once again like in your dreams you were back home. A much younger you. Around Gloria's age of fifthteen or so. You were playing a game. The whole surroundings were fuzzy..as if you were seeing everything through a foggy telescope, being able to see things but being too blurry to see much of the finer details. Younger blurry you looked up just as angry footsteps stomped their way towards you and whatever game you were playing. BAM!! With a loud bang your door was flung open hitting the wall and younger you jumped to your feet as the blurry form of your mother standing in the doorway. Even if her face was blurry you could tell she was very angry.

"WHAT DID I TELL YOU!?" She shouted angrily as you dumbly stood there. Even as she stomped over and swiped the controller from your younger self's hands. "I told you to study for your year's finals and what do I find!? You playing these stupid games after I slave away at a minimal wage job that barely covers the bills as it is!! Do you want the electricity bill getting higher!? Do you not want to get into a good college!? No daughter of mine is going to be stuck with her mind in the gutter from these dumb timewasters!!"

"HA!"

Your head snapped up colliding with the cool window of the train which in turn made you curse out as your hands instinctively shot up to clutch at where you hit your head. Groaning and looking around, it took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the dark again....And you sighed in relief seeing the sleeping figures of the kids and your sobble sleeping facedown on the table. Your hand went from rubbing your head to rubbing your face as you let relief wash over you....A dream...It was just another dream thank goodness. But one you weren't keen on revisiting. Safe to say you didn't fall asleep again that night, nor did you the fifth day despite the kids insisting you at least take a powernap before you arrived but again you refused dodging the questions and eventually they dropped it but kept giving your very tired form worried looks every so often. The day was a blur as you kept drifting in and out of small sleeping spells until nodding off that fifth night, barely remembering Victor volunteering to stay up a second time for that night before completely nodding off into a thankfully dreamless slumber.

"AH!! Y/N WAKE UP!!"

"AH!" Once again as if fate thought it'd be some funny joke, you ended up hitting your head against the window...again...and once again you cried out and clutched your head. The only difference this time was that someone was dragging your half awake butt out of the seat as your brain barely registered what was going on as you barely managed to stumble to your legs getting dragged out. Another person grabbing your other arm and pulling along with whoever was already making your barely upright body hurriedly stumble down the walk way of the train. Your brain began to finally catch up and you realized the two who were pulling your staggering form was Hop and Gloria with your sobble desperately clinging to her enormous backback. By the time you fully registered what was going on they already had you stumbling into what could only be the inside of a train station. "What the-"

"You couldn't have woken us up?," Gloria barked at someone and you blinked over tiredly where she was looking as Hop ushered your staggering form over to one of the seats. Took you a moment to realize that it was Victor who was sluggishly putting his grey beanie back on his head.

"M' sorry," he tiredly mumbled. Judging by the bags under his eyes and the tired look he gave, he was in need of some sleep. "I guess I must've dozed off when we passed the station in Motostoke."

Your blood ran cold as you stared at him and Hop made you sit down. Passed Motostoke!? Any sleepy feelings were mostly dashed out at the spike of concern. How far were you away from Motostoke then!? Were you going to have to walk a long way back there!? Take another train back!? Were you going to miss the chance to battle Kabu?!

"Actually this is better than stopping in Motostoke."

.....The three of you turned to Hop as he smiled. "....Excuse me?"

"Yeah!" He pointed towards the outside of the station. "Mine Number two is located just out of Motostoke right? We're back in the Wild Area. Which means we can go to the mine sooner and see about the hold up with Kabu!"

...Gloria slowly gained a smile. "Oh yeah! I hadn't realized that! That's why yer a genius Hop!" Hop chuckled shyly at the praise. Tho Victor very much disagreed as he frowned.

"What?! We can't just go to the mines as soon as we step off the train! What about getting a spot at Budew Drop Inn for sleep!?"

"There'll be plenty of time for that!" Gloria waved her brother off as he scowled looking like he was about ready to yell at her.

Guess you'd better step in. "Hey. Calm down you two." Both of them looked towards you as you frowned. "Gloria, Victor has a point. He's tired and probably needs some sleep....Maybe we should go back to Motostoke City and let him get a couple rooms for us-"

"THAT'S A GREAT IDEA!!," Victor yelled out reaching around to grab his backpack from the slew of seats offered too by the station.

"....What?"

Tiredly, Victor looked at the rest of you three. "You all can head to the mines and I can go reserve our rooms and wait for you. I'm tired."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." You interjected pointing a hand at him. "You REALLY expect ME to let you go into Motostoke by yourself when you barely got any sleep last night??"

"I'll be fine," he insisted regaining his composure and sighing as the weight of the very large pack settled back on his back. "If it makes you feel better, I'll wait for you guys here and we can take the noon train back into Motostoke in a couple hours."

You paused for a moment before turning towards the door outside. It looked like the sun was just starting to rise from the night and the train was starting to pull away at this moment. It was pretty early in the morning, so if you left now then the four of you could make the noon train back in time. And Victor could get a bit of rest..but you were a bit unsure about letting Victor just stay here by himself. So you looked back at him. "Are you sure you wanna stay here by yourself?"

"I spent an entire year by myself traveling before Gloria even started this journey," he confired waving his hand. "I'll be fine for a few hours...*yaaawwwnn*"

You still weren't too convinced but agreed that this would probably be a better plan than letting Victor try to go into Motostoke by himself and drop from lack of sleep, or having Hop or Gloria just run off into a mine. (especially since that worked oh so well last time.) "Ok. You win. But I at least want you to seat over here where the station master can see you in case something happens, alright?"

Victor sighed but nodded. "Fine. But make sure you guys get back before the next train otherwise we'll have to wait for the night train or walk there."

The three of you agreed before exiting the station and once again you found yourself standing in the Wild Area like you did a month ago when you were on your way to the Entrance Ceremony. It may have only been a little more than a month ago but it felt like forever ago now. It still looked the same as it did when you first arrived here minus the giant herd of wild wooloo on the tracks. Hop walked up next to you and looked around at the lovely sight. Commenting on how cool it looked. To which you agreed before turning over to Gloria who finally walked out of the station stuffing two pokeballs into her bag as she walked up to you.

"Hey. What are those?," you asked gesturing to them.

"Some people in there didn't want their eevee and pikachu. So I got both of them."

You rose a brow but decided not to comment on that, instead looking around. "Ok. So do either of you two know where this mine is? I don't remember seeing it last time we were here. ..Mostly being chased around by a giant onix and battling super powered pokemon."

"You're never going to let me live that down are you?"

"I do." Hop beamed before pointing off to the fight across the giant spacious open land to where a pretty decent area of trees were huddled together by a hill side. "It's there by those trees according to the map, and every other site where it's listed. C'mon! We can get there and be back in like two hours."

While you were weary of wondering around an area where wild animals-...Er..Pokemon could chase after you at any moment, but seeing no other option the three of you began walking. Despite you still feeling a bit tired from not sleeping the night or day before last night, you felt alert looking around you three in the grass and plants as you walked. Making sure no pokemon jumped out at the three of you as you walked and walked..and walked before the cliff side jutting out of the earth surrounded by trees. As you three approuched and managed to pass through the trees you finally came across it. A giant, dark opening within the rocks being only lit on the inside by a few lanturns strung along the walls leading down into it.

"This is it!," Hop excitedly exclaimed as he picked up his pace gesturing for you two to follow him faster. "C'mon! Kabu's close! I can feel it!"

Increasing your speed you followed him into the cave's opening and blinked as mostly darkness overtook your vision. This cave was BIG, way bigger than the last cave you and Gloria traveled through. The ceilings were high and the same gems as the last one was scattered about the wallas....as well as a few construction workers and equipment.

......You pointed at them. "Hey. I thought you said this was public area!"

"It is," Hop's voice from somewhere ahead of you called back, "But they can collect Wishing Stars here too so they come by and collect them."

Oh that made sense, you glanced at the workers for a little while longer before turning back about to ask Hop something but stopped....They were gone. "....HOP!?" You shouted getting only an echo back, and some of the workers looking at you before you took off in the direction his voice came from. Oh great! First minute in the cave and already you lost these kids!! "GLORIA!? HOP!! C'MON YOU TWO!!" You called out but surprise, surprise only got your echo back. ...Great. Well you better find them before they got in trouble again or any of you got lost. As you traveled farther in with only lanturns plastered on the walls for light, you began to notice how it was connected with the Wild Area. There was pokemon all around here. From bat-like pokemon hanging from the ceiling, a couple scraggies hopping about, and more than once in this GIGANTIC cave and it's caverns, you walked by a small cave like pond and could've sworn you saw some kind of red crustation pop in and out. But with the limited light it made it hard to see and find out for real. More than once you would call out either of the two's names but the only answers were more echoes of your voice, and the sounds of scared pokemon as they fled from your voice. Your sobble(who had regained it's spot on your shoulder after leaving the station) was staring around wide eyed with chirps, occasionally reaching out towards the sparkling stones on the wall. "Yeah. I know they're pretty. But we can't stop and look at them right now. We need to find those two before they get in trouble again." Your sobble chirped curiously grabbing at a sparkling stone from a very close stalagmite as you passed it, the rock easily plucking free as he tugged it. Looking at it curiously...before sticking it in his mouth. !? "HEY!" In an instant you grabbed him by the chin. Your other hand trying to open his mouth as like a child, the sobble squirmed and pushed away. "DROP IT!! BAD POKEMON!! SPIT IT OUT!! IT'S NOT FOOD!!" Instead of listening your pokemon turned his head cheeks puffed out as your fear of him swallowing something that could hurt him rose. "Spit that out or I'm never going to let you have bites of my curry ever again!" This time the sobble paused, looking at you for any signs of deceit, but you absolutely meant it. Holding your hand out expectantly to it.......It opened it's mouth and the sparkling stone fell right into your hand. Quickly you pulled it away from your sobble releasing it with a scowl. "Good boy. Now don't do that again! Rocks aren't edible!" He gave off a chirp in protest but didn't do any more than pout like a toddler on your shoulder. With a sigh you shook your head and looked at the small stone in your hand...Huh. This one didn't look like all the others on the wall. Maybe it was a different one-

"You!" You jumped at the sudden voice. Blinking around at who could've said it when your eyes landed on someone walking towards you in the dim light with pale features. ..Your f/c eyes widening when you realized who it was. Standing before you was Bede! You hadn't seen him a little over a week ago by now, but for some reason he was here and he frowned at you. "It's an inconvience in of itself that I run into that girl and the Champion's chatterbox younger brother, but now I run into the very lady who disrespected the Chairman's assistant as well! Are you all trying to get on my nerves or is this bad luck on my part?"

It took you a moment to respond as he rubbed his head but you frowned right back at him. "Look, Kid. I'm not the one who straight up walked up to someone who's minding their own business and rudely ask about why I was here? For all you knew I could've just been going for a walk or sight seeing the famous Mine Number Two or just exploring the Wild Area. Did I come up to YOU and accuse you of following us from Hulbury? No. No I didn't."

Bede stared at you from under his hand, brain seeming to process what you were saying before a deeper frown is what he chose to go with. "BAH!! Never mind then! I've wasted enough time as it is down here especially after running into those two again. Now if you'll move aside I'll be taking my...." He froze. Purple eyes widening at you, and you rose a brow at his all of a sudden silence. ".......You." He pointed right at the sparkling stone in your hand. "That Wishing Star! Give it to me."

...You held up the stone. "Y'mean the rock this guy tried to eat-" Hold up! Weren't Wishing Stars the magic stone thingies everyone used to gigantamax their pokemon around here!? " You already have one of these." You pointed to the band on his wrist. "Why do you need this one?"

he gave a small growl of frustration. "I don't need to explain myself to the likes of you, Woman! If you won't give it too me then I'll just take it from you!" With that he whipped out a pokeball.

"Oh for the love of- You can't be serious!"

With a toss and bright like a small Gothita pokemon exploded in black in white in front of you. .....WHY was the first reaction for everyone to just whip out a pokemon to intimidate you if you hesitated even just a little bit?? This kid absolutely had NO manners! "Gothita will make quick work of you and your sobble if you don't hand that stone over to me this instant." He was REALLY getting on your nerves. You stepped forward. He smirked. "Another challenge? Really I couldn't be more inconvenienced today as it i-" You stepped OVER Gothita who looked confused as it why you weren't standing farther away sending the sobble on your shoulder to battle. Bede seemed also rather smackgobbed as well. Guess he hadn't ever experienced someone who would physically step over his pokemon instead of battling. His eyes widening as you walked right up to him with a scowl.

You stared a moment at his frozen and confused stance before deciding to talk. "Y'know. Obviously you have no manners. The Chairman should be ashamed of himself if his endorsed challenger is so rude to someone minding their own business and demanding things like a spoiled toddler who's never been told no before."

Bede flinched. Blinking rapidly in your shadow before seeming to regain his voice. "D-Don't talk about Chairman Rose like that-"

"I WAS talking about YOU, Bede!" He flinched back as you leaned forward. "Obviously no one ever taught you manners so I'll teach you a quick lesson in them right now."

His eyes became smaller. "L-Lesson? What l-lesson you m-mad woman-"

"Is THIS what you want?,'' you cut him off holding the wishing star to his face. He paused for a moment, almost going cross eyed as he looked at the thing in front of his face...before reaching a hand towards i- You held it away from him with a scowl. "NO. You don't take things that don't belong to you without asking first. Now I'll ask again. Is this what you want?"......He nodded. "Ok. Do you know what please and thank you are?"....He nodded again. "Good. Now what do you say when you want something?"

He didn't answer at first. Looking at you with some unreadable expression. Confusion? Shell shock?...Maybe fear? ".....May I...please have that Wishing Star, Miss?" Narrowing your eyes for a moment you eventually held it up to him and he reached for it again.

"Yes, you may. But I want an apology first?"

He paused again. "....A-Apology?!"

"Yeah. For acting so rude before. If you really are the better person you will apologize because I don't think the Chairman raised a boy with no manners."

You both stood there for a moment not moving or breaking eye contact before he backed down first and looked away. "Tch! Fine! I'm.....sorry! Now can you please just give me the stone so I can leave!?"

Smiling satisfied you nodded and held it out to him...he...slowly finally took it from you. "What do you say?"

"Mmmm....Thank you," he forced out through gritted teeth as you nodded.

"Good. Now I have to go now but I don't want to be talked to rudely like that again if I ever see you again. ...And don't call me Woman. My name's Y/n. I know you're better than that, Bede." He paused....blinking and looking up at you again seeming to be so, so confused. "You said you saw Gloria and Hop right? Did they go down that way?" You asked pointing behind him. Still staring he slowly nodded. "Ok. Thanks. You be careful getting out of here ok?"

He didn't say anything and just confusedly watch you step around him silently and continue walking away down into the dimly lit cave. At least you were on the right track now. Hopefully you'll be able to catch up with the two of them soon. And by soon it meant it'd take longer than you realized, coming across a fork in the road as hey say and leaving two caverns tunnels to chose from.......You ultimately decided on going left since it was more lit and figured they'd be smart enough to also go down this passage way. As you walked you called out a few times more still getting no answers. This was getting ridiculous!! Where could those two have gone!? Surely they couldn't have gone THAT far away from you in the short time you weren't looking!

"Thank you for helping out with my training, Team Yell." You paused as the voice rang out....What was- "But I must say it's unforgivable for you to get in the way of a carkol hard at work." ...OK! THAT WAS DEFINATELY A VOICE!! Granted it sounded older and nothing like the two kids, but if someone was down here then maybe you could ask for directions or if they saw the two. You broke out in a job up the tunnel towards the voices up ahead.

"We weren't gettin' in it's way! We were tryin' to cheer it on!," a different man's voice insisted loudly. What the-

You rounded the corner as the tunnel gave way to a giant cavern and you froze....OH NO NOT THEM!!

"Still, you did a number on us in that pokemon battle so...it's time for Team Yell to scarper and give a morale boost elsewhere!," one rock star wannabe said to an older man and standing next to another rock star wannabe.

You stared dumbfounded. SERIOUSLY!? What was the chances that you'd run into them all the way down here again!?

"Cheering is one thing but one shouldn't get in the way of honest work,'' the older man scolded the two of them.

You rose a brow at them, eyes slowly going to look behind them. And widening as you saw two teens standing in the entrance of another passage way across the cavern room. ...You frowned. "HOP!! GLORIA!!" Everyone either jumped or snapped their heads over to you as you shouted at the kids' direction. "Dang nabit! Why'd you run off from me like that!? Don't you know how to wait up!?" You started walking over towards them.

...One rockstar wannabe grabbed his friend wide eyed as he stared at you walking past. "C-Crikey! Bro, it's that dame that nailed Andrew in the eyes with dirt!"

"Wha- Seriously!? Let's get outta 'ere before that sobble starts singing a sad tune yo!"

You paid no mind to the scattering footsteps as you walked up to the now gulity looking pair of kiddos. "There you are! *sigh* Do you know how worried I was running around here like a headless chicken?"

"......What's a chicken?," Gloria asked.

"We're really sorry, Y/n," Hop apologized frowning, "we thought you were right behind us and then we ran into some trouble."

"Oh yeah. So did I. Bede needed some manners taught to him."

"Wait..Ya saw the Mareep Head??"

You nodded. "I ran into him on his way out. He said you gave him some trouble."

"By trouble if ya mean kickin' his behind-"

"Nevermind that. Y/n we found him!"

"Found who?"

Hop pointed behind you and you turned with a brow raised. The old man was petting a pokemon that looked like a giant living piece of coal. "There! That's Kabu!...Man, he's wicked! No wonder he's the fire-type gym leader!"

...THAT was Kabu!? Well whaddya know. It made sense since by looking at him now, he wore an unmistakable gym suit. The old man, Kabu, looked up at you three from petting his pokemon and gave a polite smile. "Ah, you are the trainers endorsed by Leon! Hop and Gloria, am I right?"

Both pair of young eyes went wide at him. ".....You know our names!?"

"Yes. Leon has spoken about you before. And your concerned friend just literally shouted your names just now."

"......Oh. W-Well we're here to see you actually! A-About having a pokemon battle!"

"Naturally you would. I'm just training right up until the last moment so that I can guarantee the perfect match when I face you gym challengers."

"Oh really?," you asked and he nodded, "This deep in a cave?"

"I specialize in fire-type pokemon, and the water-type pokemon in Galar Mine Number Two are the perfect opponents to train against, Young Lady."....He hummed and you all watched as he looked at a watch around his wrist. "....Regardless it's getting late. I must leave if I'm going to get the gym ready by tomorrow." he looked back to the three of you with a smile. "Just go straight once you get out of this mine and you'll reach Motostoke. Get a good at the hotel, and make sure you're both in your top condition." He turned around calling to the pokemon. "Come on, Carkol. Time for you to head on home, too. I'll make sure you get there safely. We're going to be on fire tomorrow!" He began jogging off and the thing lumbered off after him with a grunt of it's own. The man looked old enough to be your grandfather and could still jog as fast as you had done earlier. Impressive.

"....I remember Lee talking about Kabu." You blinked over to Hop as he looked at where Kabu disappeared. "He said that a lot of gym challengers give up because they just can't beat Kabu. Man, now I'm getting all fired up too!"

"Yeah. Well, I'm tired out!" Both paused looking at you. "C'mon. You heard what he said. Let's get back to Victor and get to the Inn."

The three of you started making your way back out of the mine and back towards The Wild Area Station. You were tired and you could use a rest before catching the evening train back into Motostoke where you began in the first place. Surprisingly you made it out faster than it took going in the caverns.

"That carkol from before," Hop commented off in thought, "I guess it must've been here on a job. You do know about poke job by now right?" You nodded. "Course you do! I bet he hired that carkol to train with him or something!"

"You might be right, but after today I think I just want to get to the hotel and relax."

Hop nodded. ".....Oh hey. I think we found out who those guys in the punk make up were?"

You froze. Nearly stumbling over your feet as you did so before snapping your face over towards the boy. "WHAT!?"

He nodded. "Yeah. They called themselves Team Yell. Which is weird cuz I've never heard of them before and I don't remember Lee mentioning them at all. What about you Glor?" Gloria shook her head no to his question.....Team Yell?? They were team Yell?? What name was that?? Any 'team' you knew from the Pokemon franchise was evil. Team Rocket being the most obvious in your mind, but if that's true then does that mean those Rockstar wannabe's are more dangerous than they seem? Did Team Yell have a world domination scheme from the game!? You tried to wrack your brain for any and all possible villainous plots in the game that could involve a whole bunch of rockstar make up wearing hooligans....But ended up with...absolutely nothing!! DANGIT!! You couldn't remember anything from playing it years ago! ....*sigh* The only thing you could do now was push on and keep your eyes peeled for any possible trouble they'd cause you. "Now, I'm cream-crackered." Hop's voice snapped you back into reality. "I'm for the Budew Drop Inn and some sleep. Come tomorrow that Fire Gym Leader Kabu better be ready because I'm coming for him!!"

Gloria nodded in agreement. "Yeah. We better get back ta Vic before he decides on givin' us another boring lecture on being late."

You couldn't agree more either. Maybe some more sleep will help you think more clearly than normal. The three of you made your way back towards the station with the afternoon sun rising high in the sky, upon entering you discovered Victor exactly where you all left him. Fast asleep leaning back in one of the chairs. He must've been more tired than you realized, maybe it was for the best he stayed behind here. It took only an hour of your four waiting, appreciating the small break your body got, before the afternoon train came rumbling on in as per usual. It was a jumbled process of trying to wake up Victor who acted like a caffiene lacking zombie until you and Hop decided 'Screw this' and both of you picked him up by either side and dragged his half asleep, staggering, groggy butt over and onto the train with Gloria right behind. It wasn't much easier pushing him into a seat next to you and trying to wake him up for the ten minute ride back into Motostoke, before unsuccessfully doing so and resulted in both of you again half dragging Victor off the train in Motostoke station and on your way to Budew Drop Inn with Gloria trailing right behind you three. Sure it was hard, but you couldn't imagine trying to do this walking all the way back to Motostoke through the Wild Area with dangerous pokemon about, so the train was much better. It took a bit of lifting and slight yelling from Hop for Victor to wake up, getting some strange looks from other people as you went, but by some miracle the four of you somehow managed to make it into the inn you stayed at before during the entrance ceremony. The golden statue still gleaming as ever as you and Hop struggled to get the mumbling Victor up the stairs and over to the bewildered looking clerk at the front desk. WHAT THE HECK WAS IN HIS BACKPACK MAKING HIM SO HEAVY!? It was an effort to keep him up standing as Hop smiled awkwardly at the man.

"Uh hi! We need two rooms for the night please. And fast before my friend decides to drop dead on us."

The clerk blinked for a moment before slowly nodded. "Oh. Of course. Are you challengers here to battle against Kabu?"

Hop nodded. "Yeah that's us alright. Or will be once we get some sleep."

The clerk nodded in understanding smiling. "Oh yes! Wait here for a moment and I'll get you your room keys."

You rose a brow. "Don't we need to register?"

"Oh no. Mr. Kabu has graciously told us to put any registered gym challengers' stays on his tab and send him the bills. After all he doesn't know how long they'll stay before quitting and going home. He's a kind man that doesn't want them or their families stuck with any expensive hotel bills if they stay for a long time before getting stomped out," he said so casually like it was no big deal. ....You and Hop gave each other a look..before exchanging one with Gloria who just shrugged at the both of you. The clerk turned around. "Just one moment please while I check and see which rooms would be available."

"Jeez. If Kabu's this tough, Rahain and Lee's gonna be even more tough-"

"Excuse me." The three of you looked over your shoulder towards a soft polite girl's voice with an accent you couldn't place. Standing there was a teen around these guys' age in almost gothic attire and right blue eyes. At her heels was a small pokemon who you'd call hamster like. Except she wasn't looking at you or Hop or Victor. But Gloria. "Uhhh. Challenger Gloria, Right? From Postwick?"

Gloria blinked in surprise seemingly surprised, before raising a suspicious brow at the girl. "Yeah? ....And yer who?"

"Marnie." She answered politely back. "Out givin' it your all even this late, huh? Hey. Help me with somethin' for a sec. Would you?"

Gloria remained silent for a moment. "....Help you with what?"

"I want t' see if I'm ready for the next leg of the Gym Challenge."

"...Why me?"

"You're one of the challengers endorsed by the Champion. I figured the best way to see if I was ready at all was t' see if I'd be able to beat a fellow gym challenger before I leave. Would you like to battle with me?"

"Gloria. We need to get Victor to his room so he can sleep," you countered feeling the weight of Victor start to weigh down more on you.

"I know, I know but...." She looked between the girl and the three of you. "She asked for my help, and it'd be rude to just say no right?" You gave her a look. "Oh c'mon please, Y/n! It'll be quick. N' and out! Easy peasy berry squeezy."

....You groaned. You really didn't have time for this! " Fine! But please for the love of Mike hurry and get back? We've been running around all day and you need rest for the battle tomorrow!"

She beamed. "Ya got it! Get ready ta have your team beat!"

The girl smiled. "Wicked! Got some fight in you, Huh? "

"You bet! Let's do this!"

You sighed and turned shaking your head. Only distracted from them when Hop grabbed the keys from the clerk and jingled them at you to let you know you two could now go and get Victor laying down. As the two of you turned to struggle Victor towards the elevator the girls left-....!? Your head snapped around as a dash of red and black crossed the corner of your eye, but it was gone the moment you turned around.....What the-

"C'mon Y/N! He's gettin' too heavy to lug around for much longer."

...You turned back to the elevator before the doors closed behind you. It was probably nothing anyways. Right now you had a kid who needed to sleep badly. The two of you managed to drag Victor who ended up passing out in your arms to his and Hop's room, and after Hop struggled to open the door, dragged him to the nearest bed and plopped him on top of it with sighs of relief when your poor body was finally freed from heaving him around. After assuring you he'd take care of things from there, you took your own room key from Hop and went to your own room. It didn't take you too long to get settled in after taking a quick shower, and again rummaging through your pack to fish some food out for your chirping, pouting, hungry sobble. Man the little guy ate a whole lot. It was a little while later as you were eating yourself that Gloria finally showed up, knocking on the door before coming in after hearing your voice.

"Hey. How did the battle go?"

She smiled. "I'd hate to brag....But I won."

You nodded. "Hey! That's great. Glad to know it went well."

She nodded again. "Yeah....But I gotta tell ya something." You rose a brow at her curiously. "...Those Team Yell guys from earlier? They were there."

You dropped the small dried piece of fruit you were holding which your sobble was quick to snatch up and eat. "WHAT!?"

"YEAH!! There was a guy and this woman wearin' all this all this punk make up, and they were cheerin' for 'er. I almost lost cuz I they were so loud makin' it hard to focus. I guess that's why they're Team 'Yell'. Should call 'em team Scream if ya ask me."

"Team Yell was with the girl?" She nodded. "Did they try anything?! Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," she assured you, "But nah. One of 'em was wavin' this flag that had Marnie's picture on it. ...Do they do that? Y'know make merch for Gym Challengers with our faces on them? If they do I'm totally buying Mum one!"

They....Team Yell was....Cheering on Marnie?? That didn't make any sense. They had said a while ago that they were trying to stop Gym Challengers. Why would they be cheering a Gym Challenger on if they were trying to stop them let alone have merch of one??? It didn't add up. Except for maybe-......You paused. Back at the bridge. When you and Victor encountered those two thugs trying to steel the poor nurse's bike!! They spoke of a lady! Could it by that the girl and 'Our Lady' they spoke of was one in the same? Or was Marnie somehow connected to the woman they spoke of?? Was she a part of Team Yell secretly? If yes then what interest did they have in the Gym Challenge?? Did Leon have something they want?? Were they just trying to cheat their way to the top??.....Or..Your eyes widened. Was there something that the Challenge league had that they wanted and were after?? Control over the Galar Region? Money? Power? Fame? Some other powerful thing you couldn't remember?? ...If she wasn't a part of them then what WAS their purpose for cheering her on?...Could the mysterious woman they spoke of be related to Marnie? Or maybe someone who endorsed her for the gym challenge? You shook your head. It was all so confusing. Too many questions and absolutely no answers at all. It made your head hurt just swimming with the many possibilities.

"Oh by the way. While I was out the battling got me thinkin' 'bout some strageties I could use to beat Kabu."

"Oh really?," you muttered half listening deep in thought.

"Uh huh. But I gotta ask. Y/n, can I borrow your sobble?"

"Sure you can-.....Wait. ..What?!"

[thecagedsong]

Forgotten Light: Chapter 5

A/N: Hi everyone, next chapter here. Back to Seth. You might recognize some bits from a Knox & Seth bonding fic I posted some months ago, but it’s different in the story and I still really like it. Enjoy!

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Chapter 5: Agitated

Have to take care of the sanctuary. Have to take care of the sanctuary. Have to take care of the sanctuary.

Seth’s mantra had stopped meaning anything ten minutes ago, but mantras were all about repetition, right? Maybe if he said it enough times, he would actually believe it. Because what he wanted, what he needed to be doing, was going after Kendra. And he was pacing at the top of Seth Tower to keep himself from doing something reckless without a plan. He could feel the elements of a plan buzzing in his head, and his last couple hadn’t turned out too badly. If only he could put them all together. It had been twelveish hours since they lost Kendra, he needed to get it together soon.

They had dealt Celebrant three deliberate blows: claiming their staff (complete with Kendra telling him off and Seth rebuilding the Keep), having the Somber Knight survive striking him in his own castle after taking away his title of caretaker (Wonder how the dragonslayer was doing? Probably suffering), and finally, denying him the Wizenstone. If the dragon king was smart, he’d take some time to lick his wounds.

Which meant Seth wasn’t needed here. 

He didn’t have enough proof for his grandparents, but he knew Ronodin was behind Kendra’s kidnapping. It didn’t matter that the Sphinx was likely the one who took the barrel at Fablehaven, only Ronodin knew Kendra had lost her memory. Kendra was more vulnerable than she had ever been, fairykind or not, and Seth couldn’t watch over some butt-hurt dragons when his sister needed him.

If Seth had been the one kidnapped, Kendra would never give up on him. But she wouldn’t abandon her duty as caretaker either. What could he do? What would she do?

A red-maned dragon reared its head over the inside walls of the keep, and Seth’s muscles seized into place.

“I’ve come to alert you about a message from Stormguard,” Marat said. “It is addressed to the Caretaker, and your grandparents are waiting for you to open it.”

He couldn’t be the caretaker, not alone, not if he still seized up like this. It was ridiculous. When he first encountered dragons, he didn’t feel scared, but his mind was mesmerized by the dragon, and he couldn’t think. Kendra cleared up his head, he cleared up her fear, and together they were a single dragon tamer. Since then, even without Kendra, he got to the point where he could keep his thoughts clear, and he wasn’t scared, but it was like his body wasn’t getting the memo.

“You have to get past this Seth,” Marat said, shaking his head.

He couldn’t be caretaker, not without his sister. He was the only caretaker; he couldn’t leave to find his sister.

Seth was the only caretaker.

Celebrant didn’t have a veto anymore. He could give the job to someone else, and go after his sister. Marat started to move away, but he needed to know now. He was one answer away from being able to go after Kendra.  

Inside his chest, he felt surge of control spread over his muscles “Marat, wait!” Seth said, and something settled over him, something that made him stand a little taller. Marat turned back, and drew his head closer, curiously. Seth grinned, “I’m the last Caretaker. Celebrant was stripped of his title. The treaty is back to its foundations. Can I turn being caretaker back over to you, and go after Kendra?”

“Well done Seth,” Marat said, then took a moment to think over Seth’s plan. “I do believe that is possible. The provisions of Celebrant’s veto were very specific to the amendment making him co-caretaker. Agad will be arriving soon, we will ask for his advice, but I see nothing wrong with that plan at present.”

Marat shapeshifted back into a human, alighting on the rampart beside him, “A shame that your loyalties take you elsewhere the moment you become a full dragon tamer,” Marat said casually.

“I did it?” Seth asked, “I did!”

“Yes, it seems your sister being in danger was enough for you to push past the final effects, just as the threat of Celebrant to your family was enough for Kendra.”

“Marat,” Seth said, “I know things are a mess, would you be able to keep things under control on your own?”

“Let’s see,” Marat said, holding up a hand, counting off his fingers, “You have already dealt with the Dragon Feast. There will not be another festival night for a quarter year. We have the staff and the amulet. The curse on Stormguard is lifted, and more Fair Folk generally heralds greater opportunities for peace. Celebrant will not be happy, nor will he give up his machinations. However, I do believe I would be able to manage.”

“You can call me back, in case you need any of my specific…expertise,” Seth grinned, and Marat smiled wryly. They both remembered how reluctant literally everyone was to give him the job. With Kendra missing, the risks were really nailed home, but no one could doubt their skill at keeping preserves functioning. First Fablehaven was the only one of the five secret preserves to hold itself together, and now Wrymroost, against the King of Dragons himself, was functioning better than ever.

“I believe I will try to reserve your assistance for true emergencies,” Marat said drily.

“Let’s keep our plan quiet,” Seth said, quietly, “At least until Agad tells us if we can do it and how. I know the staff was safe when we got here, but things have changed pretty quickly.”

Marat nodded, and they entered the interior of the keep. They approached their…War Room? To be honest, he hasn’t spent nearly enough time at his Castle to learn all the stuffy old names for everything. The room with lots of maps and chests. Since he was going to give up caretaking this place, this might be the last chance to name them himself.

Marat opened the door for him, and Seth walked in, shoulders squared.

“All right, I see everyone has gathered in the War Room. What have we got?”

Grandpa and Hendrick held back sniggers, Grandma rolled her eyes, Newel gave him a thumbs up. Grandma held out the letter.

Seth took it, cracked open the old-timey wax seal, and pulled out two pieces of paper. The first one had letters that were so old-timey they were basically illegible. He wasn’t even sure it was English. The second letter was written by Tanu.

Dear Sorenson’s,

We are safe. We have rested and celebrated the restoration of Stormguard Castle, and updated them as much as we could on the current status of the rest of the world. Knox was unfortunately blunt, and they will be holding with their neutrality. They are giving us a ride to Blackwell keep by flying carriage, don’t panic when we arrive. We look forward to understanding what occurred after you were separated from Lomo.

Regards,

Tanu.

Seth let out a sigh of relief. He hadn’t thought his friends were in danger based on Lockland and the Fair Folk’s general determination to stay as far away as possible from anything remotely interesting, but it was good to hear all the same.

“It’s fine. Stormguard is sending a carriage with Tanu and Knox. They already took him out of the quiet box it seems, and the first thing he did was stick his foot in his mouth,” Seth looked around him, “Any possible allies in Quiet Boxes here?”

“Oh, don’t you act like you didn’t mouth off to the Fair Folk about their neutrality the first chance you got,” Grandma said, as Seth handed her the letters. “And we are not sticking Knox in another quiet box. It’s not healthy for a growing child.”

Seth gave a put-upon sigh, “All right, fine. We’ll find somewhere to put him. Isn’t it a little dangerous to go flying around right now?”

Marat shook his head, “One of the benefits of the neutrality you so casually mock is that the carriage of Stormguard has full immunity for diplomatic missions under the treaty. They have as many, if not more, protection on their journey than we do at the castle.”

“Safe transport is a boon that should not be taken lightly,” Grandma Sorensen said, “Knox has already likely ruffled feathers, but they owe Seth and Kendra much for freeing them. Debts hold with Fair Folk like they do everyone else in this world, though their aid is limited in scope. Everyone on their best behavior. The official letter says much of the same”

Seth made a face, but didn’t argue because she was probably right.

An hour later everyone was gathered in the courtyard as the Carriage landed lightly in front of them. It didn’t even kick up dust. Never leaving a mark, just like the people that owned it.

Knox, Tanu, and Lockland exited the carriage.

“Glad to see you guys,” Seth said, giving Tanu a hug and punching Knox on the shoulder.

“I’m afraid we don’t come with good news. While everything is fine at Stormguard, we stopped off at Terrebelle to retrieve Tess and Doren,” Tanu said, “They weren’t there and no one knows where they went. Lord Dagorel’s daughter was missing as well.”

Well, that was rude of them. Who did they think they were? Wandering around a dangerous preserve like Wyrmroost the day after a festival night and in the middle of a dragon war? Now he was going to have to track them down himself and make sure no one gets eaten. How irresponsible — Oh no, Seth was turning into Grandpa.

“They have the cloak of innocence,” Knox assured them, “So they’re safer than us. But we should still find them.”

Seth rubbed his forehead, “Great. Yeah, we’ll get Henrick on it, see if we can track them down. And whatever else we can do. I’m guessing you guys want Eve back at Terrebelle too?”

“Lord Dagorel would appreciate your consideration,” Lockland said with a bow. Well that was a little much, Seth wasn’t going to be the one giving the order to send Eve anywhere. She could do what she wanted, as far as he was concerned, it was Tess that didn’t know anything about this world he didn’t want wandering around. Probably better not to mention that.

Lockland came up from his bow.

“Hey, none of that.” Seth said, giving a tired smile, Lockland was one of the better Fair Folk after all, “Thanks for helping back there. We literally could not have done it without you.”

Lockland shook his head, “Your sister is the heroine, towards the end the only help I could give was that of one mindless puppet not trying to capture her,” he looked around, “Where is she? I’d like to know that she’s alright for myself if that’s okay.”

Seth’s throat grew thick, but no tears came. He’d cried himself out that morning before Grandma passed him one of Tanu’s calming potions, finally allowing him to get some sleep.

“Kendra…lost her memory,” Seth said, looking at the ground, not at the horrified faces in front of him.

“The key of forgetting,” Lockland said. It must have been mentioned in one of the riddles that he heard. “Seth, I’m so sorry —”

“What the heck Seth Breath?” Knox said, “You’re supposed to protect your sister!”

“I have the authority to send you to the dungeons,” Seth threatened back, “I know what I was supposed to do, but she stole the key from me and wouldn’t listen.”

“Can I still see her?” Lockland asked, “I don’t have to talk to her, just make sure that she’s okay. I feel terrible about not being able to do more before you guys came.”

“Sorry,” Seth said tightly, more than ready to shift the blame to the Fair Folk, but Grandma’s warning made him pull back, “But that privilege is reserved for allies and friends, not neutral diplomats. I only told you about her memory because Celebrant already knows what happened and you helped us. You aren’t getting any more information from me until I know you won’t give it up to the dragons for a perfectly neutral reason.”

Lockland flinched back. He had spent the past several hundred years as a human in a competition, it had probably been a while since he’d dealt with the drawbacks of neutrality. If he had ever dealt with it before. After meeting the royal children of Stormguard, Seth wouldn’t be surprised if their parents kept them under lock and key and only taught them untested morality anyway.

“Seth,” Grandma Ruth hissed. She turned to Lockland, “I would like to apologize for the Caretaker’s current temperament. The loss of his sister’s memory, due in part the schemes of Celebrant and Ronodin, is still a fresh blow. Thank you for returning our friends to us.”

Subdued, Lockland nodded, “I also came to inquire about what happened to my brother Tregain. As you are mourning the loss of your sister’s memories, surely you won’t begrudge me knowing the fate of my brother. Enemies though we were, he is family.”

Seth felt a pang then. He wasn’t being fair. It wasn’t like Lockland hadn’t suffered under the curse. And with a memory-less Kendra captured by Ronodin, Seth might be fighting his sibling in the future. Oh God, he might have to fight Kendra.

He shoved those thoughts aside, he needed to get through this, “Tregain died, so did Obregon. There was a final trap for the Wizenstone, anyone who touched it…turned to ash. The only thing I could do was send the stone away with the Rod of Banishment. It was…it was never winnable in the first place.”

Lockland was still and silent, then he nodded. “We were playing a dangerous game with the greatest prize. That those two were the only deaths is…nicer, than what other competitions for magical items are like. The business of the Fair Folk is concluded. Farewell, Caretaker Seth Sorenson.”

Lockland stepped back into the carriage, but before closing the door, turned back to Seth, “I know what we all have to do in war, but believe me when I say I can never thank you and your sister enough for ending the curse. I hope you succeed, and I hope for your safety. If Kendra is willing to give up her place in the war, now that she has no memory of what she is fighting for or how to fight, she will be welcome at Stormguard to wait in neutrality as others take her place in your battle.”

Seth didn’t know what to say. No witty comebacks, no apologies, nothing came to mind.

“Thank you for this extension, we will consider it and offer it to her when we see her next,” Grandpa Sorenson said with a bow, “Please return with the knowledge that Blackwell Keep rejoices in the freedom of you and your people.”

Lockland nodded, acknowledging Grandpa’s words, and closed the door. The carriage took off.

Grandma put a hand to her head. “Seth, I am terrified to know what you said when you and Kendra visited Terrebelle.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” Calvin’s voice piped up from Tanu’s pocket, “Lord Dalgorel’s children were quite accommodating and understanding. Kendra did most of the talking.” Tanu lifted the nipsie out of his pocket and handed Calvin to Seth.

“Calvin, we left you with Patton!” Seth said.

“As soon as dawn hit, I went to test the barriers and found them undone,” Calvin said, “Patton will be making his way back with the flying mounts soon.”

“Forgive me,” Tanu said slowly, “But if Kendra truly has lost her memory, letting her claim sanctuary with the Fair Folk sounds like a good temporary measure. Her abilities are extraordinary, and easy to be misused and misguided.”

“Come inside,” Grandma said, “We have to catch each other up.”

“Hey, I’m sorry for snapping at you about Kendra,” Knox said, walking beside Seth, “I know both of you, and Kendra’s stubborn as a rock. And its not like I did any better protecting Tess from danger.”

“I would say sorry for threatening to put you in the dungeon,” Seth replied, “But I’m not. You’re making me realize just how much Grandma and Grandpa were trying to protect me when I first learned about this stuff, it sucks.”

“I bet Kendra was always trying to protect you too,” Knox said, “How long do you think it will be before she’s back at that? At least she doesn’t have the grounds to nag you when she doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“Shut up,” Seth said, slamming the keep door shut. “I don’t know. I don’t know if she’ll ever talk to us again. I don’t know if the next time she sees me, she’ll try to kill me. Ronodin kidnapped her, and she is somewhere, right now, being convinced that she’s Ronodin’s girlfriend and would do absolutely anything for him.”

“Did I hear right?” Tanu asked, turning back. Grandma sighed.

“Yes, and I think we could all use some tea right about now.”

Seth glared at his teacup while his grandparents caught everyone up. Newel had gotten the task of brewing, snagged on their way back to the War Room, and he was sure Newel slipped a little bit extra in for the adults. Seth knew, because they had caught eyes as he was about to slip something from an unidentified bottle into Knox’s tea, and Seth shook his head.

“Agad will be here in the morning, to follow up on what leads he can,” Grandpa finished.

“I’m telling you, it was Ronodin,” Seth said, “The sleezy jerk was all over Kendra, trying to make her blush and calling her ‘Love’. It’s going to be Gavin all over again.”

“Then perhaps you can take some faith,” Tanu said gently, “Kendra’s heart is good, and her abilities meant to help and heal. Our enemies will have a long ways to go to convince her to do harm. And do not forget who else Ronodin is holding captive.”

Seth blinked, then smiled, “Bracken. If anyone can convince her that she’s better than that jerk, its him.” Seth turned to Knox, remembering that Knox didn’t know who Bracken was, and saw his cousin staring into his cooled cup of tea. Seth nudged him with his shoulder, “Hey, no spacing out in the War Room. Bracken is Kendra’s unicorn boyfriend. They’ve done the prison spree thing before. It only took them five-ish hours, I think. It will probably take a little longer with Kendra’s memory gone, and we’ll have to give them a hand, but that’s good news. As good as it gets anyway.”

“Yeah, uh, I’m a little off, I think I’m going to get some air,” Knox said, putting down his teacup. He left the room, heading inward instead of towards the outside.

“Did something happen at Stormguard after they let him out?” he asked Tanu, frowning after his cousin.

Tanu shook his head, paused then said, “A pretty girl was invited to dine with him. Like most young folk, he couldn’t resist the urge to brag about what appeared to be an unconditional win. Between understanding that it was not the win he thought it was, and likely feeling remaining guilt over the stolen barrel. I believe, given time, he will work through his problems.”

“He likely also thinks that you blame him,” Grandpa Sorensen said, “Please try to keep your temper. You are in charge here, and your attitudes and temperaments affect everyone. The situation with Kendra is bleak, and you must hold together.”

“In better news,” Marat said, “Seth has managed to conquer the last hold of Dragon fear. I found him as a dragon, and he spoke to me clearly.”

Grandma brightened, “Oh, that’s wonderful Seth.”

“It feels kind of an empty victory,” Seth admitted.

Grandpa smiled, “One more dragon tamer in the world is a victory all the same.”

Seth looked around, “When was Henrick supposed to be back?” Maybe the Alcetaur would have something for him to do to whittle the hours until Agad showed up. There wasn’t anything they could do from their end except guard the barrel.

“He’ll be back in the morning,” Grandma said. “I know it’s frustrating, but the wait is short.”

“What if we tried to establish communication through the barrel?” Seth asked, the idea popping into his head.

Everyone blinked at him. “It’s a shared space, right? Coulter showed us how it worked with coins and tin cans,” Seth said, “It doesn’t just move people. If we put in a letter, asking for Ronodin to tell us what he wants in exchange for Kendra, maybe we can work out a trade.”

“Classic,” Newel said, “All the crime shows agree, the first thing you do with a kidnapper is keep them talking. Then you do a little give, a little take, until you’re negotiating for the right stuff. Once they trust you, Bam! Hit them where it hurts.”

Grandma and Grandpa shared a look, “It wouldn’t hurt.” Grandma said. “It will let us track activity with the barrel, if nothing else.”

“I’d feel better waiting until we have Agad’s approval,” Grandpa replied, “But I can’t see any harm, and the longer Kendra is in their grasp, the worse it will be. Could you write the letter?”

Grandma nodded, standing up. “Just to explain that we are open to negotiating for the return of Kendra. Hopefully their reply will contain clues as to where they are, even if they ask for something we can’t give.”

“I have a feeling we will not get peace enough to brew for a while yet,” Tanu said, returning his teacup to the tray, “And my ingredients are most potent fresh. We slept a while before the celebration at Stormguard, I will be brewing in my room, if you need me.”

They both left. “That was a smart idea, Seth,” Grandpa Sorenson said. Seth slumped, “Yeah, but there still isn’t anything I can do.”

“I have the feeling you’ll have the chance to do plenty,” Grandpa said, “Tess and Doren are still at Terrebelle. Agad is coming. If you like, we can do something active. How about a sword-fighting lesson? See if these old bones remember anything.”

He let Grandpa get him into a sword fighting lesson. He didn’t use Tregain’s sword, as the goal was to be seen and fight, and instead practiced as many moves as he could remember Warren and Vanessa teaching him. Grandpa showed him a few as well, from back when he learned.

Grandpa was much more of the “best way to win was never be hit, and you don’t get hit if you’re never there” camp. Instead of Warren and Vanessa’s focus on attacking, counter attacking, and movement economy with broad swords, Grandpa had him dodging in circles, keeping out of striking range by positioning himself on the outer side of the blade.

When Seth complained about not having a good position to attack, Grandpa proceeded to disarm him seven times in a row, attacking from that exact angle when Seth was too slow to move. It was safe to say that ‘the best way to win is to not be there’ was beaten into his arms by dinner.

Knox still hadn’t come back, so Seth took a plate of food and started asking around to find his cousin. Grandpa and Tanu had both suggested giving Knox space, but they didn’t know him. Grandpa wasn’t related to Knox, and Knox was the kind of person that needed someone to show off to in order to be a person at all.

Eventually a dwarf pointed him towards the room at the very top of the central structure. It wasn’t really a room, since it had no walls, just a couple of pillars holding up the roof. A sort of small pavilion.

“I see you’ve found the High Judgement Court,” Seth said, rounding the top of the stairs.

“That what this place is called? It was empty, I figured I wouldn’t bother anyone here, but I suppose it’s a fitting place for me,” Knox said.

“You missed dinner, I brought you some food,” Seth said.

Knox waved it away. “I ate my fill at Stormguard.”

Seth set down the plate of food by him anyway, “You know, we’re taking turns being an absolute wreck about Kendra. I had first go before sunrise, Grandma and Grandpa went while I was sleeping. Thought I should warn you that your turn is almost up.”

“I can’t believe you’re still cracking jokes while Kendra’s kidnapped,” Knox said, clenching his fists. “And with the person whose fault it is.”

“Ronodin’s not here,” Seth said, “He’d be getting a sword to the gut if he was.”

“It’s my fault Kendra was kidnapped!” Knox yelled. “Everyone knows it, they’re all angry and just trying to spare my feelings. It was making me sick. That’s why I am up here. Now leave.”

“Knox, you screwed up,” Seth said, “Everyone does it. No one blames you. We’ve fought tricky enemies before, and we’ve all figured out how to put the blame where it belongs, on the bad guys. You’re the only one who hasn’t yet.”

Knox snorted, “Maybe everyone makes mistakes, but not everyone gets people kidnapped on their first go.”

And it clicked for Seth, in a weird moment of vague empathy. Looking at Knox, he remembered a rushed salt circle, clinging to Kendra, trembling as ghastly noises raged through the house.

Seth regretted not coming sooner.

“No, you’re right, some of us wait until our second mistake to get our family members kidnapped and threaten the whole world,” Seth said. Knox jerked to look at him, but if they were going to have a feeling-ish touchy heart-to-heart, Seth was going to be looking over the preserve.

“You can’t mean —”

“We haven’t had any time between dragon feasts, cursed tournaments, and everything else,” Seth started, “But you’re a couple of important hours late to the magic party. Back when we went to Grandma and Grandpa Larsen’s funeral, all our parents went on a cruise, remember?” Knox nodded. “Kendra and I were sent to stay at Fablehaven for two weeks.”

“That’s when you found out about this stuff? You’ve only known three years?” Knox asked, looking a little perplexed, “I thought you guys had been doing this way longer. How’d you get to be in charge?”

“Longer story,” Seth said ruefully, “We knew things were a little odd, back then. Grandpa kept telling me to stay out of the woods for more and more dangerous reasons, while Kendra played riddle games in the attic of the main house. Grandpa had set up clues for us, to see if we were curious enough to be open to the secrets. Kendra figured out about the milk, she used me as her guinea pig.

“My first mistake? I wanted a pet fairy. A fairy trader had come to visit, and I thought I could catch one too. He was a real adventurer, you know? But I didn’t know the rules, like you didn’t know not to trust the dungeon goblins. I caught a fairy, and kept it in my drawer overnight. Doing that turns the fairy into an imp. Dark, scaly, multiple fangs and eyes, angry. A butterfly into a spider. She had pleaded and begged me from inside the jar not to keep her trapped, but I knew so much better than her, I was going to release her in the morning.”

“Woah,” Knox said, “Tess would hate you forever for that. Could you undo it? With your shadow stuff?”

Seth smiled ruefully, “Me? No, no one can undo that. And the shadow stuff came later. So the fairies got their revenge. You made it to Terrebelle because Tess is like, the most innocent person ever, right? That day was when I lost my innocence protection under most treaties. The fairies came and attacked me. The next part’s a little fuzzy, Kendra said I was some kind of malformed, fleshy walrus. It hurt, my senses were all mixed up, I was breathing through my back, and Grandpa and Kendra fixed me by making a deal with a witch. So yeah, my first mistake didn’t get anyone kidnapped, but it wasn’t a small deal either.”

Knox hesitated, and Seth waited.

“And… and your second mistake?”

“The third floor of the main house is meant for children, and when only children are in it, they have extra protection. You saw how everything went crazy last night?” Seth checked, and Knox nodded, “That’s what happens on the summer solstice at every preserve. Part of the treaty says they can party without boundaries on solstices and equinoxes. The boundaries of the actual buildings at Fablehaven stay secure, but the creatures can party around the yard and all the way up to the window.”

Knox shuddered, “Dude, you’re making this sound like a horror story.”

Seth gave a weak smile. The sun was finally starting to touch the horizon, on the longest day of the year. “Dude, because it was. Over and over they told me not to go near the windows. Don’t look. Phantoms can take any shape, and wraiths were waiting to suck the life out of you. But that just sounded so cool. A little peek wouldn’t hurt anyone. Looking never hurt anyone.

“I peeked. Kendra scolded me the whole time. Fairies were lighting up jack o’lanterns outside the window, keeping the worst of the monsters away so I didn’t see anything good. They saw me though, and the fairies couldn’t ditch me fast enough. They hadn’t forgiven me for turning their sister into an imp. They flew away, Kendra dragged me back. Creatures got right up to the window and started playing out horrible things. It was the wolves eating toddlers that got me, and I opened the window, worried for the kid. That let them in the house. We managed to get the creatures out of the attic, and nothing could get back in with the extra protections. The ones I let in though, they let in all their friends to the rest of the house.”

“No,” Knox said. Seth looked over and saw the appropriate look of horror.

“Yep, I clung to Kendra like a baby the whole night. When it was over in the morning, Dale was a statue, Lena and Grandpa were abducted, Hugo gone. See, it took my second mistake to really mess things up. You were able to do a lot of good before your big screw up. You helped with the scepter, which, no joke, saved Wrymroost. And we wouldn’t have found Lockland, who gave us the glove to go forward, if we didn’t put you in the quiet box.”

“They couldn’t attack me because of the whole innocence thing, right? How did you guys get out of it? How did you fix your mistake back then?”

The memories replayed in his mind.

“Err, I have the feeling you’re not going to believe me if I told you,” Seth said with a small grin.

“Really dude?” Knox protested, “I was turned into gold last night, flew back here in a flying carriage, your sister was kidnapped by a wooden puppet after loosing her memory, and waiting out there are a bunch of dragons ready to kill us. I think I can take whatever you did at Fablehaven to rescue your grandparents.”

Seth stood up, “I’ve pulled you out of your slump. No one blames you, because mistakes happen, and what’s important is working to fix them. Come on, it’s time to turn in.”

“I’m not leaving until I get the rest of the story,” Knox said, “You can’t leave me hanging like that.”

“Fine. Well, first off, Grandma Sorenson hadn’t been captured because she had been turned into a chicken…”

[nellie-elizabeth]

Queliot Fic Recs - Master Post (March 11, 2020)

Hi everyone! I’ve been meaning to do this for a while, but now that we’re staring down the barrel of the show’s official ending, I thought I’d finally take the time to post a master fic rec list!

A couple of notes:

This is by no means comprehensive; I’m sure I’m forgetting several lovely fics, and will be updating this list as I remember/find more.

This list will not include WIPs (the only exception being where I rec a completed story that is part of a series, and mention that sequel(s) are still in progress). I will add the WIPs I’m reading once they are complete!

I am open to suggestions from others, so please reblog and add your own recommendations! I would love to add to this and make it a one-stop-shop resource for people looking for something new to read.

When I know the tumblr handle of the author, I have included it. But in several cases I don’t know the author’s tumblr, if they have one - if you have this information to fill in, please let me know and I will update the master post. (Also, if you notice any broken links or mistakes - I did my best, but this thing is hefty and I’m sure there are errors!)

This took me… forever to put together, so if you find it useful, please reblog - and more importantly, please leave comments & kudos on the stories you read!

Link to the Google Doc, if that’s easier for you to read.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1sIUMZcIcpnZ1_9T3o7dkqUaqEw0miwNTfTuZjvjGto4/edit?usp=sharing

Hefty rec list under the cut.

Season Three Gapfillers/Deviations from Canon

These stories usually deal with the aftermath of the mosaic in some way. Many of them were written before the revelations of 4x05, but some were written later, and either comply with canon, or deviate from it from that point.

shipping it by Mizzy (@mizzy2k). Mature. 16,344 words. The Muntjac “ships” Queliot and is trying to help them along. What else can I say? There’s angst, there’s love, it’s silly and it’s sincere.

Sense Memories by mtothedestiel (@summersteve). Explicit. 2,616 words. This is an ABO fic, which is not something I would typically read. But I love this author so much that I decided to give it a try. The thing I like about it is the idea of the mosaic timeline leaving a tangible, physical impact on Quentin and Eliot, and how they might deal with the fallout in this more extreme scenario. If ABO isn’t for you, though, proceed with caution.

throw your shadow over me by peacefrog (@lizardkingeliot). Explicit. 8,187 words. Okay I’m going to recommend basically everything peacefrog has written, but this one is probably my favorite. It’s a super angst-y sex scene between Quentin and Eliot during season three, where Eliot believes this is his last chance to be with Quentin, and is basically dreading the emotional fallout even while it’s happening.

i start spinning (slipping out of time) by peacefrog (@lizardkingeliot). Teen. 2,570 words. Before Eliot goes to Margo to discuss the god-killing bullet, he and Quentin have a conversation about Quentin’s choice to stay at Blackspire. Features a heartbreaking memory of their life together at the mosaic, and just generally gorgeous canon-compliant angst.

Promises by Rizandace (@Nellie-Elizabeth). Explicit. 7,751 words. Eliot and Quentin have it out about Quentin’s decision to stay in Blackspire, and hash out their feelings for each other. This one is canon-divergent (and is probably the one-shot I am the most proud of!)

Overthinking It by Rizandace (@Nellie-Elizabeth). Teen. 3,581 words. Eliot finds out about the abyss key, and it prompts a discussion about Quentin and Eliot’s relationship.

Honey You’re On Fire, Let Me Help by sirfoxheart (@sirfoxheart). Explicit. 5,857 words. Quentin accidentally picks up the abyss key… Eliot finds him and does what he can to distract him. This is hot, of course, but also so desperately full of feeling and love. As the summary implies, there is a good deal of depression and talk of suicide in this story, so take care.

Can’t Let Go by sirfoxheart (@sirfoxheart). Explicit. 5,384 words. UGH. This is what SHOULD have happened after Eliot and Quentin remember the mosaic time-line. This is so satisfying and gave me some catharsis in the aftermath of the direction the story has taken in canon.

~~~~~

Post-Season Four Fix-Its

These stories maintain the canon of season four, and continue on from there. They generally involve bringing Quentin back from the dead.

What Matter Where by achray. Explicit. 28,782 words. Eliot becomes Prince Consort of the Underworld. He gets to be with Q when he’s back home, though. This is almost tough to read, because my brain doesn’t want to accept any half-happy endings, any reality where Eliot can’t spend all of his time by Quentin’s side. But on the other hand… Eliot has to make a big, big sacrifice to bring Quentin back, and you definitely feel the gravitas of that.

life ain’t fair (so i guess we’d better cheat) by micksgotkicks (@lovelyquentin). Teen. 1,137 words. This is more of a pre-fix-it. Eliot rages against the heavens for taking Quentin from him, and resolves to get him back. Short and painful. Cathartic.

Being Alive by miss_whimsy (@bambiesque). Gen. 7,022 words. Eliot sends the letter to Quentin with the magical stamp. And when that doesn’t work, he sends a bunch more. This is one of the very few fics on this list that has any connection to season five canon, which I’m not watching. I did watch 5x03, however, and this fic is borne out of Eliot Waugh never giving up - the way we all know it should have gone.

What kind of man (loves like this)? by destielpasta (@queliotpasta). Explicit. 3,160 words. Eliot and Quentin go out dancing. This fic has a certain quality about it that’s difficult to describe - I could just really feel their love for each other jump off the page, specifically in how badly they clearly want to care for each other. This fic also straddles the line between categories - the author describes it as a “fix-it” and it does deal with Quentin’s resurrection in a more immediate way, but the subject matter itself is much more about the aftermath, rather than the actual “bringing Q back from the dead” part.

You’re a Story (I Can Follow) by Page161of180. Mature. 19,695 words. I think everyone’s read this, but how could I not include it? This technically isn’t a fix-it, because it was written before the season four finale confirmed the theory of Quentin’s death. This author, like the collective fandom, assumed that death would be temporary… and thus, this is the story of Eliot being the Orpheus to Quentin’s Eurydice. It is stunning - a gold standard in writing intense grief with a happy ending. Eliot is undone by Quentin’s death here, and has to fight through obstacle after obstacle to get him back - the biggest one being, his own lack of self-worth. There’s also a somewhat-connected sequel/prequel called And Remember What You Were Before (Not Rated, 6,998 words), which is completely worth the read.

(like a perfect picture) in a broken frame by PanBoleyn (@eidetictelekinetic). Not Rated. 20,631 words. Another resurrection/fix-it fic… Really great group dynamics as everyone works on bringing Quentin back, but also a focus on Eliot’s despair. Kind of your standard fix-it, exactly what the characters should have tried to do, in a world where canon hadn’t betrayed us so badly.

life fades (but you remain) by peacefrog (@lizardkingeliot). Explicit. 62,735. Stunning. STUNNING. Eliot finds a way to get Quentin back, but it comes at a cost. The two of them have to work it out. This features some incredibly good angst with a happy ending, scorching sex, a really intriguing OC in an early chapter, and some nice screen-time for the lovely Alice Quinn, to boot.

as it was by peacefrog (@lizardkingeliot). Mature. 3,913 words. Short and sweet - Penny-40 leads Quentin to where he needs to go, and that’s back home to Eliot.

In the Woods Somewhere by pineapplecrushface (@pineapplecrushface). Explicit. 15,528 words. This is the most creative take on a fix-it I’ve seen! The summary outlines the premise best: “Alice being unable to wipe younger Quentin's memory during the timeshare spell had a ripple effect.” Eliot is so desperate for Quentin in this one, and Quentin, from the afterlife, is having to work out how he feels and where he wants to be.

In Which We Grieve by portraitofemmy (@portraitofemmy). Teen. 3,413 words. I hesitate to call this a “fix-it” really, since Quentin doesn’t come back to life. But despite that, he and Eliot make it work. This is sad, but cathartic too.

(this is not a) Temporary Love by rizcriz (@sadlittlenerdking). Teen. 20,684 words. A fix-it that includes some intense mosaic feels too, as Margo and Eliot read over some letters/notes written during the mosaic timeline. I also like this one for how the rest of the gang finally notices how sick and worn-down Quentin is, and forces Q and Eliot to take a mental health vacation once Quentin is back in the land of the living!

~~~~~

Post-Season Four/Post-Possession - Not Fix-Its

These stories take place after the events of season four, or, in some cases, after an imagined ending of season four (written before the series finale aired), ignoring season five canon. They are not fix-its in the sense that either a) they ignore Quentin’s death in canon and proceed like it never happened, or b) Quentin’s resurrection happened “off-screen” and is not the focus of the story. These fics often deal with the aftermath, both physical and psychological, of Eliot’s possession. They also usually deal with Quentin and Eliot’s reconciliation after the events of seasons three and four, and sometimes continue through their time as an established couple.

your body (your heart) in his hands by Allegria23 (@allegria23). Explicit. 18,636 words. This fic follows Eliot and Quentin into their future. I’m recommending it specifically for the way it deals with Quentin’s discipline - I’ve never seen a fic tackle the subject in quite this way, and with so much care and gentleness. If you are not a fan of kid!fic, don’t be put off by the premise - Eliot and Quentin are great fathers with amazing kids in this future universe, but the focus really does remain on their romance. This story is part of a series called second time around which is all worth a read, especially the latest part, entitled The Special Dish. The whole series really embodies the romance of effort, and how putting in the time to nurture and grow a relationship is what makes it work.

Be still my foolish heart (i’m almost me again) by Butterfly (@butterflydm). Explicit. 3,754 words. A birthday fic for Quentin - he’s a little overwhelmed by the party held in his honor. He sneaks off to be alone, Eliot follows him, and Q tells Eliot about his discipline.

Living Room, NY by cartographies (@honeybabydichotomy). Teen. 11,254 words. Eliot goes to therapy. I’m recc’ing this specifically for Eliot’s rambling confession of love to Quentin in chapter two. The whole thing is lovely, but that part really knocked me the fuck out.

Imagine being loved by me. by destielpasta (@queliotpasta). Explicit. 11,225 words. Holy moly. This is a top-tier fave for me. It’s about sex, it’s about love, it’s about working through a relationship after trauma. Eliot is touch-starved but can’t be touched - so Quentin and Eliot must get creative.

Yes and Yes and Maybe Yes by hetrez (@hetrez). Mature. 5,542 words. The author describes this as “consent porn, with feelings,” and that’s a pretty good descriptor. Quentin has PTSD because of the Monster, and Eliot’s touch can be triggering for him. They work together to get through it. This is hot, yes, but it’s hot specifically because of how badly Eliot wants to take care of Quentin and make him feel safe.

The Dreamers by hetrez (@hetrez). Teen. 10,143 words. Post-possession, Quentin and Eliot are together but things aren’t smooth sailing. The scene from this story that always sticks in my head is Quentin asking Eliot if he wants to have a family again, like they did before with Arielle and Teddy - and Eliot’s horrifically wrong-footed response: “You’ll get a wife again and we’ll have another baby.” As might be predicted, Quentin doesn’t take that very well… and this story is at least partially working out where they stand, what they both want.

The Drum Beats Out of Time by HMGFanfic (@hmgfanfic). Mature. 68,605 words. This series features two stories: Suitcase of Memories and I Fall Behind. Both are amazing, but I Fall Behind in particular is one of my top-tier favorite fics in the whole fandom. This fic does not pull its punches in terms of the effects of Eliot’s possession, and it makes things really rough for Quentin and Eliot’s relationship. Quentin does a reckless thing, Eliot panics, they hash it out - but it’s not easy, and it’s not so clear-cut. These fics also features glimpses of their life together at the mosaic, and a lovely epilogue that shows how they’ve made progress and are still healing as a couple.

the right time and place by impossibletruths (@impossibletruths). Teen. 3,675 words. Eliot trying to propose to Quentin. It’s sweet and fluffy and good for the soul.

hearts like houses by impossibletruths (@impossibletruths). Explicit. 11,888 words. Quentin and Eliot celebrate Eliot’s birthday, post-possession. They get away for a trip, to try and put their worries behind them. This story is full of so much intimacy and gentleness that it just melts my whole heart.

five times my writing was better than the magicians by micksgotkicks (@lovelyquentin). Teen. 6,019 words. These are just… soft. It’s five different short fics, all with slight variations on the simple concept of Quentin and Eliot reuniting post-possession. There’s no intensive deep-dive, nothing too grim or challenging. It’s just the two of them finding their way to each other again and again. Very healing to read, in light of canon’s (inferior) version of reality.

struck from a great height by mtothedestiel (@summersteve). Explicit. 4,517 words. “Life affirming sex” is the most telling tag on this thing. Post-possession, Eliot and Quentin find their way into each other’s arms. Really hot sex, lots of feelings… everything we deserved at the end of the Monster story-line.

And So Lift Your Spirits by OrchardsinSnow (@orchardsinsnow). Explicit. 3,437 words. This was one of the first fics I remember reading in the aftermath of my desperate post-season four feelings, and it hit the spot in the best way. Eliot’s POV - he loves Quentin, but has doubts that he’s actually deserving of something so wonderful, that Quentin could really reciprocate and want to stay. Quentin finds an insanely hot, insanely romantic way to reassure him.

Ten Twenty-Eight by Page161of180. Not Rated. 5,974 words. This is slice-of-life about Quentin Coldwater and how he’s spent Eliot’s birthday, October 28, over the years. It’s told through notes from the Library branch of the Underworld, with added comments from Alice and Penny. It’s weird, but rewarding. I love the record-keeping aspect. This author has a real gift for outsider POV, and this is one of my favorites!

Nights and Mornings by Page161of180. Mature. 6,734 words. Two connected stories, in the aftermath of possession. Quentin doesn’t die, but he does still get back together with Alice, a la 4x12. These stories deal with Eliot’s thoughts on that, and… spoiler… Quentin/Alice is just not meant to be. Quentin makes a different choice.

The Honor of Your Presence by Page161of180. Mature. 18,117 words. Quentin and Eliot get married, and we hear the story from three different POVs… Todd, Rafe, and Marina 23. Random? Yes. Brilliant? Also yes. I love how each POV has a different and distinct literary style. And how even the people who aren’t closest to Quentin and Eliot can see how insanely in love they are with each other.

The Wanting Then, the Needing Now by Page161of180. Not rated. 3,799 words. Alice’s POV, as Eliot is saved from possession, and Quentin falls apart. Basically, Alice realizes where Quentin really belongs. I love the way this author does justice to Quentin’s love for Alice - it’s not a footnote, it’s not an insignificant blip. It’s real, and that doesn’t invalidate the fact that Quentin chooses Eliot. This has a much longer sequel which is also very good - but that story is more Alice-centric and not really focused on Queliot as much, even though they definitely play a part.

Lay Me Down (Pockets Full of Stones) by PanBoleyn (@eidetictelekinetic). Not Rated. 10,024 words. Post-possession, Eliot realizes how badly Quentin has been dealing with things. He’s angry at their friends for not keeping a better eye out - but all that matters right now is finding Quentin and making sure he’s alright. I love this story for how messy their reunion is - how all of their feelings just come spilling out of them without finesse.

(one kiss) it all comes down to this by PanBoleyn (@eidetictelekinetic). Not Rated. 6,391 words. True Love’s Kiss… the boys need to talk about their feelings, and a curse forces the issue. This is so entirely my jam.

box of chocolates by peacefrog (@lizardkingeliot). Mature. 9,256 words. This short series begins with the Teen-rated for love (if it finds you worthy) and features Eliot asking Quentin to be his valentine. Because Quentin and Eliot are… Quentin and Eliot, it still takes them a little while to get their shit together, after that.

when lips and skin remember by peacefrog (@lizardkingeliot). Explicit. 6,163 words. This is for the monthly prompt challenge - “blindfolds” and features Quentin helping Eliot through some sensory issues, post-Monster possession.

an end (but the start of all things that are left to do) by peacefrog (@lizardkingeliot). Explicit. 2,388 words. Birthday smut! Q is alive and gets a blowjob, as the universe requires.

the one with the dog by portraitofemmy (@portraitofemmy). Explicit. 80,517 words. If you haven’t already read this series, what are you waiting for?? It is IDEAL for soothing the soul. Eliot and Quentin deal with the aftermath of their trauma, both physical and mental. They hang out at the condo in New York, they take care of an adorable dog named Lady Desdemona, they have lots of hot sex of course. They heal. Every single one of the twelve stories in this series is worth reading, but my favorites are probably (this is) the beat of my heart (Explicit, 11,700 words), Five Card Draw (Explicit, 3,531 words), all the way home I’ll be warm (Explicit, 15,640 words), and Come What May (Teen, 3,352 words).

5 Scenes from a Road Trip by portraitofemmy (@portraitofemmy). Explicit. 16,218 words. In the aftermath of season four (sans Quentin’s death), the boys need a change of scenery to begin healing and finding their way back to one another. I love how this fic shows their closeness, and how the boundaries of their relationship often defy description. They love each other beyond sex, beyond conventional romance - although they achieve those things, too, as they definitely deserve.

did you know my baby loves me? by portraitofemmy (@portraitofemmy). Explicit. 7,776 words. Quentin tops Eliot on his birthday. What it says on the tin. But as always with this author, even something that should be ostensibly a PWP is filled with so much feeling and love that you could just drown in it.

To Learn to Be Again by portraitofemmy (@portraitofemmy). Explicit. 18,295 words. “I don’t think- I can’t be anyone’s boyfriend right now, Eliot.” Eliot loves Quentin, Quentin loves Eliot, but that’s not always enough to give them a happily ever after. Quentin goes to therapy, deals with his trauma and his mental health, and Eliot is right there beside him with no expectations. This is so, so lovely and every ounce of their happiness feels earned and all the more precious for the pain that’s mixed up with it.

do not go gentle by portraitofemmy (@portraitofemmy). Explicit. 10,260 words. This is almost a fix-it, in that Quentin imagines the events of 4x13, but they don’t actually happen. So be warned if any depiction of Quentin’s death is a trigger for you. I love the way this story deals with the Alice of it all, and also the way Quentin and Eliot talk through their situation and find a way back to each other once again. (Also shower sex happens). This author has written multiple versions of this same reconciliation, but each one is so lovely and I’ll never get sick of it.

the strange act of living by propinquitous (@propinquitous). Explicit. 13,632 words. So there are a lot of fics out there that deal with the aftermath of Eliot’s possession of course. A lot of fics that feature Eliot and Quentin slowly, painfully, finding a way to reconcile. This one holds a special place in my heart for this particular moment, where Quentin walks past Eliot without saying anything, grabs a muffin from the counter, and leaves the room. Later, Q finds Eliot crying in the shower, and Eliot asks him why he just left, taking the food Eliot had made for him, and then ignoring him. That one moment has stuck with me ever since I read the fic, and I keep coming back to it. In all, this captures a very specific kind of hurt that both Quentin and Eliot are feeling, and gets them on the path to healing. Gorgeous.

the safety of others by propinquitous (@propinquitous). Teen. 8,122 words. Quentin doesn’t die in 4x13, but he does get injured. And Eliot keeps vigil. This is - so powerful. I don’t even know how to describe it. Just read it, please.

Magic Curses by Rizandace (@Nellie-Elizabeth). Explicit. 134,886 words. This series includes six stories, each dealing with Quentin and Eliot’s relationship as they undergo external threats from creative and somewhat evil magical curses. It’s my attempt to write in some more hurt/comfort to the fandom, and also to indulge in some established-relationship goodness! The first story, Lover’s Touch (Explicit, 24,781 words), is summarized thusly: “Q gets cursed, and Alice can’t help. Magic forces Q and Eliot to cuddle and talk about their feelings.”

Coming Home by rizcriz (@sadlittlenerdking). Not Rated. 2,958 words. Short and sweet. The author succinctly describes this as: “Eliot gets to be brave.” And he does. He says the thing he wants to say to Quentin, and Q eventually believes him.

Enough by SabbyStarlight. Teen. 2,746 words. This was written just before 4x13 came out. If only if only this is how it had gone instead… basically just Quentin and Eliot talking about their feelings, negotiating their relationship.

Boyfriend by sirfoxheart (@sirfoxheart). Teen. 6,727 words. Quentin is sensitive about the fact that Eliot isn’t introducing him as his boyfriend. This is just… the sweetest. I love that there’s some jealousy and insecurity, but it’s a manageable, reasonable type - Eliot and Quentin are able to talk about it and get past this small bump in the road.

Hunger by sirfoxheart (@sirfoxheart). Explicit. 4,327 words. Quentin gets a birthday blowjob. The end. :)

~~~~~

Mosaic Timeline

These stories are ones that take place almost or entirely within the mosaic timeline - both in keeping with, and in deviation from, what we see in 3x05.

help me hold onto you by ameliajessica (@ameliajessica). Explicit. 14,768 words. This one will hurt your heart, but it’s so rewarding. Featuring Eliot being ridiculously turned on by talking about feelings during sex… and Quentin loving Eliot while grieving for Arielle.

‘Cause my baby’s sweet as can be by destielpasta (@queliotpasta). Teen. 645 words. Tiny fic - maybe the shortest one on the list. Quentin and Eliot are bad at talking about their feelings. Who’s surprised?

flowing all this time by mtothedestiel (@summersteve). Explicit. 5,488 words. This is one of those fics where Arielle isn’t an obstacle for the boys… but rather, Eliot is an obstacle for Quentin and Arielle, in a way. It has some bittersweet moments, but I love how much Eliot loves Quentin here. This is also (spoiler) the rare fic where Arielle chooses to leave, rather than dying.

a cure i know (that soothes the soul) by peacefrog (@lizardkingeliot). Explicit. 4,857 words. Little snippets of Quentin and Eliot’s life through the years at the mosaic. Recc’ing especially for middle-aged Queliot, which we see all too little of in this fandom!

measure in love by portraitofemmy (@portraitofemmy). Explicit. 51,827 words. This is a series about Quentin, Eliot, and Arielle’s lives together at the mosaic. I don’t know if the author plans to write more in this series or not, but each one can stand alone. I am particularly enamored with The Ways We Fit Together (Explicit, 11,661 words), which is summarized succinctly as “sex and love in the mosaic timeline”, and You Steer My Heart (Explicit, 25,217 words), which follows Eliot’s mindset as he watches Quentin and Arielle fall in love with each other, while Quentin and Eliot continue to love each other as well. It’s stunning, and probably my favorite take on the three of them and their polyamorous relationship. This series has everything - the best combination of smut and feelings you could hope for.

Running All This Time by Rizandace (@Nellie-Elizabeth). Explicit. 179,478 words.The story of the mosaic timeline, built on the foundation of love and communication. To my knowledge, the only completed mosaic long-fic in the fandom thus far! Includes Fillorian nonsense, a quest within a quest, plenty of sex, lots of hurt/comfort, a different take on Arielle, and happy endings for everyone.

Reciprocal by Rizandace (@Nellie-Elizabeth). Teen. 8,259. Eliot is an idiot about his feelings (what else is new?), and he tries to make things better in the worst possible way. This fic imagines a world where Eliot and Quentin find happiness together without Arielle as a part of their romantic/sexual lives.

my heart is thrilled by the still of your hand by sirfoxheart (@sirfoxheart). Explicit. 9,586 words. This is the porn-iest version of “Quentin and Eliot don’t know how to talk about their feelings.” Basically, the boys keep jerking off next to each other in bed, and they don’t talk about it because they’re IDIOTS.

you know that’s my love (bursting loud from inside) by sirfoxheart (@sirfoxheart). Explicit. 11,904 words. Another fic where Arielle decides to leave. Eliot is so good at taking care of his family.

tomorrow past tonight by vegansheilseitan. Explicit. 7,676 words. Okay - if you’re only going to read one gap-filler for 3x05, that’s basically just the missing sex scene and nothing else, make it this one. It’s hot, and it’s aching with everything Quentin and Eliot aren’t saying to each other. This is one of my absolute favorites.

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Brakebills Alternate Universe / Season One

These stories are generally, but not always, pure relationship fics where the plot concerns of canon (i.e. the Beast, and time loops) do not exist, and instead Quentin and Eliot get to be magical grad students together, and fall in love.

Every Blessed Thing by achray. Explicit. 7,795 words. Quentin turns himself invisible. This fic is complex in how Alice and Quentin’s relationship is portrayed, and the resolution isn’t clear-cut. I really like this characterization of both Quentin and Eliot.

saturate the atmosphere (wake me from a dream) by Allegria23 (@allegria23). Explicit. 7,394 words. This is some good ol’ sexy times with a healthy dash of feelings. Eliot involuntarily levitates them while Quentin’s giving him a blowjob, so… that’s honestly all you need to know about this one. Go give it a read.

i feel it in my body, know it in my mind by ameliajessica (@ameliajessica). Mature. 11,817 words. Let’s pretend that this is what happened in 1x03, okay? Kady doesn’t interrupt when Eliot pours Q a drink, and sex ensues. I love how flabbergasted Eliot is by everything that happens - especially his reaction to the news that Quentin isn’t straight, and isn’t going to be squeamish at the thought of sleeping with a man. So hot, so cute.

if being him is who you are / say it loud say you know you are by ameliajessica (@ameliajessica). Mature. 5,293 words. Okay, holy shit. Mike’s POV - he decides that he and Eliot should have a threesome with Quentin, so Eliot can get it out of his system. Uh. Yeah, that backfires. Poor Mike. But also - the sex in this is the epitome of tenderness and love. Eliot is so careful with Quentin, so awed and desperate and shaky at the chance to be with him. There is a sequel in the works, too, so watch out for that!

Hedonism for Beginners by ceeainthereforthat (@ceeainthereforthat). Explicit. 20,730 words. A series of filthy sex, basically. Eliot is teaching Quentin about what he likes in bed. I don’t know if the series is abandoned or not, but in any case, each of these works on its own as a PWP but with a deep undercurrent of feelings.

Something Good by HMGFanfic (@hmgfanfic). Teen. 162,260 words. The Gold Standard slow-burn rom-com AU! Seriously, I know everyone’s read this, but if you haven’t for some reason… please do. The slow-burn is so slow you’ll be tearing your hair out by the end, but it’s all worth it when you get to the catharsis. How oblivious can Quentin be about Eliot’s feelings? This fic asks and answers that question, and the answer is - very. There are also two fics that accompany the main story: Someone Good (Eliot’s POV of the main story) and Somewhere Good (future one-shots of Quentin and Eliot’s life together). Both are on hiatus but the author plans to return to them. You can read the existing chapter of each without feeling like anything is unfinished, though.

Not Always Folly by HMGFanfic (@hmgfanfic). Explicit. 262,583 words. Another amazing romantic… comedy? but this one is from Eliot’s POV and is in some ways more a character study of Eliot Waugh than it is simply a romance. Although the romance… you guys… the pining levels are off the charts. Eliot ends up hurting Quentin, and really everyone else he cares about, in this story, but he puts in the work to make it right. I admire this fic for diving deep into Eliot’s psyche while also delivering on an amazing slow-burn of a different sort. Bonus points for Alice and Eliot getting to be friends like they deserve!

Be kind by longnationalnightmare. Explicit. 10,069 words. It’s the highest kudo’d fic in the fandom! I assume that means you’ve all read it? This is a PWP, but I love it specifically for how much Eliot loses his usual control when he’s with Quentin.

to be unbroken or be brave again. by milominderbinder (@disasterbiquentin). Teen. 14,135 words. Hey, it’s a 10 Things I Hate About You AU! Kind of! Josh asks Quentin to pretend to date Eliot to cheer him up after a breakup, so that Margo will go out with Josh. But Q tells Eliot what’s up right away - so they’re fake dating but real feelings happen. Super cheesy, of course, but it hits the spot!

in the world full wrong (you’re the thing that’s right) by Mizzy (@Mizzy2k). Explicit. 5,307 words. Eliot tries to hook up with Quentin Coldwater and gets more than he bargained for. I love this for how matter-of-fact Quentin is, about the fact that Eliot wants to seduce him… and then hpw he ends up doing some seducing of his own.

If You Haven’t Yet by OrchardsinSnow (@orchardsinsnow). Explicit. 5,828 words. Obviously we all love confident Eliot Waugh totally rocking Quentin’s world… but I have a soft spot for oddly confident Quentin who really knows what he’s doing, and this fic has the perfect blend of both dynamics. The best part is Quentin slowly and methodically undressing Eliot and not letting him help. It’s… whew. *fans self*

the heat that drives the light by peacefrog (@lizardkingeliot). Explicit. 9,296 words. Quentin and Eliot have an antagonistic relationship, until Eliot realizes Quentin might be what he’s looking for in a sexual partner. Sub Eliot, new-to-being-a-Dom Quentin. Super hot.

it started out with a kiss (how did it end up like this) by portraitofemmy (@portraitofemmy). Explicit. 7,896 words. In the aftermath of a bad breakup, Quentin and Eliot find their way to each other. This is super amazing all on its own, but the author is also working on a sequel that I’m really enjoying thus far. Either story could probably be read without the other, too.

the bridge between us by portraitofemmy (@portraitofemmy). Explicit. 16,201 words. Dom Eliot, Sub Quentin. Quentin and Eliot navigate their BDSM sex life, but also their feelings. Eliot is so tender and soft with Q, and Q learns to take care of Eliot in return. This is one of my absolute favorites from this author. Also, as a note, there’s a “prequel” to this fic called paint it red (Explicit, 7,197 words) that could totally be read as a separate piece, but is worth checking out as the origin story of how these two got together and started shaping their dynamics, sexual and otherwise.

(Everyone Has) That Drawer by ProofOfConcept and wilddragonflying. Explicit. 5,782 words. Eliot finds Quentin’s stash of sex toys. It’s enough to get him to finally act on their mutual, unspoken attraction. Hot!

Wake Me Up by rizcriz (@sadlittlenerdking). Not Rated. 4,000 words. Quentin has sleep apnea, but Eliot doesn’t know that… and he gets a little - alarmed. This is objectively an odd premise, but it’s incredibly sweet. rizcriz has about a million stories and I’ve read a lot of them, but I’m a fan of the ones like this, that take a specific concept and run with it, sort of like slice-of-life. Check out more of their work, though, I can’t possibly put them all on the list!

Migraine Mastery by SabbyStarlight. Not rated. 2,012 words. Short and sweet - Quentin has a migraine and Eliot helps.

Between Friends by sirfoxheart (@sirfoxheart). Explicit. 15,019 words. This is the quintessential (Quentin-sential?) Brakebills get-together fic. It’s a party, Quentin and Eliot end up going to bed together… both of them are a little uncertain about what this means, but they work it out. Recc’ing for the hot sex, but even more for the “wake up in the middle of the night to have a tender round two without talking about what it means” sex.

Sex Magic by sirfoxheart (@sirfoxheart). Explicit. 42,006 words. Uhh… what it says on the tin. Every one of these is scorching, but my favorite is probably the first one: How Easy You Are To Need.

All Of You A Verb In Perfect View by sirfoxheart (@sirfoxheart). Explicit. 6,398 words. PWP where Eliot distracts Quentin while he tries to do his homework.

You Can Devastate Me by sirfoxheart (@sirfoxheart). Explicit. 9,018 words. Marqueliot sex scene - Quentin and Eliot are a couple, but Margo is running the show. Just… hot, but of course Eliot’s love for Quentin still permeates the whole piece. So much tenderness, with so much filth.

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Alternate Universe (No Magic)

So many of these seem so completely random in premise, but they’re all amazing!

Our Sublime Refrain by destielpasta (@queliotpasta) and mtothedestiel (@summersteve). Explicit. 233,929 words. It’s 1836, Eliot is a pianist. This one is Marqueliot, y’all, and let me tell you - it is a journey. If you are somewhat put off by the idea of an AU so far removed from canon, about a topic you know very little about… please give this a try. I was a little hesitant too, but I promise it will not disappoint.

Pretty Good Year by Hth (@spiders-hth-is-an-outlier). Explicit. 175,728 words. I’m not going to lie - this is a difficult fic for me. It’s stunning, but getting through it was an incredibly emotional, challenging journey. While many fics in this fandom deal with Quentin’s mental illness, I’ve never seen a fic talk about it quite like this one. That’s not to put you off from trying it if you haven’t already - this is one of the most achingly real stories I’ve ever read, and it will reward you for giving it a chance.

opening doors by impossibletruths (@impossibletruths). Mature. 52,230 words. Quentin is a playwright! Eliot is an associate director who used to act! This is a slow-ish burn, and the worldbuilding of the characters in a theatrical setting is so fun!

couch party verse by marcel. Mature. 33,725 words. These two stories feature Quentin, Eliot, and the rest of the gang at a non-magical grad school. The thing I love about these stories is how slow and realistic the escalation of the relationship feels. It’s not a hot hookup right away - they clearly like each other, but circumstances sometimes get in the way, and there’s also no big rush to the finish line. This is a softer, gentler universe that still has its own realism and trauma, too. I hope the author chooses to add to it someday!

Saltwater by mtothedestiel (@summersteve). Explicit. 35,560 words. It’s a pirate AU! What more could you possibly need to know? I love how all of the characters and locations are cleverly repurposed here - the Whitespire and Our Lady Underground are ships, Quentin is a ship’s doctor, Eliot is a captain, etc. And the slowburn between Quentin and Eliot is masterful. This is actually a series - part one is complete, and part two is in progress.

A (Gingerbread) House that we can Build by mtothedestiel (@summersteve), with art by eliotsvests (surprisegents). Explicit. 28,189 words. I am not a cheesy Christmas movie person, and I am not a kid!fic person. So I thought this might not be the story for me, at first. But I’m so glad I clicked on it - this is a story about second chances, and finding happiness when you aren’t even looking for it. And I love the way little Teddy is written here. He’s got all the sweetness of Quentin Coldwater’s son, without tilting over into being saccharine. This is just the right amount of sweet if you want to put yourself back in the holiday spirit.

I’ll Follow My Secret Heart by OrchardsinSnow (@orchardsinsnow). Mature. 17,613 words. I don’t really know how to describe this one… it’s weird! It’s a meet cute, Eliot gets in an accident, there’s a blizzard, bed (floor) sharing so as to prevent freezing to death, Eliot is kinda famous and Quentin doesn’t know. All I can say is, this is precious, and odd, and I got totally swept up in the world.

I Need You So Much Closer by OrchardsinSnow (@orchardsinsnow). Explicit. 14,436 words. I love this story. Eliot is a musician, he and Quentin are exes from years ago, who fell apart because of Eliot’s alcoholism. But he’s sober now, and he’s touring where Quentin lives - so they reconnect. Eliot calls Quentin the “smoke show love of [his] life” at one point in this fic, and that phrase just… stuck with me in the best way. Don’t miss the mini-sequel, You Need Me So Much Closer (Explicit, 3,874 words), either. I really hope the author writes more in this universe!

Experimentation by portraitofemmy (@portraitofemmy). Explicit. 4,812 words. PWP where Eliot meets Quentin at a sex shop and Eliot teaches him what he’s into. Hot hot hot.

(i just might) remember that night by portraitofemmy (@portraitofemmy). Explicit. 4,732 words. This might be crack, I don’t know. There are dick pics, and it’s silly, but also Quentin and Eliot feel this amazing connection to each other right off the bat, and that is honestly my jam.

and if tomorrow it’s all over (at least we had it for a moment) by sirfoxheart (@sirfoxheart). Explicit. 45,461 words. Quentin and Eliot were a couple in high school, but they haven’t seen each other in years. They run into each other again at Julia’s wedding, and everything comes rushing back. I like the fact that this fic features very little (if any) angst. The idea is that these two people missed out on their chance to be together, but they haven’t been desperately pining for years. But once they’re back in a room together… their connection is undeniable. Also, the sex is great.

hold me like a (liar) lover does by sirfoxheart (@sirfoxheart) with art by Doomkitty25. Explicit. 80,812 words. A holiday fic! Fake dating! Mutual pining! So tropey and excellent. Really hot sex, as is the norm for this author! Warning for Alice being something of a villain in this piece, although there’s a potential reconciliation implied right at the end. I love this fic for going beyond just the romance, and also telling a story about Quentin and Eliot’s careers, and what they want out of their lives - in terms of romance, yes, but in terms of their work lives as well.

Ask Me, I Won’t Say No by vegansheilseitan. Explicit. 22,616 words. A… pub trivia AU? Which is a thing I didn’t know I needed? Mostly this is about widower!Quentin, with a kid, meeting Eliot Waugh. They fall in love. The sex in this is incendiary, but the growing relationship between these two is what really makes it worth the read.

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Alternate Universe (With Magic)

These stories feature roughly the same worldbuilding as the show’s canon, but the character’s journeys deviate significantly. Maybe Quentin and Eliot don’t meet at Brakebills, or their journey to getting there is different in some other way!

fire and life by everytuesday. Teen. 7,060 words. This is a high school AU, where Eliot discovers his magic, and accidentally kills his father. Quentin helps him to bury the body. It’s a little bit dark, obviously, given that description… so take care.

First Year by peacefrog (@lizardkingeliot). Mature. 11,957 words. Quentin is a Brakebills student, who also happens to be a sylph from Fillory. He has wings, and Eliot is more than a little intrigued. The author may have plans to write a sequel!

push me (further than i thought i could go) by peacefrog (@lizardkingeliot). Explicit. 15,036 words. Quentin and Eliot meet at a game of Push, and then have their own private contest later on. Mostly recommending this one for the sex, but also for Confident Quentin Coldwater, and for the fact that no matter the circumstances, these boys are gone for each other pretty much right away.

Hedges, Bitch by portraitofemmy (@portraitofemmy). Explicit. 56,568 words. This series has four works, the longest “main” story of which, theón kai andrón, is another personal favorite of mine. It features Eliot as the leader of a coven of hedge witches, and Quentin as a magical novice who didn’t make it into Brakebills. I love the dynamic between Quentin and Eliot in these stories, as they fall naturally into a dom/sub relationship, but Eliot works to make sure the power differential between them doesn’t adversely affect things, either on the job, or in their personal lives. Eliot is just so soft for Quentin in these stories, while also admiring him and depending on him as the gang gets themselves caught up in a dangerous threat to hedges all over the world.

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Fillory/Royalty

These stories are sometimes canon deviations, and usually deal with Eliot as the High King, and his relationship with Quentin from there.

oh this is us, this is love and this is where I sleep by buckybunnyteeth. Explicit. 4,360 words. Quentin is jealous of Idri! Eliot is way, way too delighted about it. Really hot. I probably shouldn’t be as charmed by jealous!Quentin as I am. But this is amazing.

Make a list of things you need by longnationalnightmare. Explicit. 10,264 words. Eliot and Quentin are getting married, but Eliot’s okay with keeping it platonic. Quentin… is not. Hot, hot, hot.

i’d be the last shred of truth (in the lost myth of true love) by milominderbinder (@disasterbiquentin), with art by gilestel. Eliot and Margo are made the High Kings of Fillory, and then later Eliot meets a cute Brakebills professor Quentin Coldwater, who is staying at Whitespire for research. There’s a truth curse! Eliot is set to marry Idri, but uh-oh, feelings happen! Tropey as hell, super cute.

and this is the map of my heart by peacefrog (@lizardkingeliot). Explicit. 14,033 words. Eliot is High King, and he is expected to marry. Quentin magnanimously offers himself for the position, and of course there’s angst about that. And scorching hot sex. And Eliot struggling to be emotionally vulnerable. One of my absolute favorites from the author.

whitespire by peacefrog (@lizardkingeliot). Explicit. 1,529 words. Eliot sits on his throne, Quentin drops to his knees and calls him “Your Majesty.” So… yeah. Yum.

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Brian and Nigel

This is an area where more content needs to exist! Send me a note if there are some I’ve missed.

A Little Disguised, or a Little Mistaken by Page161of180. Mature. 17,807 words. Brian and Nigel find each other, and fall in love. This is gorgeous. Quentin and Eliot are recognizably themselves, but also just different enough that when their real selves start poking through the memory wipe, you can feel the change coming. Another story where canon comes along and steals happiness right out from under them. They were so close!

Shine Through My Memory by PanBoleyn (@eidetictelekinetic). Mature. 61,311 words. This one starts as a fic about Brian and Nigel meeting and falling in love… and then the Monster still possesses Nigel/Eliot, and the events of season four continue from there. But with memories of Brian and Nigel’s love in Quentin’s head, things play out a little differently. We follow the story all the way through to Eliot getting saved by Margo and Quentin, and the reconciliation/reunion afterwards. This fic has a little of everything, and it’s really the only re-telling of season four I’ve seen that covers the canon plot while adding something new and unique to the story!

Reaching in the Dark by sirfoxheart (@sirfoxheart). Mature. 53,040 words. Eliot remembers who he is, but Quentin thinks he’s Brian. Eliot and Alice work together to protect Quentin from the Monster. This is so complex and difficult and sad and challenging, and when you reach the end, you’ll feel so frustrated about how close they were to figuring their shit out. But ultimately, canon comes back to snatch that happy ending away.

~~~~~

Other

The few fics that I couldn’t categorize neatly into any of the above sections.

So It May As Well Be Me by achray. Explicit. 14,596 words. There was only one bed. Trapped in a closet. Sex pollen. Sex magic rituals. Every fanfic trope becomes manifest. Quentin seems oblivious; Eliot is freaking out. This is just the epitome of fun.

our place in the family of things by greywash, with art by yourtinseltinkerbell (@yourtinseltinkerbell). Explicit. 208,582 words. This is sort of a Brakebills AU, I suppose, but it takes place after Eliot has graduated. Quentin comes to visit over the holidays. So here’s the thing about greywash’s prose - they are stunning. They are dense, and complex, and almost hard to read - but I mean that as the highest compliment. This story, and really all of this author’s work, rewards careful study. This story has so, so much to offer. So if you haven’t given it a shot, or you’re intimidated by the length, please give it a try. Featuring Eliot’s complex relationship with his mother, with religion, with his sexuality, with Quentin, with Margo. Featuring a story of queer love that transcends time and convention. Featuring some excellent worldbuilding, especially as concerns Quentin’s family, and Eliot’s career. Featuring beautiful accompanying artwork. Featuring a proposal scene that knocked me the fuck out. Featuring love, in every way.

To Give You Hope and a Future by Page161of180. Not rated. 4,374 words. I couldn’t put this in the fix-it category, or in the mosaic category, or really even in the post-season four category. It’s all and none of those things. Eliot, in the aftermath of Quentin’s death, goes to the mosaic and talks to old man Quentin, who is grieving his husband. This is sad, y’all. But cathartic, too.

Cheat Day by peacefrog (@lizardkingeliot). Explicit. 1,624 words. Set during season four. Quentin misses Eliot, and does something sad and dangerous. Short and… well, sweet is the wrong word. This one will punch you right in the gut.

Movement by pineapplecrushface (@pineapplecrushface). Explicit. 17,036 words. These are three stories that are only loosely connected in that they are about sex, and introspection. They fit into lots of categories - parts of them take place in Eliot’s happy place, parts at the mosaic, parts in the aftermath of possession. All three stories in the series are scorching hot and full of so much feeling. I really admire how they weave through time, following the changing dynamics through the events of canon in a really unique way.

darkness, welcoming by portraitofemmy (@portraitofemmy). Explicit. 17,748 words. I almost put this in the Alternate Universe (With Magic) section, but this is not the same world as canon. Eliot is a vampire! He saves Quentin’s life and then… uh… well, they fall in love, and there’s some blood play. Eliot is super smitten, and it’s precious. Also really hot.

What Was and What Will Be by ProofOfConcept and wilddragonflying. Mature. 35,996 words. This is part mosaic-fic, part post-possession fic… it’s basically just another story of these two idiots being so bad at communication, but finally getting it right. A really satisfying journey, encompassing so many elements of what we all wished for in canon. I especially loved the long and difficult conversation they have during their reunion. The line that really punched me in the gut was: “fuck you for saying ‘I love you’ for the first goddamn time when you’re breaking up with me.”

kiss me harder, you’re better than you know by propinquitous (@propinquitous). Explicit. 4,633 words. This could easily take place in a nebulous post-season-four world, but it exists in its own little bubble and could really slot into any given universe. It deals with Quentin’s depression in a really direct, really devastating way, but also features Eliot being there for Quentin as best as he can. As the tags say, “not the healthiest of coping mechanisms.” But it’s filled with so much tenderness I can hardly stand it.

To Feel the Same by Rizandace (@Nellie-Elizabeth). Teen. 1,725 words. A small gap-filler at the end of the “I think you should probably hug me right now” scene in 2x01.

[englandsgray]

Sherlolly Self-Interviews 2020

Well hi 👋

Ignoring the internal image of Gilderoy Lockheart smiling smugly while flashbulbs pop and saying ‘In my autobiography, Magical Me...’ 🙈😆 I shall take the opportunity of this lovely event to introduce myself as a writer of Sherlolly fanfiction on AO3...

I am English and somewhere over 30.  I watched the show as it aired, and lost my heart as quickly to Molly Hooper as to Sherlock Holmes.  The kiss is British television history.  Series 4 is my favourite.  Moriarty on the beach is life.  The Holmes brothers break my heart every time.

I am extremely lucky to have been provided some questions to answer here by @ohaine and @mybrainrots - huge, huge love and thanks to these two lovelies, and not just for this.  I admire you both so much as writers, and your support means the world to me ❤️ Thanks too, to @sherlollyappreciationweek!

Where did you begin to write, and have you written for other fandoms?  I wrote my first fanfic when I was eleven years old - a 100 page ramble about The Monkees.  Oh yes.  Then in 2018, I fell for the characters of the Disney Pixar film Cars and began writing and publishing.  So far so random!  Writing in this fandom sprang from binge-watching all four series of Sherlock during lockdown.  I remembered reading Louise Brealey talking about being disappointed Molly didn’t get chance to ‘roundly kick Sherlock’s arse’ and agreeing with her wholeheartedly.  That, over a few weeks, turned into my first fic - Who You Really Are.  

You’re a recent (and welcome!) arrival to the Sherlolly ship, and I was wondering if writing in an established, less active than it used to be fandom has been a challenge?   Thank you, firstly.  My experience of this fandom has been incredibly positive - the sense of welcome has been wonderful.  I will admit I was terrified posting the first fic - there are hundreds of times more stories posted daily in the Sherlock fandom as in the one I had some experience of.  But I needn’t have worried, it’s been a blast.  I will also admit, that it’s no small thing to be surrounded by such brilliant writing and the long-standing passion which goes with it.  But I find that inspiring in itself, and I’m very glad to be here - how supportive the fandom are makes me feel like I always have been!       

What’s your favourite place and way to write?  My aesthetic is Lin-Manuel Miranda in his in-law’s laundry room 🤣 I wrote my first ten-thousand words on the notes app on my phone before my other half told me to stop being ridiculous!  I switch between the laptop, my phone and longhand (I’m a sucker for a nice notepad and a Uni-Ball Eye) and, more often than not, not sat up properly at a table.   

Since you’ve (done something I’ve never managed successfully and) written a novella length fic... how did you organise/keep track of all the details and where you wanted the story to go?  Did you outline/plot in advance?  First of all - I would love to see a novella length fic from you @mybrainrots!  The final scene of Who You Really Are came to me very early on and I knew I wanted the fic to fit within TFP - a lot of it takes place in the timeframe of the final montage.  At first, it was going to be much more about Sherlock’s relationship with the ideas of sentiment and love (the phrase ‘I’m not sentimental about you, I love you,’ haunted me for a while) and I spent some time researching the psychology and playing with scenes from throughout the series - one of my favourites I didn’t go on to use was inspired by the final scene of THoB.  Using scenes from the canon gave an automatic structure, and I was always aiming for the final one I wrote early on - the two of them on the beach (everything is about the beach, with me!)  As I went along and started, inevitably, to slow down, I mapped out the chapters with a short note of what I wanted to be in each, then would add notes or phrases as they came to me - often emailed from my phone!  I had to force myself through a tricky section set in Baker Street at one point, but it came together in the end.  I did plot The Pathologist’s Skeletons on paper first, as I found with a casefic which remains a WIP, that I can get confused and lose focus when it comes to details and how to reveal them in a way which stays paced and interesting.  I’ll certainly do that from now on with longer stories and cases.  How did you keep up enthusiasm for the work?  I want to write an original novel, so I am forcing myself to work through the knotty bits and blocks as a learning experience.  Not everything is destined to be finished or finessed, of course, but I’m finding this process is building my confidence that I can overcome problems and slow periods.  I also find I know when I need some external inspiration - some of my favourite scenes have come to me while out walking the dog or sitting on the beach.  I’ve also been inspired by books or other series or things going on in the world, as we all are, and sometimes that’s pushed me on.  Plus, of course, I’m a newbie - I’m very much in the honeymoon period of my writing, even though I’ve loved Sherlock for ten years! (Ten years! Bonkers.) 

You’ve got a knack for writing Sherlock’s thoughts and capturing his voice.  That said, which character do you find easiest to write?  Which is the hardest?  Thank you so much.  I absolutely love writing Sherlock and Mycroft, and I’m sure that’s because they suit my somewhat over-the-top writing style!  I find Molly and her POV really difficult.  I want the scenes I write from her perspective to sound completely different to Sherlock, but that means writing in a style which doesn’t come as naturally to me.  I’m a long way off happy with that at the moment, but I’m enjoying the challenge.

Is there a scene or character that specifically inspired you to start writing Sherlolly?  The whole of TFP, but especially from the moment Sherlock arrives at Musgrave onwards.  I am desperate to see what a Sherlock Holmes who has been reacquainted with his own heart would look like.  I find his emotionality in those final scenes hugely compelling (Mycroft’s office is one of my favourite moments from across all four series) and, as I have always believed in him and Molly, I practically jumped up back in May after watching it and said ‘right, where’s my notebook?!’.

There’s a lovely peaceful, quiet feeling to your fic ‘We’re All Right At The Moment’.  Can you tell us what inspired it and if you’ve thought of doing the backstory that goes with it?  Thank you!  Like everyone, I would go back to January of this year and start again in a heartbeat, but I am hugely fortunate to be able to say that I have a lot to be grateful to the UK lockdowns for.  I might never have begun writing in this fandom otherwise, for one, and I have had a brilliant time so far and met some lovely people. Honestly, I don’t feel able to do any sort of justice in my writing to what has happened in the world in any broader sense than drawing on my own experiences of staying at home and enjoying my family.  This particular super-short fic sees Molly cutting Sherlock’s hair at home in Baker Street.  I wrote it in the evening after I had cut my other half’s hair and had been reminding myself that despite how horribly worried I was - and still am - about everything, we were all right in that moment, and to focus on that as much as possible.  I wanted to try to capture that, if for no reason other than to look back on this entire experience and remember something lovely, so I am so pleased to hear you felt the fic did that.  It was only after I finished it and reread it, that I realised it is ambiguous as to whether Molly is worried about Sherlock contracting the virus, or whether she is remembering him being treated for it... As I say, I don’t think I could write more about these extraordinary circumstances - perhaps it’s just too close at the moment - so I don’t plan on extending it.  But you know how it is, the plot bunnies hop where they will... 

Do you have a Sherlolly music playlist?  What are your top five favs from the list? Here’s a run down of (6 🙊) songs I have been getting emotional over in the last little while, leading my brain to assign their significance to my favourite couple...

Kissing You - Des’Ree - It’s so 90′s, it’s a bit cheesy, it’s oddly disturbing.  It helped me write A Request, Made Properly, and that gave me an excuse to have Sherlock kiss Molly in the snow.

How Long Will I Love You? - Ellie Goulding - part of the playlist, but also in remembrance of a friend who passed away recently.  Life is very short, love is forever.

High and Dry - Jamie Cullum - It’s made me emotional for a very long time.  The original is my partner’s version of choice, this is mine.  

Think About You - Delta Goodrem - Okay, this one isn’t emotional, and it’s not my usual vibe!  Blame the zoom exercise class I do!  But oh my goodness, it’s Molly.  Bless her.

Blinded By Your Grace (P.T.2. F.T. MNEK) - Stormzy - One of the best ever, I reckon.  Spent an awful lot of time thinking about angels and demons, grace and what it takes to save someone, while writing my latest - The Pathologist’s Skeletons.  This has been in my head most of the (blimmin’) time!

Love Me Like You Do - Ellie Goulding - I didn’t know I was a fan of Ellie until I wrote this list... I don’t subscribe to the theory that the love Molly wants or that which Sherlock has to offer is any lesser because it isn’t ‘normal’ or expected. I don’t think romantic entanglement would come easy to either of them. But it’s still love and it would be beautiful.

Thank you so much for reading.  Thanks and love to @ohaine and @mybrainrots. And thank you @sherlollyappreciationweek for the event and for everything you do ❤️

Feel like I should sign off with a quote from the show...

“You’re not a puzzle-solver, you never have been. You’re a drama queen!” Dr John Watson (Moffat & Gatiss) 2014 😜

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A fav fic of mine by @mybrainrots

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7563193

A fav fic of mine by @ohaine

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10562904

My stuff:

https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnglandsGray/works