#also boy that kettle sure took a long time to go off didn't it

[awriterinthenight]

"I Knew You Would Be Friends"-Anthony Lockwood

requested: anonymous

words: 1577

warnings: George and Lucy being assholes for the majority of the story, that's really it, maybe swearing

summary: Lockwood brings you to 35 Portland Row to meet George and Lucy, but it doesn't go as planned

George and Lucy were the most judgmental people in all of London most likely. George was always sceptical of everyone he met and didn't trust them. Lucy was just quite anti-social, only getting along with people after a long time, or only if they clicked right away. Sadly you weren't one of those people.

Lockwood was more than excited to introduce you to George and Lucy since they were his family, and Lockwood practically would spend every second with you from how much he was entranced by you. Lockwood had everything planned, first he would take you out for a bit, then bring you to Portland Row to meet his friends, and then hopefully you guys would get along well. Why wouldn't you? Was what he told himself every time he thought about it.

When the day finally arrived, Lockwood and you spent your time walking around London before finally heading to 35 Portland Row. You were actually quite excited to meet Lockwood's friends. From what he told you they sounded like great people.

When you entered you looked around the place admiring all the random decorations, as you put your rapier in the stand, since you were also an agent, but you freelanced. Lockwood led you around to the kitchen where, who you assumed were his friends, stood waiting for you two to return.

"Y/N this is George," he said referring to the boy with glasses," and this is Lucy," he pointed to the brunette girl, both seemed to not be the most welcoming, but sometimes agents were just like that.

You stuck out your hand for George to shake, which he did politely, but Lucy completely ignored you," I'm Y/N, I'm sure Lockwood told you about me, since he talks about you guys a lot," you said, trying to make small talk with the two.

"He actually doesn't really mention you that much," Lucy said, her tone rather bland, but the words still hurt a bit.

Lockwood seemed to start to feel a bit of tension and awkwardness between everyone, "She's being sarcastic, they're probably just annoyed by how much I've told them about you," he said, trying to diffuse the tension, "Why don't you make us some tea George."

The boy with glasses let out a sigh, "You're going to make me waste the tea bags on her, we only have so many left," he complained, making you feel a bit bad for intruding.

"I'll pick you up more tea bags when I go to the store, just pop the kettle on and maybe grab some biscuits too," he said, giving George one of his trademark smiles.

"Fine, how do you take your tea?" George asked you, grabbing the tea from the cabinet.

"A bit of honey, and a bit of sugar is fine," you told him, "I can help if you want," you offered, trying to be kind.

George was a bit caught off guard, since that was exactly how Lockwood preferred his tea, but quickly moved on, "No it's fine," he said, before mumbling just loud enough for everyone to hear, "Besides I don't need you messing up our kitchen."

You were a bit shocked by how George and Lucy were acting, since Lockwood said they were usually nice people. Even Lockwood was a bit confused, but he tried his best to keep everyone somewhat civil. He suggested they move to the library, so they did.

You quickly took to the shelves, searching for titles you recognized, and which ones sounded interesting to you, "You can borrow one sometime if you want," Lockwood offered, standing next to you as he leaned against the shelf.

"Really? I would love to borrow something sometime, maybe I could even lend you one of mine," you suggested, ecstatic at the idea.

"That sounds lovely," Lockwood said, his gaze catching onto yours. You were then interrupted by Lucy clearing her throat to remind you she was still in the room as George arrived with the tea,

You tried to make conversation with Lucy, "So Lucy, do you read much?" you asked, interested in the girl and her hobbies.

She shook her head, looking at you judgingly, "No, I'm usually too busy with jobs to have time to, plus I'm just not the biggest fan of it," she explained, seeming to act annoyed at your question.

"I'm an agent too, so I know how annoying it can be to not have much free time," you said, trying to find common ground with her.

Lucy didn't seem to be too keen on the idea though, "You're an agent?" she asked, surprised by it.

You nodded, "Yes, I freelance, it's quite enjoyable being able to work for myself."

"Working by yourself seems boring, and agencies are much nicer than freelancing," Lucy said, which was a bit weird since she usually didn't like agencies much, except Lockwood and Co., since other agencies didn't treat their agents the best,

You shrugged, Sometimes I work with other people. I actually have a scar from when I worked with another agent and the job was more complicated than we expected," you told her, trying to make conversation with her, even though she seemed unamused by you.

"So you're saying you're not good at working hard jobs," Lucy accused, taking a sip of her tea.

Lockwood was a bit too scared to intervene, afraid he'd anger the wrong person with the wrong comment. So your and Lucy's conversation continued, "I'd say I do just fine, but everything that agent heard went in one ear and out the other," you said, trying to joke with her to try and lessen the tension.

"So you don't work well with others?" she questioned. The rest of the conversation went on like this for a while. You would try to be charming, talk about a few reckless things you did during jobs, or just say something funny, and Lucy would immediately retort with something. George seemed to be bored and read his comic, only chiming in a couple of times. Lockwood only spoke up a couple times, and when he did Lucy would just say something about you again.

When it neared an hour before curfew you decided to leave, having enough of this. Lockwood offered to walk you home, but you said you were fine, he could tell you were lying, since you didn't seem fine, but he knew better than to push. When Lockwood closed the door behind him he could hear George and Lucy say how relieved they were that she was gone.

Lockwood felt bad for you, since he promised that his friends would be nice, but there was anything but that. He was also even more surprised by how they acted, since they were rarely like that with anyone. The two didn't even notice Lockwood head to bed early looking a bit sullen, but they did notice how he seemed to be less chipper.

The next morning Lucy and George were in the kitchen, Lockwood hadn't left his room yet, pondering over yesterday's events, "Do you think I was too mean?" Lucy asked, realising she might've been way more rude than she meant to be. It was just that Lockwood had lost a lot of people, so they were always sceptical when someone new entered and they had to make sure you weren't going to leave him heartbroken.

George shrugged, "I don't know, maybe. She was awfully nice and we were kind of dicks to her," he said, making a cup of coffee.

They were silent for a moment till Lucy spoke up, "You know who she reminds me of," she said, looking at George as they responded in unison, "Lockwood."

"I mean she was charming like he is, she also talked about how reckless she was on jobs, she took her tea the same way as him, and she offered to help me with the tea which is something Lockwood would do," George said, remembering everything about you.

Lucy let out a sigh, "Maybe we were too mean. We should tell Lockwood we're sorry, and tell him we want to apologise to her," Lucy admitted, and George agreed.

Lockwood was rather surprised, yet pleased his friends wanted to apologise. So after some convincing he got you to come over again to redo how yesterday was supposed to go. This time Lucy answered the door to the house.

"I'm sorry for how I was yesterday," she said letting you in, "We're just a bit defensive, and well George is just George."

You chuckled at her joke, "I'm just glad you don't seem to hate. That would've been horrible, since you'll probably be seeing me a lot more," you said, accepting her apology.

Lockwood soon came down the stairs to greet you, "Well I'm glad you two are friends, and you can work out George's situation later. Right now we have somewhere to be, so I'll see you later," he said, rushing out the door.

"Bye lovebirds," Lucy called out as the door closed behind the two of you.

Lockwood seemed to be a lot more smiley today than usual, "What's up with you?" you asked him.

He shrugged, "I knew you would be friends," he said, holding your hand in his, "That's why I'm happy love." Lockwood was more than full of joy to know the person he was desperately falling in love with was now becoming well liked by his family. 

Current Taglis (ask to be added)

@almost-gabrielle @scarlett-8 @atashiboba @that1deerpersondownstairs

[thegreathuxton]

Came and Never Left pt. 2

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem! Reader

Inspired by "The Day That I Met You" by Matilda Mann.

Summary: "Hi there," he breathed, seemingly so out of breath at just the mere sight of you. "What took you so long?"

Warnings: I'VE READ THE BOOKS SO THERE MAY BE SPOILERS!!! There's only one bed trope oooooh. Reader has some serious low self-esteem (but there's a pretty boy on his way to fix that).

A/N: it's so nice to hear positive feedback. Hope y'all enjoy this next part!!! I have a lot of plans now. ❤️❤️❤️

(PART 1)

1.

You held the business card in your hands and chewed the inside of your cheek. You were standing on the front steps, looking at the building itself. It was quaint enough. At first glance, you second-guessed yourself. It certainly didn't look like an agency. In fact, you took a stroll further down the street, just to make sure it was the right address, but the concrete plaque by the door said enough. You swallowed and knocked softly on the door.

You were genuinely surprised at how fast it opened. And it wasn't Lockwood who greeted you. It was a young man with glasses and dark, curly hair. He had an apron and rubber gloves on. He seemed to sigh upon seeing you.

"If you're looking for Lockwood, he's not here right now. Thanks," he started to close the door, but you were fast to react. You jammed your shoe in the crack and gave the door a soft push, begging him to keep it open for a moment longer.

"Please, wait! I am looking for Lockwood, but," you said, looking at the boy dead in the eye, "I... I have nowhere else to go. He told me to call, but I thought it quicker just to walk here. I'm desperate."

The boy stared at you for quite some time, but his resolve cracked eventually. Without another word, he held the door open and let you in.

The foyer was miniscule and tight. The entire building smelled of burnt toast and dust. The walls were lined with knickknacks, and you could see the door leading to the garden just beside the stairs. The boy closed the door, muttering quietly to himself.

"Who's here?" A feminine voice called from up the stairs, startling you.

"I don't know! Have yet to figure that out yet!" The boy called back up. He then turned to you. "Business or leisure?"

"Pardon?"

"Business?" He held out one hand. "Or leisure?" He held out his other.

You blinked a few things, the cogs in your head failing to turn. It suddenly clicked. "Business!" You blurted.

The boy rolled his eyes then called, "It's for business!"

"Ah, okay! I'll put the kettle on as soon as I get downstairs," the feminine voice said. "I'll be down in a second. When's Lockwood supposed to be back?"

"Within the hour, hopefully," said the boy passively in response to the voice upstairs. He took off his glasses and cleaned them, then turned right, walking into the room aglow with a yellow hue. He said nothing, so you assumed to follow.

He brought you into a parlor room. There were two comfy couches facing each other across a small table. You sat on the one facing the doorway leading to the foyer.

"You must be George, right?" You said quietly and caught the boy's attention. He fixed his glasses, as if he was curious.

"I am," he said.

"So you also buy the Rotwell stuff?" You tried to smile up at him, but he remained as cold as ever. He slowly warmed as you kept talking. "I buy some of their stuff, too. It's all junk, if you ask me."

He slowly took a seat on the couch opposite of you. It seemed like he was trying not to smile too excitedly.

"Well, some of it can't be too bad. The only thing I truly regret buying is that worthless ghost alarm on a stick."

"You're telling me!" You laughed. "My mother bought that and had me take it out on a job. Not only did my supervisor nearly reprimand me for bringing a competitor's merchandise on a job, but the thing was absolutely lousy! The bell went off forty-five minutes after we had a run-in with the visitor. I saved the silver rod for spare parts, but threw the rest away."

"Smart move," George finally let himself smile in front of you. "So you're an agent, too?"

You nodded. "I am. I work with Bunchurch. Or, I worked with Bunchurch, I should rather say."

"Lockwood says he met a pretty girl who worked at Bunchurch just the other night," said a chipper voice, and you turned. There was a red-headed girl standing in the doorway. She was fixing the collar of her shirt when she saw you and paused. "Well..." Her cheeks turned a faint taint of pink. "You are quite pretty, aren't you..."

You blushed as well. "I wouldn't necessarily say that, but I appreciate the compliment...!" You tried to laugh it off. You weren't used to compliments.

"So you're the reason Lockwood has been moping about around the leisure phone these past couple of days?" George suddenly butted in again. He sat on the edge of his seat. "I thought you said this visit was for business?"

You whirled back around to face him, hands up in a surrender. "It is, I promise! He gave me his business card with the leisure phone number on it and told me to call!"

"For what reason, then?" Said the girl.

"I thought he..." You paused, suddenly feeling their overwhelming spike of anticipation. "Because I thought he offered me a job here?"

Silence swallowed the room.

Just as the kettle screamed from the kitchen, you three heard the front door swing right open. Nobody moved a muscle.

"I'm home!" You recognized the voice to belong to the boy you had met not some days ago. Anthony Lockwood. "I hear the kettle. Is someone visiting?"

"Yeah," said the girl, unmoving from her place in the doorway. "For business."

"Ah, just my luck. I leave for a few hours, and today is the day we have a walk in," You hear him tussling a few things about in the foyer, possibly tidying a few small things. You watched him breeze by and glance into the room, only briefly. "I'll be with you all in a moment! I have to check something!"

You heard a single stairstep creak, then pause. After a moment, the wood gave a sigh of relief. The weight had been released. Then started the slow and very deliberate click of dress shoes on the tile. The red-headed girl moved out of the doorway and to the side, clutching her hands together as Lockwood slowly came into view. He was walking backward, as if retracing his steps, when he came to the doorway. Even George moved to the side, so you and Lockwood immediately locked eyes as soon as he stepped into the light. A bright and, dare you say it, flustered smile crept upon his lips.

"Hi there," he breathed, seemingly so out of breath at just the mere sight of you. "What took you so long?"

2.

He sat down next to you and introduced you to the other two in the parlor by name. Once things had settled, and before proper questioning began, Lucy, the red-headed girl whom you just met, had gone to make cups of tea. Lockwood had turned to you and given you his full, undivided attention. His smile had distracted you so much, you hadn't noticed that he had taken one of your hands in both of his and pulled it to his lap. His eyes never broke from yours, all the while his thumb stroked tenderly over the soft skin on the back of your hand. You barely had to work in the conversation. He talked your ear off and kept you entirely occupied.

"I know it's only been a few days, but how have you been? To be completely frank, I was almost worried you had lost my card. I was wondering when you'd call. Do you have all your things packed? If not, I can come over and help. Anything you need me to do, I will absolutely do it, okay? Anything and everything to get you settled."

George was stirring on the couch across from the two of you, and Lucy slowly brought in a tray of tea and biscuits. Lockwood paid them no mind. It was only when George addressed the elephant in the room that Lockwood only briefly stopped speaking.

"You offered her a job?"

Lockwood paused, slightly turned his head, and smiled a smile that was hard to detest. "Of course, I did. Just look at her! The definition of perfect agent potential. We absolutely have to have her." He spoke so positively of you to them, as if you weren't right next to him.

"You realize we have no room for her here, right?"

"Yes, we do," Lockwood answered back rather fast. He seemed to be getting agitated by them interrupting his conversation with you.

"Oh yeah?" Said Lucy, getting equally as agitated. "Where?"

"In my room, of course."

Lockwood had not stopped to truly think about his words. For the first time since he'd seen you, he had shut his mouth tight, and a puckering red started to form on his cheeks.

"Well, I um... I'd have to move myself into the library. I could sleep on the cozy chairs in there!"

"We can't have you sleeping in there," George shook his head. "Firstly, we conduct most business and research in there. I wouldn't be able to step foot in there to do any research if you were asleep, and we can't be rolling up a futon every time we have a client. Secondly, your back is the same quality as a ninety-five year old man with crippling athritis. You'd gripe and whine every morning."

Lockwood immediately looked back to you, eyes wide. "Not true, by the way. My back is fine."

"Lockwood!" You both snapped to attention as George raised his voice, frustrated. Lucy placed a hand on his shoulder, sighing, and tried to calm him down. She took a biscuit off the tray and handed it to him. He ate it with little to no protest and then took some tea. He was still stewing, but silently this time.

"What if she roomed with me?" Lucy said quietly, trying to remain calm.

"Why would she do that?" Lockwood leaned back, crossing his legs and still holding your hand in his lap.

"Because I'm the girl in the house...? Maybe she would feel more comfortable."

"I wouldn't mind staying with a boy," you finally decided to voice your opinion. Lockwood looked at you, eyes sparkling. He then looked back at Lucy, a big, smug smile on his face.

"And there you have it. She'll room with me."

"If she's fine with that. I mean, she can't room with George. She just got here. It would be rude to traumatize her so quickly. She'd be in a direct line where he does yoga in the nude..." muttered Lucy. She was met with a retort from George, who had a mouth full of biscuits and sprayed all the crumbs over Lucy and the nice couch.

Lockwood was beaming. He was back to looking at you. He now held both of your hands in his.

"What do you say, Bunchurch?" Said Lockwood. The glimmer in his eyes made any offer hard to resist. "Want to be roommates?"

You swallowed. It didn't take much thought. You had nowhere else to go.

"Lookout, Bunchurch," muffled George, wiping crumbs from the couch cushions. "That man has no sense of personal space whatsoever."

George earned himself a smack on the back from Lucy. More crumbs flew from his mouth, and both he and her let out dissatisfied groans.

3.

Lockwood absolutely insisted that you spent the night at Portand Row, his agency, and in his room.

"Just to get a feel for things, you know!" He beamed. He even walked with you all the way back to your house and helped you pack a bag of clothes. You let him have another look around.

"Well," he sighed once you had come downstairs with your bag packed, "what's the plan for all this stuff? Can't keep all of it. Although, some of these couches are nice. I could have George vacuum some of the salt off the cushions, and they could replace the ones in the parlor. Although..." He tapped his chin, busy thinking. You just watched him, smiling. He eventually shook his head and sighed again.

"You can do what you want with this stuff," you said to him, taking a look at your mom's favorite painting on the mantle. The center was still punctured from where your Grade 3 rapier had hit it dead on. "I was going to donate it or sell it or something... except for a few things, of course."

Lockwood nodded. "That's reasonable. But, for now, let's get back to Portland Row. I'll help you figure stuff out tomorrow. How about it?"

You smiled and nodded. You walked back to Portland Row with him, giggling and laughing. You made it back about an hour before curfew. He opened the door for you and let you inside. You could hear voices in the kitchen and the clanking of pots and pans. Lockwood touched your arm and took your bag from you.

"I'll take this upstairs. Smells like George has got dinner ready. You go take a seat and I'll be right there, okay?" His smile was warm and inviting. You blushed and smiled back. His hand touching your arm slowly slid down and held your hand. His thumb, once again, made circles on your soft skin.

"Okay," you whispered.

He stared at you for a little while longer, just quiet. What was this feeling? Your heart fluttered, but why?

He let go of you and climbed upstairs. You turned, trying to calm your hard-beating heart, and went to the kitchen where George and Lucy were waiting for you.

4.

George had made a delicious shepherd's pie and, afterward, brought out a lemon drizzle cake he had bought from the corner store, Arif's.

"I'm in Arif's all the time! How could I have not seen you?" You scoffed and take another bite of cake.

"I'm asking myself the same question," said Lockwood, grinning at you and prodding his cake with his fork. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw George give Lucy a very specific look that made you blush and turn away.

While you ate, you got yourself acquainted with what they called "The Thinking Cloth." It was a white table cloth, cluttered with pencil and crude pen drawings. Some things were quite intelligent. While other things were... not so intelligent. Rather rude, in fact.

"Don't think too much of the odd drawing here and there," Lucy said, reaching out and touching your forearm as you stared at the pen drawing of Lockwood and the text beside it. 'Lockwood is a dick.'

"The boys like to fight sometimes, and this is how they communicate with each other when they refuse to speak to one another," shrugged Lucy before going back to her cake.

"Sounds like fun," you chortle and take another bite of cake.

After dessert, Lockwood takes you on a tour around the house. He shows you all of the rooms, except for one. The one on the landing, just up the first flight of stairs. He ignored it entirely, and you chose not to ask, figuring he would tell you about it when he was ready.

Last, he brought you to his room. It was cozy and warm. It was almost child-like in a way as well, as if he never had the time to truly grow up, but his appearance suggested otherwise.

Model airplanes sit on the bookshelves, already crammed and overflowing with many books as it was. Many titles you recognized and enjoyed seeing. You shared the same taste.

"You can have my bed tonight," he said to you while you looked around. You turned to him, eyes wide.

"But it's your bed! I shouldn't," you argued.

"But I want you to," he smiled and took a step closer to you. "What gentleman would I be if I let a lady sleep on the floor?"

"George said your back is terrible."

"George says a lot of things about me. Most of which are NOT true, by the way. I wouldn't listen to him." He cleared his throat. "Especially the back thing. Ignore that, please."

You raised an eyebrow and he kept smiling, like it was nothing. You sighed, looking at the bed and biting your lip.

"What if we shared?"

"Pardon?" He suddenly sputtered.

"Well, your bed is big enough for two. We can share, can't we? We'll just shove a pillow between us and hope for the best," you shrugged and crossed your arms. "So... what about it?"

He blew out his cheeks and looked around. He was trying to hide the fact his face was turning red. You bit back a smile. After another few heartbeats, he cracked and finally nodded.

"It's just for one night, right? How bad can it be?"

5.

He let you change into your pajamas first, and then you traded places - one in the room and the other out - and he changed too. When you both saw each other for the first time, it was hard not to laugh.

Pajama sets. The both of you. Yours were grey and covered with little white sheep made of a thin, silky cloth. His were more plain. Silky, like yours, and white with a hint of salmon color.

"You're going to have so much fun here," Lockwood grinned at you. "I just know it."

He stayed up for some time, reading and winding down in his little reading nook, where the books were spilling off the shelves. You took the time to hang up the clothes you planned on wearing the next day so they wouldn't get wrinkled in your bag overnight. By the time you were finished getting everything tidy, he was placing a bookmark in his novel and slipping into his chosen side of the bed. Nervously, you joined him.

He had placed a pillow already vertically between you, separating your bodies as you climbed underneath the sheets. You laid on your backs, staring at the ceiling.

"So you quit your job at Bunchurch?" He asked you, still staring at the ceiling with his hands placed on his chest.

"I turned in my resignation yesterday morning. My bosses weren't pleased, but I'm sure my teammates were," you shrugged.

"How's that?"

"They didn't really like me," you whispered back, eyes not moving from the ceiling. You feared if you faced him, he could find the spot of blush on your cheeks.

"That's impossible," Lockwood scoffed. "I knew I liked you, the very day that we met."

"That has to be a lie," you laughed.

"But it's not!" You could feel his gaze on you and the warmth of his bright smile. "You're very likable. Really. I mean, you even got George to like you, and that is quite hard to do. Let me tell you."

You laughed, still not meeting the warmth of your gaze. You moved your left hand over your hard-beatibg heart, so afraid it might beat-beat-beat right out of your chest.

"Thank you," you suddenly whispered without much thought.

"For what?" Was his response. You doubted he was that oblivious.

"For doing this," you muttered. "For letting me join your agency. I really was unhappy at Bunchurch, and I know my mother went there and she claimed to have a wonderful experience, but... I guess the apple fell miles away from the tree this time."

You slowly lowered your hand onto the separation pillow, only to find his hand already there. You flinched away at first, muttering a quick, 'sorry!'

He acted fast, however. His fingers entangled with yours before your hand could get too far away.

"It's okay..."

You slowly relaxed into it. Your heart was beating even harder. Your face and ears felt hot. You wanted to squirm, not out of discomfort, but from your blatant bashfulness.

"Your hands are surprisingly soft," Lockwood chuckled, trying to nonchalantly cut the tension. "Are you sure you've even handled a rapier before?"

"I have, but I'm pretty rusty at it," you said back. "Think you could teach me a few things before I get back out on the field?"

What on earth were you saying?

"It would be my honor."

Oh...

The silence stood for much longer. It was just the two of you, hand in hand, staring at the ceiling, dim in only the light of Lockwood's bedside table.

"Goodnight, Bunchurch," he whispered so softly to you. His hand made no notion to move away from yours.

"Goodnight, Lockwood..." You whispered back.

With his free hand, Lockwood then reached over and cut the light. You fell asleep, still holding his hand.

[catreginae]

Thou Shalt Not Fall: Warriors vs Animals

It's Twilight's turn to show everybody his home. It goes great for everybody except for Warriors, who has to contend with the fact that he's in a village full of animals who don't like him. This is for @gattodelblack who suggested that Warriors should have a possum friend. This is also for anybody who wants Warriors to have another animal friend.

[Previous] - [Next]

View the Master Post here!

Twilight couldn't contain his excitement when he saw the bridge connected Ordon to the world beyond it. He always wanted to show the others where he grew up after he caught a glimpse of where everybody else grew up. He wanted his brothers to meet all the important people in his life, just as he got to meet some of the people who made his brothers... them.

He first took them to the treehouse he lived in to get some rest and drop off their bags. He didn't have a lot of room in it but there was enough on the main level for them to all sleep on the floor. He had extra blankets to make it more comfortable and he was sure he could borrow some extras from the rest of the villagers if need be. He made sure to show Warriors his very dark basement in case he preferred to sleep where the sun couldn’t reach him. It was a bit cold and cramped but Warriors set up his bedroll down there and thanked him. Twilight tossed one of the extra blankets his way to make it a bit cozier.

If he was being honest with himself, Twilight didn't expect to really see Warriors out and about in Ordon too much and not just because Warriors was a city boy. As much as they teased each other about where they came from, he knew Warriors wasn’t the type to get all haughty and act like Ordon was beneath him. If anything, he figured Warriors was probably just going to catch up on sleep and maybe stay inside to avoid the extra attention from the animals. Twilight already decided that he was going to use the same excuse Time used to explain why Warriors wasn't around – his mysterious sleep disorder.

And when morning came, that's what Warriors did. He slept in the basement, the darkest place in his house, and he making a kettle of tea by the time they all returned in the afternoon.

On the second day, he was standing outside his treehouse with Colin as the younger boy swung a wooden sword at the target Twilight ended up keeping around. He was a little surprised that Colin sought him out and he was surprised that Warriors was even awake but regardless, the two seemed to having fun together so Twilight didn’t question how they met out loud.

The third day though, Twilight spotted him in the village proper and he suddenly had the gut feeling that maybe he should stick around Warriors today.

It didn’t take long for it to go downhill. Warriors was watching and commenting on the fish in the lake when Sera’s cat – Link, much the amusement of the other Links – came around the corner of the shop. Warriors spotted their new visitor immediately, careful to keep some distance between himself and the cat. Twilight noticed how still he was but his knees were slightly bent, ready to bolt when he needed to.

“Aww, what a cute kitty – oh fu-” Warriors cut himself off as Link suddenly bolted towards leapt at him with an angry yowl. The captain caught him but not before Twilight spotted a claw dig into Warriors’ arm. He held Link away from him, which kept most of the claws away from him but Link’s back feet still managed a lucky swipe here and there until Twilight collected him from behind. Link calmed in Twilight's arms, though he still hissed at Warriors.

“I'll just take him home...” Twilight mumbled, turning towards the store. He was sure Sera would understand if he told her to keep her inside for the rest of the day.

After Link the cat came the bees. The hive that the bees just kept making over and over instead of moving to a new spot fell from its spot in the tree like the Golden Three themselves felt like ruining Warriors’ day.

“Why are there so many bees?” Warriors cried out as he jumped into the lake. Twilight watched for a second to see if the bees would come after him, but they dispersed after half a minute or so of Warriors being underwater. They blamed Warriors for the destruction of their hive and only Warriors apparently and he was no where near it. He knew better than to question their behaviour out loud. He didn’t want to give any other deities or spirits any ideas.

When Warriors broke the surface, they both let out a sigh of relief. At least this time, he came out unscathed. A little bit of water wouldn’t kill him.

Warriors was stubborn, just like all of them. He retreated into the tree house and came out not too long after wearing his spares, donning the purple tunic that Twilight rarely got to see. Apparently, he was still determined to explore the village even after being attacked by a cat and far too many bees.

They next incident came when Twilight was introducing Warriors to Rusl and Uli with Colin around to tell them all how much he enjoyed their training session yesterday. Much to his relief, they got along well. He was pretty sure they would – any friend of Twilight and Colin was a friend of Rusl and Uli – but he was still a little nervous. Warriors dressed and carried himself like the knight he was and Twilight knew from experience that if the knights in his Hyrule did their jobs right, there probably wouldn’t be a resistance for Rusl to join.

Suddenly, there was a shout from up the hill.

“GOAT INCOMING!”

Sure enough, there was a goat charging down the hill, heading directly towards Warriors. The captain was usually quick to react but, at that moment, he was just watching the goat close the gap between them.

Twilight pushed Warriors out of the way and braced himself, planting his feet firmly on the ground with his knees slightly bent and his hands held out in front of them. When the goat was close enough, he grabbed the goat’s horns and pushed back, stopping the loose goat in its tracks. His entire body tensed and he could feel the strain in his arms and legs but his feet remained firmly planted on the ground.

He turned his strength onto the goat, using his grip on the horns to push the goat over onto the ground. He dropped to his knees, following it down. Thankfully, at this point, it was significantly calmer, but Twilight kept his hands on the horns, prepared just in case the goat made another go at Warriors. Thankfully, he didn’t have to. Fado was running down the hill with some rope to help guide the goat back up the hill to the ranch.

“Wow, Link, you did again,” Colin muttered. “How are you so strong?”

“Sorry, I forgot to close the gate...” Fado said with a frown as he started to head back up with the goat in tow. Colin and Rusl shook their heads. Twilight got up and dusted himself off. It felt kind of good to know that he was still capable of wrestling a goat. Fado got a lot better with keeping the gate closed but he couldn’t fault somebody for forgetting every now and again.

“Heh, just some exercise! Nothing special!”

“It was a good thing you happened to be so close. You’re the one only who can overpower ‘em like that,” Rusl muttered. He turned to Warriors. “Are you alright?”

Twilight turned to look at Warriors, and he was pretty sure he never saw the captain's eyes so wide or his face so pale, especially for somebody who didn't have a lot of colour in his face in the begin with. He was holding a hand to his chest.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled as he let a breath of his air he must have been holding but Twilight knew just by his tone that he was not actually fine.

“Let’s head back. I think you’ve had a long enough day.”

Warriors nodded and followed him back to the tree house.

“That goat wanted to kill me,” he mumbled quietly once he was out of earshot of the rest of the village. His vampirism must have made the goat feel threatened but Twilight doubted that the goat would try to kill him or that Warriors could be killed by a goat of all things. It was far from pleasant to get hit, Twilight knew that all too well, but he wouldn’t die and the goat would probably leave if it chased him off. That wasn’t what the captain wanted to hear though, so for the what felt like the hundredth time since he got Ordon, he kept his mouth shut. “If you weren’t there, it would have killed me.”

“How about I make that tea that you liked?”

“Tea sounds good.” Quiet, but he did look a little calmer. That was the small sort of victory they both needed at the moment.

Twilight sighed. While everybody else was running around the village, talking to the people he grew up with or finding some way to entertain themselves, Warriors retreated to the safety of Twilight's treehouse. Twilight couldn't blame him. He was in a village full of animals and all the animals hated him, except for his surprisingly docile cuccos that Warriors might not have even noticed.

He wasn't even sure how he was going to explain to the villagers that the animals hated him. Maybe he'll just tell them he's sick if they asked why he wasn’t around – surely nobody noticed that all the animals hated him.

Twilight tried to not think about it too much as he set up the kettle with the tea from earlier for Warriors and headed back out to try to regroup with the others. When they returned, he found the captain on the floor with a book in hand. He stayed there when the rest of them tucked themselves and Twilight retreated up to his loft for his own bed. He wasn’t giving up his loft no matter how much he loved his brothers.

He woke up in the middle of the night. Twilight wasn’t sure what woke him up but once he was awake, he sat up and glanced out the window, hoping to see that the moon was still pretty high in the sky. He blinked. He shifted closer to the window, rubbing the grogginess out of his eyes.

What was Warriors doing outside?

The captain was an adult who could mostly look after himself – at least if he did get in trouble, he could come back in a few pieces and probably still be fine – but Twilight nonetheless slowly made his way outside to meet him. He was sitting under the shade of some the trees that stretched into his yard.

“You know, I thought you would just stay inside after all that happened today,” Twilight mumbled as he sat down beside the captain. For somebody who spent most of the day getting chased by animals that were irritated by his existence, he seemed pretty relaxed. He was sitting with his legs crossed on the ground, using his right hand to support himself as he leaned back a little. His left hand was just above his lap, stroking something that was moving. “What do you have?”

“I don't know, I've never seen one of these guys before,” Warriors said, lifting his hand for Twilight to inspect. “He seems nice though. Very polite.”

Twilight squinted. He could see a dark body, a bright pink, naked tail that curled around Warriors' leg, and bright white face with round ears. The creature looked up at him with beady little eyes.

“Oh, that's a possum,” Twilight said with a smile. He hovered a couple of fingers over the possum to see how it react, but seeing as it was curled up in Warriors' lap, he wasn't too concerned about getting bit. When it didn't react, he started to pet it, slowly running his fingers down its head. “I've seen them around Castletown at night but I haven't seen them around Ordon before. They didn't let me get this close in Castletown either.”

“I have no idea why it climbed up into my lap like that but it's nice to know that the only two animals that don't hate me seem to be horses and these little... possum guys.”

“At least. I’m sorry you had a bad day in the village though.”

“Twilight, no need to apologize. I think I underestimated the animals but I knew leaving your yard would be a risk. None of it was unexpected. Besides, I got to meet your family and I’ll be here if anyone else wants to say hi,” Warriors said with a smile as he continued to pet the possum.

“So no more adventures in the village.”

“Sorry but... fuck no. If you’re weren’t there to handle that goat, it would have killed me! I know it would have! I know what it looks like when people or animals want to kill me. The goats would find a way to stake my heart or decapitate me. I will not underestimate them again.”

“I think you’re overestimating them now.”

“I’m giving them the respect that they crave.”

Twilight could only role his eyes. The goats weren’t that bad.

[crimsonhydrangeavn]

How caring is the cast handling a sick MC?

Garret would be such a mother hen if you were sick. He would cancel any and all obligations he had that week and stay by your side 24/7. He'd insist on making sure you rested and didn't lift a finger to do anything. He'd cook for you, constantly bring you water and electrolytes, and make sure you took medication as needed. He would also make sure to check your temperature on an hour by hour basis to make sure it didn't get too high. He'd also refuse to leave your side during your illness. Whether it be watching a nostalgic movie with you on the couch, or quietly reading a book beside you in bed as you slept, he would be glued to your side taking care of you.

Marcelo would be worried about you and would also do his best to take care of you. He'd make you all of your favorite meals and keep them in the fridge for easy access. Unfortunately he wouldn't be able to take more than a day off of work, but he would literally use all of his breaks and lunch periods to stop by your place and make sure you were doing okay, getting you anything you needed, and heating up whatever foods he had made for you the night before. Of course once he got off of work he'd immediately beeline it to your place and make sure you were alright and well taken care of. Unlike Garret, he would eventually leave for the night with promises of stopping by first thing in the morning to check in on you.

Camilla would absolutely baby you and make sure you were eating delicious and nutritious soups throughout your illness. She'd force you out of your room and lay down on the couch while she went in and switched out your sheets, opened a window, and aired out your room. She'd also make sure you were completely bundled up and sipping on teas or room tempature water the entire time. Boy, the amount of movies you two would go through would be wild, though she wouldn't mind if you fell asleep partway through with your head on her soft and welcoming lap.

Rita would immediately force you to call out sick if you showed up to work under the weather. She'd probably force you up into her apartment above the bookstore so that you didn't have to brave the long and arduous 15ish minute walk back home. She'd take care of the bookstore while heading upstairs every hour or so to check in on you. She'd probably end up going out to buy some medicine for you since everything she had was either expired or got lost during her move all those months ago. She'd wrap you in countless blankets, make sure you had a drink and medicine, and pick up takeout from one of your favorite restaurants nearby. She'd also gently lecture you about pushing yourself too far and to just call out when you were sick. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Only once she felt she got her point across would she settle in beside you on the couch and gently nurse you back to health in between chapters of one of your favorite Morgen Brattle books that she so kindly decided to read out loud to you.

In the past Teagan would do a terrible job of taking care of you whenever you were sick. They'd suddenly start feeling "sick" and ultimately you would start taking care of them instead. After the break up, they'd definitely go out of their way to try to take care of you in the same way you would take care of them whenever they felt under the weather. They'd definitely be more cognizant of your needs and do everything in their power not to make it about them this time around.

[night-garden-fic]

Chapter Fifteen: The Cracking of a Geode

(Read on AO3)

"...Who are you to assume what I have and haven't done?  Maybe you don't know."

Chapter Fifteen: The Cracking of a Geode

     Having at last finished the novel he'd left abandoned on his headboard, Russell chose another from the pile of comfortingly familiar books Sabrina had left him.

     Reading such a well-loved volume should have been all but effortless, but he instead found that it fought his mind at every turn; blocking it, deflecting it, bouncing it off into tangents that seemed to ricochet it in a thousand directions.

     Perhaps, he realized, he'd chosen something a bit too familiar.

     It was a tale he'd revisited many times over the years, acquiring his first copy when he was around fourteen and his second shortly before opening the Kardia Library; an epistolary novel about a shipwrecked girl who found herself living among a tribe of Univir, adjusting to their strange ways, fashioning a false horn, and eventually marrying into one of the families.  It was surprisingly suspenseful, and a lot funnier than it looked at first glance.

     Russell remembered well the first time he'd picked it up.

     But mostly, he remembered who he was back then.

     I'd give anything to be you.

     I'd give anything to have become who you might have became.

     (Anything?)

     ...Well, maybe not anything.

     (Might she have been better off, too?)

     As his eyes trailed over the spider-black words that never quite made it to his mind, Russell strained to conjure up that boy, to coax him into the image of the man he might have been, but it was no use.

     We've all strayed too far from one another.

     Russell sighed, setting the book down.  Maybe he'd try again when he was in a better mood.

     Edward returned from the kitchen, bearing two mugs and a steaming kettle.

     "...Something wrong?"

     Though well-intentioned, it irritated Russell that he felt the need to ask.

     "I'll be okay."

     Edward placed the mugs on the bedside table, carefully pouring hot water over the teabags.

     "I'm sure you will.  But you shouldn't let it fester in the meantime.  Come on...  Talk to me."

     Gratefully, Russell picked up his filled mug.  It was still too hot to drink, but he was impatient to inhale its aroma.

     "I was just remembering...  I was a real little string-bean of a kid, you know?"

     Edward blew on his own steaming mug, shrugging agreeably.

     "Well, you've been a bit of a string-bean for as long as I've known you, so I'd imagine you were."

     Russell caught a whiff of Edward's tea.  Once in a while, he went for something unusual or fancy, but this seemed to be his mainstay.

     "No, seriously...  When they drafted me, I barely squeaked above the weight limit.  A few ounces less, and they wouldn't have taken me."

     He studied his murky reflection for a moment, then took a cautious sip that nearly seared his throat going down.

     While Edward had his ordinary tea, Russell drank a medicinal blend that was supposed to help break up the congestion in his chest; one of Melody's suspicious concoctions, though for once it seemed to do the job just fine.  And oddly, though he had hated it at first, Russell had grown to crave its strange, green, medicinal sweetness.  He wondered if it would do anything bad to him if he just kept on drinking it even after he got well.

     Taking a cue from Russell, Edward sipped from his own mug.  If it was too hot, he didn't let it show.

     "I'm not so sure about that...  They also took you underage, remember?  From what I understand, they were pretty desperate back then."

     Russell blew on the tea's dark surface; watched his image waver and resettle.

     "I know, but my vision test was also borderline...  All three, and I might not have been worth it.  And anyway, that's not the point."

     Edward tilted his head curiously, long hair sliding over his shoulder.

     "What's the point, then?"

     Russell sighed, feeling the pressure building behind his eyes.

     Don't you cry, you piece of shit.

     "...The point is, I had bad nerves and a dry mouth that day.  So I asked one of the assessors for a glass of water, and they gave it to me, and I drank the whole damn thing.  Then I asked for another one half an hour later.  It was probably about a pound of water, and I didn't have time to go to the bathroom.  And I keep remembering that, and I just think...  If I'd just sat with being thirsty, none of this would have happened.  They would have turned me away, and I would have grown up, and...  You know what?  I don't even know.  I can't picture it."

     Edward shrugged.

     "Of course you can't.  That's not your life."

     Don't you dare cry.

     "...That's the whole damn problem!"

     His body betrayed him, and he felt two tears, hot as the tea in his mug, sliding down his cheeks.  Edward placed a hand on his back; comforting, yet somehow stern.

     "Listen to me...  I know you've been dealt kind of an awful hand in this life.  If you want to talk about things we can't imagine...  Well, I can't imagine what you've been through.  And I don't mean to minimize any of that by what I'm about to say, but...  Russell...  Is your life really so bad?"

     Russell stared at Edward as though he'd grown a second, monstrous head.

     "...I don't know!  Is it!?  Did you not have to drag me out of a ditch a while ago there?  Did you not spend years of your life trying and failing to mitigate my shit before it kills me?  Yeah!  I've been doing just great."

     Don't you dare!

     Frustratingly, it seemed he was no longer in control.  The tears fell slowly, but they etched steady trails down Russell's face.  Edward must have seen them, but he didn't waver.

     "Like I said, I know it's been awful.  And I know...  I know how it affected you.  Still affects you.  But also, look where it brought you.  You have your library, and you're living your dreams there.  That's not even the important thing...   The...  Russell, so many of us here are glad to know you.  I know, because I'm one of them.  And Gods' sake, you have that wonderful daughter of yours.  Your daughter.  Where the hell do you think she would have ended up if you hadn't been there when you were?"

     Edward wasn't sparing anything.  He had raised his deft surgeon's hands and plunged the blade directly into Russell's sick heart.

     "...Probably with someone else!  Probably with someone better!  Someone who isn't so messed-up inside!"

     His breath had grown fast and uneven, the tears alternately choking him and knocking the air from his chest.  Edward's manner softened considerably.

     "...Do you really think that there was anyone around that day who turned out any less messed-up than you?"

     Russell sat his mug down, picked up one of the neatly folded handkerchiefs from the table, and blew his nose; half-expecting to see blood, half-disappointed when he didn't.

     "Maybe not, but...  Look at me.  I was so feverish and out of my mind on Lamp Grass that I barely knew where I was, and did I come in here right away?  No.  I went and took a walk in the snow.  And you know what else?  One of these days, I'm going to punch someone's lights out because they dared to walk behind me at the wrong time!  And I...  Edward, I have a gaping hole in my chest.  I'm pretty messed-up."

     Edward sighed, a serrated edge of exasperation creeping into his tone.

      "Believe me, I know.  But now that we've established that you are, what do you plan to do?"

     Russell scoffed.

     "Unwind time?"

     Another sigh; heavier now, and profoundly weary.

     "...Well, good luck trying.  Listen to me, Russell...  Everyone goes through this.  We all sometimes wish our lives could have gone differently.  Some of us have wasted years doing just that.  I'm not saying this to downplay how you feel.  I'm saying it because I don't want you to feel so alone."

     Russell hugged his legs to his chest, burying his face in his knees and letting out a long, pained, strangled groan.

     "...I am, though."

     He was disgusted by the smallness of his voice, the pathetic candor of his own self-pitying words.  Edward—as had become his way—placed a hand on Russell's shoulder.

     "I promise you, you're not.  I'm right here."

     Russell shook his hand away, tensing up and curling inward.

     "Ed...  You don't know what it's like.  You haven't done things like I have.  You...  You've never killed anyone.  You can't...  It's different for me.  Please just...  Stop trying.  Stop."

     Edward, of course, did not stop.  Instead, he slid his warm hand between Russell's trembling shoulder blades.

     "...Who are you to assume what I have and haven't done?  Maybe you don't know."

     Russell uncurled to meet Edward's eyes, his mind a kaleidoscope of jagged cut-glass emotion; curiosity, fascination, a sudden sympathy shot through with sickening bitter spite.

     "How the hell would I?  As long as you've lived here, you've never told anyone shit."

     For nearly a minute, the room was silent.  Then Edward took a deep breath, its wavering nervousness seeming wholly out of character.

     "...Would you feel better if I did?"

     Russell went limp against the wall, but gave no reply.

~*~

     And so, Edward told his story.

     His voice was deep and steady—at least at first—and his words were well-chosen and honeyed with bittersweet memory.

     It was not unlike reading a wonderfully written book, and Russell felt as though he'd been right there with him, as he learned what it was to have been that long-ago Edward, a bright young boy in the Empire's steely heart; a quiet boy filled with strange yearnings and sweet secrets.

     He had known, from the age of twelve, that it was the masculine that drew his eye and called to his heart.

     But, adrift as he was in the lonely bubble of childhood, he didn't understand.

     He thought it was something he'd made up.

     He thought he was alone.

     "But Edward, there's many...  We've all known...  And I've read a lot of-"

     "Back then, I hadn't."

     Not understanding his own heart, Edward threw himself head-first into what he could understand, and didn't look back for years.

     His understanding seemed to mostly lie with the fillagreed, inside-out world of the sciences.  Geodes and tree-rings, caverns and marrow.  Everything about the body; its processes, its beauty, its suffering.  How people labored to relieve that suffering, an effort by turns brutal and tender.

     Edward, it seemed, had found his calling.

    Or rather, one of several callings.

     He was called to heal.  He was called—though he would act on nor speak of it—into the arms of other boys.  And he was called, perhaps most strongly of all, to one day raise a family.  Edward watched loving parents with their children the same way he pored over his medical texts; in the same breathless awe at the nurturance and preservation of life.

     Life was precious to him.  He longed to create it, to defend it, to hold it with gentle hands.

     "You know, I never thought about it before, but you must have had him pretty young."

     "Well...  I planned it like that."

     Though there was much he didn't understand about himself, Edward did understand how his desires might contradict.

     That he would, in all likelihood, have to choose between them.

     In the end, he decided it would be best to settle down early, before he had time to want too much.

     At sixteen, he began courting a tall, solid girl from an iron mining family.  They were schoolmates, and enjoyed one another's company well enough.  He thought her family's line of work, down in the dark heart of the Earth, was fascinating.  She found his ambitions beautifully poignant.  From behind, when she put her hair up, he could almost pretend.

     Their hearts, solid as iron itself, never quite yielded, but sank fast and heavy into love.

     Was it love?

     For her, almost certainly.  For Edward, things were a bit more complicated.  He considered her a dear friend, and so, in the literal sense, he did love her; deeply and truly.  But there was always a sense of something missing.  A heart that warmed to her voice, but never quickened at her touch.

     It was, of course, just as he'd expected.

     But Edward could still see the two of them building the kind of life he'd always wanted to live, and building it well, and that was all that really mattered.  Of course there would be something missing.  Isn't there always?  Who, in the world beyond bad novels and good bedtime stories, has ever had a perfect love?

     "Edward...  That makes me sad."

     "It's really her you should be sad for."

     By seventeen, they were engaged.  By eighteen, married.  And, before they had even reached nineteen, the blind cavern fish that would become Camus was already swimming inside her.

     They were young, and likely less prepared than they'd imagined, but Edward felt secure.  His wife, his child, the life laid out before him.  His classes at the university, where he studied biology and dreamed of medical school.  Her sturdy body, bearing that fragile new life like an armored ship.

     There may have been something missing, but it was nothing, he decided, that he couldn't live without.

     Perhaps, this could be perfect.

     But, sometimes, life is more like a bad novel than one might think.

     The worst part, to Edward, was that he could never know exactly what went wrong.

     "So you were married, but..."

     "..."

     "...Ed, are you crying?"

     An errant vein.  A sleep-deprived midwife.  Their son's very robustness.  His wife's unusual blood type.  The simple, infuriating, horribly omnipresent motto of the universe: "this just happens sometimes."

     Whatever the true cause, it happened while Edward was in a vertebrate anatomy lecture.

     As he stared in fascination at the professor's intricately chalked drawings, a sweaty intern from the nearby teaching hospital barged into the lecture hall with news so terrible that, even now, Edward couldn't quite make the moment feel real.

     His wife, it seemed, was bleeding.

     They were trying to stop it, but something was going wrong.  Edward, the intern panted, had better come quick.

     So he followed the young man across the grassy campus, all the while wondering what on Earth they needed him for.

     He wasn't a doctor, not yet.

     He had nothing to offer.

     He ran anyway, breathless and terrified.

     By the time Edward arrived, she was all but gone.  Despite his haste, it seemed he'd arrived just in time to feel the last warmth leaving her strong hand.

     To be told that a transfusion might have saved her, but they couldn't find a match.

     To stand, wailing helplessly, at his dead wife's bedside.

     To stand, numb, until someone pressed his newborn son into his arms.

     His son was pink and soft; wiped clean by nurses, but still faintly streaked with blood.  Edward watched those innocent eyes blink open, and swore the universe was mocking him.

     Was it worth it?

     He couldn't answer.

     All Edward—not yet twenty—could think to do was cradle his child and weep.

     "But you didn't do anything."

     "Russell...  In the end, she died because I wanted a child.  Call it what you want, but I really did kill her."

     At first, the thought occurred to him at least once every gruesome waking minute.

     I killed her.

     Even before that awful day, he supposed he had quite literally taken her life.

     It hadn't been a proper marriage, and he hadn't been a proper husband.  He'd scooped her up before she'd had a chance to find someone who might love her the way she deserved to be loved.  Someone who didn't spend his days trying not to stare at handsome classmates, then come home and involuntarily imagine them in her place while they made love.  Someone with a heart that wasn't, by grim necessity, a mystery to her.

     Edward, though he had tried, could never be that person.

     And then she was gone.

     She was his best friend, and he'd killed her.

     He'd killed her, out of his selfish desire to create a child.

     A child that she would never even get to meet.

     And so, as he'd thrown himself into study to stave off thoughts of his strange desires, Edward now did the same to bury his rage, guilt, and grief.

     He found that, this time, it wasn't quite enough.

 ��   But, as it turned out, it didn't have to be.

     For now he had his son.

     Despite his morbid origins, Camus delighted him.  Seemingly right out of the gate, the boy was hardy and headstrong, charging face-first into life with the stolid relentlessness of a glacier.  He was big and strong like his parents, with his mother's sandy hair and ruddy skin.

     He was Edward's whole world.

     He was, though it pained him, everything he'd been hoping for.

     "Okay, this part sounds pretty familiar."

     "I knew it would."

     Moreover, he was someone for Edward to keep his head up for.  He couldn't, even for a second, allow Camus to think he was anything but completely loved.  It was the right thing to do.  And it was, of course, the truth.

     Even when he felt like his heart was breaking, Edward's love for Camus never wavered.

     Neither did his ambition, his resolve.

     More than ever, his hands ached to heal the world.  To stop the bleeding, and fix it once and for all.  If he couldn't reach back and do it for his wife and himself, then he could reach forward and do it for the next person, and the next.

     In the end, all that reaching paid off.  Edward graduated from university two semesters early; immediately starting medical school as part of a small, straggling cohort of mid-year enrollees.

     This, too, was everything he'd been hoping for.

     The body fascinated, terrified, and enthralled him completely.  All those structures and tendrils; like rivers, like maps.  Everything red and quivering with precious life.

     His second year, the year he was allowed to begin working with patients, was a dizzying series of firsts.

     The first time he set a bone.

     The first time he administered a painkiller, and watched his patient's face grow restful and calm.

     The first time he sewed up a wound.

     This was his true domain, and he was honored to move within it.

     "Yeah, I know how this feels, too."

     "I think you also know what comes next."

     Camus learned, in time, to walk and speak.  To hold a crayon, and to button up a sweater.

     Edward learned, in his own time, to repair a heart, to kill an infection, to restore movement to a limb.

     They both had much growing to do, and, through their own determination, they grew.

     Just before Camus was to start kindergarten, he walked hand-in-hand with his father at the graduation ceremony, as Edward accepted both his diploma and the heavy iron title of doctor.

     Doctor.

     He was a doctor.  He had a fine son.

     It was everything he'd ever wanted, or at least almost everything.

     Edward tried not to think of what he'd done to get here.

     For a while, all was well.

     They were a small, lonely family; living a small, lonely life.  But it was a life filled with its own joys, and they caught them where they could find them.

     It took Edward some time to notice that, for him, those joys were becoming harder and harder to find.

     There was no moment where things went bad, no inciting incident, no dramatic fallout.

     Rather, the life slowly drained out of him, over a period of years.  He did his best to not let anyone see, but he felt it all the same.  He was like a false-front building on the set of a theatre production; strong and stately on the outside, hollow on the inside.  Nothing holding him up.

     By then, of course, he had done enough reading to know that he wasn't alone.

     Somehow, that only made things worse.

     He wasn't sure how things were now, but back then, in the rank-and-file Empire, everything was hushed and furtive.  Couplings that couldn't expand their numbers with children were frowned upon.  Pleasure was regarded with suspicion.  Edward knew what he wanted, and he knew it was unbefitting of his station; that if he gave in and was caught, he might lose everything.

     It would not, he firmly decided, be worth the risk.

     But, of course, one can only hold out for so long.

     Over the years, there were a handful of one-night stands, taken in the dark of night with a cautious eye over his shoulder.  Small, stolen sips of the life he really wanted; painfully sweet on the tongue.

     This, too, seemed to make it all that much worse.

     Though it was a splendid thing to finally be touched, it wasn't what he wanted, not really.  What he wanted was the same kind of life he'd attempted to build with his wife all those years ago.  The same man in his bed every morning, a body he knew better than his own, another loving father for his precious son.

     Not an hour in the dark, but a real life.  A life worth its own living.

     "Oh, Ed..."

     "Russell...  Stop.  I don't want your pity."

     Eventually, he gave up on love entirely.  He'd rather have none at all than a torturous nibble at its crust.  He had his work, and he had his son, and that was more than enough.

     And besides, he had his mind.

     Exiled from the tenderness he longed for, Edward began to daydream, floridly and often.

     He dreamt of worlds where he wouldn't be alone any longer, where the heaving excess of affection inside of him would finally be reciprocated, where those he found himself longing to touch might long to touch him.

     Edward was a clever man, and a romantic at heart.  It didn't take much to untether his imagination.

     The pale, graceful hands of a wiry green-eyed surgeon who worked his shift.  A stocky orderly, all inviting rounded softness and well-formed muscle, running a hand through his dark curls and complaining that he'd gotten written up for accidentally growing them an inch too long.  One of the front desk workers, gangly and prematurely grey at the temples, who drank five cups of strong tea every shift and slumped low in his chair with his legs lazily crossed when he wasn't handling intake forms.  A few times, in spite of himself, a patient who'd come in with a minor injury sustained doing something particularly eccentric or daring.

     His mind was keen indeed, and within it, he was sure he knew what it would feel like to touch every last one of them.

     In those waking dreams, he'd undone countless rows of buttons, ran his fingers through a veritable forest of neatly clipped hair; felt the warmth of a thousand phantom hands on his back, and whispered into an endless spiral of ears those same electric words: "let's run away."

     And still, it wasn't enough to keep away his despair.

     The high-stakes work, the long hours, the bloated dead weight of guilt nearly a decade old, and the endless longing for what he couldn't have were beginning to take their toll.

     In time, Edward even began to lose his health.

     The irony was not lost on him, but by then he didn't care.

     He was constantly exhausted, and plagued by headaches.  His nervous stomach began to only accept the blandest foods.  If he'd been allowed to grow his hair, he would have felt it coming out in clumps.  He once nursed a bleeding ulcer for nearly a year.  And, though his body held stubbornly in its familiar solid shape, his face changed unpredictably in texture and aspect from month to month, like bad weather; waterlogged-fleshy when he tried to drink and sleep away his sorrows, windblown-hardened when he took on extra shifts and paced in the night.

     Neither, it seemed, worked particularly well.

     Edward kept trying anyway.

     Eventually, he was so dead at heart that he even stopped fantasizing.

     That was just as well, he figured.  He couldn't imagine any man falling for him now, as dead at heart as he was.

     So, in place of his fantasies, Edward began making plans.

     Far off, end-of-the-line plans; the way one might plan their retirement.

     In a way, he supposed, that was exactly what he was doing.

     He knew it wouldn't be for a decade, at least.

     Not until Camus was out on his own.

     And he knew it would have to look like an accident.

     It pained him that he would, inevitably, hurt his son.  But Edward was so, so tired, and the idea of going on any longer than he strictly had to only made him crave the end all the more.

     In the state he was in, that craving was dangerous.

     So he chained it up, healed who he could, and kept his eyes on that early retirement.

     "Wait, so when you were talking about the things people do when they think no one cares..."

     "...I've seen it in a lot of people.  But yes, I suppose I was one of them."

     Edward may have stopped caring about himself, but he hadn't for a second stopped caring about his work; his patients, and his vow to heal.  It was the thing that he knew would keep him going, until Camus was grown and he could take his leave.

     And so, he kept going.

     Until he made a mistake with a patient.

     He'd been assisting with a surgery, and—sleep-deprived and shaky—had nicked the delicate wall of a vital artery.  The patient survived, but just as easily could have died, if not for the thin skilled hands of Mr. Green Eyes, who was quick with the hemostats and a curt dismissal.

     He never forgot those eyes; how their clear jade-green grew dark with fear and contempt as he suggested that Edward go home for the night, and not come back until he could do his job.

     And so, Edward went home.

     Where he realized that—unless he wanted to wind up killing someone—he could no longer do his job.  In his mind's eye, he saw the blank horror on the sleepless midwife's face; the blood pooling on the white tile floor.

     For the first time, he knew how she must have felt, and that knowledge made him sick.

     The second and even more crushing revelation was that he was failing as a father.  With Camus in school, and Edward perpetually moving between work and the dismal mires of his own mind, the two of them barely spoke.

     He was, he realized, losing everything at last.

     That thought made him laugh for the first time in months.

     If he'd known it would come to this, maybe he should have just taken a steady lover after all.

     But he had no time to worry about that now.  His only concern was how he might wriggle out of the prison he'd made for himself before he could do any more damage.

     Edward, of course, was excellent at making plans.

     He wasn't quite sure how he'd concocted this one.  It seemed to spring from his skull fully-formed; born of the realization that the only time he ever felt all right was when he sat under a tree on the green campus lawn, and a novel he'd recently read that took place in the agrarian kingdom of Norad.

     They would, he decided, escape to Norad.

     They would eat fresh-picked fruit and fresh-baked bread, go on hikes in the forests, and buy all their milk and eggs straight from a smiling farmer.  They would live in a house with wooden floors and sunny windows, and gaze into an ocean of unobstructed stars every night.

     And if, after ten years of that, Edward still wanted to die, at least he would die surrounded by greenery.

     The execution was simple, but it took some time.  Edward spent hours that bled into days cross-referencing maps and directories, in search of a village that not only lacked a doctor, but was remote enough that its residents couldn't quickly access care elsewhere.

     Somewhere that couldn't refuse him.

     Somewhere that, he hoped, they couldn't be found.

     Eventually, he settled on the village of Kardia, its name so tiny on the huge map that it almost vanished into a bend in the coastline.

     Once he'd made up his mind, they left abruptly.  Edward called the hospital to say that he wasn't well, and that someone needed to cover his shifts.  He figured it was the truth, so what did it matter if he'd left out the word "forever?"

     In the carriage that secreted them over the border, he listened as Camus grieved his school and his friends, and watched as the sturdy boy did his best not to cry.

     For the first time, but certainly not the last, Edward wondered if this wasn't just another one of his selfish escapes.

     No.  I'm saving both of us.

     Edward, after all, had lived his whole life in the Empire, and knew what it had made of him.

     The icepick headaches, the drinking in bed on his rare days off, the suicide planned years in advance.  He didn't want any of that for his son.  He wanted him to grow up strong and happy, to bask under wide skies and cool his heels in the shade.  To love who he wished.

     This tiny hamlet, this town that looked like a postcard and could all but fit on one, was just the kind of place where that could happen.

     Edward told Godwin he was a doctor, and was welcomed like a saint.

     "...Russell, why are you laughing?"

     "Sorry...  I just think it's sort of funny.  We did the exact same thing, didn't we?"

     "We did."

~*~

     The two men sat for some time in exhausted, tear-streaked silence.

     After a while, Edward shrugged casually.

     "...There.  Now you know."

     Russell studied the tears drying on his friend's strong face, his mind filled with green eyes and golden hands; all that people don't know about each other.

     He wanted to go to Edward and hold him, the way he always wanted to be held.

     Instead, picked up his mug and watched his own solemn reflection, wavering and red with rose hips.

     "Ed...  Why did you never tell me any of this?"

     What he meant was, "we were so alike, and I never even knew."

     Edward sighed, sounding ragged and spent.

     "I never told anyone.  I think I just wanted to keep it all in the past."

     Russell smiled.  He didn't know if it was more irony or fondness, but he felt it crack the dried tears all the same.

     "...You know what I think?"

     Edward smiled as well; a tear-cracked smirk to match Russell's own.

     "What?  What do you think?"

     Russell—still smiling—felt another tear escape.

     "I think you're just as messed-up as I am."

     Edward laughed.

     "I guess I am."

     And yet...

     Russell turned back to his tea.

     "...You've dealt with it a lot better than I have, though."

     Looking up again, he tried to read his friend's face, but found it inscrutable in the dying light.  Edward sighed, and turned slightly to watch the setting sun.

     "I'm just better at ignoring it.  And that's probably not such a good thing."

     Russell studied Edward from behind, as the light caught his dark hair and made it gleam like polished wood.

     There was still so much he wanted to ask him.

     Is there anything about the city you miss?

     What kinds of men do you like best?

     Did it ever get easier?

     Do you still want to die?

     In the end, he decided to keep quiet.

     Edward had already given him enough; all those small, broken pieces of the people he'd been.  The curious young boy, the teenage newlywed, the widowed father, the short-haired city doctor so lonely that his body ate itself from the inside.

     All of them seemed to be layered atop the present-day Edward as he gazed out the window, like sketches on rice paper held up to the sun.

     Like invisible ink.

     Absent-mindedly, Russell took a sip of his tea, then downed it in one gulp.

     It had gone completely cold.

[apathetic-revenant]

by the skin of your teeth (part six)

inch by inch the plot slowly creeps forward

this was a tough one because there are really only so many ways you can describe long tense silences and people glaring at each other. 

and also because the name ��Fiddleford’ kinda has a negative impact on dramatic tension, tbh. 

Fiddleford's place was in a rather seedy apartment block on the edge of town. Seedy for Gravity Falls, at any rate; it was downright posh compared to most of the places he'd stayed in, Stan mused as they pulled in. Fiddleford seemed to find it shady enough, though, judging by the way he glanced around nervously as he scurried to the door and fumbled with his keys so long it was almost comical.

Then again, he might have rather less mundane threats in mind than Stan usually did.

The inside of the apartment wasn't exactly unwelcoming, but it had a decidedly temporary feel to it. It was sparse, with nearly no decoration or personal touches, just essentials. Albeit essentials that were scattered all over the place. Fiddleford had achieved an impressive amount of clutter with a limited amount of resources.

He hastened them inside and all but shoved Ford onto the ratty old couch that took up most of the main room. Stan watched with some amusement as the engineer performed a remarkably matronly examination of Ford, putting a hand on his forehead and listening to his chest.

“I shoulda known,” he muttered. “I shoulda known as soon as I left you alone you'd wind yourself up in trouble. This happened all the time in college,” he told Stan. “Never met anyone so unable to take care of himself. Stayed up all night, skipped meals, wouldn't go to the damn doctor 'cause it took time away from studying- I told him, slow down and just get a degree like the rest of us. But no, he wanted a PhD. Nearly killed himself doin’ it.”

He bustled out of the room in a cloud of ambient muttering, leaving the twins in a somewhat stunned silence.

“You have a PhD?” Stan asked.

“Four,” Ford muttered. “Working on the fifth.”

Stan sighed and sank down onto the couch next to him. He'd always supposed Ford would excel without Stan around to hold him back, but this was something else.

He stared at the coffee table in front of them, which was actually just a large piece of wood balanced on a couple of boxes. The mess on top of it could have fit seamlessly into Ford's house: papers covered in a mix of equations, weird symbols, paranoid ramblings, and coffee mug rings, mixed with an assortment of books, chewed pens and wadded-up scraps.

No wonder these two got along, Stan thought. Talk about nerds of a feather.

“There's no need to scoff,” Ford said.

Stan blinked, momentarily wondering if Ford could read minds now. “What?”

“Acquiring a doctorate is no easy task,” Ford said stiffly. “Just because it's not what you think of as work-”

“What? I wasn't-”

“Tea's going,” Fiddleford said, coming back into the room. He was pushing a heavily duct-taped swivel chair, which he parked across from the couch, and carrying a blanket, which he threw over Ford.

“Why do people keep putting blankets on me?” Ford grumbled.

“'Cause you're sick,” Stan said.

“The presence of a blanket is hardly going to-”

“Shut up and huddle under your fleece,” Stan told him tiredly.

Ford looked sour, but he did huddle.

Fiddleford climbed into the swivel chair and folded himself up like a jackknife, drawing his knees up to his chin and wrapping his arms around his legs. “Gotta say, I've never seen you looking this bad,” he said. “Where'd you get that shiner?”

Ford and Stan glanced at each other uncomfortably.

“It's...complicated,” Ford said.

“Ah,” Fiddleford said.

“Not like that,” Ford said. “We didn't fight, if that's what you're-well, we did fight, but that's not why-”

“What is all this about, Stanford?” Fiddleford said quietly. “What's goin' on?”

Ford looked away.

“You...asked me where I was getting my ideas,” he said eventually. “My blueprints...if there was someone...”

Fiddleford said nothing, but he began to bounce one leg up and down nervously.

“You were right,” Ford said. “I...I encountered an...entity here, some time ago. Well before you arrived. He...”

He clenched his hands around the blanket, pulling it tight across his shoulders.

“I trusted him,” he whispered. “I shouldn't have-I should have trusted you, Fidds, I should have listened, I'm so sorry but I...I thought...I didn't want to tell you, I didn't think you would understand, and you wouldn't have, you wouldn't have and you would have been right not to...”

There was still no response from Fiddleford, but if he started bouncing that leg any faster he was going to take off, Stan thought.

“I thought he was a force for good,” Ford said agonizingly. “I thought...”

He swallowed harshly a few times.

“I...I thought I was...he told me I was special. I was important, I was chosen...I was going to do great things...and I believed it all. I wanted to believe it. He gave me the blueprints, equations, ideas...but it was all a trick. The portal was only ever meant to serve his plans.”

“What finally got it through your head?” Fiddleford’s voice wasn't angry, exactly, but it wasn't sympathetic either.

“After the...the accident-”

Fiddleford twitched sharply at the word, but his expression didn't change.

“...I got suspicious. I confronted him...he told me, he gloated. I'm so sorry, I was an idiot-”

“What do you want?” Fiddleford broke in.

Ford blinked. “Wh...what?”

“You didn't come here just to tell me how sorry you are,” Fiddleford said sharply. “You want something. You want me to come back, don't you? Come back and work with you again, help you fix this mess.”

Ford looked completely flabbergasted. It was almost funny.

“I...well, yes. That is...please, just, just for a little while. I need your help, Fidds, your mechanical genius -”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Fiddleford said.

“I'm being completely literal!” Ford burst out. “The portal has to be dismantled, and I can't do it on my own.”

“Why not? You mantled it in the first place. Didn't even need my help, apparently.”

“That's-that's not true, Fidds,” Ford said weakly. “I couldn't have done it without you-”

But Fiddleford was shaking his head. “Said you didn't need me. Didn't need me, or anyone else.”

“How many times do I have to say it?” Ford snapped, cracking his voice. “I'm sorry! I was wrong!”

For a moment Stan thought a full-on fight was going to break out then and there. Or at least, an attempt at one; both men looked like they would probably pass out long before anything really got started.

“Hmph,” Fiddleford said finally. “Well...I do know you'd just about rather spill your own blood than admit you were wrong about anything. So I guess that counts for something. But you ain't answered my question. What d'you need all of the sudden that you can't manage on your own?”

“I can't dismantle the portal on my own. Not...not right now. I can't. I can't risk the possibility that he'll sabotage it...make things even worse...if his plans come to fruition, Fidds- we're talking about the fate of the world here-”

“And what makes you think he couldn't sabotage me just as easy?” Fiddleford said.

Ford tensed suddenly, sharply, and Stan realized what was about to happen about a second too late to stop his brother from lunging across the table.

“Did you talk to him?” Ford's voice was high and wild with sudden panic. “Did you make a deal?!”

Fiddleford shrieked and tried to dodge away, inadvertently sending his chair rolling across the room and crashing into the opposite wall. Stan grabbed Ford around the shoulders and managed to yank him back onto the couch.

“Calm down, bro!” he yelled as Ford struggled against him rather ineffectually. “He didn't do anything!”

Across the room Fiddleford had untangled himself from the chair and was staring at them with huge, terrified eyes. Ford was starting to gasp, and the scant amount of color in his face had fled completely. He looked like he might pass out again.

“C'mon, just...just breathe,” Stan said desperately. “Just breathe. It's okay. It's okay.”

Slowly, painfully slowly, Ford's breathing steadied. His eyes were streaming, though thankfully without any blood this time, and his whole frame was shaking hard.

“Did...did you...make a deal?” he demanded.

“Jesus, Stanford, what are you talking about?” Fiddleford cried. “A deal with who?”

“With him,” Ford wheezed. “You...you said he could sabotage you...”

Stan coughed. “I think he was talking about more of a, y'know... abstract possibility there, Ford.”

“Damn right I was!” Fiddleford said. “I don't know what you're on about but I ain't made no deals with nobody!”

There was a moment when Ford tensed up all over and Stan thought he might jump at Fiddleford again; but then the moment broke and Ford slumped so suddenly that Stan briefly thought he really had fainted.

“Sorry,” Ford whispered. His voice sounded wretched. “Sorry...I thought...”

“Thought what?” Fiddleford spluttered. “You're making even less sense than usual, Stanford, you know that?”

“You don't understand,” Ford said. “He's...he gets in your head. He got in my head. I...I made a deal with him...he tricks people, Fidds, he can trick you and take you over and I can't, I can't trust anyone, he could be anyone...”

Fiddleford had gone very still. It was an uneasy contrast from his manic fidgeting.

“When you say he gets in your head...” he said quietly.

“I mean he gets in your head, I mean it! He can control people if...if they let him. I was foolish, so foolish...I fell for his lies and now, now if I slip up, if I fall asleep...he tried to hurt Stan, he used me to do it because Stan was in his way...I thought he was helping me, but it was all a trick, because that's what he does-”

“So this...this ain't a person you're talking about, here,” Fiddleford said. “This is...some kind of demon-”

“Yes, Fiddleford!” Ford snapped. “We're talking about an incredibly powerful entity from another dimension! He wants to come here and he used me as a pawn to do it and if we don't stop him he'll take over everything! His name-”

“Don't say it!”

Ford drew up short. Fiddleford was starting to twitch like a malfunctioning machine, like he was going to shudder himself apart any moment.

“Don't say it,” he said vehemently. “Don't say it! I don't want to remember-”

The kettle shrieked.

Fiddleford screamed and fell out of his chair. Stan made a strangled noise that wasn't quite a coherent expletive and nearly dropped Ford on the floor. He watched Fiddleford make a dash for the kitchen and slowly managed to release all the muscles that had suddenly clenched tight.

“What...what was that all about?” he muttered to Ford, who was squirming out of his grip. Stan let him go, since it seemed like the immediate threat of violence was over. “I thought we were trying to get him to help us, not strangle him.”

“I panicked,” Ford muttered back.

“Yeah, no shit.”

“I just...I thought he might have...I can't trust anyone, Stan, I can't, he could be anywhere, he could be using anyone-”

“What about me? You don't trust me?”

Ford opened and shut his mouth several times. “I...that's not what I meant, Stan...”

“Sure,” Stan said. “Okay.”

He couldn't exactly argue anyway. He was, objectively, untrustworthy.

They sat in an awkward, shaking silence for a few minutes. Ford stared at the papers scattered across the table in front of them. Then he frowned and began to shuffle some of them around.

“No,” he whispered. “No, no, no...I was right...”

Stan looked down at the sheet Ford had uncovered. Most of it was covered in technical jargon that he had to assume made more sense to Ford than it did to him, but there was also a symbol drawn several times in the margins: a crude image of an eye with a red X over it.

“Fiddleford...” Ford whispered, the paper creasing in his hands. “What did you do...?”

“Made y'all tea.” Fiddleford shuffled hesitantly back into the room with three steaming mugs clutched precariously in his hands. “Lemon and ginger, with a lotta honey in yours, Stanford-it'll do your throat some good...”

He stopped a few feet away as Ford slowly turned his gaze on him.

“What is this?” Ford said, holding the crumpled paper up.

“Just a project of mine,” Fiddleford mumbled, taking a step back. “Nothing to concern yourself with...”

Ford stood up so suddenly that Stan jumped. Fiddleford squeaked and spilled tea all over the floor.

“You're involved with them, aren't you?” Ford demanded. “The people in red hoods-the symbol painted everywhere-the dreams-what are they doing, Fiddleford? What are you doing? What did you do to me?”

“It-it ain't nothing bad!” Fiddleford protested. “We're helping people, Stanford! It's a good thing!”

“Helping people? With, with, with what, that gun of yours? That's what this is about, isn't it? You're erasing memories! How can you call that a good thing-”

“What,” Stan said, but no one paid any attention to him.

“Because there are some memories people don't want to have!” Fiddleford yelled back. “Especially around here, with all the...the things that happen...people shouldn't have to remember things like that! I didn't want to-I couldn't live with what I saw, Stanford! Whatever it was we did...what happened to me...it was eating me alive! I'm better now, and I can make other people better too-”

“This is a cult,” Ford snapped, taking a step forward and crunching the paper into a ball in his fist. “You started a cult!”

“You made a deal with the devil!”

“I once got tarred and feathered for selling bad air conditioners in Albuquerque,” Stan said.

Everything stopped. Both Ford and Fiddleford slowly turned to look at Stan.

“You what,” Fiddleford said.  

“What does that have to do with anything,” Ford said.

“Nothing, really. Just didn't want to be left out.” Stan shrugged. “You know, if we're talking about really bad decisions that we've made.”

The silence hung heavy in the air for a moment before Ford sighed and sunk back down onto the couch.

“So you did erase my memory,” he said. “I thought so. About the people you hired...about building the portal...”

Fiddleford cautiously put the now rather less full mugs onto the table and scooted back. “You were making such a damn fuss about it. About the portal not being secret anymore. So I made it secret, but you were still so angry and you wanted to destroy the gun and...I couldn't let you, it was the only thing that was working...I...I guess I panicked. And afterwards everything was better, so-”

“You call that better?” Ford said bitterly. “Messing with someone's mind-”

Fiddleford retreated to his swivel chair and pulled his knees back up defensively, glowering over the top of his mug. “It is better. I'm better now. I'm not having screaming nightmares anymore.”

Ford likewise glowered into his own mug. “So you erased your memories of the...the accident?”

“And a few other things.” Fiddleford took a rather sullen drink of tea. “Not...not all of it. Didn't want no big holes or nothing. But...there were a lot of things I didn't want rattling around in my brain anymore either.”

“So...how much do you remember about building the portal?”

Fiddleford looked away. “...Didn't even remember it was a portal til you brought it up. Knew we were building something down there. Something dangerous. But I-I didn't want to think about it.”

“Right, so you decided you were just going to ignore it. You knew it was dangerous, but as long as you didn't have to think about it everything was just fine-”

“What was I supposed to do?” Fiddleford snapped. “I tried telling you to shut it down! I tried  over and over and you wouldn't listen to me!”

The words evidently hit a mark; Ford slumped in on himself, the righteous anger dissipating off of him like steam. “You did. You did...”

He took a sip of tea and grimaced slightly. “I suppose...you don't remember a lot of technical details, then...”

“No.” Fiddleford shook his head adamantly. “I'm sorry. I can't help you.”

“There must be something you could do,” Stan broke in.

He couldn't believe this. He'd expected that maybe they wouldn't be able to find Fiddleford, or that he wouldn't be willing to help; he had most certainly not expected to find him just fine and then hear that he couldn't help because he'd erased his own damn memory with some weird science thing. What was the matter with these nerds? How did they manage to make absolutely everything way too complicated in the most unpredictable manner possible?

“You're still a smart guy, right?” he said. “Can't you, like...figure it again?”

Fiddleford glanced at Stan in surprise. Evidently he hadn't expected Stan to actually contribute anything to the discussion. Well, that made two of them.

“...That's not a bad point,” Ford said, which was even more surprising. “Your technical genius should still be fully intact. Besides, I have doubts about the permanency of the memory gun-I've already regained some recollection of our, uh, our encounter. With some prompting you could most likely remember-”

“I don't want to remember!” Fiddleford said. “I erased those memories for a reason, Stanford! I don't want them back!”

“I know that, Fiddleford, but-but the danger's still there! If I can't dismantle the portal, if his plan succeeds-you think you won't remember then? You think you won't have even worse things to remember?”

Fiddleford flinched away and somehow managed to ball himself up even tighter.

“Please,” Ford said. “After this...I won't ask anything more of you. You don't have to ever talk to me, or, or see me again. But for this one last time...I need you for this, Fidds. I need you to be brave just a little longer. I won't let anything happen to you again. The portal's shut down now, and we know what went wrong, it won't happen again-”

Fiddleford sighed.

“It ain't just the machine I'm scared of, Stanford,” he said. “It's...you.”

Ford stiffened. Stan did as well. A whole childhood's worth of memories suddenly rushed into immediate recollection: taunts of 'freak' and 'mutant' and 'monster', exaggerated reactions of disgust and horror, mocking laughter endlessly directed at his brother for being different. He found his hands curling into angry fists out of muscle memory ten years gone, ready to defend Ford one more time.

“I thought you at least were able to look past differences like that-” Ford said tightly.

“Oh, for...I ain't talking about your damn polydactyly, ya idiot,” Fiddleford said. “I'm talking about you. About...the way you go at things. You're the most stubborn man I've ever met by a long shot. You see a goal and you won't let anything move you. Sometimes that's alright, but the kind of goals you pick, the things you go after...it don't always lead to a good end. And...you draw people in. I dunno, maybe you got so much determination that it's catching, but...I left my wife and child to come help you on this! I ain't seen them in months! And I knew, I knew something was wrong, I knew we should have stopped, I should have left way before I did, but I didn't. I did things I shouldn't have ever done. Because...because I got caught up in it. In all that drive, it was like a magnet pullin' me along. I'm scared of what'll happen if I help you again. I'm scared of where I might end up. You can say it'll be simple, it'll just be one job and over with, and I don't doubt that you mean it, but...that don't necessarily make it true.”

Ford looked completely and utterly lost.

“I...I didn't...I didn't realize it was...like that,” he said distantly. “I never...”

“I know you didn't. You never see anything that ain't in your immediate sights, Stanford. That's always been a problem of yours.”

Ford looked down at his hands and said nothing.

Stan wanted to say something, but he didn't know what. He took a drink from the remaining mug of tea. It tasted like plants.

He couldn't really argue with this one. He couldn't respond to that with a punch to the face. Or, well, he could, but it wouldn't help anything. It wouldn't make Fiddleford wrong. Ford was...like that. He got caught up in his plans and he couldn't see anything else and it was so damn hard to argue with him. His conviction started to feel like a law of the universe, as pointless to argue with as gravity.

Of course...Stan had argued with him a considerable amount anyway. Maybe because he didn't know when to give up either, but still. It could be done. Besides, if Fiddleford's response to all this had been to go off and start a memory-erasing cult, he didn't think the man could put all the blame for bad science decisions on Ford.

He took another drink of tea, mostly because it was hot and the apartment was almost as cold as Ford's house, and also because it gave him something to do, and stared at the papers scattered out in front of them. He supposed some of them were schematics for whatever this gun was, but he couldn't really tell.

A memory erasing gun. Of all things. He didn't much like the thought of that, of someone mucking around in his head, deciding what should be in there and what shouldn't. Not to say that there weren't things he'd rather not have in his head, thanks...

And there was a thought there, but he couldn't quite pin it down. He frowned at the papers. Things he didn't want in his head. There was a lot of that going around lately, wasn't there...?

“So you won't help?” Ford said wearily.

Fiddleford had invented the gun because there were things he wanted to get rid of. Memories. Information. Ford had information he wanted to get rid of, too...and...

“I don't know, Stanford.” Fiddleford's leg was tapping again. “I know it's important. But I...I don't know if I'm strong enough, and that's the truth.”

...and...

It wouldn't work. It couldn't work. There was no way, because if it would work one of these brilliant science guys would have thought of it already. He didn't know anything about all this stuff. It had to be a stupid idea because Stan had thought of it and there was no way he was going to come up with any kind of smart answer to this mess.

But...

But Ford and Fiddleford were both sitting there staring glumly at nothing and the sense of despair was hanging heavy on the room and it was going to bother him unless he said something, and what could it hurt, really? They'd tell him it was stupid and then he could stop thinking about it and they could move on to...something else, maybe, if there was anything else.

“Hey,” he said. “Um. This...this gun thing. It erases memories?”

Ford glanced at him dully. “Yes.”

“Like...something in your brain...that you don't want to be there...this gun can remove that?”

“Yes, Stan, that is indeed an extremely basic grasp of the general concept,” Ford said, in that Long-Suffering Smart Person voice he got when he had to explain things to lesser intellects.

“It produces a radiation wave designed to target a specific area of the brain,” Fiddleford said. “It doesn't have any tangible effects. You can't just go around erasing things.”

“Oh,” Stan said.

Ford frowned slightly. “What were you thinking of?”

“It's nothing. Forget it,” Stan muttered, looking away. “It was a dumb idea.”

“No...no, what were you thinking of? Stan?” Ford's voice was oddly insistent.

Stan tapped his fingers together nervously. “Well, it's just...you know...if this gun, if it can affect what's in your head...and he's in your head...”

Ford said nothing.

“I don't know,” Fiddleford said. “You could target the gun to erase your memory of...him, but...I can't think it'd stop him any, if he's some kind of demon-”

“I said it was stupid,” Stan muttered. “Look, just-”

“No...no, hold on, hold on,” Ford said. His fingers were starting to tap frantically on his cup. “Bill manifests in the mindscape, which would necessarily be affected by anything having a significant impact on brain function...if you could just target it correctly...it would take some modifications, but potentially...”

He pushed several of the papers in front of him around, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath. There was a manic light growing in his eyes.

“Fiddleford,” Ford said, “I need to see your notes. All of them.”

[sunkisseddaffodils]

reunion- pt 2 (final)

Pairing: sherlock x fem!reader

Request: 'hi! can i pls request a sherlock x fem!reader fic in which reader is kinda john's childhood bestfriend, but they were separated when reader with her parents moved somewhere (to united states, for instance). so now when she is in britain again, she sort of struggles with finding a not very fancy place to stay. fortunately, she meets our johnny boi and he immediately proposes for her to stay in 221c, baker-street. so reader moves there, meets sherly and they sorta starting to fall in luv with each other'

Summary: Sherlock accidentally drags up some old unwanted memories for the reader

Genre: reader insert, angst

A/n: this is the final part of the above request. Sorry, I didn't exactly follow the request but I mostly tried to. Thanks to anon for requesting though! Enjoy!

Read pt 1 here.

-

The following day, after a restless night’s sleep, Y/N sat nervously in Mrs’s Hudson cosy kitchenette. Mrs Hudson had switched on the kettle and was preparing to make both of them a cup of tea. From what John had told her, she was perfectly lovely but she couldn’t help but be anxious. It was in her nature; she worried about everything. She made sure to bring papers to prove to her that she had a monthly income. But what if that wasn’t enough and Mrs Hudson had already decided that she wasn’t good enough to stay in her upstairs flat? The sound of china cups being placed on the table brought her back from the depths of her mind.

‘What brings you to London? John tells me you moved all the way from the States?’

John was right, Mrs Hudson was delightful. Y/N felt more relaxed at the sound of her comforting voice.

‘I’m starting my training next week to be a dentist in Harley Street ’

Mrs Hudson’s eyes genuinely glistened with interest.

‘Oh? John told me you already completed dental school in Seattle? Aren’t you already qualified?’

‘Yeah in the States. To work here, I have to do an extra year before I’m qualified. I don’t mind though, I wanted a fresh start in the UK.’

A door closing behind them interrupted their conversation. Both Y/N and Mrs H turned to where the noise came from but couldn’t see who or what made it. The latter called out.

‘Sherlock? John? Is that you?’

With no response, they returned to their conversation.

‘Y/N, you seem like a lovely young woman with a bright future. Of course, you can stay in the upstairs flat!’

She smiled widely, uttering a thousand ‘thank yous’. Y/N grabbed her important documents and handed them to Mrs Hudson.

‘Thank you. I’ll take a look at these later.’

Tomorrow, Mrs Hudson gave Y/N a tour of 221c. She fell speechless as she looked around. It was the same layout as Sherlock’s but had recently been renovated to have a more modern look. The apartment was already furnished so all she had to do was move her belonging's in from storage. She couldn’t believe that she was able to afford this apartment! Especially, as it was in central London. Promptly, she strolled over to where her new landlady was waiting by the front door.

‘So I get all this for this price? That’s insanely cheap for London.’

Y/N commented while pointing to the tenancy agreement Mrs Hudson was holding.

Simply, she just chuckled.

‘I do special rates for Sherlock and John. If you’re a friend of John’s then you’re a friend of mine. I’ll do the same for you.’

She continued.

'I met Sherlock in Florida when my husband was sentenced to death. He was able to help out so I owed him a favour. ’

Her face was completely serious yet it sounded so implausible. How could a lovely little lady like Mrs Hudson have such an impossible past like that? Adding to that, Y/N wondered that Sherlock really must be a genius if he can stop someone from being executed.

‘Wait, are you saying that Sherlock stopped your husband from being executed?’

‘Oh no, he ensured it.’

And with that bombshell of a statement, Mrs Hudson disappeared downstairs leaving Y/N utterly astonished in her new apartment. She made a note to herself to remind her to ask John about Mrs Hudson’s past. There was so much she wanted to know about her life.

A few days passed and the time finally arrived for Y/N to move into 221c. She was standing outside the cafe with Mrs Hudson, waiting for the moving company to arrive along with her possessions. She glanced at her watch, anxiously. The moving people were already five minutes late. Meanwhile, Sherlock and John were upstairs having carried three boxes between them that Y/N had brought herself. John was busying himself, tidying up the flat, waiting for a text from Y/N so he and Sherlock could help her move in and set up the place. He had told Sherlock to make himself useful but looking over his way, he hadn’t. Sherlock was staring intensely at the three boxes they had placed on the dining table by the windows. John marched over there to tell him off.

‘Sherlock! What are you doing? If you’re not going to make yourself useful up here, then can you at least go downstairs to check what’s taking the mover’s so long?’

Sherlock completely disregarded everything he just said.

‘Look at these three boxes, John. What do they tell you?’

He just groaned.

‘Nothing, they’re just boxes.’

‘Fine, if you’re not going to play ball then I will just tell you.Y/N has made sure she took these boxes here herself. Why? That suggests they’re private and she doesn’t want strangers, i.e the movers, to touch them. The first two boxes are labelled: electronics and toiletries. Makes sense then for why she would want to move them herself: one’s valuable and the others personal.’

He pointed towards the last cardboard box.

‘But why hasn’t she labelled this one? I’m sure I’m right to assume that she would have labelled every single box from what I’ve seen from these two. So what’s in this box that separates it from the rest?’

John stepped away from the dining table and started fluffing some pillows on the couch.

‘Sherlock, I really couldn’t care less. There’s nothing weird going on. She’s not part of some underground crime syndicate. Just leave it alone. You can’t know everything.’

However, the crinkling of tape being peeled off from the box told John that Sherlock, was in fact, not going to leave it alone.

John raced back over to the table and seized the box from Sherlock. Soon, a tug of war for the box began between them.

‘You are not going through Y/N’s private things!’

He yanked the box harder.

‘But John, I have to know what’s in there.’

John glared at him, pulling the box back towards him.

‘Tough luck. Once again let me spell this out: you cannot go through other people’s belongings. It’s rude.’

Sherlock’s grip remained firm, however.

‘Don’t you want to know more about why she’s moved back here? The answer could be in this box. It’s strange that she just packed up and left her life back in Seattle. She obviously doesn’t have any family here. Otherwise, why would she come to you for help? And there’s also the fact I heard her tell Mrs Hudson that she has to do extra training to be a qualified dentist in the UK. Why go to all that effort when she’s already qualified back in the US? Aren’t you in the least bit curious?’

John once again dragged the box back to him.

‘Oh so now you’re not only going through her stuff, you’re also eavesdropping on her?’

Sherlock was offended even though there was a hint of truth to what John was saying.

‘It wasn’t eavesdropping! I just happened to overhear her.’

What Sherlock was saying did make John curious, but still, Y/N deserved her privacy. It was up to her if she wanted to them the real reason she moved back to the UK. John was about to tell Sherlock this when the door burst open.

‘Hey, guys! The movers are here now if you wanna come down.’

Y/N’s voice staggered when she saw the scene before her.

In a moment of alarm, both Sherlock and John had dropped the box. Its content spilt out onto the floor. An off-white ornate picture frame smashed onto the hard wooden floor, glass spraying everywhere. The picture in the frame was of Y/N and a man in front of the Seattle Great Wheel. Y/N stood in surprise as the said man was knelt down holding a rose gold diamond-encrusted ring. The picture frame was custom engraved and it read ‘For my love.’

Oh.

It all made sense now to Sherlock.

However, there was no time to think more about the picture. Sherlock and John stood like a deer in headlights

‘It was Sherlock!’

John pointed accusingly towards Sherlock.

Y/N didn’t say anything, simply walked over to where the box had fallen, glass crunching under converse trainers. She knelt down to pick up the photograph. She remained there for a moment, an expression of profound anguish on her face.

John tried to help her up, but she refused. She practically ran out of the flat, trying to conceal her pain. John didn’t even have time to tell her that she had cut her knees on the glass from the floor. He grabbed a broom from the kitchen and started cleaning up the mess on the floor. He looked at Sherlock who was still in the same place. He had a look of regret on his face.

‘Sherlock there’s no point making that face now! You’re cleaning this mess up too. We’re going to make it up to her by making this apartment look really nice before she comes back.’

As he shifted the box back onto the table, he thought of his own way to make it up to Y/N.

-

Y/N was falling asleep at her desk, she was now four hours into writing her essay on dental hygiene. She placed her head in her hands, thinking she would just have a quick nap. Her phone ringing ended that plan though. She saw that it was Sherlock and hesitated. She still hadn’t forgiven him for trying to go through her things and bringing back unpleasant memories. It had been a week into ignoring him and giving him the cold shoulder. She let it ring out. Sherlock still didn’t get the hint and texted her.

‘Y/N meet me here. I wanna make it up to you. S.H’

That text was accompanied by a GPS location.

Y/N couldn’t think of any possible reason why Sherlock had asked to meet her here. Her uber ride had stopped outside of a manor house just on the outskirts of London. She quickly checked with the driver to make sure she was at the right place. To her bewilderment, he answered yes. Hesitantly, she strolled up to the door. She didn’t even have to knock when Sherlock opened the door. He motioned for her to follow him.

‘Sherlock, what the actual fuck? Do you live here?’

Sherlock led her through a ton of rooms. Y/N swear she could have counted there were at least five formal living rooms.

‘Nope.’

He opened a set of French doors and led her out into the back garden of the estate. Not that you could call it a garden. It was massive. In the distance, she saw stables as they walked through a formal botanical garden. Sherlock was more like running though, but Y/N didn’t know what was so urgent.

‘So if you don’t live here. Then who does?’

An undesirable thought entered her mind.

‘Don’t tell me you broke in here?’

Sherlock turned around just outside of the exit to the formal gardens, jangling keys in front of her face, a childish grin on his face.

‘It’s not breaking in if you have a set of keys.’

They had finally reached their final destination. Y/N saw that someone had set up a bonfire in the middle of a field. A can of petrol and a box lay adjacent to it. That box seemed really familiar. Sherlock picked it up and brought it over. It was hers!

‘Sherlock, you’re going through my things again. You know what, I’m done here!’

She began jogging back towards the house. Sherlock grabbed her arm.

‘Wait! Y/N. Let me explain.’

She gazed back at him intensely, waiting for an explanation.

He placed the box down.

‘I know you haven’t told me about what happened. But unfortunately, I am good at deducing things. Those things in that box came from a bad past relationship. I’m pretty sure I can guess what happened.’

He started to stammer, not sure of how to word what he wanted to say next.

Y/N wasn’t sure where he was going with this but could see he was trying.

‘John will be the first to let you know that I’m no expert on love or on relationships. But I can see you haven’t moved on. I thought it might help if you chucked all of the old stuff from the relationship on that bonfire and set it alight.’

She looked down, knowing that Sherlock was right. He had guessed everything perfectly. He had read her like a book.

‘You’re right. But I took running away from your problems to the extremest.’

She sat down on the grass, wrapping her arms around her knees. Sherlock shortly joined her.

‘He was my world. Or I thought he was until one night I returned home to see him shagging my best friend on the sofa.’

There was a moment of silence before she continued.

‘I just felt so foolish. I had to get away from Seattle. The place was full of memories of my time with him. I couldn’t stand it any longer.’

Sherlock got up and picked up the box.

‘And that’s why you should burn this stuff. He doesn’t deserve to have this much hold on you when he never cared about you in the slightest. We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. But please just think about it.’

Y/N stood up with determination. Sherlock was right. She had to burn all of this stuff to finally move on. Together they placed the contents of the box around the bonfire.

Y/N stood back as Sherlock poured the can of petrol over the bonfire. He asked.

‘One more thing. Do you have that picture with you?’

She grabbed it out of her bag as an answer and showed it to him.

‘I thought you would', he stated.

She placed the picture in the centre of the bonfire.

They walked back a safer distance from it and Sherlock got a box of matches from his pocket. He lit one up and handed it to Y/N. He could see that she was having trouble actually lighting the bonfire. He reached out and held her hand to comfort her. Y/N greatly appreciated that. She took the final step and with her other hand, threw the match into the bonfire.

The bonfire went up in ablaze. It was oddly beautiful watching the embers rise up into the sky. Standing there in hand in hand with Sherlock, she felt the weight that had been on her shoulders for months slowly lift off. The whole experience was cathartic.

Out of the blue, they heard the distant sound of alarms ringing from back at the house. Y/N looked to Sherlock for answers. He just told her to:

‘RUN!’

They sprinted, holding onto each other, seemingly heading towards a gate at the end of a stone wall surrounding the estate.

‘Sherlock! What’s going on?’

Sherlock tried his best to explain as they were running.

‘Technically I did break into this house. But it’s my brother's so it should be fine. There should be a cab waiting just outside this gate.’

‘Oh my god!’, she exclaimed worrying about the consequences to come for their actions.

When they had reached the road outside the gate, they stopped to catch their breath. Then they looked at each other and burst into laughter.

She hadn’t laughed that like in months. And it was all thanks to Sherlock.

-

[boop-le-snoot]

masterpost • main masterlist • taglist & faq

previously on...

Chapter 3 is finally here. Sorcerers need their shopping done, too. Beyonce/Wong platonic ship (joking)! And finally some action, more witchy stuff. Bucky whump because I have a saviour complex. Stucky cuteness moment. Some blood/gore in this chapter.

My insides clenched, seeing the yellow and blue notice taped to my door - the building manager rarely left notes, so whatever it was, it wasn't going to be good. I had managed to wind myself up into an anxious frenzy by the time I had gone inside and locked my door behind me, immediately thinking I would have to exhaust myself by turning to magic to keep a roof over my head.

For once, the news turned out to be positive: a neighbor was being evicted and turned in to the police for stealing packages. The building manager urged the tenants to report any missing items and apply for a refund when possible, apologizing for the inconvenience. I wondered what prompted this, basically unheard of in NYC, act of kindness as my altar stared at me with mocking amusement, pointing out the obvious by its mere presence.

Grinning to myself, I texted Odette - predictably, she was happy for me, happy that my protection spell had turned out strong and steady, and added a few tips of her own for my spell to stay that way. It felt like I'd grown invisible wings, those days, with all the possibilities open - and never once did I let myself entertain a thought of getting back at an enemy of the past for longer than five seconds.

Sure, it was perfectly human to consider making the cheating ex go bankrupt or make sure the college professor, that failed a couple of students each semester as a 'reality check', trips and face-plants at least once a day... I mean, who wouldn't experience a malicious sort of joy from petty revenge?

But I found my powers were best applied with a positive result in mind. My friend's cat was the first test rat- I mean, living creature I had practiced my healing spells on. The eleven year old kitty was struggling and both me and my friend loved the critter dearly - so the short, but tiring spell I performed yielded exactly the results I was expecting. Odette said something about genuine love backing up the magic, and- well, Dumbledore much?

On humans, it turned out, it wasn't nearly as simple. I didn't know what I had expected would happen after performing nothing short of a whole improv-performace type of ritual right in front of my very puzzled but hopeful friend with chronic asthma, but it wasn't the sheer exhaustion that ran bone-deep and left me bedridden for a whole day.

Odette visited my dingy apartment with her signature enormous purse full of vials she spoon-fed me and trinkets she strategically placed in and around my immediate sleeping area. "There, there," the woman patted my head as I pitifully moaned at the ear-splitting headache. "The first one is always the most challenging. After all, if it would be easy, everyone would do it."

I understood that. But at the same time, it felt unfair that no good deed went unpunished. I told Odette so, raising my voice to the best of my ability as she rummaged around my kitchen.

"Nothing in this world comes out of thin air, whatever you decide to give has to be taken from somewhere," she explained patiently. "People like us are considered hedge witches. We do solitary work and draw most of our energy from the Earth, from mother Nature. We cannot perform miracles, however, the cost of our spells are very low," I felt an immediate peak of interest at the simple yet effective explaination she gave me. "We remain mostly human. Gaia* is kind and generous to the ones who pay respect," Odette continued over the clatter of pans and pots. "There are other kinds of witches - who take from other people, who take from the dead. But taking something by force always leaves scars and taking something from the dead means bringing a piece of them back to places it should not be."

I pondered the words as Odette brought the kettle to a boil, the whistling shriek piercing through my skull like a sharp projectile. "What about Voodoo practitioners?" I couldn't hold back my curiosity.

Odette cleared her throat. "What is left of them is mostly not human. Their gifts are great but the costs are greater. They can live far, far longer than the average witch but their souls will know no peace, just like the souls of the dead they anchor to themselves over time," Odette entered the room with a bowl of tangy, creamy liquid that smelled like pumpkin soup. "We do not bestow any judgement upon our brothers and sisters but it is our duty to inform the young." She cast a pointed glance towards me, passing me the soup and a wooden spoon I didn't know I had. "This should help you recover. Take tomorrow off if needs be."

She left shortly afterwards and I hadn't much strength than to use the bathroom, wash the rune-engraved spoon and curl up in my bed, only waking up when the meager light shone over my face from the window. Sleepy and fog-tinted, the early morning NYC was damp and windy as I stuck my head out of the window to soak my sleep-heated head in the cool air.

As uneventful as the day at the café was, I still wasn't up to 100% energy-wise, but the long walk from Jeremy's to Odette's was pleasantly invigorating. I didn't find the cold autumn moisture displeasing; the small raindrops kept me awake and alert. Odette nodded in muted pleasure as I clocked in and returned the special spoon back to her. The runes on it were interesting; I had taken a picture of them for research purposes, fully intending to craft myself something similar.

"Odette has taken on an apprentice," Wong's voice had me take in several deep breaths in preparation for the inevitable fuck-fest on my patience. "She has been avoiding me. And the girl is painfully slow."

I didn't hear the answer of Wong's companion over the rustling of the boxes I was hastily shoving in their places before the Asian man's temper grew foul. More foul. Ugh. The sharp ding of the bell had me yelling a, "Just a second please, I'll be right with you," while trying to keep my tone polite.

Wong's sour face and a list of items required greeted me as I flew out of the backrooms, noticing the locked doors of Odette's office on my way out. Wong's companion stood at the far end of the store - his robes quite different from the ones I'd seen people of their kind wear, his lithe, tall figure seeming strangely familiar. I squinted my eyes at his back. "Is this all you need?" I waved the list around, increasing the volume of my voice.

The tall man turned around and I could only gape. He, in turn, also froze, the stern, unfriendly expression losing heat and giving way to perplexed wonder. "I had placed an order, for sorcerer Strange," Tony's boyfriend eyed me somewhat sheepishly under Wong's concerned gaze.

I nodded, eyeing Wong in turn, letting satisfaction nestle a warm ball in my chest. Stephen's look of displeasure had turned onto his... Colleague. By the time I finished retrieving Strange's order and packing up the items on Wong's list, the Asian man had left, leaving Stephen to sheepishly pretend to examine the books on the furthest shelf. I waved the paper bags as he took long strides towards me, his fancy, large necklace glimmering under the lights.

"So, how long have you been working here?" Sorcerer Strange asked after I told him the total.

The cash register beeped loudly, coins clattering on the desk as I counted out his change. "Some time now," I shrugged noncommittally. I felt his magnetic eyes gloss over my adornments, the star necklace, the various rings; I could practically feel him coming to his own conclusions. "Long enough for your colleague to get an attitude with me," I had to make sure he knew I would be taking no bullshit from him - or anyone else, for that matter. Odette's opinion on his kind was firm and I was heavily inclined to agree.

"Hmm, I see," Strange was equally as keen on hiding his curiosity. It was a funny thing, really, that we, being adults that we were, treated this encounter like some sort of a dirty secret. "Don't take it personally. Wong is like that with everyone," The man briefly scratched his beard with a gloved hand before pocketing his change and picking up the bags. "Except Beyoncè, maybe," the wink he threw me was positively mischievous as it caught me off-guard, giving him a fox-like appearance.

I sighed as the door shut behind him. Pretty white boys - the ultimate human disasters.

I had no time to dwell on them, however, as something - or someone, hit downtown with all the malicious intentions to wreak havoc on the innocent civilians calmly going about their day. Mutants and people who knew Odette came in hordes, scrapes and bruises and strange wounds that required imminent healing.

My boss was no rookie, she dutifully accepted each and every single soul, looking worse for wear with each minute. Not being able to withstand seeing her drain herself, I simply took over the simplest tasks - and she said nothing, just gave me a nod, instructed to use whatever I needed and write it down somewhere along with the name of the person who required the healing.

As the battle raged, the crowds thinned but the ones who managed to come to Odette's spouted more serious wounds, obviously a result of them fighting back. Mutants covered head to toe with coats and hats and robes, for me to swallow my shock when they undressed - horns, tails and weird skin textures were on the far end of the normal. I dutifully extracted small pieces of information from each and every person I treated.

Yes, the Avengers were winning. No, there aren't many people hurt, most of the damage is cosmetic. Yes, the villain of the week is as stupid as usual. It was like a mantra. Odette poked her head into the spare room every now and then, her eagle eyes briefly scanning over me to make sure I wasn't exterting myself.

As I applied the healing salve to a tiny, pink-skinned woman, bandaging up her hands, my boss entered and closed the door behind her, setting down on the creaky chair with a loud thud. "Just got the news, the Avengers apprehended the terrorist," she sighed long and slow. "We've done all we could, the next few days I'll be handling house calls so you'll be here on your own. I'll probably see you in a few days, don't hesitate to give me a call if something comes up," Odette seemed to be barely standing up, yet when she tore off a few pieces of her jewelry and chucked them into a big tin can under the sink, the glossy sheen in her eyes melted away.

"Okay," I mumbled under the watchful eyes of the mutant woman. "Will there be more people coming in today?"

"No," the woman in front of me snorted. "SHIELD is prowling the streets. They are not fond of us, they always say we intervene unnecessarily even though we willingly do their dirty work so our children could be safe," the bitter, harsh tone took me off-guard.

I had to admit, there was reason behind her words. "Will you be able to get home safely? I have a puffy coat and a hat you can borrow." Figuring an expensive taxi ride would be a better alternative to something terrible happening to the woman, I offered her my winter clothes.

She smiled at me, razor blade teeth and large, red eyes the kindest I'd ever seen on a person. In the end, she took the clothes, promising to bring them back in a few days and Odette gave me a parka that was too small for her frame - despite it smelling like someone's grandma's attic, I found it to be quite lovely vintage. The puffy knitted scarf she added felt like warmth and safety - she had to have knitted it herself, for I knew, handmade items carried a significant amount of energy in them.

The shop was eerily quiet as I cleaned and scrubbed the stained, dirty floors and disposed of the bloody clothes and bandages in the tiny, odd fireplace in Odette's office - that was a thing most peculiar, it burned everything I put in it, but had no chimney, no place for the smoke to exit. Magic.

Something banged loudly against the entrance door. I let out a startled shriek, broomstick falling out of my hand and adding to the sudden cacophony of noise as the figure behind the stained glass slowly slid down the door, a deep, male voice groaning something incomprehensible loud enough for me to hear.

Grabbing a large serrated knife we used for mincing the bones of small animals, I made quiet steps towards the door, seeing a large, obviously humanoid figure helplessly lean on the door. The man's arm glinted chrome black and gunmetal grey in the low light. "Sargent Barnes? Bucky?" I whisper-shouted, carefully plying open the door.

He lifted his head, blood dripping down from it, his face looked like someone went to town on it with a meat mullet, his eyes were unfocused and couldn't keep a straight line. His flesh arm leaned heavily on the door frame, the prosthetic hanging limply, dragging his whole body to its side. It must've weigh a ton.

"Я должен найти капитана Роджерса," he whispered.

I didn't understand Russian at all but I could make out the name of his boyfriend. Which made sense. Bucky looked severely concussed - I idly wondered what exactly they had been fighting, what could have given a freaking super-soldier such a brain-leaking injury. "Sargent Barnes, follow me," I put on my big girl shoes and used my momma bear voice, towing the man behind me.

He, too, weighed a ton, as I stumbled, helping him into the chair in the spare room that became my healing station for today. The longer I looked at Bucky, the less lucid he grew, eyes falling shut as he murmured something in jagged Russian, slurring his words.

There was no time to think about the consequences of exposure of my witchcraft; mortar and pestle, herbs and salves flying everywhere, I assembled a healing spell and memorized the according ritual in what felt like record time. He was bleeding all over the chair, fresh crimson blood pouring out of his nose and mouth and it was all I could see.

I hadn't known true terror until the blood that poured out turned black. Whatever it was in him, it was poisonous - my protection charms grew hot, scalding as they left marks on my skin; powering through the pain and unable to turn my eyes off the convulsing Barnes, I finished the chant just as the flow of vile, tar-like liquid suddenly ceased. It pooled around his feet, dripped down the armrests and matted his long hair. It reeked, too, of copper and putrid meat.

Bucky had passed out somewhere mid-spell, the slow, steady breathing bringing me my own sense of calm. To say that I was drained would be an understatement - my vision swam and my world spun on it's axis as I unlocked Odette's office to messily rummage through a cabinet for the emergency tonic I knew she kept there. I chugged the vial, an avalanche of almost anxious, jittery energy hit me like a freight train - exactly what I needed.

I bought myself a couple hours of time. Cleaning up the sludge around Bucky's feet and removing the outer parts of his gear was easy as he remained as relaxed as a cooked spaghetti noodle. The amount of weapons he had on him was impressive, but those weren't what I was looking for - his phone. It was dead, so I plugged it in, waiting for the 5% to show and bringing it to his fingertips, hoping he used the print recognition instead of the password option... And I lucked out.

"Hello, this is Star, I found a Bucky. Tell Dr. Strange to come get him, he knows where I am." I texted the "Stevie ❤️" contact, my inner fangirl self squealing at the dorky name of his boyfriend's contact in Bucky's phone. Shortly afterwards, I went ahead and snapped a picture of myself next to sleeping Bucky, figuring out some actual proof wouldn't do any harm in this bizarre situation.

The answer didn't let me wait long. "10 minutes" came the first text, and shortly afterwards - "Is Bucky okay??????". I had to snort at the amount of question marks before honestly replying "He will be ☺️" and putting the phone back in Bucky's pocket. I cleaned up and attempted to lift Bucky up, succeeding in waking him up into a half-lucid state, probably courtesy of decades of training and whatnot, to at least drag him to the front of the store. I wasn't particularly comfortable with strangers seeing the backrooms.

Bucky leaned with his back against the counter, ass flat on the floor and a towel with a cold compress pressed to his head when the doors all but flew open, revealing Captain Rogers, still in uniform and Stephen Strange, arguing with his boyfriend, both still suited up and bloody and grimy.

"Uhh," I blinked owlishly, causing the men to stop bickering and stare first at me, then at Bucky. "I think he hit his head," I offered weakly, backing up slightly at the amount of burning eyes staring at me.

"Shortcake, that you?" Tony's eyebrows rose as he surveyed the bodega, the items on the shelves, the black and red blood stains on my previously pristine, yellow shirt.

"Now is not the time, Tony. Go with Rogers, make sure the medical is prepared for Barnes and disable his arm," Strange barked out authoritatively, shooting me a puzzled but compassionate look. "The portal is open. I'll talk to Star, find out what happened." He advanced towards me as Captain picked up Bucky bridal-style as tenderly as he could while making sure the compress stayed on.

"Keep that tone fo the bedroom," Tony's voice was more than displeased as he shot me and Strange a hurt look, but followed Steve into the golden circle right outside the door before it sparked shut.

"Now, now, what happened here?" The sorcerer's voice lowered into a soothing drawl as I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding. My shoulders sagged, fingers twitching with anxious energy. The man extended a gloved hand, briefly squeezing my shoulder. "It's alright, take your time."

Damn, did I look that bad?

Taglist: @couldntbedamned @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites

[lu-undy]

Chapter 104 - SBT

Here it is!

"When is she due, Micky?" 

"A few days, maybe a week, now, Mum."

"And he's always holding her like that?" 

"Yep… Holds her more than anythin' else. Even took his week off of work for her." 

Mundy and Caroline were preparing a tray of tea and biscuits while Lucien was on the sofa, holding Perle on his lap. 

"And how is it goin' with him?" She asked. 

"Mum, he… He's amazing. I…" Mundy sighed and turned to look at Lucien, through the door. The Frenchman was absorbed by whatever he was saying to Perle and didn't pay attention to Mundy, leaning on his side on the doorframe. "I don't know how to say this."

"Just say it as it comes, Micky."

"Might come out weird."

"Micky, I'm you mum. I know you. You don't have to make excuses or anything." 

Mundy leaned his head on the doorframe too. 

"He's… perfect. He's everythin'. He's… Y'know, sometimes I think about how it was before."

"Before you met him?" 

"Yeah, and even before we lost the farm, how I used to get mad at Dad and all… And then I look at Lu' and all this frustration that I had with Dad just… melts away. It's almost like it was worth gettin' mad and going to the desert for days if it meant that I'd get with Lu' in the end." 

"Aw, Micky… Listen to you, big boy…" 

"I-I'm sorry. Might be a bit too much, the way I said it." 

"No, please…" Caroline joined him at the door. "Go on." 

"I uh… When I think back, I wonder how I managed to live before him. And then I realise that…"

"That what, baby?" 

"That I wasn't." He answered in a sigh. "Everythin' makes sense with him, and nothing does without him." 

"Aw…" 

"I don't even know if that makes sense." 

"It does, Micky, oh it does…" Caroline turned to the whistling kettle and dealt with it. 

"Really?" Mundy followed her. 

"Yeah. I felt the same for your father back in the days." 

"Not anymore?" 

"O'course I still feel that way for him, that's why I stay with him. For better and for worse, in health and in sickness." 

"Yeah… Never thought I'd get it one day, but now I do." 

"And it made you grow into an even better man, this relationship with your Lu'." 

"Really?" 

"Yeah. You're so much more calm, and confident too! You used to be so shy and bottle up everythin'. Sometimes even I found it hard to understand you, Micky. But now, you open up more and you even talk about your feelings…! I didn't even know if or when you had a girlfriend or a companion…"

"Never really happened." 

"Really?" 

"No one came even close to what I'm havin' with Lu' now. It was just uh… y'know… Not more than a few hours, if we're both drunk…"

"Oh…" 

"Yeah, 'm not proud of it." Mundy blushed. "But it was never something when I could have decent conversations, or even just feelings for the guy, or the sheila. It only happened with Lu'."

Caroline smiled sweetly at her son. 

"Head over heels for him, you are, eh?"

"Yeah, at least." Mundy chuckled. 

"By the way, did you think about what I told you the other day?" 

Mundy raised an eyebrow but soon he understood his mother. 

"Oh, yeah. But he's too busy with the kittens. Will give it more thought after." 

"Fair enough. Now please, be a good boy and carry the tray for your old Mummy, yeah?" 

"Sure."

Mundy obeyed and followed his mother to the living-room.

"Mon bébé… Oh? Tu as senti ça? C'est un petit! Ils sont presque prêts!"

[My baby… Oh? Did you feel this? That was a little one! They are nearly ready!]

Lucien had his hand on Perle's side, feeling the occasional kick of the young life brewing there.

"Meow!"

"Oui! Je l'ai senti encore!" He laughed and Perle brushed her head against him.

[Yes! I have felt it again!] 

"Here we go for a cup of tea…" Caroline brought the tray. 

"Mundy, did you think about-?" Lucien asked.

"Yeah, I did, Lu', I got an extra lil' bowl of water for Pearl, don't worry." Mundy and Caroline sat left and right from Lucien. 

"Thank you." Lucien said and took the bowl Mundy handed him. He got it close to Perle who sat up and started lapping at the water. 

"You seem very worried for her." Caroline gave Mundy his cup of tea. "Did she have a bad delivery in the past?" 

"Not that I know of." Lucien answered. “But she must stay hydrated. She is drinking for four now, five including herself." 

"There are four kittens?" Caroline asked. 

"Oui, that is what the veterinarian said."

"Aw…"

"Lu' even has that book he's reading all the time about it."

"About what?" Caroline asked.

"Cat pregnancy." Lucien answered. "I want to be prepared for the delivery and to welcome the little ones. The bed is ready and waiting in our room, did Mundy show you?" Lucien asked. 

"N-no, he didn't…?"

"Lu's a bit…"

"He says I am doing too much." Lucien said. "I am merely trying my best. It is an important event in the life of our baby here, so it is extremely important to me. Besides, it is exhausting for her, mentally and physically." Lucien scratched her, brushed her and pampered her all day long. 

"I'm tellin' him he doesn't need to be such a mother hen but it's almost like he's gonna get the kittens…"

"We are, Mundy - oh, oui, ma chérie, voilà. Tu es fatiguée? Tu peux dormir, Papa veille sur toi." 

[Yes, my darling, there you go. Are you tired? You may sleep, Papa is watching over you.]

Soot jumped on Mundy's lap to then lie next to his wife. 

"Oui, Soot, tiens lui compagnie, brave garçon…" 

[Yes, Soot, keep her company, good boy…]

"Even Soot is helpin', eh?" Caroline asked as she took a sip of her tea. 

"Oui, he is an excellent future father. He bathes her everyday, thoroughly, and helps her stay warm." 

Caroline smiled sweetly. 

"May I ask, Caroline…"

"Yeah?"

"Any names you would suggest for the kittens?" Lucien asked. 

"Oh, I… I don't really know. I'm not good with names…!"

"Yeah, you are, Mum." Mundy wrapped an arm around Lucien's shoulders. "You chose my name and I'll never complain about it." 

"Mundy is so beautiful and exotic." Lucien added. 

"Oh, well… I just liked the sound of it." Caroline chuckled. "But Lu', what does your name mean? Where does it come from?"

"Ah, well…" Lucien slowly leaned back on the sofa, paying attention to disturb Perle the Soot the least possible. "My mother told me that she was the one to choose this name for me. My father was missing when I was born. We learnt only later that he had passed. She chose Lucien because of the meaning. It comes from the Latin lux, which means 'light'. My name means 'the luminous one'. She named me thus, hoping that I would bring her the light of hope." He smiled, albeit with bittersweetness. 

"That's very sweet…" Caroline said. 

"Indeed, she was." 

"Is she still…?"

"Non, she passed away a long time ago unfortunately." 

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thank you, Caroline."

"Carrie." Lucien's eyebrows jumped. "If I call you Lu', you can call me Carrie." 

Mundy blushed from his end of the sofa. 

"But enough about old stories and let's look at the future." Lucien looked at Perle, asleep on his lap. "I cannot wait for the little ones to get born." 

"It'll be a lot of little mouths to feed, eh?" Caroline said. 

"Oui, but it is all ready, aren't we, Mundy?"

"Hey, I raised the previous litter mostly on my own, eh? Did I do a bad job at it?" 

"Well…" Lucien teased with a smirk. 

"Well, what? Dare tell me they were badly raised, I dare ya!"

"They weren't badly raised but uhm, a few things could have been improved, I believe." 

"What?!" 

Caroline chuckled at the banter. 

"You boys are made for each other." 

Mundy blushed beyond his ears and Lucien's cheeks turned pink.

"Mum…!"

"You remind me of Mike and I when we were younger." 

"By the way, how is he?" Mundy asked. 

"Would you rather I left you alone?" Lucien asked. 

"Nah, don't be silly." Caroline answered. 

"I would perfectly understand." Lucien insisted. 

"Lu', you're family." Caroline said and put her hand on Lucien's. "You need to know these things as much as Micky does." 

She put her cup back on the tray and laid her hands flat on her knees. 

"He's… Better, I think, in a way at least." Lucien and Mundy listened keenly. "He is talkin' again and living normally, so that's good." 

"But…?" Lucien felt it coming.

"But he… He doesn't really wanna talk about you, Micky."

"What d'you mean?" The Aussie asked. 

"Whenever I come back from visiting you, I always tell him that you're doin' fine and, y'know, give him the latest news. But he doesn't really react to any of it… He's hearin' me alright, eh, but he just doesn't answer anything."

Mundy lowered his head. 

"Is he eatin' and sleeping well?" He asked. 

"Yeah, like he used to. I sleep better too. But he's still a bit off for anything that concerns you."

Mundy sighed. 

"I… I'm so sorry, Mum, I-I wish I could do somethin'... Other than leavin' Lu' that is, cause that's never gonna happen."

"I know, baby, I know." Caroline said. "I wish I could do something too." 

"I might have an idea." Lucien said. "But I need to ask first, would Mike accept to see Mundy coming at your door?" 

"I-I don't know." Caroline said. "You guys want to visit?" 

"Just Mundy, I think my presence would be too much."

"No." Mundy answered. "We either go together or none of us go. He's got to understand I'm not ready to compromise on you, Lu'. I've always taken his side and taken it on my shoulders, his rants, his anger, everythin'. This time, I won't yield." 

Lucien turned his head to face away for an instant. Caroline noticed it and frowned at Mundy for his bluntness. He blushed and looked where his mother was nodding at. 

"I-I mean… I… Uh… Hm." Mundy took Lucien's hand in his and pulled it to his own chest. "It's both of us or no one, is all."

"I know, Micky." Caroline gently nodded. "But what was your idea, Lucien? Maybe we can make it work differently?" 

-- A few days later, in the evening -- 

"Meow…" 

"Oui, mon bébé, je sais, moi aussi je l'attends. Dad ne devrait plus tarder."

[Yes, my baby, I know, I am also waiting for him. Dad shouldn't be much longer.]

Lucien was sitting on the bed, in his pyjamas with his book about cat pregnancy in one hand. The other was busy petting Perle and Soot, scratching and lazily brushing their black and white fur. From time to time, he would turn a page and read whatever could make the passing of time less dull, under the night lamp. 

Whenever some noise would interrupt his reading, his ears would prick up, along with Perle's and Soot's. But he knew that if Soot didn't move - and if Perle didn't try to - then, it wasn't Mundy yet. 

Eventually, it did happen. Soot and Perle were bathing each other when the black male slithered out of bed. 

"Meow…" Perle pushed herself on her paws to stand up. 

"Ma chérie, non, regarde-toi, tu peux à peine tenir debout. Reste allongée avec moi, Dad et Soot vont venir, ne t'inquiètes pas." 

[My darling, no, look at yourself, you can barely stand up. Stay on my lap with me, Dad and Soot will come shortly, don't worry.]

Perle meowed in protest but soon agreed with her Papa when she realised that her belly was too much of a burden to jump down the bed. She curled back on her Papa's lap and complained.

"Meoooow?"

"Why, you ask? Because you are bearing fragile children, mon bébé." He brushed her long, white hair and paid attention to never pressure her belly. 

"Hey, luv'." Mundy entered the room while Soot slithered back on the bed. "Look at you, babies…" The Aussie removed his clothes to stay in a tank top and boxer shorts before joining Lucien and the cats in bed. 

"Won't you be cold with only that?" Lucien asked.

"Nah, you and the cats keep me warm."

"Meow!" Perle raised her head and pushed herself to her feet. 

"Bonsoir, mon amour." 

[Good evening, my love.]

They exchanged a kiss and Lucien naturally used Mundy's shoulder as a pillow. Perle and Soot lay between them. 

"Meow…?"

"Yeah, sorry, Pearl baby." Mundy scratched Perle on her head. "I was busy with work and all… The electricity cut on the workshop and a few other rooms. Turned out it was only a fuse in the end."

"It took you a long time…" Lucien complained and snuggled against his lover. 

"Sorry, couldn't tell it was as simple as that at first." Mundy looked down his chest. Lucien was lying on his shoulder, Perle and Soot sharing his chest and stomach. "Look at all of you, I was only gone for a few hours, eh?" 

"We missed you." Lucien said.

"Meow…!" The cats answered. 

"Aw, sorry. Did I miss anythin'?"

"Perle is getting more and more tired."

"It's gonna be soon, eh?" Mundy answered as he laced his arm around Lucien. 

"Oui. I can't wait but I am also apprehensive."

"Why?" 

Lucien closed his eyes as he felt Mundy slide his fingers through his locks to scratch his scalp.

"We will be grandparents, Mundy." 

The Aussie switched off the night lamp and Lucien put his book aside, on his night table. 

"We were grandparents before, eh. It's not the first time." 

"Oui, but this time we will attend the event of giving birth itself…! Last time, you saw the kittens days after their birth, and I? I saw them much later!" Lucien sighed with a smile. "We will see them open their eyes and… take their first steps, eat solid food for the first time…" 

"You really talk about them as if they're your own babies, eh?"

"It is as close as it can ever get." Lucien answered. 

"Would you… Would you have liked to have more children?" Mundy shyly asked and started regretting when he heard Lucien take a deep breath and sigh. In the darkness of the night, he couldn't see it, but Lucien frowned. 

"I do not know. I don't think I want more children. I just… I would have loved Jérémy to…" Lucien didn't manage to finish his sentence. "Sometimes, I think about the future, not just for you and me, but the future beyond us. Once we pass, nothing will remain of us but a lifeless body. No one will carry our name, our values, us." 

Lucien looked down and saw Perle and Soot had fallen asleep, forming one mass of fluff on Mundy's body.

"Yeah, guess you're right but you're also very wrong, baby." Mundy answered with a low voice, and pulled Lucien to rest his head on him. "You're the only reason some people made it through the war, you're the only reason some lives didn't end back then. You'll be remembered, for sure, and if you think about it, the simple existence of these people and their children is your doin', even though they're not your kids, eh." 

"Maybe, but it is very impersonal. None of these people will have a part of me in them. But those kittens, as disturbing and mad as it sounds, these kittens do have a part of you and me, as much as Perle and Soot do." 

"It's not mad, baby. It's the truth. I mean, I remember the first time I saw baby Pearl stop at a crossroad… That was madness." Mundy chuckled and Lucien smiled. "But also, that showed me what kind of man you were, and turned out you weren't so different from me." 

"What do you mean?" Lucien asked as his eyes slowly closed. 

"You showed me that you were a family man, a man who could care deeply for people, even though the suit, the tie, the balala-thingy and everythin' didn't show it much. Your heart was bigger than what it seemed and even if your attitude and all tried to hide it, your heart was still bigger and sweeter, baby." 

"Aw… Mundy… Did you really think all that when you saw Perle stop at the crossroad?" Lucien's hand slowly slid to Mundy's chest and gently scratched it on the tanktop.

"Yeah, but thing is, I didn't stop to put it into words. But now you taught me to do it, and here we are." 

"What, mon amour?"

"Remember I had that chat with you, a long time ago, and I told you that you managed to put words on things I couldn't. D'you remember that, doll?"

Lucien hummed and weakly nodded against his lover's chest, next to Perle's fluff. 

"Well, back then, you said that it was because I was scared of lookin' inside me, scared of what I'd find. But now, I'm not, not anymore. I just… I feel like I've got my life together, and in my own hands. I have a beautiful, uh… I-I don't even know what to call you, I mean, boyfriend seems childish, partner sounds like we're doin' business…"

"What about lover?"

"It's nice but… You're more than that, Lu'. You're so much more. I grew up with you, I changed. I'm so much less shy now, I'm more confident and I feel like a proper man, with a family to take care of. Lu', you… You've made me a man."

Lucien opened his eyes and raised his head to Mundy. 

"Mundy…? These are very strong words." 

"Yeah, I know." Mundy frowned.

"Are you sure about this?" Lucien turned to his stomach to rest on his forearms. Mundy looked in his eyes and slid a hand on his cheek and through his long, silky hair. 

"Yeah. I'm sure. You've changed me, Lu'. I'm more responsible now, I'm… I've always feared that day that I'd have a family on my shoulders. I can hardly take care of myself alone so takin' care of other people was just not possible. But I had it wrong in my head. O'course I can take care of a family. If the family is you, Pearl and Soot, yeah, I'll carry you all on my shoulders everyday if I have to. I just… I just love you." 

Lucien smiled and pushed himself closer to Mundy, pressing his lips against his lover. The Aussie's hand gently pushed Lucien's hair away from his face. 

"I love you too, mon amour." 

Another quick peck was exchanged and Lucien laid his head on Mundy's shoulder. It didn't take them long to fall asleep.

[pbandjesse]

I just saw so many good frogs in the walk over here for village duty. I am a little over heated but I'm in a good mood.

I slept okay last night. I woke up with a while numb hand and it was very annoying and painful. But I was able to fall back asleep. It was all good. I got up and dressed. James was making me breakfast but I honestly felt a little nauseous. So I just brought the pastry I had bought at the Wegmans and headed out.

I had a good drive. It's getting easier and easier for me drive and control the new car. But I was dealing with a lot of stress.

I had to make phonecalls today. And just the general planning of the day had me stressed out. It would end up being fine. But I had an upset belly and also it was so stupid humid today.

Like the humidity was so bad that I thought I was going to pass out a few times. I had to like. Crouch in front of my fan to center myself. It sucked. And my dress material was to thick for this heat.

I had lovely groups though. Everyone worked so hard sewing. The one little boy actually drew the windows and doors in the house he made. It was excellent and I was so proud of him. And honestly just everyone worked so hard.

I had an hour break and used it to make my phone calls. I got the financial stuff set up. And then the insurance things. James helped. The man on the phone wasn't my normal insurance man but he made me feel better about my dumb questions. He was like. They aren't dumb!! But I know they were just a little. James would send emails with information and I would sign documents once they were sent. I hope I did it all correctly. I'm sure someone will tell me if I didn't. But so far so good. I still have to deal with the IRS. But so far so good.

Lunch was good. It was grilled cheeses. I would grab mine to go. The idea of being with people was not for me today. But I would go sit with Charlie in the trading post. Eventually bringing him more grilled cheeses when I found out he missed lunch. Should we have eaten 6 grilled cheeses between us? No. But it was fun.

I helped with trading post for a while. Before I went to sit in the fridge with Charlotte. Then I went to arts and crafts to sew and made s little gift for Charlotte because I want her to like me!! And that is hard!! Because she is so hard to read!! But she seemed to like it. I used the quilting foot to write her name and draw a little cat. She was like. But my name is so long!! And then was excited that I drew her "little boy". It was very cute.

I hung out and helped with trading post for a while until I had my next group. They were excellent and I ended up making a whole cloak with the one girl and it was such a blast. They were so fun and it was something I've never tried so I had a lot of fun figuring it out. She's going to wear it for the skit they are doing for the talent show.

Once they left I was very ready to go swim. But Randy, a camper everyone loves, came and asked if he could use some drawing materials to make a card. So I waited while he did that and then went to swim after he was back with his group.

And it was an excellent swim. I mostly floated on a noodle for an hour. But I had a good time. Eventually CJ and Karl would join me and it was nice to have friends to talk too. I got out after an hour. Took a shower. And went to work on styling before dinner.

I got a few done. And decided I didn't want what they were serving and went to make Mac and cheese instead.

I tried to make it with kettle water but it came out wrong. So I went and microwaved it. And it was better.

A storm started rolling in. So I would spend the next hour or so cleaning. Trying to find things I could pack to bring home. And just enjoying some in podcasts while it rained.

Charlie came and joined me and shared some salad he got. We talked and told stories. I walked with him to the office but his mail didn't come yet. But then he went to bed and I went back to arts to sweep.

I left there at 9 to brush my teeth and then walk over here. I saw so many frogs. Of different kinds and sizes. And it was so cute. Just a great walk. And now I'm laying in front of the fan. I will turn the lights off for the girls soon. But this is a chill group so I'm not worried.

I hope tomorrow is good. We're having a carnival. So I hope for cotton candy.

Sleep good everyone. Take care of yourselves.

[shuttsy-bo-buttsy-for-huttsy]

Troy Stecher imagine

A/N: 100% self indulgent, I also just love Stechy a lot.

Warnings: one swear word (depending on your idea of swearing- is "piss" a swear?) ; it's 1am and I wrote it in one go, guess if it's edited ; maximum self-indulgence

______________________

It was past midnight, closer to 1am, now. More than 2 hours since you settled in bed to sleep. You laid on your side of the bed wide awake, staring into the darkness of you and Troy's shared bedroom listening to the snoring of both him and of Phoebe by your feet.

This was the third night in a row that you couldn't sleep. Your thoughts, the noises from the city below, your neighbors above, it seemed like everything was keeping you from sleep, your ears extra sensitive with the lack of light taking your sight.

You heaved a light sigh, gently pushing yourself up as to not wake up the lucky two sharing your bed. You wrapped yourself in a blanket that had fallen on the floor before heading to the kitchen. 'Maybe some tea will help,' you thought hopefully.

After filling the kettle and turning it on, you took your sweet time trying to decide on what you wanted. You were more focused on the task at hand than you thought, as you didn't hear the footsteps getting closer to the kitchen, and didn't notice you weren't alone until Troy flicked on the kitchen light, making you jump. You did, however, manage to keep yourself from yelling in surprise.

"What are you doing up?" You asked, picking up the box of tea you dropped. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

Troy shook his head through a yawn as he walked towards you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

"Nah, Phoebe realized you were gone and decided to take over the entire bed," he mumbled, obviously still half asleep.

You let out a small chuckle, leaning your head against Troy's bare shoulder.

Troy reached around you and grabbed two mugs from the shelf and set them on the counter as the water finished boiling. You poured water into both mugs before realizing that there wasn't anything in them.

"I need to sleep more than I thought," you joked quietly to yourself, placing a teabag into your cup from a random box in front of you and quickly fixed it up as you usually did. Troy did the sandwich his drink, and the two of you made your way back to your bedroom with your teas.

Settling back into bed, you sipped your tea as Troy once again wrapped his arms around you.

"What's been keeping you up this time?" he asked. 'This time.' You hated that he had to say that; this was far from the first time this had happened. Sleep was hard to come by sometimes. A lot of times, actually. And it never went unnoticed by your boyfriend. He always noticed when you couldn't sleep, even if he didn't realize until the morning when you were groggier than normal.

"Everything. Nothing ever stops, even at ungodly hours of the night." Just as you said that, you heard a car speeding down the street below, horn blaring as they passed. You sighed, but started laughing, as did Troy.

"There anything I can do to help?" He asked as he calmed back down. You looked over at him, finding the lights from outside reflecting in his eyes and gently illuminating his face. You could stare at the sight for hours.

"I still don't know. Trust me, Troy, the minute I figure it out, you'll be the first to know," you said, downing half your tea in one go, hoping it would help somehow.

Troy leaned his head against your, rubbing his hands up and down your arms.

The two of you sat in silence a little longer, finishing your drinks, before moving back down the bed and back under the covers together. Troy pulled you closer to him, wrapping one arm around your shoulders and back, settling one hand on the side of your ribs and letting his other hand rest on your thigh- though it didn't stay resting for long, as he soon started running it over the outside of your thigh, up to your hip and back down, repeating this over and over.

You pressed your face into the junction of his neck and shoulder, placing a quick kiss there as you did, just over the ever-present hickey that resided there. Troy laughed as you did, causing you to look up at him in confusion.

"Ben asked the other day if that was a tattoo or something, or if I had a birthmark that he never noticed before," he explained through his haughter. You laughed quietly with him, laying your head back down.

"There have been worse tattoos, to be fair," you mumbled. You felt him nod in agreement.

"Yeah, but I think the funniest part of it was Brock nearly pissing himself laughing," he said. You and Troy kept talking quietly like that for a while, before you started nodding off.

You felt Troy tighten his grip around you slightly and kiss your head. At the same time, Phoebe decided that she wanted attention, too, cuddling into Troy's other side and laying her head on your arm that was sprawled across Troy's stomach.

The last thing you remember clearly before falling asleep was Troy whispering "I love you" against your hair.

*****

You woke up in the morning to a brightly-coloured piece of paper on Troy's bedside table. You rubbed your eyes before grabbing it. "Didn't want to wake you, went for a run w/ Brock. Will wake you up when I get back. Love you, Troy"

"Well at least you left the dog to keep me company," you mumbled to yourself through a small laugh as you ran your hand over Phoebe's side.

You got up and went to the kitchen to find something to eat. Glancing at the clock you saw it read 8:30, the earliest you'd seen it all week.

Not long after, the boys returned from their run, talking back and forth about something they'd seen while out.

"What a treat, Sleeping Beauty is awake. And in the morning, too! It's a miracle!" Brock exclaimed when he saw you. You let out a chuckle and flipped him off.

He raced towards you, arms stretched out as if he wanted to give you a hug. Normally this would be more than welcome, he was one of your best friends after all, but he was covered in sweat, and you could smell him and Troy from across the room.

You tried to dodge Brock, and while you did manage that, you were caught by your wonderful, sweaty boyfriend, who kept you still as Brock joined in for a group hug.

"Remind me why I live with the two of you?" You joked.

"Because you love me," Troy said above you. "And I think I'm stuck with Brock, so suck to be you I guess."

The three of you laughed and joked a bit more before Brock headed to the bathroom to shower.

"So how was your sleep my love?" Troy asked, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck and kissing lightly, just as you had done to him a few hours before.

"Good, good. I slept, which is the important thing," you replied, turning to face him. "Thank you."

"Anything for you," he said with a smile, leaning in to plant a kiss on your lips.

"Now we just need to see if we can get you to sleep just as easily tonight," Troy said pulling back. "That's gonna be my sole purpose from now on, trying to figure out for sure how to help you sleep."

You hummed in amusement, "my hero."