#but it's always been obvious to me that Sophie is a lot more reserved. She can lead a moral charge and all | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eleanor-bradstreet · 11 months ago

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Let Me Be Your Anchor

Chapter 8: The Lake

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett An Offer from a Gentleman reimagined Chapter rating: T - nakey lakey time Word count: 6.1k

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Author's Notes: This chapter has a lot of segments preserved from the book, the lake scene being widely regarded as one of the golden moments in Benophie's love story. (And good god almighty what goats do I need to sacrifice to make sure we get it in the show?!? 😜) But the immediate aftermath of the lake scene also gives lots of readers the ick - me included - so as always, I have rounded things out to fit the cheeky, gentle character of Show!Benedict. Enjoy 💙

There were advantages, Benedict soon discovered, to a long, drawn-out recovery.

The most obvious was the quantity and variety of excellent food brought forth from Mrs. Wiggin in the kitchens. He’d always been fed well at Aubrey Hall of course, but Mrs. Wiggin truly rose to the occasion with him tucked away in his sickroom.

Another perk of staying abed was the simple fact that, for the first time in years, he could enjoy some quiet time. He read, sketched, and even closed his eyes and just daydreamed - all without feeling guilty for neglecting some other task or chore.

Benedict soon decided that he’d be perfectly happy leading the life of the indolent.

But the best part of his recovery, by far, was Sophie. She popped into his room several times a day, sometimes to fluff his pillows, sometimes to bring him food or her medicinal tea which he genuinely believed was helping, and sometimes just to read to him. He wasn’t sure if her level of industriousness stemmed from a desire to earn the compensation he had promised, or to be useful as a means of thanking him. He was just happy that she came to see him so frequently. She was every bit the nurse he knew she would be.

She’d been quiet and reserved at first, obviously trying to adhere to the standard that servants should rarely be heard. But Benedict had had none of that, and he’d purposefully engaged her in conversation, stretching out the length of each visit.

But mostly he just enjoyed being in the same room with her. It didn’t seem to matter if they were talking, or if she was just sitting in a chair, leafing through a book while he stared out the window. Something about her presence brought him peace.

A sharp knock at the door broke him out of his thoughts and he looked up eagerly, calling out, “Enter!”

Sophie poked her head in, her shoulder-length hair brushing against the edge of the door. “I brought you some more tea.”

“Tea? Or tea and biscuits?”

Sophie grinned, pushing the door open with her hip as she balanced the tray. “Oh, the latter if Mrs. Wiggin has anything to say about it.”

“Excellent,” he smiled. “And will you join me?”

She hesitated, as she always did, but then she nodded, as she also always did. She’d long since learned that there was no arguing with Benedict when he had his mind set on something.

“Your color is back,” she commented as she set the tray down on the bedside table. “And you don’t look nearly so tired. I should think you’ll be up and out of bed soon.”

He smiled gamely, “Do you think so?”

“Yes,” she smiled and lifted the teapot. Benedict watched her hands as she prepared the tea. She moved with an innate sense of grace, and she poured the tea as if she’d been to the manner born. Clearly the art of afternoon tea had been another one of those lessons she’d learned from her mother’s generous employers. Or maybe she’d just watched other ladies closely while they’d prepared tea. Again, he noted that she was a very observant woman.

“Fix yourself a cup,” Benedict said, biting into a biscuit, “and come sit by me.”

She hesitated again. He knew she’d hesitate, even though she’d already agreed to join him. But he was a patient man, and his patience was rewarded with a soft sigh as she poured herself her own cup and sat in the chair by the bed, regarding him over the rim of her teacup as she took a sip.

“No biscuits for you?” Benedict asked.

She shook her head. “I had a few straight out of the oven.”

“Lucky you. They’re always best when they’re warm.” He polished off another biscuit, brushed a few crumbs off of his chest, and reached for another. “And how have you spent your day?”

“Since I last saw you two hours earlier?”

Benedict shot her a look that said he recognized her sarcasm but chose not to respond to it.

“I helped Lizzie and Anne with the laundry,” she said. “Then I borrowed a book from the library and read outside.”

“Really? What did you read?”

“A novel.”

“And your assessment?”

She shrugged, “Overly romantic for my taste.”

“So you do not long for romance?” He gave her a lopsided grin.

Her blush was instantaneous. “That’s a rather personal question, don’t you think?”

Benedict tried to think of a witty reply, but as he watched her face, her cheeks turning delightfully pink, her eyes cast down to her lap, the strangest thing happened.

He realized he wanted her.

He really, really wanted her.

He wasn’t certain why this surprised him so much. Of course he wanted her. He was as red-blooded as any man, and one couldn’t spend a protracted amount of time around a woman as gamine and adorable as Sophie without wanting her. Hell, he’d wanted half the women he met, in a purely low-intensity, non-urgent sort of way.

But in that moment, with this woman, it became urgent. He suddenly had the urge to lean forward, take her face in his hands and kiss her passionately. Then pull her into the bed where he very conveniently already was. He wondered if she had ever been kissed before.

Of course he wouldn’t act upon his urges - he was a gentleman, not a scoundrel. She had proven herself to be a personable, respectable, and highly intelligent woman and she was technically in his employ for the moment. He wouldn’t sully their mutual trust and friendly companionship by leaping upon her.

He frowned, cleared his throat, and tried to push his wicked thoughts from his mind by downing his teacup. “I’m sorry if I offended you,” he croaked. “Any chance you’d like to read some more?”

Sophie looked up at him cautiously. Was he flirting with her? She supposed it was only to be expected. He was a man after all, and had proven he was a cheeky devil in many of their past interactions. She was shaken less by the fact that he had asked her about romance and more by how similar the conversation was to the one they had had at the masquerade. There too he had tried to probe deeper, believing her to be avoidant of attachments. The truth of course in both instances was that she was hiding how much she did long for romance, because she wanted it with him.

She was grateful he had changed the subject. “Yes, I’ll read to you.” She placed her cup down and rose a little too quickly from her chair. She needed some distance from him until she stopped feeling overheated. She perused his bookshelf and they agreed upon a decidedly unromantic Shakespearean tragedy.

Sophie kept her eyes down and read aloud, uninterrupted through the entire play. As she settled the book in her lap she found that Benedict had fallen asleep again. He could have been sleeping for an hour and she wouldn’t have known. He did look much healthier, which signaled to her that he was no longer in need of a nurse and she would have to leave soon. She hadn’t yet put any effort into looking for a new position, she had been too overwhelmed with navigating Aubrey Hall, interacting with the staff, and caring for Benedict.

She would start looking tomorrow and would likely be gone before the week was out. She would leave Benedict for the last time. It pained her, but she knew it was for the best. She sat in silence by his bedside watching him breathe, studying the angles of his face, trying to capture the moment in her memory forever. She looked about the room too; the opulent fabrics, gleaming wood, and all of his artwork. She would miss Aubrey Hall, the beauty of its furnishings, and the warm, homey feeling it gave her. Quietly, she stood and walked around the perimeter of the room, slowly taking in each image on the walls. Sunny green landscapes bled into winter scenes which were overlapped with charcoal sketches of hands, flowers, the back view of a woman’s cascading hair.

Leaning against the desk she noticed the large sketchbook he sometimes had in his lap. She chewed on her lip, deciding how intrusive she should be. Knowing she would leave soon anyway, curiosity got the best of her and she sat at the desk, quietly lifting the sketchbook and laying it open. The first pages were of varied landscapes. Some were of Aubrey Hall and some were of Bridgerton House in London, dressed in climbing wisteria. Most of them featured no architecture at all, just a babbling brook or a windswept tree, or a rain-dappled meadow. And the amazing thing about his drawings was that they seemed to capture the whole and true moment. Sophie had that familiar feeling of stepping into the landscapes which she had confided in Benedict. He was a more talented artist than he had professed to be.

The portraits were fewer in number, but Sophie found them infinitely more interesting. There appeared to be at least one of each of his family members. Several of whom she thought must be his mother, then two dark-haired men, one dour and one jovial, who she recognized as Colin. Both of them looked incredibly similar to Benedict. A younger boy with dimples, then a series of four lovely young women. Three of them were smiling serenely, but the one with the darkest hair had a chin set with determination and eyes staring off, looking as if she were ready to conquer a nation. He had beautifully captured the new raven-haired Viscountess, whom she also recognized from the masquerade. The last portrait was of a devastatingly handsome dark-skinned man with short hair, scrunching his face in laughter. Sophie had no idea who that could be.

Her favorite drawings were of what appeared to be some sort of outdoor game. At least five Bridgerton siblings were holding long mallets, and one of the girls was depicted in the forefront, her face screwed up in determination as she tried to aim a ball through a wicket. Something about the picture made Sophie smile. She could feel the merriment of the day, and it made her long desperately for a family of her own.

She glanced back at Benedict, still sleeping quietly in his bed. Did he realize how lucky he was to have been born into such a large and loving clan?

With a sigh, Sophie flipped through a few more pages until she reached the end of the book. The very last sketch was different from the rest, if only because it appeared to be of a night scene, and the woman within it was holding her skirts above her ankles as she ran across -

Good god! Sophie gasped, thunderstruck. It was her!

She brought the sketch closer to her face. He’d gotten the details of her dress - that wonderful, magical silver concoction that had been hers for only a single evening - perfectly. He’d even remembered her long, elbow-length gloves and the exact manner in which her hair had been styled. Her face on the other hand, was less recognizable and almost wholly hidden by the demi-mask. Perhaps the contours of her cheekbones and chin were somewhat accurate, but the features of her face seemed soulless, nearly blurred. This made sense, she realized, given that he’d never actually seen her face in its entirety.

Well, not until now. Her heart began to pound. So he had thought of her after that night. He had thought of her enough to remember her in great detail and commit the time to drawing her, even if only just once. He had wanted to remember her - whether as a beautiful ornament of a mysterious evening or for some other reason, she could not say. But her discovery made it all the more clear - she needed to leave Aubrey Hall. She needed to leave before her secret was discovered and complicated matters any further. She would start to look for a new position right away.

___

The next morning after breakfast, Sophie decided to take a walk around the estate. Before she consulted with Mr. Dewitt about finding her next position, she wanted to form a complete picture of the grounds in her mind. She wanted to take in the fresh air and say goodbye to it all.

As she set out through the gardens and across the lawn toward the lake she thought of Benedict, of how kind he had been to her and how much she would miss him. She would miss him more now than she had for the past two years, if that were somehow possible. Where before she had longed for the idea of him, constructed from their brief hour together at the masquerade and otherwise a bunch of fantasy, now she would miss him as she had come to know him. A gentle, witty man who had treated her with the utmost respect. It actually aggravated her. If he would just treat her like a servant, she’d have no trouble remembering that she was an illegitimate nobody and he was a member of one of the ton’s wealthiest and most influential families. Every time he treated her like a real person (and it was her experience that most aristocrats did not treat servants like anything remotely approaching a real person) it brought her back to the night of the masquerade, when she’d been, for one perfect evening, a lady of glamour and grace - the sort of woman who had a right to dream about a future with Benedict Bridgerton.

He acted as if he actually liked her and enjoyed her company. And maybe he did. But that was the cruelest twist of all, because he was making her love him even more, making a small part of her think she had the right to dream about him.

And then, inevitably, she had to remind herself of the truth of the situation, and it hurt so damned much.

Emotions swirling through her, she surveyed the expanse of the lake and marched onward into the wood that bordered it on one side. It was a lovely day, unseasonably warm and sunny, and the air held the gentle fragrance of the first blooms of spring. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d taken a walk for the simple pleasure of enjoying the fresh air. Perhaps in the forest she could find herbs or mushrooms to pick and bring back to the kitchens, maybe even go to the lake edge and dip her toes in the water if she was feeling particularly daring. The water was surely still freezing, so early in May. Still, it would feel good. Anything felt good that gave her a fleeting sense of leisure and peaceful, solitary moments.

Sophie picked her way through the forest, stepping over tree roots, and pushing aside low-lying branches, letting them snap back behind her. The sun barely peeked through the canopy of leaves above her, and down at ground level, it felt more like dusk than late morning.

Up ahead, she could see a clearing, which she assumed must be the lake edge. As she drew closer, she saw the glint of sunlight on the water, and she breathed a little sigh of satisfaction that she still had her bearings about her.

As she drew even closer, she heard a large splash and realized with equal parts terror and curiosity that she was not alone. She was only ten or so feet from the edge of the lake, easily visible to anyone in the water, so she quickly flattened herself behind the trunk of a large oak. With her eyes she began to chart a path back through the woods that would be the quietest and most concealed.

Her thoughts were broken by a crowing shout from the lake, “Aha!” Then the whistling noise of an object in flight, and a thud on the ground a few feet away from her. Completely bewildered, she looked over to see a ball roll to a stop in the dirt. It was wet and lavender in color, small enough to be held in one hand.

What on earth was going on? Had she been seen? Was someone throwing things at her? If she had a sensible bone in her body, she’d turn right around and run back to the house, but she just couldn’t quite keep herself from peeking around the tree and looking to see who might be lobbing objects into the woods and be mad enough to splash about in a freezing lake.

Dropping to a crouch to try and stay hidden, she leaned slowly around the trunk until she could see the surface of the water.

And she saw a man.

A naked man.

A naked Benedict.

It was wrong of her to stay.

So wrong.

So very, very wrong.

And yet she did not move an inch.

She found a large, bald-pated rock, mostly obscured by a short, squat bush and sat down, never once taking her eyes off of him.

She still couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. He was, of course, partially submerged, with the surface of the water rippling against his rib cage.

The lower - she thought giddily - edge of his rib cage.

Or perhaps if she were to be honest with herself, she’d have to rephrase her previous thought to: he was unfortunately partially submerged. What she could see of him was magnificent. He had lean, smooth muscles and broad shoulders. Water droplets glistened in his dark hair and across his pale skin, making him sparkle like a gem.

Sophie didn’t care if it made her wicked to stare. Dash it all, she was curious, and she was already in love with this man. She’d spent her life taking the safe road, the prudent path. Only one night in her short life had she completely thrown caution to the wind. And that night had been the most thrilling, most magical, the most stupendously wonderful night of her life.

And so she decided to remain right where she was, stay the course, and see what she saw. It wasn’t as if she had anything to lose, as she was planning to leave anyway. And so she sat back, tried not to move a muscle, and kept her eyes wide, wide open.

___

Benedict had never been a superstitious man, and he’d certainly never thought himself the sort with a sixth sense, but once or twice in his life, he’d experienced a strange surge of awareness, a sort of mystical tingling feeling that warned him that something important was afoot.

The first time had been the day his father had died. He’d never told anyone about this, not even his older brother Anthony, who’d been utterly devastated by their father’s death. But that afternoon, just moments before he had heard his brother’s cry for help and his mother’s screams from the front lawn, he’d felt an odd, numb feeling in his arms and legs, followed by the strangest pounding in his head. It hadn’t hurt, precisely, but it had sucked the air from his lungs and left him with the most intense sensation of terror he could ever imagine.

He had been with his siblings in the drawing room, watching them play while his pregnant mother rested in the conservatory nearby. When he managed to regain control of his limbs amidst the shouts from outside, he gathered the children, holding little Gregory by the hand, and guided them all out the door to see what was going on. By the time they saw the bent form of their mother holding their father on the grass, he was already dead, having collapsed after being stung by a bee. Anthony had marched toward them all, eyes wide with shock and streaming tears, and could barely speak as he ushered them back inside, beginning the darkest period of their lives. Benedict still had difficulty believing that a man as strong and vital as his father could be felled by a bee, but there had been no other explanation, it was just a cruel twist of fate.

The second time it had happened, however, the feeling had been completely different. It had been the night of his family’s masquerade, right before he’d seen the woman in the silver dress. Like the time before, the sensation had started in his arms and legs, but instead of feeling numb, this time he felt an odd tingling, as if he’d just suddenly awoken after years of sleepwalking.

He’d stepped outside to steady himself with some fresh air, and then he’d seen her, and he’d known she was the reason he was there that night; the reason he lived in England; hell, the very reason he’d been born.

Of course, she had gone and proven him wrong by disappearing into thin air, but at the time he’d believed all that, and if she’d let him, he would have spent the rest of his life proving it to her as well.

Now, as he stood in the lake, the water lapping just above his navel, he was struck once again by that odd sense of somehow being more alive than he’d been just seconds earlier. It was a good feeling, an exciting, breathless rush of emotion.

It was like before. When he’d met her.

Something was about to happen, or maybe someone was near. His life was about to change. It was the last thing he had expected when he decided to go for a swim that morning, to test his renewed vigor and shake the lethargy of being bedridden for days. He took a step into slightly deeper water, the soft sludge of the lake bottom squishing between his toes. The water reached a few inches higher on his body. He was bloody well freezing, but at least he was mostly covered.

He scanned the shore, looking into the trees and down in the bushes. There had to be someone there. Nothing else could account for the strange, tingling feeling that had now spread throughout his body.

“Who’s out there?” he called out.

No answer. He hadn’t really expected one, but it had been worth a try.

He squinted as he searched the shore again, turning in a full circle as he watched for any sign of movement. He saw nothing but the gentle rustle of the leaves in the wind, but as he finished his sweep, his eyes landing on the ball he had tossed ashore, he thought he could see something in a nearby bush, and he somehow knew.

“Sophie!”

He heard a gasp, followed by a flurry of activity as the bush shook and twigs began to snap.

“Sophie Beckett,” he yelled. “If you run from me right now, I swear I will follow you, and I will not take the time to don my clothing.”

The sounds of her movement ceased.

“It’s alright,” he called out, trying to show her he was good humored, despite having to yell. “Show yourself.”

There was a beat of silence, followed by some more rustling and slow, hesitant footsteps. He watched as she emerged from behind the bush and moved to stand at the shore, dressed in her threadbare cloak and the lavender dress of the housemaids. Her hands were balled into fists at her side and her jaw was locked. She was flustered, and it was adorable.

“What are you doing here?” He grinned at her.

“I was on a walk. What are you doing here?” she countered. “I suppose this means you are fully recovered, though that” - she waved her arm toward him and, by extension, the lake - “can’t possibly be good for you.”

“I am feeling much better, thank you.” He continued grinning, loving how it seemed to make her grow more aggravated. “I had to get out of that stuffy room and refresh myself. Were you following me?” He sank down and began to tread water playfully.

“Of course not,” she replied and he believed her. “That would be indecent.”

And then her face went completely red, because they both knew she hadn’t a leg to stand on with that argument. If she had truly been concerned about decency, she’d have left the area the moment she’d seen him, accidentally or not.

He lifted one hand from the water and twisted his wrist as he motioned for her to turn around. “Turn your back and wait for me to come out,” he ordered. “It will only take me a moment to dress.”

“I’ll go to the house right now,” she offered. “You can have your privacy and…”

“I’ll need you to walk back with me,” he cut her off, “in case the water has brought my cold back and I fall ill.” He stuck out his lip in an exaggerated pout and could practically see the steam coming out of her ears. “Or if I twist my ankle.” Still she glowered. “Or if you twist yours.”

“Mr. Bridgerton,” she sighed, exasperated.

“Stay put,” he ordered and started to advance out of the water.

Once he moved, her eyes bugged out of her head and she whipped around, turning her back to him.

Sophie crossed her arms and stared at a knothole in a tree trunk as if her very life depended on it. The infernal man wasn’t being particularly quiet as he went about his business, and she couldn’t seem to keep herself from listening to and trying to identify every sound that rustled and splashed behind her. Now he was emerging from the water, now he was reaching for his clothes, now he was…

It was no use. She had a dreadfully naughty imagination, and there was no getting around it. Her skin felt like it was on fire, and she was certain her cheeks must be eight different shades of red. A gentleman would have let her weasel out of her embarrassment and hole up in her room back at the house for at least three days in hopes he’d just forget about the entire affair.

But Benedict Bridgerton was obviously determined not to be a gentleman this afternoon and was clearly taking his time getting dressed.

“I’m sorry I came upon you unexpectedly sir, but it feels like you are just toying with me,” she grumbled.

“You are free to face me at any time,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “I assure you that I asked you to turn your back for the sake of your sensibilities, not mine.”

“I’m fine just where I am,” she replied. The absolute devil was in this man.

After what seemed like an hour but was probably only three minutes, she heard him say, “You can turn around now.”

Sophie was almost afraid to do so. He had just the sort of perverse sense of humor that would compel him to order her around before he’d donned his clothing.

But she decided to trust him - not, she was forced to admit, that she had much choice in the matter - and so she turned around. Much to her relief and, if she was to be honest with herself, a fair bit of disappointment, he was dressed, though his white shirt was clinging to him and transparent with the water from his skin. She swallowed to keep her composure.

“Do you truly need me to walk you back to the house?” She asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes,” he said. “Take it as punishment for spying on me.”

“I wasn’t - “ Sophie’s denial was automatic, but she cut herself off halfway through, because of course she’d been spying on him.

Benedict raised an eyebrow at her, smirking, “That’s what I thought.”

She scowled at him. She would have liked to have said something cutting and witty, but she had a feeling that anything emerging from her mouth just then would have been quite the opposite, so she held her tongue.

“It’s very bad form to spy on one’s host,” he said, crossing his arms and managing to look both authoritative and relaxed at the same time.

“It was an accident,” she grumbled.

“Oh, I believe you there,” he said. “But even if you didn’t intend to spy on me, the fact remains that when the opportunity arose, you took it.”

“Do you blame me?” She had found her witty retort.

He grinned. “Not at all. To tell the truth, I’m quite flattered.”

“It was academic curiosity,” she smirked back at him. “I assure you.”

His smile grew sly but he didn’t say anything further. He just held her gaze until she felt her legs would give out beneath her.

“Well,” she chimed, tearing her eyes away from his. “Now that we have that settled, shall we return to the house?”

“Let’s,” he nodded, stepping toward her. “Ah,” he bent and picked up the lavender ball, giving it a toss in the air. “Almost forgot this.”

“What is that?” she asked.

“This,” he grinned, holding it up triumphantly with a raised pinky, “Is my chance for redemption.”

Sophie just stared at him with a furrowed brow.

“Pall mall. Have you ever played?” She shook her head. “Well, it’s something of a family tradition you see,” They started to walk slowly through the trees, Sophie following at his side as he explained. “Every season when we come here for our country ball we start things off with an annual tournament. My brothers and sisters and I have been playing since we were children and now the competition is…” he stared off, searching for the right word. “Well, it’s brutal. A key part of the game is to knock your opponent’s ball off course and there is quite an established history of balls ending up in the lake.”

Sophie smiled, intuiting the rest of his story.

“Last year,” he huffed, “my sister Eloise was rather overzealous and managed to send my ball,” he held it up again, “straight across the water. I had to sit out the rest of the games.”

“You couldn’t use another one?” Sophie asked.

“Oh no, no, no,” Benedict shook his head emphatically. “There are rules and we honor them. Well,” he smirked. “Some of us do. Anyway, there are no other balls to play with. The rest are all claimed, except red of course,” At this point they had stepped out of the wood and were back on the sloping lawn beside the lake. He looked pensively out over the water. “We never managed to find that one.”

Sophie smiled again. “I’m glad your swim reunited you with your ball and it didn’t share the same watery fate.”

Benedict looked down at her and stared into her eyes, saying nothing. He was looking at her today with a new intensity, a burning behind his bright blue eyes that reminded her of how he looked during the masquerade. It made her shiver in a wonderfully delicious way. She needed to make it stop.

She turned on her heel and began walking up the lawn toward the house. After a beat he followed behind her. “So, your family will be hosting the country ball again this year?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Yes,” he mumbled. “They should arrive in a week or so.”

“Oh,” Sophie paused, remembering her task for the day was to look for a new position and make ready to leave Aubrey Hall. Now with the whole Bridgerton family and their aristocratic guests en route, it was more imperative than ever that she depart quickly. “I’m sure it will be lovely,” she said weakly.

At this point they had reached the edge of a garden bordered with flowering cherry trees. She slowed her steps, taking in the sight of the beautiful blossoms and enjoying the fragrant air.

“What are your plans for the day, Miss Beckett?” Benedict asked behind her.

She turned to face him. “Actually, seeing as you are well again,” she took a deep breath, “there is no further need for me here. I shall find a new position as we agreed upon. I expect it won’t be too difficult and I should be gone before your family arrives.”

She was not expecting his face to fall the way it did, the way his lips parted and his brow knitted as if he had just received terrible news. His eyes darted for a moment, then he cleared his throat and straightened his posture. “Of course,” he nodded. “I’m sure Mr. Dewitt can assist you.”

“Yes,” Sophie sighed. “I’ll go and meet with him now.” But her feet were rooted to the spot. She didn’t want to leave. She didn’t want to leave Aubrey Hall and she didn’t want to leave Benedict. Especially not when he kept looking at her like that, and not when he seemed to share some of her sadness at the thought of parting. But what was she supposed to do? Ask to stay on and work as a maid, drawing herself deeper into the heartache of being around him and risking the discovery of her secrets? Throw herself upon him this very moment and kiss him? No. Her mind knew what was right, even though her heart and her feet were not obeying it. So she stood, warring within herself until she managed to lift one foot and turn back around, feeling as if she had lead weights in her shoes.

Her eyes had barely left his when Benedict reached out and grabbed her by the arm, “Miss Beckett,” he yelped with urgency.

Sophie froze. He had never touched her, not unwarranted like this, since they had been reunited. He had helped her onto his horse and she had held him while they rode to the inn, but he had not reached out to her in any way since. Why would he? He was an aristocrat, her employer, and she was just a maid. But his grip was around her elbow, not too tightly, but insistent nonetheless. She looked back at him.

Benedict seemed to realize how inappropriate he was being and released her with a small nod of apology, “Sophie,” he said, softly. “Before you leave,” his eyes were darting again. “Would you allow me to paint a portrait of you?”

“A portrait?” This was certainly the last thing she had expected to hear.

Benedict nodded, “A small one,” he grinned nervously. “You can keep it as a token of my gratitude.”

Sophie didn’t know what to think. Again he was showering her with kindness, piling favors and gratitude upon her when she had done little more than use common sense and help him get over a cold. No one had ever painted her portrait before and she was unlikely to get the opportunity again. It was an aspect of life reserved for the upper classes. Her father had never included her in the family portraiture when he was alive and family was the last thing the Cowpers regarded her as. She was everyone’s shame to hide, to be forgotten, to be erased from memory. Benedict’s offer moved her deeply.

“How long will it take?” she asked, trying not to sound rude. “I really should go before the country visit.”

“Not long, One sitting, maybe two. I’ve done plenty in my time.” He smirked. “I’ll finish it while you look for a new post.”

Sophie felt her heart swelling. There was no reason for her to refuse him and of course she wanted to spend more time with him. If she could leave Aubrey Hall with his painting she would have some small piece of him to keep forever. Whenever she ached for him, she could look at his initials and touch the brushstrokes made by his hand. Maybe it would help ease the pain.

“I don’t have anything to wear for a portrait,” she blushed, looking down at her simple servant’s uniform.

Benedict smiled gently. “It doesn’t matter. I only need to capture your face.” He stepped closer, inches away, looking down into her eyes with that fathomless smolder again. She could feel his breath on her skin. “The rest can be whatever you’d like.”

Sophie had to stare at the ground or she feared she would fall over. She nodded briskly, “Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton. I would be honored by such a gift.”

She could hear his relief as he exhaled. “Very good,” He backed away, making it safe to look at him again. He looked practically giddy. “Tonight after dinner, meet me in the nursery. My supplies are in there. Come as you are.”

Sophie nodded, unable to hide a smile from her own face. Then, while her legs were still in working order, she turned and strode quickly through the garden and toward the house, leaving Benedict to make his own way, her punishment be damned.

Tagging: @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @eg-dr3amer3 @time-to-hit-the-clouds @lyta2323 @autumn-grace @sadprose-auroras @the-other-art-blog @goldrambutan @colettebronte @heeyyyou @musicismyoxygen84 @faye-tale @ambitionspassionscoffee @starchaser325 @malna4903 @sincere-sarcasm @kmc1989 @makaylan

#let me be your anchor #an offer from a gentleman #benedict bridgerton x sophie beckett #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #sophie beckett fanfiction #benophie #benophie fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #sophie beckett #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #head canon

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these-modern-times · 1 year ago

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Thoughts On Leverage: Redemption

I finally got around to watching Leverage: Redemption. I ABSOLUTELY LOVED IT! I had such a great time watching the cast all back together and all the character growth.

At first I was worried how the show was going to be without Nate since he was really the engine of the group. It was weird watching Redemption for like the first two eps and then I was totally fine with Nate not being around. I really like where all the characters are now, especially Parker, and I think if Nate had been in the show all the characters would’ve snapped to and gone back to being their old selves in certain ways. I think they would have been more reserved if Nate was still around (but they definitely would’ve called out his shit real fast). Parker has let her freak flag fly and I do not think she would have been that way with Nate back in the picture. Still miss Nate a bit but the crew is so awesome without him.

I was also worried about how the show was going to be without Aldis Hodge being a regular but, again, it was fine. I loved when he came back but the show and characters were so good that I didn’t miss him as much as I thought I would. All the Parker and Hardison scenes were great.

Parker will forever be my girl. Beth Riesgraf continues to just be amazing playing Parker (I want to know how she managed to keep a straight face with some of her scenes and lines or how anyone else did for that matter). I read someone’s review here on tumblr that the writers did Parker dirty. I don’t think the writers did Parker dirty at all, if anything they made her more fun and they really let Parker be herself. Think about all the times she almost started going off the rails with being really goofy (the pinata she dumped on the table in front of Eliot, the chocolate convention, the Ghostbusters scene/line, etc) and then she was pulled back. Parker is the leader now and Hardison and Eliot are used to her antics, they just let her go. I think Parker has always known when it’s time to have fun and when it’s time to be serious when it comes to being a thief and running a con.

Sophie, for me, became a good character to watch. Gina Bellman always nailed the hell out of playing Sophie and I don’t think she ever gets the credit she deserves for playing the character. I loved how Parker, Hardison, and Eliot knew they had to see her and help pull her out of her deep grief. They gave her no choice and she went along with it. Sophie always looked like she had a great time on jobs in the original series and that fun was still there. I adored her friendship with Harry (”our Mr. Wilson,” a sweet, and very British, addition to her character). I’m glad there was an outside person for her to speak to and to ground her. She even said the team saw her as Sophie Deveraux they didn’t see her in the way he saw her as an outsider. There’s a lot of respect between Sophie and Harry and I enjoyed that a lot.

Eliot was Eliot, the same hard ass with a very soft inside. He was grumpier and punchier then ever. He’s still the same big brother to Parker and Hardison keeping them in line. Eliot and Sophie have always had a very interesting relationship and dynamic and it was still good to see they had that in this series as well.

Breanna is a great addition to the crew. Parker being her (reluctant) mentor was fun. Her line about college being a scam in 2nd season hit me right in the soul.

Harry was a good addition. He brought the law side to the team and gave them a different angle to their cons. He’s also just a total goofball who had no choice but to join the family and just had a good time. As I mentioned, I like his relationship with Sophie. He was the other grown up in the family who balanced things out for not only Sophie but for the whole team.

The throw backs to the original series through the new 2 seasons were perfection. Some of them were slight and some of them were super obvious. All of them gave me so much joy. Parker with the horse painting in the first episode made me laugh way too hard.

There are so many good moments throughout the 2 seasons. Parker and Hardison’s scenes will always be a favorite. The team going to Sophie in the first episode is precious. Do not even get me started on Sophie’s line to Harry about Hardison, “He is his father’s son.” My soft interior definitely shed a slight a tear and a little heart rip happened hearing that line. In the first ep you can see Parker, Hardison, and Eliot were still grieving over Nate too and they needed their “mom.” The ending of The Paranormal Hacktivity Job made my day when I watched it. Hurley coming back was a great throwback and touch. Parker loving Christmas will never get old. Harry freaking out in the vents with Parker was hilarious. Parker pretending to be pregnant was probably one of the funniest moments of this series because she found it fun to hide stuff on her that way. Possibly the best thing was the team being afraid of the Canadian Mounties. These idiots have taken down the worst kinds of people and yet they’re all afraid of the Mounties. I can’t handle them.

Just like the original series I love the stories that revolve around museums and the museum and art worlds. I have a BA in Art History and a MA in Museum Collections Management. I currently work in the museum field. The show majorly glamorizes museums and especially their security systems (maybe the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Louvre can afford something close to what the museums in Leverage and Redemption use) but it’s fun to see what could be done if money wasn’t an object for museums. The last two eps of season 2 made me nuts with the air vents being so big and so close to the art works but it’s a TV show. My new dream job would be as a museum consultant for Leverage: Redemption, haha. I cracked up when Parker said she’s stolen three Rembrandts, a hat trick.

My one and only complaint about Leverage: Redemption was the backstory eps for Sophie and Eliot. One of the reasons I absolutely love Leverage is because they never revealed too much about the characters. I love not knowing Parker’s full name and complete background. The fact that no one knows Sophie’s real name after all these years is brilliant. Even Hardison doesn’t have a super in depth backstory. The writing for the show has always been satisfying and great that I never felt the need or want to know more about the characters. Leverage is literally one of the only shows I don’t have an issue with in any way with character development and story writing. I just found Sophie and Eliot’s back stories to be a little dull. At least Sophie’s was about cons and grifters which fits into the overall show. I am praying if this show comes back for a 3rd season that they do NOT in any way really dive into Parker’s background. Keep her elusive and just Parker.

I think Leverage: Redemption is a lot of fun because it is different. I’m so happy the show is still the same in a lot of ways but it’s not, it’s its own thing. I can still see the same characters from the first episode of Leverage, they’ve all grown but the people we were first introduced to are still there. The show made me laugh and it made me happy in a lot of ways from the writing to the acting to the stories to the complete silliness of so many lines and scenes. I am so hoping for a 3rd season of Leverage: Redemption, I’m fully ready for more fun adventures with this group of crazies.

#Leverage #Leverage: Redemption #Parker #Hardison #Eliot Spencer #Sophie Deveraux #Harry Wilson #Breanna Casey #Beth Riesgraf #Aldis Hodge #Christian Kane #Gina Bellman

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bookwyrminspiration · 3 years ago

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thoughts on how grady was practically the first one to out-right "accuse"/"voice" that sophie started a war by burning down the warehouse? i was rereading it and that part made me feel a bit icky(?)

Okay I gotta be honest this (as in Grady doing this, not your ask) infuriates me, but also I can kinda understand the whole debate over the "war" situation, Sophie apparently being the one to turn it into a war and everyone else being like "Sophie I hope you understand the consequences of your actions."

But before I get to the Grady thing, there's this one scene that I think Shannon was using to get us to this mindset to feel icky about it and for us to side with Sophie--as far as I know, there are almost none to no people who disagree with Sophie's actions in the fandom; we've all supported her calling it a war and think it has been a war for a while, none of us siding against her or shocked.

There's a line in Legacy that goes like this: "'The thing is[...] this isn't a game,' she warned Maruca. 'I've called it that before too, because it's easier to think of it that way. But it's not. It's war. Not the global, multispecisial battle that Mr. Forkle things we're building toward--yet. But still. War" (pg 391). Sophie has been thinking of this fight against the Neverseen as war for multiple books, and this is one of the clearer, more recent instances where she makes it very obvious. We, reading from her perspective, have then thought of the battle as a war for a while as well because we're influenced by her. But as far as I can remember, there are very few, if any, instances where war are mentioned by anyone else--and not nearly as plainly as Sophie does.

I think when it comes down to it, Sophie is used to war. Not that she's fought in them before or likes them, but she was raised human and humans have wars and violence and so she more readily applies those labels despite her distaste for them. Those raised in the elven "peaceful" world are more reluctant to use those words and only did when something dramatic shifted--Sophie going on the offense. They never thought it would come to that and were fooling themselves into believing they weren't at war on a technicality. Sophie doesn't have their reservations, so she didn't realize how much everyone else had fooled themselves into thinking it wasn't a war yet.

Now back to the Grady thing: him being the one to first voice that it was Sophie who turned it into a war is kinda icky, because we've come to associate him with complete support and someone she can always rely on to have her back. I mean think about it, what times has Grady spoken against what Sophie was doing? The only times I can remember are times where she was in danger or could be at risk in some way, and that's what he was against. Otherwise, he's supported and agreed with her almost 100%. This is a major change where suddenly...he's not on the same page as her, and actually kinda disagrees with her from what we can see. He still loves her and cares for her, but he didn't think of it as war until after she'd burned down the storehouse.

As much as he's been open to Sophie being in his life and the changes she's trying to bring about, he is still an elf. He was born and raised in the Lost Cities and he thinks like an elf. The main way he deviates is that he has experienced loss and grief, had an intense battle with guilt, and knew of the Black Swan and "what they were capable of" (though he had it wrong) before the rest of the world did. While that does make him more open in his thinking, none of that is nearly as radical as Sophie, so there's that disconnect between them. At his core, he still thinks and lives like an elf. Sophie, on the other hand, thinks like a human. That's a lot of what it is with everyone, actually. All of her friends think like elves while Sophie thinks like a human, and while it's what she was made for and the entire purpose of project moonlark, it was going to cause a rift eventually. And now it has.

Grady being the first one to speak on it I think was more for shock than because he is the most against Sophie. Because it being Grady is like...what? But he's been there with her since the beginning? He's always supported her? Why would he do this? If it had been someone else, like...Wraith or someone, it wouldn't have had that impact. It would just be another person who didn't see eye to eye with her, but this was Grady, which showed that this was serious. It conveyed the impact of her choice and how different her thoughts are from that of her companions. It really singled her out because someone who had been at her side through and through suddenly wasn't in the same way anymore. And that was the purpose of Grady speaking first, and he wasn't needed as much after that. That's why Tiergan stepped in.

So I agree, nonsie!! That scene did feel pretty icky to read, but that was also the point. It was meant to be a shock, because it was a defining point in where the fight, where the war will go from here. And it's put things into perspective, who is on her side and how people think. As icky as it was, it did serve its role effectively.

#there may be instances earlier in the series where others call it a war as well #I wasn't going to go through the whole series to find them #but my point is that Sophie's been thinking of it as a war for a while #but no one else has #and this scene made her realize it #and was heightened because not even grady thought the same as she did #it conveys a lot very quickly #it's fascinating #so thank you for the opportunity to talk about it!!#kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #quil's queries #nonsie #long post #grady ruewen #kotlc character analysis #sophie fsoter

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scuttling · 3 years ago

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Tempting

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Latina OFC Sophie Cortes Word Count: 2,392 Tags: 16+, Mature SFW, Pre-relationship, Fantasizing, Accidentally turned on, Mentions of sex Summary: Aaron and Sophie both find themselves... tempted. Collection: Sophie Cortes timeline, 7-12 Months at the BAU (See Masterlist for reading order) Link to AO3 or read below! “Hey, just wanted to hand off my profiles,” Sophie says as she peeks her head into Hotch’s office Wednesday night. “Any idea when the department will catch up to the 21st century and let us do these on the computer?” she asks playfully, and he smiles, rolls his eyes a bit.

“It’s not the department that makes us do these on paper, it’s me. Morgan has been trying to get me to switch to digital, says Garcia can make us a user-friendly system in her sleep.” She crosses her arms, leaning a hip against the doorframe.

“And you’re resistant because…?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. Maybe it’s nostalgia, or because I hate change.”

“As long as it's not because you’ll miss seeing my smiling face at the end of the day, turning in my files,” she says, and though it’s obvious she’s teasing, that kind of is part of the answer.

He doesn’t want to be just a figure in his office, silently collecting completed case files with a ping of his computer. He knows they know his door is always open, but it’s sometimes the excuse of turning in their work that leads them there, gets them in the door, and he thinks it’s important to maintain.

“All joking aside, I think it could really benefit the team. If you wanted a beta tester, I’d be happy to try it out; we can get together once a week for a couple weeks to discuss any bugs or issues we find with the system. The others don’t even need to know; I could do my regular cases during the day, stay later once or twice a week and work them on the computer. I don’t mind the overtime, I’ve got nothing going on.”

“You should go enjoy your life, not spend extra hours holding my hand because I’m resistant to change.”

“I want to, though, if it will help. And I said I don’t mind the overtime.” They stare each other down for a moment; he is the first to cave, sighing and pushing a hand through his hair.

“I’ll talk to Garcia, see if she has capacity to work on the program this week.” Her answering smile is almost blinding, and he feels warmth spread in his chest; he's been feeling that a lot lately, always where Sophie is concerned, but especially when she smiles. “Hey, while I’ve got you, do you mind looking at a case with me? I can’t help feeling that I’m missing something.”

“Sure, of course.” She walks fully into his office, around the desk so she’s looking over his shoulder at the open file. Her hair falls in cascading waves around her face before she gets a chance to tuck a few strands behind her ear, and the smell of her shampoo is... tempting, to say the least.

It’s coconut, and jasmine, maybe, a light, tropical scent that makes him think of palm trees, fresh pineapple, warm sand under his feet… Sophie in a bikini, a tiny thing that shows off her every curve… Sophie curled up next to him in a private cabana, laughing softly in the moonlight… Sophie on a soft bed in a hotel room, her bare skin, even darker from sunbathing, a beautiful contrast to crisp white sheets…

“Have you considered that the second unsub could be a woman? That would explain how the victims are being lured from the mall—a woman probably wouldn’t stop in a parking garage at night for a man, but she would for another woman, if she’s in trouble.” She turns to look at him, and he’s shaken from his fantasy abruptly.

“No, uh, I hadn’t considered that. That closes the gap in my profile. Good thinking.”

“That’s why you keep me around, isn’t it?” He earns another, softer smile, and he thinks about leaning in to kiss her, how easy that would be. It doesn’t take long to shake that thought away, because it’s almost literally insane, but he can’t deny that he had it.

“Something like that. Are you headed home?” She stands fully, and he’s glad, because that means the temptation is gone. It’s not her fault in any way, all his, but he can’t deny it gets worse the closer she is.

“Not home; the girls and I are meeting around the corner for a drink. Will you be finishing up soon?”

“Probably not, but it’s alright. I have nothing going on,” he says, repeating her turn of phrase. He looks down at his work, and she sighs lightly.

“You could have something going on. Come out for a drink with me.”

“And crash your meeting with the girls?” He’s not entirely certain he’d be welcome, or comfortable, but she makes it sound so easy. Like it’s something he could just decide to do, if he wanted.

“Trust me, they won’t mind.”

“It’s a nice offer, thank you. Maybe another time.” She rests a hand on his desk, on top of his case file so he can’t finish filling out the consultation paperwork, and he has to look up and make eye contact with her, which he’s sure is by design. She’s too good at reading him, sometimes. “Definitely another time. I really do appreciate the offer.”

“I’m gonna hold you to it, Hotch. You need a life outside of this place.” She lifts her hand from the desk, places it briefly on his shoulder, and then heads for the door. “Have a good night.”

“You too,” he sighs at her retreating back. His feelings seem to be getting a little too hard to ignore. Their next case doesn’t come until the beginning of the next week. Sophie goes with Hotch to interview a victim’s mother in hopes that they can find the woman who is currently missing before the unsub kills her, but they come up with nothing, which is all they’ve come up with all day.

It’s clear Hotch is not pleased with their progress. He stands outside the car for a moment, looking like he’s trying to compose himself, and he takes off his jacket and throws it in the back seat.

“Damn it,” he hisses when they get back into the car, slamming his hands against the steering wheel; he scrubs a hand through his hair, unbuttons his cuffs, and rolls up his shirt sleeves a bit more angrily than seems strictly necessary. Sophie can’t keep her eyes off of his hands as he pushes the fabric up over his forearms—baring firm muscles covered in thick, dark hair—and when he throws the car into reverse and turns his head, placing his palm on the back of her headrest while he looks behind them, it gets her a little… hot.

It’s nothing new, of course. She has been feeling certain things, where Hotch is concerned—some emotional things, some physical things—for a little while now, if she’s being honest with herself. And she’s usually got the presence of mind to ignore it, or force it to the back of her thoughts, but he caught her off guard and she’s spiraling, now, imagining his hands on either side of her head, on her throat, holding open her thighs. His hands are close all the time, and visible, and the thought of reaching out to touch them is just so… tempting.

She must be making an oh, shit face, because his eyes become more inquisitive, his features a little softer. “What’s wrong?” She’s breathing heavily, and her cheeks feel warm, so she probably looks insane; she just shakes her head and exhales lightly, tries to calm herself.

“Nothing, it’s nothing.” He looks like he absolutely does not believe her, and she curses herself for the hundredth time for choosing to work around a bunch of profilers; they’re always thinking, analyzing, squinting their eyes at you and trying to figure you out, and it can get really irritating.

“I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I’m sorry if I upset you,” he says when he’s done squinting. She almost wants to laugh: he’s worried about upsetting her over a minor curse word while she’s literally hot under the collar for him; her chest feels like it’s on fire, always quick to flush when she’s aroused, and she’s thanking the gods that she chose a crew neck t-shirt today and not a v-neck, or the situation would probably be a lot more awkward.

“You didn’t upset me, Hotch, it’s okay,” she insists, and he breaks eye contact to focus on the road.

They ride in silence the rest of the way to the precinct, but he doesn’t move to exit the vehicle after he takes the keys out of the ignition. “I’m sorry again for my outburst. I shouldn’t have reacted that way, at least not with you in the car.” She sits back in her seat, because this is now about more than her embarrassing moment from before.

“You’re allowed to be human, you know,” she tells him, and when it looks like he’s about to argue, she shakes her head. “I know the bureau likes to discourage it, but being in tune with our emotions and other people’s emotions is what makes us the best at what we do. Don’t apologize for the things you feel.”

“I have to lead by example. It’s the best way to set clear expectations.”

“Telling us your expectations is the best way to set clear expectations. You don’t have to pretend to be emotionless. When you’re angry, be angry.” He frowns, looks at her like what she’s saying makes absolutely no sense.

“When I got angry just now, you were looking at me like you were seeing something about me for the first time. Like you were afraid of me.”

“I wasn’t afraid of you, it’s… it’s nothing. I’d really rather not get into it.” His face softens again, and he’s giving her a look that’s usually reserved for families of victims, which throws her off guard.

“I know that victims of abuse can sometimes have a negative reaction to shouting…”

She wants to groan. He’s being so kind, but if he doesn’t let this go...

“I’m not a victim of abuse, and you didn’t scare me.” He still looks guilty, and if that’s what he thinks happened, and that’s how she made him feel? Well she’s gotta come clean sooner than later. She takes a deep breath. “You turned me on, okay? You were angry, and you rolled up your sleeves, and then you put your hand on the back of my seat and it just… affected me. I can’t believe I’m saying this,” she mutters, covering her face with her hand. Hotch processes that, is still processing that when she removes her fingers from her face. He just looks at her, expression carefully blank.

“Oh. Uh, well. It’s natural; nothing you could have done about it.” She sighs at that, runs a hand through her hair.

“I know, I’m not ashamed of being aroused, or anything, but—we’re working, you’re my boss. The situation is awkward.” He looks at the steering wheel, like he can’t say what he’s going to say directly to her.

“You shouldn’t feel awkward. This kind of thing happens to all of us.” She arches her brow, smiles a little incredulously.

“You’re telling me you, Aaron Hotchner, have been inappropriately turned on on the job before?” He shrugs, nodding.

“Sure, yes.” Her brows rise further into her hairline, not believing him for a second; he sighs at her expression and shakes his head, huffing a laugh. “Okay. You were in my office last week, leaning over my shoulder to look at a case file, and I could smell your shampoo. It’s coconut, right?” She nods, not sure exactly where the story is going, but she feels herself getting hot again, against literally her every wish. “Well, it made me daydream of the vacation I so desperately want: a drink in my hand, sun on my skin, sand beneath my feet… making love late at night with a breeze blowing through the open patio door.”

“Oh.” Her heart is racing, beating so hard she’s almost surprised the sound doesn’t give her away, and her breathing is heavy, and she thinks he’s about to speak again when someone taps on his window abruptly. He rolls it down and Gideon sticks his head in.

“There’s another body, 482 West Hemlock; you two might as well stay in the car and meet us there.”

“Will do,” Hotch replies, and Gideon nods, steps away from the car. If he wonders why they were sitting there unbuckled for so long, he doesn't show it.

They back out of the parking lot sexy-incident-free, and they’ve gone a few blocks before he turns to look at her again. “Are we okay? I hope I didn’t say too much.”

“No, you didn't. We’re okay.” She smiles softly, actively thinking about anything but vacation sex with her boss.

(It’s surprisingly difficult.)

They process the crime scene, gaining some new insight about the unsub, and before long they’re ready for a profile. Sophie opts to ride back to the station with Prentiss under the guise of letting Gideon and Hotch iron out the details, but really she needs to be as far away from him as possible while working the case, or she’s going to lose her mind.

The rest of the day is uneventful, spent poring over pages and pages of cold case files trying to link other murders to the one that occurred earlier that day. They identify at least 15, and when they literally can’t go on for a minute longer, Hotch calls it and they discuss where to go to grab some dinner.

Italian wins, and Sophie gets a big, beautiful bowl of pasta primavera and a glass of white wine, and it’s almost enough to make her forget all about the day until Hotch catches her eye from across the table, smiling at something Morgan said, and her stomach clenches. She smiles lightly, trying to hide it, but she’s not sure she was able to save face in time. She spends the rest of the meal arguing semantics with Reid, something so perfectly normal that it shouldn’t raise anyone’s suspicions.

She feels eyes on her anyway, but she doesn’t look in their direction.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner/original female character #Criminal minds fanfic

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theunmappedstar · 4 years ago

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Thoughts on Fitz paying Keefe to paint Fitz+Sophie?

a lot of people cringe at this moment - and sure, it was meant to catch the reader’s eyes and make us uncomfortable given our almost unlimited knowledge regarding the love triangle. however, i think it can also be viewed as sweet.

i don’t think that fitz realized how this had the potential to be awkward. because, to him, in his euphoria, it appeared as if keefe was moving on and there was no more stress so they could get back on the fast-track to being closer friends again and he had gotten the girl he loved. it was a win-win. fitz wasn’t focused on stressing over whether it would be awkward.

fitz also knows that sophie and keefe are close, so it wasn’t only meaningful to fitz to share such an intimate moment from his private life and comission keefe to create something so special, but fitz thinks it’s also nice for sophie given that keefe and her are friends and she’s shown interest in his art. fitz really did mean well with the gift.

now, another thing: i don’t think fitz has noticed keefe’s attraction to sophie. it might seem obvious to us as the readers, but i really don’t think fitz is catching on. if he does, it doesn’t appear to have clicked that it’s a very serious kind of love and much more than a crush that keefe is using to distract himself with. i think since keefe has always been very reserved when revealing his feelings for sophie that fitz hasn’t heard much (or anything) about keefe’s side of things - whereas keefe has heard a lot from fitz.

so, again, if fitz notices anything, it doesn’t appear he believes it to be strong enough for keefe to commit to it, so fitz isn’t worried it will get in the way of him and sophie.

honestly? this whole ordeal really does show fitz’s trust in keefe. it’s confirmed fitz went straight to keefe to gush about his night with sophie once they had confessed. he chooses to open up to keefe about this special thing that makes him happy and even goes so far as to involve him and request that keefe create something regarding it. i think this shows that even if fitz and keefe have rocky parts of their friendship, they’re still close underneath it. and they both know it.

bored? send me a “thoughts on” ask!

#kotlc #keefe sencen #fitz vacker #keeper of the lost cities #sophie foster #anonymous #asks #ask me anything #theunmappedstar asks

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saltandburnsis · 4 years ago

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dead in the water, pt. 2

Characters: Reader, Dean, Sam

Age: 20

Warnings: Drowning mention

Word Count: 2,993

Summary: The investigation brings on new connections, revelations and deaths around every corner as you and your brothers get closer to finding the real monster of Lake Manitoc.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who sent messages while I was away. I appreciate every one of you so, so much. Thankfully (and miraculously) both of my grandparents have made full recoveries. (Still positive for COVID but symptom-free.) As usual, all dialogue taken directly from the episode will be in italics.

~ ~ ~ ~

“So, there’s the three drowning victims from this year,” Sam said, his eyes never leaving the computer screen in front of him. You were going through the clothes with Dean, silently planning a trip to the local laundromat as the “too used to wear again” pile grew larger and larger by the second.

“And before that?” Dean asked, lifting a shirt to his nose before setting it down on the bed beside him—the first of few wearable clothes.

“Uh, yeah. Six more, spread out over the past 35 years. Those bodies were never recovered, either. If there is something out there, it’s picking up its pace,” Sam replied.

“So, what? We got a lake monster on a binge?” Dean threw a pair of jeans to the large pile behind you.

“This whole lake monster theory—it just bugs me,” you cut in, mimicking your eldest brother’s actions. At this rate, you’d spend more time at the laundromat than working on the case.

“Why?” Dean asked. Sam continued to click through the articles on his screen.

“Loch Ness, Lake Champlain—there are literally hundreds of eyewitness accounts, but here, there’s almost nothing. Whatever is out there, no one’s living to talk about it,” you explained. Dean walked over to Sam, standing behind him and reading over his shoulder. He pointed at one of the articles.

“Bar. Christopher Bar. Where have I heard that name before?” he asked.

“Christopher Bar, the victim in May,” Sam mused, clicking around a bit to find the article he was looking for.

“Isn’t that Andrea’s last name?” you asked as he searched, making your way over to the table and leaning over Sam’s right shoulder. He pulled up the article he was looking for, and the three of you were met with a picture of Lucas. He was wrapped in a towel, and you could only assume it was his grandfather standing beside him.

“Huh. Christopher Bar was Andrea’s husband. Lucas’s father. Apparently, he took Lucas out swimming. Lucas was on a floating wooden platform when Chris drowned. Two hours before the kid got rescued,” Sam summarized. He clicked on the picture so it filled the screen, Lucas’s terrified face staring back at you.

“Maybe we have an eyewitness after all,” you said, moving away from the table and looking anywhere but the picture. Dean did the same, though his eyes were locked on the computer screen.

“No wonder that kid was so freaked out. Watching one of your parents die isn’t something you just get over.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Dean pulled up to the playground, and parked. He didn’t shut the car off, however, until he’d surveyed the area and spotted Andrea.

“Let’s go” was all he said before getting out of the car. He waited for you and Sam to get out before starting the walk over to where Andrea sat.

“Can we join you?” Sam asked once the three of you were in close proximity to her. Andrea looked up at the three of you and smiled.

“I’m here with my son,” she replied, glancing over at Lucas before turning back to you.

“Oh. Mind if I say ‘hi’?” Dean asked. Without waiting for a response, he turned away and walked towards Lucas. Andrea scoffed, smiling, and looked back at you and Sam.

“Tell your friend this whole “Jerry McGuire” thing’s not going to work on me,” she said.

“I don’t think that’s what this is about,” you answered, giving her a small, reassuring smile before looking back at Dean. Andrea mimicked your smile before turning her attention to Dean and her son. She rose from her seat and stood beside you on your left, Sam to your right. The three of you watched in an awkward silence for a moment, like parents only congregated to ensure their children’s safety. You decided to break the tense stillness.

“So, has Lucas always been so…reserved?” You asked, watching as Lucas almost refused to acknowledge Dean’s presence. A humorless laugh escaped Andrea’s lips, and she turned to face you.

“No, no. He used to be so talkative when he was younger. He shut down when his dad passed.”

“We’re sorry to hear that,” Sam interjected when Andrea paused. She sighed, crossing her arms. “I’ve taken him to therapists…done everything under the sun that I could, but still, Lucas hasn’t said a word. Not even to me. Not since his dad’s accident.”

“Yeah, we heard. Sorry,” said Dean as he went to stand beside her.

“What are the doctors saying?” Sam asked. Andrea sighed again, a sort of exasperated sigh that usually accompanied information relayed countless times.

“Oh, that it’s a kind of post-traumatic stress,” she replied. Something about her tone led you to believe she didn’t believe that herself.

“That can’t be easy for either of you,” you sympathized.

“We moved in with my dad. That helps a lot. It’s just…when I think about what Lucas went through—what he saw…” Andrea trailed off, focusing her gaze back on her son.

“Kids are strong. You’d be surprised what they can deal with,” Dean assured her.

“You know, he used to have such life. He was so hard to keep up with, to tell you the truth.” Her nostalgic smile was short-lived as her thoughts settled back in the present. “Now, he just sits there. Drawing those pictures, playing with those army men. I just wish—” She cut herself off when Lucas approached, bending slightly to greet the boy. “Hey, sweetie.” Lucas kept his eyes on the ground in front of him, but went to Dean’s side and held out a picture.

“Thanks.” Dean took the picture and looked down at it. “Thanks, Lucas.” He turned his head to look back at the younger boy, but he’d already set back toward the bench. Andrea watched him for a moment then looked back at Dean, mouth slightly agape.

~ ~ ~ ~

The door of your motel room swung open and Sam walked in, letting it shut itself.

“So, I think it’s safe to say we can rule out Nessie,” he announced. He looked to Dean, who sat at the end of the bed currently covered in clothes—clean clothes you’d just brought back from the laundromat.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked as Sam sat at the edge of the second bed.

“I just drove by the Carlton’s house,” he explained. “There was an ambulance there. Will Carlton is dead.”

“He drowned?” Dean asked in disbelief.

“Yep, in the sink.”

“What the hell? So, Y/N is right; this isn’t a creature. We’re dealing with something else,” said Dean.

“Yeah, but what?” you asked, dropping the shirt in your hands. Sam shook his head.

“I don’t know. A water wraith maybe? Some kind of demon? I mean, something that controls water…” Dean trailed off, and the three of you looked at each other, eyes widening with the revelation you seemed to come to simultaneously. “Water that comes from the same source.”

“The lake,” you continued your brother’s thoughts. “Which would explain why it’s upping the body count. The lake is draining. It’ll be dry in a few months. Whatever this thing is, whatever it wants, it’s running out of time.”

“And if it can get through the pipes, it can get to anyone almost anywhere,” Sam added.

“This is going to happen again soon.” Dean moved to sit at the table and began putting his shoes back on, ready to go after this thing. You grabbed your boots from their spot beside the bed.

“And we do know one other thing for sure,” Sam continued. “We know that this has got something to do with Bill Carlton.”

“Yeah. It took both his kids,” you said, pointing out the obvious in Sam’s statement as you tied your laces.

“And I’ve been asking around. Lucas’s dad, Chris—Bill Carlton’s godson,” Sam revealed.

“Let’s go pay Mr. Carlton a visit,” Dean decided, rising from his seat.

~ ~ ~ ~

As if he’d never moved from the last time the three of you visited his home, Bill Carlton sat on his dock, looking out at the water. His back was to the house, and he made no move to acknowledge your arrival at any point as the three of you walked over. His grief was obvious in his movements—or lack of, that is—but it was a whole other thing to see the despair on his face, the sorrow in his eyes when you approached the man.

“Mr. Carlton?” Sam asked. “We’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

“We’re from the Department of-”

“I don’t care who you’re with,” Bill cut Dean off. “I’ve answered enough questions today.” His voice quivered as he spoke, always on the verge of tears. You stepped forward to speak with him.

“Your son said he saw something in that lake. What about you? You ever see anything out there?” Your voice was empathetic, but professional—you’d found it was enough to give you an air of authority, but comforting enough to allow you to gain the trust of your witness. Bill, however, remained silent, refusing to meet your gaze. “Mr. Carlton, Sophie’s drowning and Will’s death—we think there might be a connection. To you or your family.”

“My children are gone. It’s…it’s worse than dying.” Bill blinked away tears and finally turned to look up at you. The air fell still for a moment, punctuating his words. He turned away before he spoke again. “Go away…please.” Dean nudged you before nodding his head in the direction of the car. You wouldn’t get anywhere badgering him any further. Sam and Dean left the dock, but you stayed planted in your spot, pursing your lips.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly. Bill only looked down at the ground and shut his eyes. With that, you finally turned and followed your brothers back to the car.

“What do you think?” Sam asked once you were back at the car and out of Bill’s earshot.

“I think the poor guy’s been through hell. I also think he’s not telling us something.” Dean answered.

“So now what?” Sam asked, resting his arms on the hood of the car. You went to stand beside him, ready to get in, but Dean had stopped and was now looking up at the house.

“What is it?” you asked.

“Huh. Maybe Bill’s not the only one who knows something.” He pulled Lucas’s picture out of his jacket pocket and held it out in front of him. The drawing was identical to the house standing before you.

~ ~ ~ ~

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Andrea said, putting her hands on her hips.

“I just need to talk to him, just for a few minutes,” Dean pleaded.

“He won’t say anything. What good’s it gonna do?” Andrea asked him. Sam was the one to answer her.

“Andrea, we think more people might get hurt. We think something’s happening out there.”

“My husband, the others—they just drowned. That’s all.” Andrea shook her head, adamant in her beliefs. You sighed.

“If that’s what you really believe, then we’ll go,” you said. “But if you think there’s even a possibility that something else could be going on here, please let Dean talk to your son.” Andrea didn’t reply, and she cast her gaze downward. You could practically see the gears turning as she weighed the pros and cons of letting the three of you upstairs. Moments later, she looked back at the three of you and nodded.

“Alright.” She moved past you and walked up the stairs, motioning for the three of you to follow. You stood against the wall once you’d all reached Lucas’s room, standing close enough to see what was going on, but far enough back to give Dean space to do his thing without an audience. He stepped into the room and knelt down on the floor beside Lucas.

“Hey, Lucas. Remember me?” It was silent for a moment as he looked down at two of Lucas’s pictures. “You know, I, uh…I wanted to thank you for that last drawing. But the thing is, I need your help again.” Dean pulled the picture of the Carlton house out of his pocket and set it down in front of Lucas. “How did you know to draw this? Did you know something bad was gonna happen? Maybe you could nod yes or no for me. You’re scared.” Dean nodded. “It’s okay. I understand. See, when I was your age, I saw something real bad happen to my mom, and I was scared, too. I didn’t feel like talking, just like you. But, see, my mom, I know she wanted me to be brave. I think about that everyday. And I do my best to be brave. And maybe your dad wants you to be brave, too.” You quickly wiped a tear from your eye. The three of you had always had a bond, having lost your mothers to demons at such young ages, but Dean was the only one with real, concrete memories of Mary. Having been two when your own mother passed, you had a vague recollection of her, but nothing as real as what Dean had.

Suddenly, Angela’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open again. You looked back into the room to see what you had missed. Lucas was looking up at Dean, meeting his eyes. He grabbed another picture and held it out to your brother. Dean looked down at it then smiled at the boy. “Thanks, Lucas.”

~ ~ ~ ~

You sat in the back of the car, leaning forward and looking over Sam’s shoulder at the picture he held in his hands. Dean sped down the street, headed back towards the motel.

“Andrea said the kid never drew like that ’til his dad died,” Dean said.

“There are cases. Going through a traumatic experience could make certain people more sensitive to premonitions, psychic tendencies—” Sam relayed some Supernatural Psychology 101, but was cut off by Dean.

“Whatever’s out there, what if Lucas is tapping into it somehow?” He asked. Sam started to respond, but Dean continued his thought. “I mean, it’s only a matter of time before somebody else drowns. So if you got a better lead, please.”

“Alright,” Sam relented. “We got another house to find.”

“The only problem is, there’s about a thousand yellow two-stories in this county alone,” Dean complained. You reached forward and took the picture from Sam, moving it so Dean could better see it.

“See this church?” You asked, pointing to the building in the foreground. “Bet there’s less than a thousand of those around here.”

“Oh, kid thinks she’s so smart,” Dean mocked. You smirked.

“Only ‘cause I am,” you responded triumphantly, sitting back in your seat and setting the picture down next to you. Sam chuckled at the two of you before looking at Dean, shifting the mood of the car when he began to speak.

“You know, uh, what you said about mom—you never told me that before.” Dean kept his eyes on the road ahead.

“It’s no big deal,” he replied, voice monotone. He looked over at Sam when the younger brother refused to look away and grimaced. “Oh, god, we’re not gonna have to hug or anything, are we?” Sam smiled but shook his head, finally turning away from Dean. The two of them remained silent, though, and you decided to break the tension.

“Aw, look at college boy, all in touch with his feelings,” you teased, reaching forward to push on Sam’s shoulder. “You’re turning it into a real chick-flick in here.” You sat back and smiled when your brothers started laughing; your job was done.

~ ~ ~ ~

It had taken a little over half an hour to find the location from Lucas’s drawing, but your assertion had been correct and the three of you had found the white church and, subsequently, the yellow house with relative ease. You had opted to stay in the car this time, letting Sam and Dean go investigate this part of the puzzle. You didn’t have a good feeling about what they were going to find, and after your encounter with Bill, you thought it best to stay back, lest you start getting emotional. Sam and Dean were back in the car within twenty minutes and as always, were quick to fill you in on their discoveries.

“Okay, this little boy, Peter Sweeney, vanishes, and this is all connected to Bill Carlton somehow,” you summarized, looking between the two of them.

“Yeah, Bill sure as hell seems to be hiding something, huh?” Dean nodded, eyes on the road in front of him as he drove down the street, on his way back to the Carlton house.

“And Bill—the people he loves—they’re all getting punished,” Sam continued.

“So what if Bill did something to Peter?” Dean asked, connecting the dots in front of you.

“What if Bill killed him?” Sam specified.

“Peter’s spirit would be furious,” you said. “It’d want revenge. I mean, it’s possible.”

You were back at Bill’s house minutes later. The three of you got out and looked to the dock, only to find it empty.

“Mr. Carlton!” Sam called, looking around. Dean looked back to the water and spotted Bill in the boat, going out into the water.

“Hey, check it out,” he said, getting you and Sam to follow his gaze. The three of you ran down the beach and onto the dock, calling after Bill.

“Turn the boat around! Come back here!” you yelled, your brothers calling out similarly. Bill only looked back at you before turning his head and speeding up. Seconds later the boat shot out of the water, flying back towards the dock. You jumped back at the sudden explosion of water. The boat landed upside down on top of Bill and, almost instantly, both disappeared under the water.

~ ~ ~ ~

SPN rewrite taglist: @mrsfortune1306 @marvelous-glims @headsup-i-am-very-bad-at-writing

forever taglist: @griff1ndor @gothsatanicrapunzel @choosemyname @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @not-astounding @vicmc624 @idksupernatural

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desperationandgin · 5 years ago

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Outlander 5x01: Top Five

If you’ve been following me since before my Outlander days, then you maybe know that I used to host this podcast called Once Upon a Podcast, and our format was to discuss 5 things we loved and 5 things we didn’t. The goal was this: Not everyone likes or dislikes the same things, so let's make a list and compare, then discuss. And we did! I found myself missing that so I went for it on twitter for this episode.

Here’s the link to the original thread of tweets (feel free to follow me there!) and I’ll put them under a read more, here. I can also elaborate a little bit better, so everything is going under a Read More. So, the tl;dr version is on twitter, here’s the longer version. OBVIOUSLY, spoilers for the first episode of season 5!

TOP FIVE FAVORITE THINGS:

5. Fergus and Marsali, which obviously encompasses both of them individually as well. I love that they got drunk at their sister’s wedding. I love that Marsali is pregnant. I love that they chose to ignore Fergus being unable to join the militia due to disability. Jamie specifically calling out to him, son of my heart made me absolutely lose my mind. I love Fergus and Marsali Fraser. I’m excited to see more of both of them, especially Marsali and Claire if things go the way I suspect they will.

4. Bree. I know for some reason not a lot of people like Sophie as Brianna, but I thought her choice to play Bree happy yet muted was correct. Amplifying it after being trigged of course, made it more obvious. I've always loved Bree, so I know this is a hot take. I have more to elaborate on though, that’s not my favorite regarding Bree, so I’ll do that part there. Here, I just wanted to celebrate that I enjoy Sophie Skelton and where there are shortcomings, I see opportunities for her to keep growing as an actress.

3. The music. Oh my God, Bear McCreary, just. First of all, I love the new intro. A good a capella choir will give me goosebumps every time. The 'Fraser's Ridge' remix was DELIGHTFUL and of course, so was 'Je Suis Prest.' I teared up, I'm in love.

2. Sam Heughan. UHHHHHHH why doesn't he have awards? I'm specifically talking about the end, of course. Sam's so great at getting that tone inflection just right, at casting his eyes down, clenching his jaw - all at the exact perfect moment. THEN THE CRYING was the gut punch. And earlier, when he was staring at the chest with those things inside that meant so much, I could very much imagine every single thought going through Jamie’s man. Sam played that out using only his face and I’m just. I’M OVERWHELMED.

1. The montage. Look, I know it was over Roger singing, and I know at the end we were punished with having to watch our children have sex, but using 'L-O-V-E' was SO CUTE and I'm so glad 'try to have sex with a sleeping infant in the house' is something J/C didn't miss out on, lol. To elaborate on my limited tweet it works because there are fans of all 3 ships and it was a way to get all 3 in without having to do extended scenes for all of them. THAT SAID, there were parts of it that didn’t work and I’ll get to that here in a little bit. But over-all, I didn’t mind it. I think if I were making this list from scratch today I would probably swap my 1 and 2, but IT IS WHAT IT IS.

TOP 5 LEAST FAVORITE THINGS:

5. Roger. I didn’t elaborate well on this on twitter so here we go:

He has done NOTHING to earn the respect the writers are trying to get me to give him. Jamie’s thoughts are my thoughts but dial mine up to an aggressive 100. That STUPID line about ‘some of us like to think before we act’ or whatever, was RIDICULOUS. You had to think so long and so hard about whether or not you wanted to love Bree regardless of her situation that you were DAYS behind Jamie and Claire? Okay, sure Jan.

And already talking about ‘when we go back.’ WHY DIDN’T YOU TALK ABOUT THIS BEFORE GETTING MARRIED? She didn’t ask you to come to begin with, Roger. In fact, she EXPRESSLY ASKED YOU TO STAY AWAY. But the real icing on the cake is issue #1 with the montage even though fundamentally I enjoyed the montage: When your wife is VISIBLY shaken, when she consistently looks like she’s holding back tears, MAYBE read the room? It’s just aggressively frustrating because Jamie Fraser would never, and it makes me feel like Roger doesn’t KNOW Bree at all.

4. Jocasta and Murtagh. The second part of the montage that didn’t work. I'll actually reserve a lot of my judgment for a few episodes from now, but I don't care enough? I feel for them individually, but their relationship hasn't been built up enough for me to be emotional. We'll see what happens. Them being included in the montage felt unearned; who are the people so deeply invested already that they needed to be included? Here’s the last thing I’ll say about what that montage could have been: Jamie and Claire having a full love scene juxtaposed with Roger realizing his wife is having a hard time and simply comforting her. Jocasta and Murtagh not needed. When they go their separate ways, when she realizes Murtagh can’t marry her, I felt bad for HER but...the relationship didn’t do anything for me. Don’t need it.

3. That fake baby standing in for Jem looked DEAD you know what shot I'm talking about. Took me right the hell out of it for a second lmao. BUT WHILE WE’RE HERE, let’s talk about how convenient it was for Jem to look SUPER BLONDE LIKE BONNET directly before and after Brianna being triggered, and then going back to a darker hair color the rest of the episode. LMAO.

2. Could have used more J/C kisses. This is more something that didn’t happen that I do WISH happened. I loved the Jamie in a kilt scene but if we could have gotten a Prestonpans-esque scorching kiss, it would have been the CHERRY ON TOP. Missed opportunities. On twitter people only saw ‘Jamie in a kilt’ and didn’t read the rest so LET’S AVOID THAT HERE. I LOVED the kilt scene, just so we’re all clear and on the same page. I just wanted some tongue action. I’m greedy.

1. The pacing. I know there was a lot to get in and GOD BLESS THEM for being able to condense what DG could not, but it still felt patched together. It felt rushed at times and the cuts were sometimes odd choices. The dialogue felt sloppy, especially the pre-wedding bits. The whole episode semi-felt like a montage of ‘conversations that must happen along with things we HAVE to allude to for future plot.’ It was pretty jarring, and I can’t remember a premiere that felt this....jam-packed with content. It felt the way Once Upon a Time forced info down our throats rather than showing ANY of it, and it super sucked, so. Let’s not make that a trend, Outlander.

There! All my thoughts that no one asked for :)

#outlander #the fiery cross #spoilers

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sophiaholmes221b · 5 years ago

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Sophia Holmes and the Study in Pink

Chapter One

"Isn't Sir Jeffrey's death old news? I thought he died a while ago," I ask as we walk with the flow of the busy London Street, turning our collars up to protect us from the late January breeze.

"He died mid-October last year," dad confirms, "and found by his secretary Helen Hewlett after tracing his phone to an empty office block."

"So why are they bringing this up now?"

"Because Scotland Yard seems to believe it's linked to the more recent deaths of James Phillimore and Bethany Davenport."

I frown, puzzled. "How can suicides be linked?"

"That's what I'm going to find out." We stop outside 221B in Baker Street.

"Is this it?" I ask as he knocks on the door but he ignores my obvious question. So this is our new flat? Area's nice, but the neighbours look a bit unfriendly. Not that it should matter.

An elderly lady with short, dyed blonde hair opens the door for us.

"Sherlock, hello again." I watch as the two embrace, analysing her for a brief second before dad steps back. She's not my grandmother: to my knowledge, I have no living grandparents. Not a family member, then - an old client.

"Mrs Hudson, my daughter Sophia Holmes," dad introduces and I step forward.

"Oh, hello, dear," Mrs Hudson smiles, enveloping me in a tight embrace. I nod, a small smile on my face at the affection as I break away. "Come on in." I follow her through the door but hesitate just inside as I look around at the dim corridor. Dad brushes past me and heads upstairs, so I trail up behind him.

"Sophie, I need you to hook the mic and my phone up to the Police Conference again please," he requests as we reach the top and I nod.

"On it," I reply, already heading towards the desk where he has set out my equipment. Dad is fairly competent when it comes to technology - better than most fathers and certainly a lot of other detectives - but he leaves me to handle the arguably more difficult and lengthy tasks such as hacking into Scotland Yard's network.

I flip open my shoulder bag and pull out my laptop, setting it on the table as I dig around in the bottom of my back for the cable I need and connect dad's phone to my computer. As the screen blinks awake from its previously dormant condition, I plug in the cable and tap through the Scotland Yard security to find the contact details for everyone attending today's Press Conference. Their mobile numbers transfer within seconds to dad's phone, so I unplug it, and toss it back to him before opening up the microphone we placed in the conference hall. As it loads, the camera feed for the hall appears on the screen, and I turn down the sound from the journalists still filing in. It's still quite early; nothing will be happening for at least half an hour.

Mrs Hudson comes up the stairs, limping slightly - from a bad hip, I conclude - as she walks. "What do you think then, Sophia?" she asks, as she tidies up a dish from the side.

"Yeah, it's nice," I smile. "Very nice."

"There's a spare bedroom upstairs for you. I think your dad has already reserved the one on this floor." I nod and thank her as she continues to potter around. "What are you up to?" she asks, gesturing to my equipment.

"Research," I answer simply, and she titters to herself as she heads back downstairs.

A while later, a man and a woman take their seats at the front of the hall and the room goes silent.

"Sherlock, It's starting." I turn the volume back up on the mic and shift over so dad can watch.

Detective Inspector Lestrade looks uncomfortable as Detective Sergeant Donovan addresses the reporters from beside him. "The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport was found late last night on a building site in Greater London," she begins to the flash of cameras. "Preliminary investigations suggest that this was suicide. We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Phillimore. In light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked. The investigation is ongoing but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now."

A male reporter is the first to speak out. "Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?"

"Well, they all took the same poison;" Lestrade begins, and it's clear to me that he's as clueless as ever, "um, they were all found in places they had no reason to be; none of them had shown any prior indication of ..."

"But you can't have serial suicides," interrupts the same reporter.

"Well, apparently you can," Lestrade replies, annoyed at the interruption.

A second reporter speaks up. "These three people: there's nothing that links them?"

"There's no link been found yet, but we're looking for it. There has to be one."

Dad types something on his phone, and soon the conference hall is ringing with simultaneous text alerts.

"If you've all got texts, please ignore them," Donovan advises.

The first reporter speaks up, looking confused. "Just says, 'Wrong!'"

"Yeah, well, just ignore that," she responds, trying to hurry the conference along. She knows what we're trying to do. "Okay, if there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Lestrade, I'm going to bring this session to an end."

"But if they're suicides, what are you investigating?" the second reporter asks.

"As I say, these ... these suicides are clearly linked," Lestrade hesitates. He's not exactly doing his best, as usual. And he wonders why the papers always slag him off! "Um, it's an ... it's an unusual situation. We've got our best people investigating ..." Dad smirks and types the same thing again.

"Says, 'Wrong!' again," the first reporter announces, but it's unnecessary. They know what we want and I see Lestrade shoot a desperate look at Donovan.

"One more question."

A different reporter, a female, speaks up this time. "Is there any chance that these are murders, and if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?"

"I ... I know that you like writing about these," Lestrade begins, "but these do appear to be suicides. We know the difference. The, um, the poison was clearly self-administered."

"Yes, but if they are murders, how do people keep themselves safe?"

"Well, don't commit suicide." What a ridiculous thing to say to a room full of reporters, let alone a Daily Mail reporter. Donovan looks like she's muttering the same thing to Lestrade, who grimaces as he looks back at the reporters. "Obviously this is a frightening time for people, but all anyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions. We are all as safe as we want to be."

Dad shakes his head and sends two messages, one after the other. Back on screen, the ringtones jingle in their own funny ways, but Lestrade's takes a moment longer. He glances down at it before pocketing it with a disgruntled look. Standing, he thanks the reporters quickly before making his escape with Donovan.

I close the tab and look up at dad. "He has no idea what he's doing,"

Dad smiles. "No, which is why he needs us."

#sophiaholmes #BBCsherlock #benedictcumberbatch #benedict cumberbatch #cumbercollective #studyinpink #study in pink #sherlock'sdaughter #parent!

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winterisakillerwrites · 5 years ago

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Love & Great Buildings - Chapter Seventeen

Chapter: 17/19

Character/Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/Rosemary Mathews (OFC)

Genre: Romance/Angst

Summary: Three years have passed and a chance encounter brings Tom and Rosie together again. Can time make any difference or are they doomed to repeat their mistakes.

Rating: M

Author’s Notes/Warnings: This is part nine of Last Minutes & Lost Evenings. Many thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for listening to me ramble incessantly about this story and being a sounding board when I needed it. You are a lifesaver, even if your stories break my heart.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Rosemary felt an all too familiar uneasiness wash over her; truthfully, she’d been on edge since she’d opened her door to Adam the half hour previous. The knot in her stomach that had been growing steadily all day bloomed fully into life as she took in his tall form in navy suit jacket, white button up shirt, slim blue tie, and dark jeans. It was obvious he’d taken care in dressing for the evening and that in and of itself set off quiet alarm bells in her mind. She shushed them as thoroughly as she could, telling herself was being ridiculous.

He wouldn’t tell her where they were going and would only smile sweetly when she’d ask. Damn the man. So she’d kept her mouth shut as he led her into the underground station and then through the gates onto the platform. It was just dinner, just talking, nothing more; her nerves were unnecessary and utterly ridiculous. She kept telling herself this as she watched the platform fill with evening commuters and as the boarded the next arriving train. Rosemary found herself watching the people surrounding her as the chatted amongst themselves or stared with blank faces at the mobiles. Anything to keep herself from focusing on the growing unease inside her. She’d always enjoyed people watching, especially on the tube. It was amazing the way people acted when they were completely oblivious to the world around them or at least pretending to be. She sighed and shook her head.

She kept her watch up as the train rumbled along the track and people crowded on and off the carriage at each stop. Commuters on their way home from work at long last; tourists anxiously eyeing the map above the seats, muttering off stops until they found the one they were looking for. As the train rolled to a stop several minutes later, she watched as Adam stood and held his hand out to her. “This is us,” he announced, lacing his fingers in hers and pulling her towards the carriage door. Her unease only grew as they made their way from the platform, up the crowded escalator, and finally through the ticket barrier. She knew this route, knew it like the back of her hand. Please no.

“Adam…” she started, wariness coloring her tone as their destination came fully into view.

Rosemary found herself staring at the restaurant entrance in stunned horror. God, not again, she cursed internally. Of all the damned places. She couldn’t fathom why hadn’t she realized that he’d meant this place? Of course he would have chosen this particular restaurant; it had been theirs after all, tangled as it was in memory and emotion. How could he have meant anywhere else? She let out a deep breath and turned back to face him.

“Ready?” He asked with a warm smile. His eyes were bright with excitement, hand outstretched towards hers.

She nodded dumbly, took his hand and followed him inside. Rosemary noted, with a flood of blessed relief, that Darcy was not manning the hostess station this particular evening. She murmured a small, quick prayer of thanks for that small mercy. The last thing she needed was Darcy and her persistent questions, especially after the last time. This was bound to be difficult enough without her cheery interference.

The woman who stood at the station smiled brightly at the pair as they approached. Her blonde hair was pulled into a low ponytail at her neck and she wore a black cardigan over a maroon and white knee length dress. She greeted them warmly, introducing herself as Sophie and asking if she could help them.

Adam nodded, straightening his tie with his free hand before stepping up to the podium, “Yes, we should have a reservation for two under Adam Richardson.”

Sophie smiled warmly and began to search through the tablet that sat on the podium in front of her. A frown spread slowly across her face. She flicked back and forth across the screen for a few moments more before looking up at Adam. “I’m so sorry. I’ve looked several times and we don’t seem to have you listed here. When did you make the reservation?”

Adam ran his hand through his hair, his unease nearly palpable. “Yesterday evening.”

The hostess grimaced. “That would explain it.” Rosemary watched as Adam shot her a confused look. Catching his expression, Sophie carried on. “Our server crashed last night and several of the reservations for today disappeared. Give me a moment to see what we can do.” She tapped on the screen before her, scrunching her face as she flipped through the screen once more. “We’ve got about a 45 minute wait at this point…If you don’t mind, I can add you to the list and we’ll grab you when we’ve got an opening.”

He turned to face Rosemary, “Is that alright?”

She hesitated. This would be the perfect time to suggest something else, anywhere else, but the naked hope in his eyes made her pause. He’d been looking forward to this, here with her, and she couldn’t bright herself to take that from him. Not now. “Yes,” she answered after another moment's hesitation. She could feel the warmth radiating from him at her response; the way his eyes lit and his smile grew. But his joy did little to quam her own unease. “That’s fine.” She left Adam to settle things with the hostess and headed back outside, basking in the warmth of the warm June evening. She needed air, and suddenly needed it desperately.

This had not been how she’d hoped the evening would go at all. She was glad to be able to have the time to sit and talk, really talk, with Adam again. But dinner…And here…She didn’t know if her uneasiness stemmed from the former or the later, and she was scared to look too closely at it to find out. A groaned left her lips and she rubbed the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. She could feel the threat of a headache blooming and prayed in vain that it would hold off for just a little while longer.

It was several minutes later before Adam joined her on the pavement directly outside the restaurant and they stood for several moments without speaking. She knew the tension was rolling off her in waves, he would have to be blind to not notice it. But she couldn’t seem to make herself relax, no matter how she tried. Finally, she took a deep breath and asked the question that had been rolling around her mind since they’d arrived. She had thought she knew the answer, but needed to be sure. Needed to hear it from him. “Why here?” She started, her eyes locking with his. “What made you pick here?”

He cleared his throat, his face falling ever so slightly. “We loved this place.” His voice was quiet, so soft that she had to strain to hear him. He cleared his throat and continued uneasily, “I just...I thought it would be nice.”

Rosemary could see his uncertainty and felt horrible for saying anything at all. She hadn’t meant to be so blunt in her asking, she just wanted to know. Needed to know. There had been a heaviness tied to the evening, she’d sensed it from the moment he’d suggested dinner a handful of days ago. Lunch had been one thing, she knew what to expect from that. But dinner...Stop it, she hissed at herself. Just stop it.

“It is,” She told him, with a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I just...I’m sorry. There’s been a lot going on and my obviously not handling it as well as I hoped to be.” Maybe this had been a mistake.

“I know.” He reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently, offering her a small, tentative smile. “I know.”

They stood in silence for a long while, the sounds of the city echoing around them. “So,” Rosemary started, turning back to face him. “How’s the conference going?” She hated reverting to small talk with someone she had once known so well but didn’t know what else to do or to say. So much had happened in the year they’d spent apart and as much as she hated to admit it, she knew that were very likely different people than they had once been. And she hated it, hating no longer feeling as though she truly knew the man standing beside her. Hated the loss of that bond.

Adam chuckled ruefully and she could see in his eyes that he felt the distance between them as well. A distance neither seemed to be sure how to cross. “About as well as you’d expect.” He answered with a shrug. “We had our last day today.”

She quirked an eyebrow, “Oh?”

He nodded but didn’t elaborate further.

“So I guess you’ll be headed back soon…To the States, I mean.” Rosemary wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that. The conflicting emotions that thought brought forth made her head swim.

Adam’s face was a mix of uncertainty and concern. “Not quite yet…There’s a bit of business at the main London office that I’ve been recruited to help out on.” He paused and smiled at her. “So you’re not shot of me just yet.”

She laughed in earnest at that, fighting to ignore the thrill of elation and dread that coursed through her. “Duly noted.”

The silence descended once again. Rosemary allowed herself to study Adam’s profile as he stood beside her. He truly was a handsome man, she’d always thought so. But he had always been more than that. He was a kind soul but wickedly funny. She could see the faint lines that creased his brow, undoubtedly from the stress of his work, but mixed amongst them were the familiar laugh lines that she’d known so well. He was so different and yet still so very much the same. Rosemary watched him rock slowly back and forth on his heels. She could sense there was more he wanted to say, more that he wanted to discuss with her, but something was holding him back. She felt ashamed at the small flicker of gratitude that flooded through her at whatever was causing him to hold his tongue.

Rosemary looked up as Adam cleared his throat. He turned to face her with a small smile. “I’m going to go in and check on our progress. Back in a tick.” She nodded and watched him head off towards the main entrance.

A sigh feel off her lips. Maybe coming had been a mistake. With all that had been happening how could dragging Adam into her life make anything at all better? But she couldn’t leave, didn’t want to. Not really. Not now. She owed him, and honestly herself, this much. Rosemary rubbed her temples with her hands. Good god, her head was a mess.

She jumped as the loud buzz and ring of her phone sounded from inside her purse. She cursed as she dug through the bag, searching in frenzied earnest for the damned thing. I really must get around to organizing this bleeding thing, she thought as she dug through the various, and somehow always necessary, items that littered the large purse.

“Ah ha!” She breathed, pulling the phone out at last. Her eyes darted to the screen and she felt her heart stutter as she processed the name flashing on the screen. Her finger swiped quickly across the screen and she brought the phone to her ear. “Tom?” She breathed into the receiver, heart still beating rapidly in her chest.

She’d missed him, god how she had missed him. She hadn’t realized just how badly until that moment. The thought pulled her up short. She may have missed him but she could have...No…She should have called to tell him so. She’d meant to; had so badly wanted to…But she hadn’t and that was entirely on her.

Stop it, she told herself. You can’t change any of it. So just stop. He is here. Now. Just stop.

Rosemary shook herself back into the present, a small but warm smile spreading across her face as she heard him rambling. It was an adorable yet infuriating habit of his. One that she had so desperately missed. “…I interrupting anything, I didn’t even think about the time difference. God, what time is it there?” The anxiety was palpable in his voice and once again she felt terrible for not calling him earlier. For not reaching out sooner. Like she had promised him she would. She’d wanted to, god knows she’d wanted to, but everything in her life had seemed to be conspiring against her. Every time she’d pulled her phone out determined to follow it through, something or someone had come demanding her attention. Round and round we go.

She found herself laughing despite herself, a touch of her own anxiety clear in the sound of it. She hoped he wouldn’t catch it. Quietly, she pushed open the door and walked into the quiet, small entrance hallway of the restaurant. London was a noisy city and now that she had Tom on the line, she didn’t want to miss a moment of his presence. “It’s fine,” she reassured him. “I was just getting ready for dinner.” She glanced around the cramped hallway and ran a hand through her hair, it was the truth…Technically. “It’s going on eight here,” she added in afterthought, realizing she hadn’t answered before. She wondered briefly just where he was and what time it was there. Tom sounded utterly exhausted.

“Oh good,” he answered, a breathless chuckle of his own echoing over the line. “I was terrified it was like two in the morning or some other horrendously late hour and you’d be dead asleep and cursing me out for waking you.” A spurt of laughter fell from her lips as he rambled on; despite the exhaustion she could hear in his voice there was a distinct note of nervousness. “How have you been?”

A sudden uncertainty crept through her at his innocent question and she wasn’t quite sure how to answer it. In truth she’d been a mess, but how could she possibly tell him that? “I’ve…I’ve been alright…Busy.” That at least had been the truth. But there was so much more that she needed to say and no idea how to even start to say it. “But I’m glad you called. I’ve been meaning to but with one thing and another…” she let her voice trail off, guilt choking her. She should have called him, should have reached out. Instead she’d left him hanging and now…She rubbed her forehead with her free hand.

“I know a thing or two about busy, Rosie,” Tom laughed softly as he spoke and she felt her gut twist. “It’s completely fine. I’m just…” his voice trailed off for a moment and Rosemary held her breath. “It’s really nice to hear your voice.”

Her heart leapt in her chest. “It’s nice to hear yours too,” she answered honestly, her own voice gone soft with tender emotion. “How has the tour been going?” she asked, hoping to keep the tension from creeping back between them. She hated it, hated feeling so uneasy around him. God, she should have called sooner. Stop it. “Where are you now, anyway?”

Rosemary caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and saw Adam waving to grab her attention. Shit.

“Rose,” he called, a smile painting his face. “They’ve managed to find us a table. Come on before the give it away.”

She felt herself freeze and without thinking clapped her hand over the end of her phone and answered, “Go in, Adam. I’ll be right there.” Adam’s smile waivered a bit but he nodded and headed back inside.

“Tom?” she breathed, “I’m so, so sorry but I have to dash. Thank you for calling, I’ve missed you...” She cursed herself. Too much. She didn’t want to leave this as it was. There was so much they needed to talk about. So much she needed to say. But there wasn’t time now. But when he got back… “You’re home sometime next week, right?”

There was silence on his end of the line and she wondered if maybe she had pushed too far. But then he was back. “Yes. Late Friday afternoon if all goes according to plan.” She thought there was something off with his tone, but wasn’t sure. He hadn’t answered what time it was, it could be late and he could be tired. That would explain it, she hoped.

“Good,” she breathed. “Good. Listen, after you get back can we meet up...I...There’s something I want to talk with you about.” The question tripped off her tongue and she felt like a prize fool, stuttering and stammering at him. But the words were out now and she couldn’t fix them.

“Oh…” His tone was definitely off. But a moment later he sounded fair bit more upbeat than she’d expected. “Alright. I’ll call you after I’ve settled and we can maybe meet up for a coffee.” She couldn’t shake her own unease at his change in demeanor. It was too abrupt, too forced. Fuck, she’d made a right mess of this and she hadn’t even started.

Rosemary choked down her own anxiety and answered, “That sounds like a plan...I’ll see you soon.” She pulled the phone from her ear and hit end before she allowed herself to think further on it. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. Forcing herself to take a deep breath, she shoved her phone back into her bag and hurried inside to find Adam.

He was waiting for her by the hostess station and extended an arm as she approached. Rosemary allowed herself to accept it as they were led to a small table near the back of the restaurant. They were left with a cheery smile and menus to peruse. Rosemary sat, draping the strap of her bag across the back of her chair, and plucked up a menu to bury her face behind. She watched over its top as Adam settled into his own seat, menu in hand. How many times had they done this? How many evenings and afternoons and late mornings had she passed with him, here, content? Hundreds most likely. And now here they were again. It was both exhilarating and terrifying, especially now when she wasn’t sure where they stood. What any of this actually meant.

Adam placed the menu softly on the table and smiled gently at her. “I’m pretty certain nothing here has changed over much.”

Rosemary nodded, “No, not really. It was quite a shock how similar things were last time I was here.”

A curious look crossed Adam’s features, “When were you here last?”

It was an innocuous question but something in his eyes made Rosemary hesitate before answering. “A month or so back...I went with a friend,” she admitted finally.

“Oh.”

Rosemary cleared her throat awkwardly, “It was a surprise. I didn’t know we were coming until we turned up at the door.” She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to justify any of this to him, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “But no,” she continued on, “it really hasn’t changed all that much.”

Adam nodded silently and Rosemary very much regretted opening her mouth at all. Was she going to stick her foot firmly in her mouth like this the entire night? A petite red-head, Chloe her name tag proclaimed, chose that moment to approach their table. She quickly introduced herself and made a prompt spiel of the days’ specials before asking if they were in fact ready to order. Adam exchanged a glance with Rosemary who nodded.

Once their orders were placed and Chloe had left with their menus, Adam turned his attention back to Rosemary. She felt flushed under his gaze, uneasy and tense, and she could clearly see the storm of uncertainty in his eyes. She wanted desperately to ask him what he wanted, what was wrong, but was scared half to death of actually knowing. She hated that feeling, hated that she felt so uncomfortable and uncertain with a man she had once thought could be her forever.

But he said nothing and neither did she.

Chloe returned after several minutes with their drinks which served to break some of the tension between them. “Rose,” Adam started once Chloe had walked away. Rosemary raised her eyes to his in silent question. “I had a solid plan in mind for tonight. I knew just what I was going to say and what I hoped you would say in return.” He laughed quietly to himself and took a quick sip of his drink before clearing his throat and continuing. “But now that we’re here...That you’re here...I don’t know how to start.”

Rosemary blinked at him before taking a sip of her own drink. “Whatever it is, Adam, just say it. It can’t be that bad, can it?” Her voice held far more confidence that she felt. But whatever he had to say she knew things would not rest well between them until he said it.

Adam rubbed the side of his neck with his hand. “You make it sound so easy.” He paused, dropping his hand back into his lap. “I’ve been thinking a lot since we parted. About so many things. And not a day goes by that I don’t regret not asking you to come with me. We were happy, we worked, but I was scared….So ridiculously scared that if I asked you wouldn’t choose me, choose us. So I didn’t say anything and then you didn’t say anything either and then it was too late.” His eyes bore into hers, pleading with her to understand what he meant, why he needed to say this now. “I love you, Rose. I always have. I know that at one point you loved me too. And I know it’s probably too little and far too late, but I wanted to know if you thought of me too. If you regretted it as well. And if you did, do you think we could try again. See if there is anything left for us to build on.”

“Oh Adam.” His name tumbled from her lips in a choked whisper. She could feel herself flash between hot and cold as dread, elation, confusion, and despair flooded through her in large, arcing circles. She didn’t know what to say, what to think. “Adam,” she started again, her voice a touch stronger, “Oh Adam...How could we try this when you aren’t going to be here…” It had been the first coherent thing to pop into her head. His life was in America now, her’s was here. There would still be an ocean between both physically and she feared emotionally too. Why now?

Adam rubbed the back of his neck and took a quick sip of water. Seeming to gather himself, he leaned forward and asked, “But what if I’m not.”

She stared at him in stunned confusion as his words slowly sank in. “Wh-what?”

He cleared his throat. “The office here…They have an opening…” he trailed off hopefully.

Rosemary felt her heart clench in her chest. This had been everything she had wanted, everything she had hoped to hear in those first six months after he had gone. But not now; now it was far, far too late. She wanted to scream at the injustice of it all. Wanted to cry as she looked at the man sitting before her, a good man who loved her, but he wasn’t the right man. She opened her mouth to respond, to tell him not to take the job, not if it was just for her. Not to do any of this for just her. But Adam raised his hand to silence her.

“No,” he started, “Please don’t answer me now. I know I’ve thrown a lot at you. Too much probably. But please don’t answer now. Just think about it. Take a couple of days and just think. Please.”

Rosemary shut her mouth and nodded. She knew her answer now and knew in her heart that a day or two would make no difference. But she knew he had his pride and she couldn’t bring herself to crush it, not then. Not like this. Not in this place with both their nerves so frayed. No, she would give him tonight.

#Tom Hiddleston #Tom Hiddleston RPF #Tom Hiddleston x oc #Tom Hiddleston x ofc #Tom Hiddleston x original character #tom hiddleston x original female character #Tom & Roise #Love & Great Buildings

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winterisakiller · 6 years ago

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Love & Great Buildings - Chapter Seventeen

Chapter: 17/19

Character/Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/Rosemary Mathews (OFC)

Genre: Romance/Angst

Summary: Three years have passed and a chance encounter brings Tom and Rosie together again. Can time make any difference or are they doomed to repeat their mistakes.

Rating: T

Author’s Notes/Warnings: This is part nine of Last Minutes and Lost Evenings. Many thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for listening to me ramble incessantly about this story and being a sounding board when I needed it. You are a lifesaver, even if your stories break my heart.

Well folks, we are drawing closer to the end of this particular story. Just one more chapter after this and an epilogue. I can’t believe it’s almost done.

This story and its preceding one-shots can be also be found on AO3 under the username winterisakiller (sparkinside)

Tag List: @tinchentitri @noplacelikehome77 @theheartofpenelope