#fff291

[a-victorian-girl]

What an emotional way to remember those who were part of their past! Love it! ❤️

Sherlock fandom.

Poignant Invocation

It wasn’t until the little girl they raised together was six years old, the two men realised they had experienced something quite similar, numerous times, in their childhoods. The girl, Rosamund Mary Watson-Holmes, only her uncle Myc addressed her that way, everyone else, even her teachers, called her Rosie. Her fathers also called her Bee, sweetheart, darling, precious girl, and sometimes, Watson. It was she, who asked the question, that lead to this revelation from Sherlock and John’s past.

“What were your grandmothers like?” Rosie asked one Sunday after they’d come back from visiting Sherlock’s parents. They were the only grandparents she had.

“Eccentric,” her papa rumbled.

“Thought she was clairvoyant,” her dad said, earning him a raised eyebrow from his husband.

“Really?” the detective asked. “You’ve never said.”

“I guess I haven’t. Never seemed to be an appropriate occasion for it,” John shrugged. “How eccentric was yours, then? The normal Holmes quirkiness, or something spectacular?

“Same as yours, actually,” Sherlock replied slowly.

“No way!” John exclaimed.

“Way,” the other man assured him.

“What is clair – that thing?” Rosie asked a bit affronted, feeling left out of the ongoing conversation.

“Clairvoyant,” Sherlock said patiently, making his daughter repeat it until she pronounced it perfectly.

***

Neither John, nor Rosie, was the least bit surprised when they came home the next Friday afternoon, finding their home redecorated.

“At least it smells nice,” was John’s response.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, before kissing his husband and kneeling in front of Rosie to give her a welcome home hug.

Five scented candles were placed on the mantlepiece, purple in colour, the scent something citrusy with a touch of lavender. The curtains were drawn, and all the lamps were covered in black fabric adorned with silver stars and golden moons. 

John half expected a crystal ball or a Ouija board on their coffee table, but instead, a large book rested there; a book John had never seen before. 

Rosie stood, mouth agape, then moved around the room, carefully.

“What’s all this, love?” John inquired silently.

“A tribute to our grandmothers, John. To Annabelle and…”

He waited for John to fill in the blank.

“Hester. Her name was Hester,” John murmured.

Sherlock repeated the name, then gestured for them to take a seat. 

Large oriental-like cushions were placed around the table, all in different colours, reminiscent of gemstones. Ruby-read, emerald-green, sapphire-blue, topaz-pink, tourmaline-yellow.

With his usual agility, Sherlock seated himself closest to the book, while John and Rosie sat down on either side of him.

“This book is one I remember from my childhood. Annabelle, my grandmother, used to read it to Mycroft, and later to me. The legends are from Japan, where she grew up,” Sherlock began.

John cried out, horrified that he knew nothing about this.

“She was Japanese?” he asked, searching his husbands face for Asian features.

“No, John,” Sherlock smiled. “Her father worked there. As a chemist. They moved to England when she was twelve.”

John looked at the book, realising it was written in Japanese.

“Do you? – “

“Yes, me and Mycroft both. She taught us.”

“Wow!” Rosie exclaimed. “That’s amazing, papa.”

“Quite extraordinary,” John said and reached out a hand to squeeze Sherlock’s arm.

“Can you teach me too? Please,” Rosie asked.

“Of course, Bee,” Sherlock said.

The little girl rose quickly and threw her arms around her papa’s neck and murmured her thanks into his cheek. 

John looked fondly at them, his eyes a bit blurry.

Once Rosie was seated on her green cushion again, Sherlock started to read, translating effortlessly, as if he read an English book.

“This is a bit sad, but the moral can easily be transferred to our everyday lives. It is called The Legend of the Grateful Crane.”

Rosie curled up in John’s lap as Sherlock got the end of the story, but she didn’t cry. She was as resilient as one would expect a daughter of the infamous Baker Street boys to be.

“One more, please,” she begged once Sherlock had finished reading.

“After dinner,” John said sternly, and she knew it was futile to protest.

She sighed dramatically, not unlike how her papa used to indicate his disapproval. 

***

“This was a brilliant idea, love,” John said after they’d put Rosie to bed.

“You think so?” Sherlock asked.

“Of course, Sherlock. Couldn’t you tell how enchanted she was? Me too, for that matter. God, we’re so lucky to have you.”

Sherlock sighed contentedly and made himself comfortable on the sofa, his head placed in his husband’s lap. As John carded his fingers through his curls, Sherlock purred like a big cat. When they made love some hours later, the sounds escaping Sherlock’s throat reminded John of those made by dragons of the legends.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

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[a-forbidden-detective]

Until their dying day

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial with the prompt FFF291 - stuff of legends and @fluffbruary Feb 7 using hand as the prompt. Thank you once again for these prompts. Also, with my head canon in mind I’d like to tackle Ron Kamonohashi’s ancestor, Sherlock Holmes.

—

Fandom(s): Kamonohashi Ron kindan no suiri / Sir ACD’s Sherlock Holmes

Characters: Ron Kamonohashi, Totomaru “Toto” Isshiki, Sherlock Holmes, Dr. John Watson

Pairings: RonToto, Johnlock

Word count: 1099

“AHHH! Now I must clean up my dad’s messes. Imagine, Toto, having a father like him leaving dirt on his trail?”

“You have been going on about that all day long…” But Toto shut up his mouth at once when he saw Ron looked admiringly at the picture of his father. Next to it was a rare photo of his parents together, which he alternately paid attention to.

“May I?” Curious, Toto pointed at the picture Ron next to Ron’s head. The forbidden detective was smiling at his newly christened lover.

After the two had a lay-in caused by the gruelling events of the Plateau Auberge incident, Toto went back shortly to his flat in Asakusa to get some fresh clothes, reported to Amamiya and returned to Ron’s place immediately. It made him anxious leaving Ron alone even though he knew that the younger man could cope with it better than Lily-san, Mia and Sakai.

Toto traced the two figures entwined on the picture frame.

“Your life is so extraordinary, Ron. You have these two great people who have cared for you…” He let out a sigh, he and Ron were ready to die together.

“I love the way you think about me… I truly cherish it,” Ron sat behind Toto, encircled his arms around the police officer and went to tell the story of his parents and the ancestor he wanted to emulate, who was the stuff of legends in the family.

“Come to think of it. Milo mentioned that I reminded him of your ancestor’s trusty companion. Who could that be? Do you know him?”

Ron looked at Toto, slowly got up and walked toward the shelves where one of the boxes contained several photographs.

He handed him an old picture of a man in a British uniform. The man sported a slight moustache with blonde hair underneath the helm. His eyes could be blue with the looks of it. He seemed to be a very handsome man.

“It was him why half of the reason my ancestor could and would never leave London. The other was the cases. His name was John Watson, an army doctor for Her Majesty, the Queen Victoria,” Ron said with a naughty smile on his lips.

“Huh? What do you mean? Were your ancestor and this man more than acquaintances?” Toto was surprised.

“Yes.” Ron responded with pride, his eyes were glowing. “You could say they were my ‘real’ great-great-great grandparents!”

“How long has it been going on?” Sherlock lighted up his pipe, white hair threatened to overwhelm his once dark brown hair. Across him was his partner, Dr. John Watson glaring at him, there was also sadness etched on his face, tears threatened to fall. The consulting detective was holding a telegram.

“You are gravely mistaken, my dear doctor. There’s no more understanding between us. The child I left behind only longs to see his father,” the detective was looking at the luggage in the living room. John Watson was going to leave him. If he did not play his cards well, he would do so permanently.

“I only wish for your honesty, Holmes. To me,” the doctor bent his head. “Only to me. After all that we’ve been through. After all the lost three years I have wasted for you.” Frustrated, he believed this was the last straw. The three years in which the doctor thought that his partner had died broke him apart. He likened himself to those bereaved wives who lost their husbands in the wars. As a former soldier, he beat himself up for being pathetic.

On the table there was an ukiyo-e painting of a woman clad in cobalt blue kimono with white plum blossoms all over it. Her face was hidden on the spectator by her fan. It was sent to the flat a few weeks ago. Next to it was a picture of a healthy beautiful boy smiling seated on a wooden floor. Not even two years old. His hair stood up and his cheeks were round like a bun. One could see that he was loved and adored by his family. Below was a note in English, “Yori-kun says Dada for the first time, Chiyo,” with two shaped hearts drawn on it.

“Are they the reason you left for a few months this year?”

Holmes nodded. He took another puff from his pipe but he smoked it too fast that he experienced a tongue bite. There was a burning sensation on his tongue.

“I understand that you deem it as a betrayal, but she is the closest thing I had when I was far away from you,” the detective said. His eyes pleaded, praying that the doctor somehow would understand.

“You didn’t have to go anywhere, Sherlock! You could have asked for my help! But you told me there were assassins following me ready to kill me if you established your connection to me again after your fall at the Reichenbach,” John put his hand on his face suppressing his anger, the need to hit someone or something.

“Now there is nothing we can do. You have your son. And I…” trailed John, who did not know what to say.

Holmes put down his pipe, walked to him, and without saying a word placed his arms around his partner.

“I understand that you hate me. But I never forgot you, John, during the three years of my absence. I always thought of you, asked Mycroft about you, told him to fast-track the process and eliminate the problem as soon as possible so I could come back to you,” the detective assured his best friend one more time.

The doctor shook his head, slowly pushed Sherlock back and said, “No, you could have told me everything. But you have many secrets and I am not even privy to them! Am I an outsider to you?!”

The question rattled Holmes as he had never seen his partner so angry like this.

“No! No, John!” Sherlock put down his hands. He knew when he was beaten.

“I can’t do this. Please give me time. I have to sort this out first.”

With heavy footsteps, the doctor took his luggage and headed to the door.

Upon hearing the door slammed, Sherlock sat on the floor and closed his eyes.

“They got back together again, didn’t they?” Toto held Ron’s face. He was seated on the forbidden detective’s lap. How did it happen?

“Of course! Until the army doctor’s dying day!” Ron replied.

“Thank god!”

And the two laughed together as they held hands.

~fin~

[nyamadermont]

Stuff of Legends

@flashfictionfridayofficial

#FFF291 Stuff of Legends

Avatar: The Legend of Korra

940 words

Bolin rolled the stem of the wine glass between his fingers, not quite sure whether he should be drinking at this event. Zhu Li had told him that he was off duty about an hour ago, just as she and Iknik had begged off from the hosts, insisting they needed to see to the baby.

He took a little sip, then tried not to gag on it. It wasn’t any better this time than the other handful of times he had tried it at other fundraisers or galas. He wondered if he was missing something, or maybe he still hadn’t really grown up, after all.

He sighed, but decided to hold onto the glass just to give himself something to do. 

Korra and Asami were holding onto each other’s hand in a way that made him think they were trying to find a way to get out of the conversation they were having with the knot of representatives from the Green Meadows borough.

Mako had growled at him about being on duty the last time Bolin had tried to even say hello.

He scanned the room again, but realized there wasn’t anyone here he wanted to talk to. A waiter with an empty tray walked by, and accepted Bolin’s barely-touched glass of wine. The directions to the water closet were easy to follow.

As he re-emerged into the broad corridor that surrounded the ballroom, he decided to take a turn to his left and see what there was to see.

The dim lights inside helped the city shine out over the water. He spread his hand out against the glass and touched his forehead to it, still taking in the view. A small light crossed in the water below, and he watched the little boat head out into the bay. He followed its slow progress out to find the catch that would be tomorrow night’s dinner for an awful lot of people.

When the lights dwindled away in the distance, he sighed again and straightened himself. He tugged at his jacket and slid his hands down his chest. He turned and continued down the corridor.

The section he was in was dimmer and seemed to have more office-type doors and spaces. He didn’t feel like trying to make out all of the names beside the doors.

He kept walking.

He began to take the curve at the far end of the arena, back to where the main entrance would be. The lights were bright where the crowd was milling about, some still arriving at this late hour, some already departing for other events in other venues.

Still reluctant to rejoin the bustling crowd, Bolin slowed down and drifted to the interior side of the corridor. A few steps later, he noticed an older gentleman, bent forward as if to read a caption at a museum.

Bolin made a few polite brushing noises with his feet so as not to startle the man. The fellow glanced at him, smiled, and waved him over.

“Come over here, young man! Have you seen this display case before? They have some excellent items here!”

Something about the man’s voice tickled Bolin’s ears, but he couldn’t quite place it.

He approached, and saw that the case was full of pro-bending items. There was an earthbender’s uniform with a team logo he didn’t recognize. A few earthen discs were propped up against the back of the display. He leaned in, and was able to see what looked like a few variations on the rules for the game, from a napkin with nearly illegible scribbles to a fully-bound volume with gold lettering.

“You see that?” the man asked, pointing out a large photograph that was as long as his own arm, but only about a handspan tall. It looked like there were a hundred people in it, standing on stairs of some kind. They were all too small for him to make out much detail, but something about it made him think it was about twenty years old.

“That’s the picture of the entire pro-bending league from the second season. The first season only had four teams, I think. But those first games were so popular that they had to make an entire league the very next year!”

The old man’s voice was so excited. When Bolin looked down, the man had raised his hand, and was using a finger to help him look through the newspaper clippings and photos tacked up at the back of the display.

His face lit up when he saw something, and he pressed his hand flat against the glass, his fingers splayed in excitement. “There I am!”

It took a minute for Bolin to see what he had seen.

Just at the crease between the back and right-hand panels was an “action shot” that was labeled Shiro Shinobi Announces First Championship.

“Shiro Shinobi?” Bolin gasped.

The man’s voice shifted, and Bolin knew he was right. “Welcome to the Republic City Pro-Bending Arena, folks!” 

Shinobi smiled and turned to face him, only to gasp, himself. “Bolin? Of the Fire Ferrets? I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you!” He laughed and clapped Bolin on the shoulder.

“You need to give us your uniform, young man! Do you still have that shirt you wore the night you protected Raiko from the terrorists?”

He paused, but Bolin was too flabbergasted to say anything.

“Come on, man! This display is incomplete without you! We have Lin Beifong’s uniform, we need yours!”

He backed up and rubbed his hands together.

“This history of the league is incomplete without the Fire Ferrets! You kids are the stuff of legends!”

[ruvastuon]

An Interesting Conversation

@flashfictionfridayofficial Thank you for the prompt! Also, thank you for your kind words about my drawings and writing in the past :) These prompts have been really good for getting me to write original work more regularly. Thank you so much!

Warnings: alcohol and some tension?

Summary: John runs into an unexpected figure at a lack luster party.

You were quite difficult to track down you know.”

John set down his wine, uninterested in the sparkling liquid after an initial testing. So far, this event had been a waste of his time, and speaking to another elite wasn’t going to improve his souring mood. 

“I keep to myself… Politics no longer hold any interest to me.”

Watching the many debutantes fluttering across the dimly lit ballroom with their sparkling capes and glistening helms had only contributed to the perpetual headache that had recently been plaguing him. He thought he might at least get to meet with someone interesting, but the older participants who might have been good for a story or two were all focused on the dance floor, assessing potential seeds to develop with even less subtlety than a child in a candy store. After two hours of this nonsense, he had little hope that any conversation here would be worth his time. 

“Yet you always hold such sway over the tides of history… I remember reading about your exploits on Teris 7, the carnage that you wrecked… It was inspiring.”

John turned his head slowly, his eyes fixed on the towering figure just to his left. A simple red cape held in place by two golden fasteners caught his attention before the coiling cables draping past her ceremonial helmet snaked into view. She was quite the figure to be appearing here.

“Such high praise, Admiral Krom, but you seem to have me confused with someone, don’t you? I may seem tarnished, but my time does not span further than your father’s.”

He noticed the flinch, turning his body towards the drink he’d laid aside. It seemed more palatable now that the conversation had shifted to such a useless topic. 

Before he could reach for it, his hand was intercepted, the music beginning to swell as bachelors flooded the dancefloor to have their promised turn with a rising star. 

“Humor me?”

With another half hour before the doors would reopen, he accepted her advance, swaying along to the tune until her moves began to shift, turning to a much older step that his body instinctively fell into. 

“The Dying Constellation… banned by the mad emperor after the death of his beloved wife, and nearly lost to time… not the type of thing one’s body forgets, is it?”

John’s shoulders hunched. She was a persistent pup. One who seemed to have done her research.

“What do you want?”

His words were flat, and he wasn’t sold on the conversation, but for her to have learned that dance at such a young age… she deserved a modicum of engagement at least. At the height of the echoing music, Krom dipped him back, pulling his waist towards her with a tense grip and closing the distance between them in an instant. 

“The empire is rotting John. I just want you to do what you do best and remind everyone just how small our bluster is in the face of real monsters.”

Her words rang out like music, causing the husk to stir with excitement in a way he hadn’t felt since encountering the first emperor. Her ambition was palpable, and borderline, desperate, hidden behind a thin facade of calm that was threatening to break with every word she spoke. 

“He was already proud of you, Elodie, and revenge can’t revive the dead.”

He pulled away from her gently, the strength gone from her hands as he picked up his wine, downing the liquid in an attempt to quiet the beating of their hearts. What use would there be in getting excited now? 

“No… But you can, or at least the husk could manage it, right?”

He froze, a spark of interest finally starting to unravel the ball of apathy packed tightly in his chest. Perhaps this party wouldn’t be a total waste of an evening after all.

[renee-writer]

Family Traditions

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial #291 prompt: Stuff of Legends

They become the

Stuff of Legends

Family Traditions

What we pass down

To our children

To our grandchildren

Simple things

Like when the Christmas tree

Goes up

Comes down

Game night

Bowling on the weekends

Church on Sunday

They aren't Aurthian

They won't be ready about

A thousand years from now

Still they matter

The stuff that makes family

Family

Don't discount them to easy

For your grandchild' grandchild

May just teach them to her child

Family Traditions.

[gradienty]

Rice Cake Picasso (#fffef2 to #fff291)

[lukas-wrld]

Never Meet Your Heroes

Once I figured out what to do with this prompt, I was super excited to write! so thank you @flashfictionfridayofficial for the awesome prompt! :D

Daughter, like her classmates murmuring excitedly beneath Them, knew the legend well. The story of how They started with nothing and, against everyone's beliefs, worked their way up and out. And was, for some reason, back to bestow their wisdom. Or so they had professed.

So daughter listened with yawning ears and a starved heart, hoping to deign on the roadmap They so graciously wanted to provide. Keenly at first, before doubt whispered on her shoulder, quickly followed by unsettling disbelief.

By the end of the sermon, while others asked for further guidance, daughter had only really learnt one thing.

[lizardperson]

celestial love triangle

[on ao3]

fandom: original work rating: t cw: mythological murder mention? wc: 406 prompt: #fff291 stuff of legends for @flashfictionfridayofficial

---

"Oh, did you hear the newest department gossip?" Fia made herself comfortable on Helena's couch, sipping from her coffee cup. "Nancy broke up with Doug."

Helena raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued. Not that she cared too much about the love life of their coworkers, but of course she wanted to be at least vaguely in the loop. "And do we know why?"

Fia gave her a mischievous grin. "We do know indeed - and it's not pretty." Even though they were alone in Helena’s office, she lowered her voice and leaned in closer. "Apparently, he's sleeping with her daughter. The one in college?"

Helena made a face. "Oh yeah, that's probably a good reason to break up."

"Yep."

"Well, as long as she doesn't start chopping him up."

Fia laughed, perplexed by that seemingly random statement. "What?"

Helena waved her off. "Oh, it's this old folk tale my grandma used to tell me before bedtime…" She put on her 'professor voice', as Fia liked to call it. "Back in the day, the sun is living happily with her husband, the moon, crossing the skies, doing whatever celestial bodies do all day. Until he falls in love with her beautiful daughter, the morning star - Venus. And when the sun finds out, she chops him up with a big sword as punishment. But he doesn't learn from his mistake, cheats on her again, and the cycle repeats - that's why the moon has phases."

"Ahh, I see. I did not know that," Fia chuckled.

"My grandma used to tell me that one all the time, and she went really into unnecessary detail about the chopping up part. I had so many nightmares from that as a child," Helena reminisced, shaking her head. "And to this day I have no idea why this tale specifically, like - what the moral of this story was supposed to be for me. Don't cheat? Don't get caught?" She raised an eyebrow. "Don't get married?"

"Always have a big sword?"

"Maybe," she laughed.

They both sat in silence for a few moments, then Fia emptied her coffee. "Anyway, I'm sure that celestial love triangle could have been solved some other way. Non-violently."

"Oh, what would you suggest, my dear Sofiya?"

"I don't know, I'm not a marriage counselor," she shrugged. "Polyamory?"

"Maybe you should recommend that one to Nancy," Helena snorted.

"Pretty sure then I'm the one who's getting chopped into little pieces…" Fia grimaced.

[polizwrites]

Boomeranged

This is a fill for today’s @flashfictionfridayofficial [#FFF291 Stuff of Legends]  as well as my   @character-a-character-b    Rair Pair bingo C1 square:  A&B pulling a prank on someone together. 

Fandom: MCU/Marvel Pairing: Scott Lang/Clint Barton Rating: General Tags:  Avengers Compound, Avengers as Family, Pranks, Pining,, Love Confessions Summary:  Clint and Scott plan a prank to get their teammates to confess their attraction to one another - but things don’t quite go according to plan. Word Count: 974 words 

 “This would be a lot easier if we were tiny,” Scott muttered, following Clint through the air ducts of the Compound.  They were in the process of setting up what Clint claimed would be the most epic Avengers prank ever. ‘You know, stuff of legends-level!’ 

Scott wasn’t sure about that,  or whether the bruises and dust-bunnies were worth it. And then there was the dubious morality of the prank itself -  but getting to spend time with Clint? That was worth all the hassle.  Besides, Scott knew he had a habit of doing weird stuff to impress  a crush.

“I thought you had to be wearing a suit in order to shrink,” Clint replied over his shoulder,  “and I don’t think Hope’s would fit me.”

“Theoretically, the Pym particles don’t require the use of a suit. After all, An-tonio got sized up with no ill effects, as best we can tell.” 

“Yeah - I’d rather not take my chances,” Clint shot back, a grin in his voice.  “Here we go!”  He taped a speaker and a can  of house blessing spray  to the back of the living room air vent,  then attached the remote controlled gadget Scott had designed that would trigger the spray, along with the recording  they’d made earlier in the day.   Once everything was set up, they wriggled their way as quickly as possible back to Clint’s room. 

“Make sure to clean up a bit before dinner,” Clint warned him with a wink.  “Wouldn’t want them to suspect anything.”  

“Will do - see you in a bit!”  Scott made a mock-salute while trying not to fantasize about getting naked and wet with Clint.    He ambled back to his own room and took a quick and unfortunately solitary shower before joining the rest of the team for their weekly pizza and a movie night.   

It was Tony’s turn to choose the movie, so they’d probably be watching some sci fi action film that he would snark his way through, at least until Steve or Bucky asked him to stop.  It was clear that there was some serious UST between the three of them, and hopefully their prank would help clear the air, so to speak.

They waited until everyone had finished eating - no reason to ruin perfectly good pizza, Clint had reasoned - and had settled into their accustomed spots around the room.   As usual, Steve, Bucky and Tony claimed the largest sofa, conveniently located under the air vent  Clint and Scott had booby-trapped.   

Once the opening credits rolled, Clint glanced over at Scott and gave him a nod.  Scott pressed the button of the small remote hidden in his pocket.    Mere moments later,  a cloud of mist  billowed out from the vent, and a booming voice (actually Scott’s own, with a fake foreign accent and run through a modulator) announced.   “Foolish Avengers - did you think I could be so  easily vanquished?   Nay- and now I wreak my revenge - casting a spell that forces you to confess that which you have hidden from one another!”  

Steve and Bucky had leapt to their feet at the sound of the first word, which meant they both got a face full of the vapor.  “What the…” Bucky exclaimed, before a coughing fit overtook him. Steve was gagging and hacking as well; apparently super-soldiers were super-sensitive to aerosol sprays. 

“Friday? What’s going on?”   Tony asked, pulling the collar of his Black Sabbath t-shirt up over his mouth and nose as he pulled his companions back down to the couch. 

“I’m not sure, Boss.”   Scott was both immensely proud and a little ashamed of having hacked Tony’s AI so his and Clint’s venture into the HVAC ducts wasn’t observed and recorded.  “I’m having trouble identifying the makeup of the spray.”   

Time to roll out the next part of the prank.  Clint took the lead,  scrambling to his feet, dramatically placing one hand over his chest.  “Natasha - I’m so sorry!  Budapest - that was all my fault!” 

“What?”  Scott didn’t know what any of that meant, but he couldn’t tell whether  the shocked expression on her face meant Natasha was playing along or not.  His own declaration hit a little close to home, but Scott figured it might  encourage their targets to bare their souls a little as well. 

“Clint - I’m head over heels in love with you!”  Scott announced, throwing his arms wide.  The expression  of happy surprise  that crossed Clint’s face looked almost real, and Scott’s traitorous heart skipped a beat in return.  

“You are, huh?”  Clint pulled him into an embrace.   “Turns out I’ve kinda been carrying a torch for you as well, handsome.”  

The blood rushed to Scott’s cheeks even as he reminded himself that this was just part of the prank.   “Anybody else have something they feel compelled to confess?”  

“Uh….” Steve rubbed the back of his neck.  “Bucky and Tony and me have been stepping out for awhile.” 

“And by ‘stepping out’,”  Tony added, with a hint of a smirk,  “he means screwing like bunnies.  I’m surprised no one’s asked why I’ve been walking funny lately.”

“I didn’t need the sordid details,”  Natasha shrugged.  

Bruce sighed. “At least you’ve kept your amorous activities out of the lab….. right?” 

“I can neither confirm or deny.”  Tony shrugged apologetically before turning to face Clint and Scott, who were still standing with their arms around each other as they absorbed the results of their prank.  “It’s about time you two ‘fessed up to your feelings -  we were ready to lock you in a closet!” 

“What?”  Scott and Clint said practically in unison.  

“Bozhe moy”  Natasha muttered, shaking her head.  

“It’s like a forest’s worth of pining between you two,” Bucky groaned.  “Just go ahead and  kiss already.” 

“That’s an order,” Steve added in his Captain America voice. 

“Sir, yes sir!” Scott shot back, just before Clint took his breath away..  

[starlightfireflies]

Legendary

written for: @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt: FFF291; stuff of legends warnings: brief mention of an execution square word count: 415

She walks with the grace of queens, a silver cloak settled around her shoulders, the lightly falling snow dusting her hair with white. 

She makes her way to the castle slowly. Each step is carefully placed. Every look is calculated. Even the slow curling of her hands is deliberate. I do not think she could perform impulsive actions; she seems too careful for that. 

But not delicate. Never delicate. 

Wherever she goes, the snow melts, creating a path forward. Grass and flowers spring up behind her: roses in full bloom, violets opening their petals to the winter sun. 

I am on the castle battlements, miles above her, third in a row of equally transfixed guards, yet I think I feel the warmth she radiates. She is not glowing, but she may as well be. What she is doing is a miracle enough. 

Beside me, the king’s white-knuckled hands grip the stone wall. His expression is furious, dark eyes staring into the girl below. 

She doesn’t notice. 

No. She does notice. She just doesn’t care.  

It’s a thought I can scarcely fathom. For the last twenty years I have served under a tyrannical king, driven mad with power. One wrong move, one narrowing of those eyes, and you are another gruesome body decorating the already gore-splattered execution square. It is how the king kept his throne. 

And here is this girl. Not yet eighteen, and she is already defying the will of the king. 

Rumors have flown through the castle. It started with the stableboys, overhearing from the nobles. Then came the maids, the servants, and finally, the guards.  

She is coming, they whispered. The king’s daughter is coming home. 

It is a dream I have hoped for since I joined the palace military, but freedom from the reign of our monarch seemed desperate. Even treacherous at times. Only the tattered scrolls and weather-worn books kept the seed of my hope alive. 

She continues her slow advance. The clouds begin to part. More flowers spring up behind her footsteps. Though she came alone, a crowd is beginning to gather. 

A girl with the power to create life. A magic not seen for centuries. If I were not wide awake, my armor heavy, I would have thought I were living a dream. A story. A tale for the darkest of hours, when children need a powerful tale to encourage them. 

But the girl striding towards the castle—towards her destiny—is no fairytale. 

She is a legend. 

[agenciapsd]

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[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

Poignant Invocation

It wasn’t until the little girl they raised together was six years old, the two men realised they had experienced something quite similar, numerous times, in their childhoods. The girl, Rosamund Mary Watson-Holmes, only her uncle Myc addressed her that way, everyone else, even her teachers, called her Rosie. Her fathers also called her Bee, sweetheart, darling, precious girl, and sometimes, Watson. It was she, who asked the question, that lead to this revelation from Sherlock and John’s past.

“What were your grandmothers like?” Rosie asked one Sunday after they’d come back from visiting Sherlock’s parents. They were the only grandparents she had.

“Eccentric,” her papa rumbled.

“Thought she was clairvoyant,” her dad said, earning him a raised eyebrow from his husband.

“Really?” the detective asked. “You’ve never said.”

“I guess I haven’t. Never seemed to be an appropriate occasion for it,” John shrugged. “How eccentric was yours, then? The normal Holmes quirkiness, or something spectacular?

“Same as yours, actually,” Sherlock replied slowly.

“No way!” John exclaimed.

“Way,” the other man assured him.

“What is clair – that thing?” Rosie asked a bit affronted, feeling left out of the ongoing conversation.

“Clairvoyant,” Sherlock said patiently, making his daughter repeat it until she pronounced it perfectly.

***

Neither John, nor Rosie, was the least bit surprised when they came home the next Friday afternoon, finding their home redecorated.

“At least it smells nice,” was John’s response.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, before kissing his husband and kneeling in front of Rosie to give her a welcome home hug.

Five scented candles were placed on the mantlepiece, purple in colour, the scent something citrusy with a touch of lavender. The curtains were drawn, and all the lamps were covered in black fabric adorned with silver stars and golden moons. 

John half expected a crystal ball or a Ouija board on their coffee table, but instead, a large book rested there; a book John had never seen before. 

Rosie stood, mouth agape, then moved around the room, carefully.

“What’s all this, love?” John inquired silently.

“A tribute to our grandmothers, John. To Annabelle and…”

He waited for John to fill in the blank.

“Hester. Her name was Hester,” John murmured.

Sherlock repeated the name, then gestured for them to take a seat. 

Large oriental-like cushions were placed around the table, all in different colours, reminiscent of gemstones. Ruby-read, emerald-green, sapphire-blue, topaz-pink, tourmaline-yellow.

With his usual agility, Sherlock seated himself closest to the book, while John and Rosie sat down on either side of him.

“This book is one I remember from my childhood. Annabelle, my grandmother, used to read it to Mycroft, and later to me. The legends are from Japan, where she grew up,” Sherlock began.

John cried out, horrified that he knew nothing about this.

“She was Japanese?” he asked, searching his husbands face for Asian features.

“No, John,” Sherlock smiled. “Her father worked there. As a chemist. They moved to England when she was twelve.”

John looked at the book, realising it was written in Japanese.

“Do you? – “

“Yes, me and Mycroft both. She taught us.”

“Wow!” Rosie exclaimed. “That’s amazing, papa.”

“Quite extraordinary,” John said and reached out a hand to squeeze Sherlock’s arm.

“Can you teach me too? Please,” Rosie asked.

“Of course, Bee,” Sherlock said.

The little girl rose quickly and threw her arms around her papa’s neck and murmured her thanks into his cheek. 

John looked fondly at them, his eyes a bit blurry.

Once Rosie was seated on her green cushion again, Sherlock started to read, translating effortlessly, as if he read an English book.

“This is a bit sad, but the moral can easily be transferred to our everyday lives. It is called The Legend of the Grateful Crane.”

Rosie curled up in John’s lap as Sherlock got the end of the story, but she didn’t cry. She was as resilient as one would expect a daughter of the infamous Baker Street boys to be.

“One more, please,” she begged once Sherlock had finished reading.

“After dinner,” John said sternly, and she knew it was futile to protest.

She sighed dramatically, not unlike how her papa used to indicate his disapproval. 

***

“This was a brilliant idea, love,” John said after they’d put Rosie to bed.

“You think so?” Sherlock asked.

“Of course, Sherlock. Couldn’t you tell how enchanted she was? Me too, for that matter. God, we’re so lucky to have you.”

Sherlock sighed contentedly and made himself comfortable on the sofa, his head placed in his husband’s lap. As John carded his fingers through his curls, Sherlock purred like a big cat. When they made love some hours later, the sounds escaping Sherlock’s throat reminded John of those made by dragons of the legends.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

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