#grief is stored in tea

[onceandfuturewarlqck]

just sliding here my andrew minyard-centric fic dealing with grief and healing i wrote the other day because i recently read all for the game and he has stolen a huge piece of my heart.

there is no more now, no more light, gold and low by starrylance

Summary:

An almost-life was as useless as any what-if, but with its drops still lingering on his lips he pictured a boy with light hair swinging his legs sitting at a table, stomach full, a woman's soft smile directed at him.

not a merlin centric post (sorry folks) but feel free to check it out and reach out to tell me what you think (+ if you have any prompts im willing to write a fic for you)

[purifiedclitoris69]

silent comfort

Wanda maximoff x supersoldier!reader

warnings: violence/dark thoughts?

summary: you and wanda have a silent love for each other. you’re generally gentle and kind always watching over, but when someone over steps and offends the person you love for most, another you peaks thru.

You are a supersoldier unlike any other, quiet and reserved, always choosing to observe rather than command attention. After your time in hydra and the reputation you built, attention was the last thing you wanted. You joined the Avengers a few months before Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, blending into the background with an unassuming grace. Despite your strength and skill, there's a softness to you that surprises your teammates—your silence is not cold or distant, but warm and thoughtful, like a silent protector.

From the moment you met the twins, you felt a deep connection with them, particularly Wanda. You could sense the weight she carried—the uncertainty, the grief, the fear, the guilt—and you were drawn to her. While others might have approached her with caution or even wariness, you offered something different: quiet kindness. Even despite her side with Ultron, you still showed her brother and her a kindness that they had almost forgot.

You have a way of making Wanda feel at ease, often with just a look or a simple gesture. She feels safe around you in a way she rarely does with others. You never push her to talk, but you're always there when she needs to, whether it's a late-night conversation or a shared moment of silence. You listen without judgment, always knowing exactly what she needs, whether it's words of encouragement or just the quiet comfort of your presence.

With Pietro, you're more playful, indulging his teasing with a rare smile, bailing him out of trouble with his pranks, playing along with them, but with Wanda, you're especially gentle, treating her with a kind of care that makes her feel understood. She trusts you implicitly, and you protect her fiercely, but you never treat her like she's fragile. You see her strength, her potential, and you nurture it with a steady, unwavering support.

You show Wanda your love in the quietest, most thoughtful ways. It’s in the extra cup of tea you make for her in the mornings, placing it beside her with a soft smile before she even has the chance to ask. You remember exactly how she likes it—just a little sweet, with a touch of milk—and she always notices the way you prepare it with care, as if it’s something special.

When you’re out on a mission or even just taking a quick trip to the store, you find yourself picking up little things for her. A book that you know she’d love because it touches on themes she’s interested in, or maybe just something with a beautiful cover that made you think of her. You’ll leave it on her bed or in her favorite chair without saying anything, and when she finds it later, there’s always a gentle warmth in her eyes because she knows it came from you.

Sometimes, it’s as simple as leaving a cozy blanket folded neatly on the couch when you notice her sitting there late at night, lost in thought. Or it’s the way you quietly slip a note under her door, just a few words reminding her she’s not alone, that you’re there for her.

You never make a big deal out of these gestures, never call attention to them. For you, it’s enough to see the small, peaceful smile on her face when she realizes that you’ve been thinking of her. You’ve woven these acts of love into your daily routine, and Wanda, in her own quiet way, cherishes each one. They are little reminders that she matters to you—that even when the world feels overwhelming, there’s someone looking out for her in the gentlest of ways.

She repaid you just the same, leaving you meals in the fridge labeled with your name and a "do not eat," leaving you cookies on your nightstand, comforting you when your thoughts became too dark, reading aloud to you when you can't sleep.

The feelings between you and Wanda develop slowly, quietly, like the way dawn creeps in without fanfare. It starts with the little things—the shared glances that linger just a second too long, the way your hand brushes hers when you pass her something, both of you too startled to say anything but too unwilling to pull away too quickly. There's a growing awareness between you, an unspoken connection that neither of you quite knows how to address.

You feel it every time you’re together, especially in those moments of silence where words aren’t necessary. Sitting next to each other on the couch, you can feel the warmth of her shoulder just inches from yours, both of you keenly aware of the space between, yet too shy to close it. Sometimes, you catch her looking at you when she thinks you’re not paying attention, and there’s a softness in her eyes, like she’s trying to work up the courage to say something—but she never does.

Wanda feels the same, though she doesn’t say it. She leaves a book she knows you’ll love on your bedside table, writes you a note about how a certain passage reminded her of you, and in those moments, she’s saying so much without ever saying the words. But like you, she’s afraid—afraid that if she speaks it aloud, it’ll shatter something between you.

So, you continue like this, your feelings blooming quietly in the spaces between the acts of care you show each other. Neither of you dares to say it first, but it’s there, ever-present, in every cup of tea you make her, in every baked treat she provides, in every soft smile shared when the world isn’t watching. There’s a beautiful tension in the not-knowing, a longing that’s almost enough—almost—but not quite. Still, you wait, both too scared and too shy to take that step, unsure of when or how, but certain that the feelings are real.

After a particularly hard mission with the team, emotions seemingly boil over.

As the Quinjet hummed through the sky, the tension was palpable. Everyone was on edge after the mission—too many close calls, too much going wrong. You were sitting across from Wanda and Pietro, trying to keep your own thoughts in check, but the weight of the day was bearing down on you. You could see Wanda, lost in thought, her fingers anxiously twisting the fabric of her jacket, and Pietro, sitting close to her, watching the team in silence, particularly his sister with concern.

Then Tony's voice broke through, sharp and careless, "Well, can't say it's surprising things went south," he said sarcastically somewhat joking, "You let people with a track record of working for HYDRA, what do you expect, just surprised our minds stayed intact."

His gaze landed briefly on Wanda, the hint of a smirk playing on his lips as if it was some joke. But it wasn’t funny—not to her, not to Pietro, not to Bucky and definitely not to you.

You didn’t even think. One second, you were sitting there, the next, you were on your feet, grabbing Tony by the collar and slamming him against the wall of the Quinjet with a force that shocked everyone. “Watch yourself,” you growled, your voice low and threatening, the darkness in you rising to the surface. “You have no right to talk about us like that,” you spat through gritted teeth, “about her,” your grip tightened.

The moment you slammed Tony against the wall, the room seemed to freeze in place. Tony, wide-eyed and caught off guard, raised his hands slightly, not out of fear but sheer surprise at the swiftness of your reaction. His cocky façade shattered in an instant, replaced with a stunned silence as he realized the seriousness of the situation.

The rest of the team reacted in a chaotic mix of emotions. Steve stood up immediately, his hands half-raised as if ready to intervene, his instincts as a leader kicking in. His eyes narrowed, muscles tensed as he took a cautious step forward, though not fully committing to stopping you just yet. He knew you well enough to understand there was more to this than a sudden outburst.

Natasha remained seated, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. She leaned back slightly, arms crossed over her chest, her green eyes glinting with amusement. Tony had this coming, and she wasn’t about to step in just yet. She’d seen Tony push buttons before, and to her, this was just another day dealing with his sharp tongue.

Bucky sat stiffly at the edge of his chair, his metal arm twitching almost imperceptibly. His jaw clenched, eyes glued to the scene in front of him. He wasn’t exactly ready to leap to Tony’s defense, but he knew the damage you could do if you were truly pushed. Sam, sitting in the corner, slowly stood up, hands on his hips. He wasn’t rushing to intervene but kept a watchful eye on the situation. He had a deep sense of loyalty to the team, but even he could see Tony had crossed a line.

The air felt thick with a palpable tension. Every second that ticked by stretched out into what felt like minutes, the entire team holding their breath, waiting to see what you would do next.

Wanda, sat up holding her breath. Her eyes were wide with a mixture of care and concern. She had never seen you snap like this before, but a part of her couldn’t help but feel a rush of gratitude that you had stepped in so fiercely on her behalf. Still, the tension in the air left her feeling conflicted—she didn’t want you to lose control, especially not for her.

They had heard stories of your past, of the ruthless, brainwashed assassin Hydra had turned you into, but they’d never seen such an aggressive side of you. Until now.

Tony, eyes wide, raised his hands slightly in surrender. "easy soldier,” he muttered, clearly surprised by the force of your reaction. But your grip on his collar remained firm.

“Apologize,” you demanded, your voice cold. You weren’t letting him off that easy.

Before Tony could respond, Pietro was suddenly at your side. He didn’t touch you, but his presence was a reminder that this wasn’t about to escalate further—not for Wanda’s sake. “That's enough,” Pietro said sharply, his voice tight. You felt him stop just shy of pulling you off Tony, his hand hovering near your arm, unsure if he needed to intervene or not. He wasn’t angry at you, but his protective instincts for his sister were obvious. “She doesn’t need this.”

You met Pietro’s eyes, the unspoken understanding passing between you. He wasn’t accusing you—he just didn’t want things to spiral out of control. With a deep breath, you glanced back at Tony, who was still pinned against the wall.

“I said apologize,” you repeated, your voice hard.

Tony sighed, rolling his eyes. “Alright, alright,” he muttered. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

You held his gaze for a moment longer, your pulse still racing with the leftover adrenaline, before you finally let go. Tony brushed off his shirt, glancing toward Wanda. “Sorry, Wanda,” he added, his tone more sincere now. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

She gave a small nod, acknowledging the apology, but her silence spoke volumes. Tony’s words had hurt her.

You stepped back, returning to a seat further back in the jet away from the team. you noticed Pietro’s eyes still on you. He gave you a small nod—part thanks, part approval. He hadn’t expected you to stand up for them like that, but now he knew just how far you’d go for his sister.

As the Quinjet landed and the tension from the mission—and your confrontation with Tony—finally began to ease, the team started gathering their gear to head out. The air was still a little thick with unspoken tension, but leave it to Nat to break the silence with her sharp humor.

As she passed by, throwing her bag over her shoulder, she gave you a sly, sideways glance. "Well, i didn’t think a teddy bear like you would be such a protective girlfriend," she quipped, a smirk tugging at her lips.

The comment caught you off guard, and you shot her a look, part amused and part flustered. Wanda’s eyes widened a little, her cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, clearly embarrassed but unable to hide a small smile.

“whatever,” you replied, trying to play it cool, though a hint of blush crept onto your face.

Nat just shrugged, walking ahead with that signature swagger. "Hey, I'm not complaining. Just saying, if anyone's got a problem with Wanda, they’ll have to go through you first. And judging by what just happened, I’d pay to see that." She winked, giving a knowing glance to the rest of the team, who had started to loosen up, the mood lifting as everyone filed off the jet.

Even Tony, still rubbing his neck, muttered something about getting off easy, while Steve shook his head, his usual disapproving-but-amused expression in place.

As Wanda and Pietro made their way back through the quiet halls of the compound, the tension from the mission had mostly faded, replaced by the familiar comfort of being with her brother. Pietro, always the one to fill the silence with banter, was unusually quiet at first, glancing at his sister with a knowing look. Wanda walked beside him, her thoughts scattered, mostly focused on you—the way you had defended her so fiercely, the intensity in your eyes as you stood up to Tony, and then how you had softened again, like a storm that passed as quickly as it came.

So…” Pietro finally broke the silence, his tone teasing, a grin spreading across his face. “That was something.”

Wanda shot him a look, raising an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

He laughed, throwing his arm around her shoulders in that casual way only brothers could get away with. “Oh, come on, Wanda. Don’t act like you don’t know.” He nudged her playfully, his grin widening. “You and our little supersoldier over there. It’s kind of hard to miss.”

Wanda felt her cheeks flush at the mention of you. “Pietro, it’s not—”

“It’s not what?” he interrupted, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Not like you’ve been sneaking glances at them ever since we got here? Not like they just threw Tony Stark against a wall for you?” He raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Please, Wanda, you don’t have to be a mind reader to see what’s going on.”

Wanda huffed, trying to keep her composure, but Pietro was relentless.

“You need to make a move,” he continued, grinning as he waved his hand as if it was obvious. “I mean, how much more do you need? They’ve been giving you little gifts, making you tea, standing up to Tony— they’re genuinely kind Wanda, but after that I don’t think theyd hesitate to burn down the world for you; you deserve someone like that.”

Wanda bit her lip, turning her face away to hide the smile tugging at her lips. She couldn’t deny it—she did feel something for you. But it wasn’t just the little things, the quiet moments you shared. It was the way you made her feel safe, how you always seemed to be there when she needed someone, without her even having to ask.

“I don’t know,” she admitted quietly, her voice soft. “What if I ruin things? What if they don’t feel the same?”

Pietro stopped walking, turning to face her with a look of exaggerated disbelief. “Wanda,” he said, his voice teasing but affectionate, “they literally went all Hydra-mode on Tony for you today. If that’s not ‘feeling the same,’ then I don’t know what is.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile creeping onto her face. Pietro always knew how to get her out of her own head, even if his teasing was relentless.

“You’re overthinking it,” Pietro added, more seriously this time. “You like them, they like you. Just go find them, talk to them. Trust me, you’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Wanda hesitated, glancing toward the window where she could see the dark sky outside. She didn’t want to admit how much she cared about you, how much your presence in her life had already changed things. But Pietro was right—if she didn’t make a move, she might regret it.

With a sigh, she gave her brother a small shove. “Fine. But if this goes wrong, I’m blaming you.”

Pietro grinned, stepping back with his hands raised in mock surrender. “Blame away, but it won’t. You’ll thank me later.”

The night sky was clear, stars scattered like fragments of a forgotten dream as you sat on the roof of the compound, legs drawn up, arms resting loosely on your knees. The breeze was cool, carrying the scent of the trees nearby, but it didn’t do much to ease the weight in your chest.

You had come up here to think—about the mission, about the way you lost control on the Quinjet, and about Wanda. You could still feel the echo of that dark part of you, the part you’ve spent years trying to bury, the part that Hydra had forged into a weapon. For so long, you’d worked to move past it, to be better than what they made you. But when Tony had said those words, it was like flipping a switch you didn’t even know was still there. And now, despite your best intentions, the guilt lingered.

You exhaled slowly, staring up at the stars, trying to ground yourself in the quiet, the peace of the night. But your thoughts kept circling back to Wanda—how overwhelming your feelings for her had become, how they consumed you in ways you didn’t expect. Loving her wasn’t something you planned for; it just happened. But with that love came the fear, the fear of slipping into that darkness again if it meant protecting her.

The sound of soft footsteps behind you made you tense, but only for a moment, because you knew who it was before she even said anything.

Wanda sat down beside you, close enough that her arm brushed against yours. For a long time, neither of you spoke. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, though—it never was. She just sat with you, offering her presence in that quiet, gentle way she always did.

“Thank you,” she finally said, her voice soft. You turned to look at her, confusion crossing your face. She smiled faintly, her eyes warm even in the dim light. “For what you did today. For… everything you’ve done for me, really.”

You blinked, unsure what to say. You’d done it without thinking, out of instinct, but you didn’t want to admit how ashamed you felt for slipping back into that dark, aggressive part of yourself. “I didn’t mean to… be like that,” you murmured, looking down at your hands. “I’ve tried so hard to leave that side of me behind.”

Wanda reached over, gently resting her hand on top of yours. “You were defending me,” she said softly. “You’ve always defended me, protected me, even when I didn’t ask. And today… I needed it. I needed to know someone has my back like that.”

Her words hung in the air, and in that moment, you let your walls drop. The connection you felt was electric, and it terrified you. Taking a deep breath, you moved a little closer, feeling the warmth radiating from her.

"Yeah i’m pretty sure defending you is one of the easiest things I’ve ever done" you mutter look down to your lap, the words slipping out before you could second-guess them

Her touch was soft, grounding. You looked up at her, and the way she was looking at you—full of trust, gratitude, and something deeper—made your heart race. For a moment, everything else fell away. All the guilt, the fear, the darkness—it faded, leaving only her and the quiet between you.

he silence between you both felt heavy, but not with tension—more like an unspoken understanding passing through the air. When you looked back up at her, you caught the way her soft gaze was on you, full of emotion that you’d only dared to hope she felt too.

The world around you seemed to blur as you focused entirely on Wanda, on the warmth of her hand, the closeness of her body, and the quiet intensity of her eyes. There was something so vulnerable in the way she looked at you, something so open that it made your heart stutter.

“I mean it,” you added, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’d defend you forever if you’d let me.”

A small, tender smile curved on Wanda’s lips. Her thumb brushed across the back of your hand in a slow, gentle motion, sending a shiver up your spine. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your cool, but the weight of your feelings for her, the depth of it all, was almost overwhelming.

Without even realizing it, you leaned in slightly, your breath catching in your throat. Wanda mirrored your movement, her face just inches away from yours now, her lips parted ever so slightly as she hesitated. Your heart pounded in your chest, but you couldn’t look away from her, the pull between you both undeniable.

You could feel the warmth of her breath, the closeness of her body. Time seemed to slow down as the space between you disappeared, and then—gently, tentatively—her lips brushed against yours. It was soft, almost uncertain, but the moment your lips touched, a flood of warmth spread through your entire body, like a gentle wave of emotion that you had been holding back for so long.

You kissed her back just as softly, afraid to break the moment, but also craving more. The kiss was innocent, filled with a kind of tenderness that made your heart swell. It was shy, slow, and so full of meaning that it made your chest ache. Wanda’s lips lingered on yours for a moment longer, neither of you rushing, just savoring the closeness, the intimacy of the moment.

When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested lightly against hers, both of you breathing a little heavier. Your heart was racing, and you could feel Wanda’s was too. For a second, neither of you spoke, letting the quiet settle between you.

Then, in a small voice, you whispered, “Would you… would you maybe want to go on a date? Like… a picnic or something?”

Wanda pulled back slightly, her eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and happiness, a soft smile blooming on her lips again. “Are you asking me on a date?” she teased, her voice barely above a whisper, the hint of a blush rising on her cheeks.

You nodded, biting your lip nervously. “Yeah… if you’d like that.”

She smiled fully now, her eyes sparkling as she leaned in to kiss you again, just a brief press of her lips to yours. “I’d love that,” she whispered back, her voice soft and filled with affection.

[perlelune]

no body, no crime | Coriolanus Snow | iii.

Your childhood friend returns from his exile in district 12, but he's not the sweet, quiet boy you once knew anymore.

Warnings: NON-CON, Plinth!Reader, Gaslighting, Drugging, Murder, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Loss of Virginity, Somnophilia

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

After a few weeks, you’re forced to acknowledge you were wrong about Coriolanus.

His mere presence assuages your hurt, and none of his actions bear a hint of impropriety.

He’s simply being a friend, comforting you and supporting you in a time of need.

His visits grow more frequent. 

You’re amazed he even finds time between the University and his apprenticeship with Dr. Gaul. Still, Coryo never misses tea time with you, sometimes even bringing books and sweets. You’re thankful for the time he spends doting on you, even if you hate keeping him from his studies. You know how eager to succeed he’s always been. 

But you can’t deny you missed the feeling of having a brother, of having this person who cares for you, looks out for you and protects you unconditionally. 

And while you’re aware Coriolanus isn’t your actual brother, having him besides you helps alleviate the weight of grief and loneliness. Being with him makes you feel closer to Janus. You’re also solaced by the knowledge it’s what your departed brother would have wanted.

There is one person however who isn’t too keen on the rekindled bond between you and Coriolanus Snow.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with him,” William notes, tracing the lines in your palm.

You’re both lying on the couch in the sunroom, your back against William’s chest, fingers interlaced with his. Sunlight spills from the stained glass in the ceiling, painting your fiancé’s brown curls in bronze hues. 

This is a moment of tranquility you’ve longed for, a sliver of calm amidst the storm and chaos wedding planning has turned out to be. You reckoned it’d be easier than it has been. Instead, it seems nothing ever goes right. Between incidents with the cake, your wedding dress somehow being lost by the store, and the venue perpetually being booked…you’ve grown disheartened and exhausted by the entire process.

It’s almost like some higher force is trying to prevent you marrying William. It’s ludicrous, of course. But the ceaseless string of bad luck is beginning to drain your hope that your wedding will happen before the year ends. 

You and William even had to push back the date. There was no choice as hurdles kept emerging.

So you bask in your fiancé’s presence, soaking his warmth and familiar smell, reminding yourself why you’re going through so much trouble. Marrying William is worth it.

“Yeah. He’s my friend,” you state casually. 

“Your friend. Baby…” There’s a brief pause during which William appears deep in thought. When he speaks again, it’s with a softer tone. “At the risk of sounding jealous, the way he’s looking at you…are you sure that he knows that?”

His words make you sit up straight. 

“William,” you admonish, taken aback by his preposterous insinuation. 

Coriolanus’ a gentleman. He hasn’t made any moves towards you and he wouldn’t. Sejanus trusted him and you trust him too.

Scratching the back of his neck, he sighs.

“I’m just saying. We’re getting married soon, and everything’s been so…tumultuous. I just want to make sure that you won’t…”

You search his forest gaze. Shock fills you at the doubts you find lurking there.

“That I won’t what?” You give a light punch to his chest. “Get cold feet? William, are you mad?”

His shoulders slump. “I know your parents wish I was from a great house like him.”

William looks away and you put your hands on his face, drawing his focus back to you.

“It doesn’t matter what my parents think. I love you.”

He smiles, that beautiful sunny smile that blows a warm breeze through your chest every time.

He grabs your hands and kisses them.

“I love you too, sweet girl.”

“William, you’re good and kind and caring. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.” You hold his eyes. “He’s just a friend, I promise you. You…You’re my future.”

William studies you, love and devotion illuminating his features. His lips then collide with yours. He nudges you down on the plush beige upholstery, humming low in his throat.

When his hands find their way below your skirt, you push against his chest.

He immediately stops.

Your hot, rapid exhales mingle as you steady your breath. 

“You know I’d rather we wait for our wedding night,” you mutter apologetically. It’s not the first time things got hot and heavy between you and William and you slowed them down. You know how frustrating it has to be for him and you commend his patience. “ I know it’s old-fashioned but I…”

He quiets you with a tender kiss on the forehead.

“No, it’s okay,” he says, holding hands with you. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I got carried away.” Pink dusts his cheeks as he adds, “You just smell so good and you’re so beautiful.”

A smile breaks across your face. “You’re not too bad yourself, pretty boy.”

He tilts his head and laughs. 

“How am I supposed to keep my hands to myself when you talk to me like that?” He bites his lip, his lids dipping to half-mast. “Can I at least get another kiss?” he whispers suavely.

“Hm, we’ll see about that…” you mumble, closing your own eyes.

“Apologies, hope I’m not  interrupting anything?”

Coriolanus’ sharp inflection shatters the spell, making you leap away from William.

Heat nestles in your cheeks as you rise to your feet, hastily smoothing the wrinkles in your dress. Your fiancé clears his throat and runs a hand through his tousled locks.

“No, we’re…William was leaving,” you stammer, struggling to meet Coriolanus’ stark blue gaze.

William’s brows squeeze together at that. But you shoot him a glare that pulls a deep sigh from him. He nods and pulls you to him one more time. 

He kisses you but you note it lasts much longer than usual, his fingers curling around your waist possessively.

Embarrassment flares inside you that this is happening right in front of your friend.

When he releases you, you’re breathless.

“Coriolanus,” William greets stiffly as he brushes past the blond.

“William,”Coriolanus replies, his tone somehow icier.

Once your fiancé has left, a weary exhale floats from your mouth.

“I don’t understand why you two can’t just get along. You both matter to me.”

Coriolanus smirks. “Oh, princess. You wouldn’t understand.”

“What wouldn’t I understand?” you inquire, blinking up at him curiously.

His tight-lipped smile expands as he gauges you. 

“Nothing.”

You scrunch your nose, displeased by his answer. He’s always so cryptic. A chuckle peels from his lips at your sour expression. His knuckles sweep over your cheek.

“There should never be a frown on such a pretty face.” He digs inside his satchel before retrieving a slim, leather-bound book. He places it in your hands as you gape at him, puzzled.

“Here, I brought you this. This will cheer you up.”

You examine the book. Surprise mingles with elation when you notice the words on the cover. The engraved letters spell out a familiar title. It’s one of your favorite books from when you were younger. It bewilders you that he even remembers. As if no time has passed.

“Oh my god! How did you…” An excited squeal leaves you. Then your voice lulls to a whisper. “It’s a first edition, Coryo.”

“It was printed and bound before the war,” he explains. “It wasn’t easy to dig up.”

Your brows rise. “An antique. You shouldn’t have.” You cradle the book against your chest. “You’re too good to me.”

His mouth quirks lopsidedly.

“Anything for you, princess.”

You both sit down for tea, cakes and macaroons. Time flies as you chat about everything and nothing with your friend. As always, you do most of the talking as he dutifully listens, only interjecting to ask you to elaborate on a particular point. 

No matter what you jabber on about, his interest never appears to wane.

You eventually land on the matter of your wedding planning. You share all the troubles you and William have had and Coriolanus hums in response.

“I’m very sorry to hear that.” He sips from his cup of Earl Grey. “How…unfortunate.” 

He then pauses, seeming to ponder something. “I have a proposition.”

Your brow arches in question.

“Clemmie is throwing a party tonight. Let me take you, get your mind off of all this.”

Your lips part. Clemensia? A party? None of it sounds enticing to you.

“I’m not sure…” you trail off, your eyes finding the floor.

“What better way to cheer you up than a party, princess?” Coriolanus’ voice mellows as he adds, “You can’t stay cooped up here forever.”

Words falter on your tongue as your eyes swell with unshed tears.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, concern oozing from his gentle tone.

You shake your head.

“You’re crying,” he insists, reaching over the table to lift your chin.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he says sternly. “Talk to me.”

His unwavering  inflection nudges you to admit, “I’m just scared.”

“What are you scared of, princess?”

You suck in a shaky breath.

“Every part of this house, every nook and cranny carries a memory I have with Janus.” You glance about the sunroom. Here alone you can count so many hiding spots from games you and your brother played when you were kids. “It’s easy, keeping him close here. It’s just that…”

“You’re scared to move on,” Coriolanus finishes for you. His thumb glides over your cheek, collecting a tear you didn’t realize had spilled over. “But you have to.”

“Sejanus wouldn’t want you to wilt away in this house like one of your roses.”

You mull over his words. You suppose he’s right but you’re still not convinced. Parties like the kind Clemensia is fond of hosting aren’t exactly your scene. 

A lame excuse flows from your lips.

“I don’t even know what to wear.”

“Then I’ll choose for you,” he replies without hesitation.

“What?”

“Let’s go to your room.”

Before you can protest, he seizes your hand and drags you upstairs.

“Wait, Coryo…”

He ignores you, making his way to your room with brisk strides you can barely maintain pace with. Once he’s there, he rummages through your closet. You let him do it, half-skeptical, half-jaded. Most of these garments weren’t picked by you anyway, but by your mother based on whatever fashion trend raged in the Capitol at the time. And those trends change every other season. You since long gave up on trying to keep abreast of them.

“Hm, this one is perfect,” he announces, drawing a red number from the closet.

You gape at the dress he chose. It’s a slip satin dress the color of blood. The waist is cinched with a thin belt and the lace sleeves, adorned with embroidered flowers, flow elegantly.

It’s beautiful, radiating a timeless elegance…but the neckline is low, displaying more cleavage than you’re used to. 

Your cheeks warm. “Are you sure?”

“Just trust me. Try it.”

Your eyes bulge but you relent, something about his tone curbing your impulse to argue. “Okay,” you quaver.

Trying not to squirm beneath his intense stare, you grab the dress from him and slip behind the wooden divider screen.

Chewing on your lip, you peek above the folding screen.

“Maybe you could…get out while I change?” you suggest while fumbling with the lace strings of your day dress.

Coriolanus casually sits on your bed, his crimson coat pooling around him. He leans back and spreads his large hands over your bed sheets. A small smile dances along his pink lips.

“I won’t look, I promise. Don’t you trust me, princess?”

“I do but…”

“But what?” he challenges, cocking his head in question.

Stumped, you come up short of a decent answer. “Nothing,” you mumble.

You shed your clothes quickly to try on the red dress. The whole time, you can feel the weight of Coriolanus’ unnerving scrutiny on the other side of the wooden screen.

He gives you a sluggish onceover when you step out from behind the screen. Your skin prickles as you shake.

“Hm nice, twirl for me.”

His blue eyes sparkle when you do as he says. He gets to his feet. He slowly strolls towards you.

Once he’s in front of you, he also arranges a few wisps of your hair in a way that he likes.

“Gorgeous,” he lauds when he’s done. 

He tilts your chin up, his gaze corralling yours.

“See? All you have to do is to trust me, princess.” His deep voice dips to dulcet tones. “Just trust me and, I promise you, everything will work out exactly the way it’s supposed to.”

“You came,” Coriolanus points out, that signature smirk of his adorning his lips.

“I promised I would,” you defend.

He snorts. “I’m glad. Saves me the trouble of having to drag you here myself, princess.”

Nervous laughter peals from your lips at his strange joke and the intent way his eyes rest on you. For a while, he doesn’t say anything, drinking in the sight of you in the crimson dress. The very same one he picked himself.

He then loops your arm around his, bending near your ear to whisper,

“Let's re-introduce you to everyone.”

You look around yourself, curious as you’ve never been to Clemensia’s house. The atmosphere is more intimate than you expected. The only source of dim light in the Dovecote’s sumptuous living room emanates from candelabras scattered all about, the wobbly candlelight casting twisting shadows over the damask walls. The crackle of the logs burning in the gigantic fireplace mingles with the soft piano tune filling the living room. 

“Coriolanus, did you bring a ghost to my party?” Clemensia jests when she sees you. Her expression then turns serious as she studies you. To your utter surprise, she wraps her arms around you and hugs you. You freeze, too stunned to return the gesture. The two of you were never close, the opposite in fact. It all stemmed from the way she and her friends ostracized you and your brother in school. Maybe it’s all water under the bridge now that you’re older. “Oh, you poor thing,” she laments. “I’m here for whatever you need, okay?”

You nod stiffly. “O-Okay.”

Coriolanus hardly conceals his amusement at the interaction, mirth swaying in his cobalt orbs. 

He and Clemensia keep introducing you to people. Some you recognize; some you don’t. 

It makes you realize how much you missed. 

After a while, faces blend into each other. You end up nodding and smiling to most of the small talk, your attention span dwindling by the minute.

Eventually, you decide to retreat to the bar to take a break. The barkeep nudges a drink your way and you thank him quietly. You swirl it in your hand, your thoughts drifting. Maybe this is what a return to normalcy must feel like. Slightly strange and overwhelming.

You gasp as Coriolanus appears at your side. “Are you alright, princess? Too much?”

Your startled reaction draws a chuckle from him.

A slow exhale drops from your chest. 

“A little,” you confess. “But…I’m glad you took me. A change of scenery is nice.”

It occurs to you that you haven’t had time to wallow in your sadness, too caught in conversation with other people. However frivolous the topics, it did keep your mind off of things. No thoughts of dead brothers have crossed your mind tonight.

It might not be much but it’s a start, you suppose.

Coriolanus’ brow curves teasingly. “See? This is why you should trust me.”

“Don’t push it, Snow. You’re on thin ice.”

A laugh bursts from his chest but, as he peers down at your drink, all humor vanishes from his face. He swipes it from you and sniffs it. 

“Hm, what’s wrong?”

A frown puckers his forehead. 

“Who served you this drink?” he rumbles.

You shrug. “I don’t know. It was just…brought to me.”

“There’s something in it.”

“What?” Ice spills in your veins. “Oh my god.”

Your mind whirls as you peek at your surroundings, paranoia creeping in. You wonder who could have done this and why. Just to mess with you? Or maybe even worse…

Your gut sinks. Thank god Coryo put a stop to whatever awful thing could have happened to you.

He puts his hand on your arm reassuringly. “I’ll bring you a clean one.”

“T-Thanks,” you stutter. “Just nothing with alcohol in it, please.”

“Of course.”

He returns with a brand new drink in a jiffy. 

“Thanks for looking out for me,” you beam before taking a sip. You were starting to get a little parched.

“Always, princess.” He grins at you while you take another sip.

A wave of queasiness suddenly hits you. 

The room starts to spin around you, blurring into crooked shapes and colors. You try to stand but your knees buckle instantly.

If it weren’t for Coriolanus swiftly catching you you’d be a heap on the floor.

“Coryo…I’m not feeling so good,” you slur, struggling to speak. Cotton seems to fill your mouth, the mere act of forming words demanding great effort.

“It’s okay, lean on me,” he says, slipping his arm around your waist.

“Head…heavy.”

“You’re alright. Just hold on to me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good girl.”

In a daze, you stagger along as he escorts you through a series of hallways and up a flight of stairs. You grow so weak that you slump against him. With ease, Coriolanus hoists you in his arms, carrying you bridal style the rest of the way.

You fall onto something heavenly soft that sinks under your weight. Like fluffy clouds. 

Your thoughts collapse, muddy and haphazard as you blink up at the ceiling. An antique chandelier hangs from it.

“You just need a little bit of rest.”

Coriolanus’s voice is warped, disembodied almost.

“Rest…” you echo.

But as soon as your eyes begin to close, the feeling of your dress hiking upwards tugs you back to consciousness. 

Befuddled, you look down. You’re welcomed by the sight of Coriolanus wedged between your parted legs, hands clasped around your thighs. His waistcoat and white blouse are gone, exposing his pale, broad chest. 

“Coryo, what is happening-”

His soft lips cover yours, stifling your protests. His tall frame pins yours to the bed. He purrs against your lips, framing your jaw when you feebly pivot your head to the side. 

When his lips free yours, your mouth still tingles with the forcefulness of his bruising kiss. 

He returns to the space between your thighs. 

You lie back, your bones like jelly, as you feel the delicate material of your panties sliding down your legs. 

Your brows twitch. “Coryo…”

His blue eyes glow strangely in the darkness. A chill slithers through your core. 

“Shh, don’t worry about it, princess, just sleep.”

You want to move. You feel you have to. But you can’t. 

“I…”

The syllable dies in a sharp gasp as Coriolanus’ cool tongue drags down your slit. Long fingers spreading you open, he traces wet circles around your bundle of nerves. He rasps against your center and the vibrations rock through your core. Your breath hitches. Your chest tightens. Heat builds in your stomach as he makes you dangle off the cliff of pleasure. He soon adds a finger and you cry out.

Coriolanus pumps in and out of you, gauging your expression as he grazes a particular spot that has your toes flexing. You writhe over the sheets, eyes blindly rising to the ceiling. 

You clench around his finger, your cunt clinging to him reflexively.

He sinks a second digit inside you and you whine, back arching at the abrupt stretch.

Short, chaotic breaths rush through your lungs as he works you open. His slow, meticulous drags have your chest rising and falling rapidly. 

Your legs quake as the coils in your belly grow unbearably tight and hot.

He stops as you’re on the cusp of your undoing. Your boneless frame sags onto the sheets.

He leans back and you hear the rustle of his pants coming undone. You get a faint sense of wrong trying to pierce through the haziness, but you can’t grasp at it.

Still, your fingers stretch towards the edge of the bed, your body rolling to the side. The meek attempt is interrupted as Coriolanus yanks you back onto the sheets, snatching your wrists and pinning them above your head. His frame drapes over yours. The scent of roses coats your senses.

“We’re not done, princess,” he murmurs, his warm breath caressing your face.

A painful pressure starts prodding your entrance. He grunts, hovering above you as he pushes past your tight ring of muscles. 

You feel as if you’ll tear as more of him buries inside you. Every second is agony, your core burning at the blunt intrusion.

A sigh of pleasure floats from his mouth when he reaches the hilt of you. He stays there a while, seeming to bask in the feeling of you around him. 

When he starts to move, your eyes flutter open. He sets a steady pace right away, thrusting inside you as if his life depended on it. Wordless screams rip from your throat. He releases your wrists, his long fingers latching onto your waist instead. 

Each of his slow, deep thrusts sparks warm tingles through your body.

Sweat collects between his brows as he grunts in pleasure.

“I knew you’d feel just perfect around me,” he rasps, delighted. 

His cadence quickens, his hand digging bruising grooves over your hip. Choked moans spill from your throat. His other hand crawls beneath the thin satin of your dress, fondling your breast and flicking your pebbled nipple. His hands feel everywhere at once and that sense of wrong rolls over you again.

“Ever since I saw you in this dress, I’ve been dying to fuck you in it,” he confesses, lust bleeding in his fevered tone. 

The mattress squeaks as he relentlessly rams into you.

A uniquely sharp thrust has your slick walls tighten around him. His cock stirs, a throaty moan pouring from his chest.

The repeated friction against your soft spots has you seeing stars.

A feral glint bounces in his blue eyes as he admires your panting form, lost in the throes of pleasure. Strangled shouts escape you as another wave of pleasure crashes over your frame.

His pace slows, sloppier than before as his cock twitches between your walls. His eyes roll back as he sighs, tension draining from his muscular frame. Hot ropes spill inside you, overflowing until you feel the warmth dripping along your thighs.

Your mouth wobbles, silent tears streaming down your face.

Coriolanus cradles your face, kissing away each of your tears with tender brushes of his lips.

“Shh, don’t cry,’ he mumbles. “It’s okay, princess. I’ve got you.” His cock stiffens inside you once more. He lifts you and snaps his hips viciously into yours, drawing a broken whimper as he bottoms out. A lopsided smile blooms on his lips when he begins to move inside you. Helplessly, you lie back as he takes you again.

“I’ve got you, and I’m not letting you go.”

[nmakii]

i blinked and suddenly, i had a valentine!

— valentines with nagi and sae

folow @itoshiluvbot …. number one sae lover she on the floor rn while i type this…

nagi never liked valentines days. florists would be more pushy than usual, insisting that he should buy a rose for that someone special, and wouldn’t let him cross to school. so troublesome, honestly. not to mention how a bunch of girls would be slipping treats and love letters into reo’s locker. they’d always try to vy for his attention, specially on valentines, so now he doesn’t have anyone to hang out with!

well, no one else but you. on days such as valentines, you’d complain all day about how you had no one who loved you, it was a bit bothersome hearing the same thing every year. so this year, he decided to fix that.

he went out of his way to buy you a tiny box of chocolate— one of those expensive brands with different flavors that all really just taste the same. nagi knew that it was more or less a scam for boyfriends who want to buy their girlfriend something special, but nagi had a feeling you’d pout if it was one of those cheap brands chocolates from the convenience store.

right. you’d be the one who would be sad. it definitely just wasn’t nagi unable to show you that he does care for you, and him doing it by buying you the more luxurious options.

…anyway, he also bought you those bottled milk teas you love so much. the ones that he also likes to take sips out since it’s so tasty. one taste of it, and he’s always back to your favorite convenience store where the two of you would hang out. he’d play his video games while resting his head on your shoulder, and you’d write your essay while eating your cup noodles. it was all so simple, yet so perfect.

“nagi, pleaseeeee… be my valenhuzz…” you whined, sitting beside him on the staircase as he played his video games. “what does that even mean? the slang lately is so weird.” he sighed. “hmmm… you’re right, i miss skibidi toilet.” you shrugged, all before groaning to yourself. god, valentines was seriously hell on earth for single people.

nagi nodded, knowing the cause of your grief, and— …put his game down?! he lightly dropped his console to the side, letting his character get pummeled with bullets. he dug his hands into the holes of his absurdly large hoodie pocket, and pulled out a box of luxury chocolate and a bottle of milk tea.

“…for you” he mumbled, handing the gifts over to you. your heart swelled like the strings of a quartet at a genuine act of kindness from nagi seishiro, and you couldn’t help but wrap your arms around him.

“oof!” he grunted, caught more than off-guard by your side hug. “nagi! you’re so freakin’ sweet!” you squealed, your cuteness aggression kicking in. all you want to do is just take a bite out of nagi! “…it wasn’t too bothersome. i didn’t want you to be sad this valentines.” he muttered.

“ahah! so, you are my valenhuzz!” you snickered proudly, pumping your fist. “i— umm, sure... as long as we just spend today in my dorm.” he shrugged, exasperatedly shaking his head. you were awfully pushy when it came to the things you wanted, and it seems that today, that thing was him. it was too bothersome to fight you when you were like this, so it was easier to just agree with you.

“really—?!” you asked, you didn’t really expect him to agree! “…yeah, i’m not busy today, so i’ll be your valentine.” he hummed tiredly.

ah… you never thought this would’ve happened, but at least you aren’t forever alone anymore.

“come over.” was the only thing sae said in his text. as you went up to his apartment door, you felt nervous. this could’ve been a number of things. a booty call? a date? all of this on valentines no less. this was the first year he hadn’t asked you to be his valentine. even after 5– almost 6— years together, you could never read his mind, he just texts too ominously.

you knock on the door. and without a beat skipped, sae opens the door. he’s in an apron, looking like a househusband. hahah, how cute of him!

sae quickly moves to the side, making way for you to enter. “come in.” he hums, leading you in. inside, a display is before you. an actual candlelight dinner. a fried chicken cutlet served on the side of a cheesy pesto pasta. god, just looking at it made your mouth water.

“happy valentines, amorcita.” he whispers, his breath tickling your ear as he rests his jaw on your shoulder. he observes the shocked look on your face and scrunches his eyebrows. “why do you look so surprised? i do something like this every year, don’t i?” his head tilts.

you couldn’t really refute him— maybe your reason for thinking otherwise was a bit silly now. “i mean… yeah..! but, you didn’t ask me to be your valentines this year…” you pout, frowning like a child. sae scoffed, “you’re my valentines every year. why would it change this year?”

he raised an eyebrow, small creases forming at the edge of his lips as he tries to hide the smile on his lips. he uses his thumb to slide along the sharp edge of your jaw, admiring how the flames shone in the reflection of your eyes. “you’re being silly, amorcita. but if it makes you feel better…” he sighs, “will you be my valentine?” he asked.

you laughed at the seriousness of his tone. no matter the situation, he had a voice that made you want to listen attentively as if it’d be the last thing he says to you. you nodded softly,

“yes, i’ll be your valentine, sae.” you breathlessly sighed, humming your words as it reverberates back onto his lips in a soft, meaningful kiss.

[harridansibyl]

Personal associations/interpretations of the dark/mystical houses (4th, 6th, 8th, 12th)

4th house

twisted tree roots, cultural practices, heirlooms, photo albums, inherited features, traditions, the mother, past lives, generational trauma, picture books, garden beds, childhood homes, ancestor altars, hand written recipe books, hearth, squeaky wooden floorboards, genealogy archives, caves, oak trees, baby wrap carriers, emotional security, cultural heritage, building foundations, photo albums, genetics, laundry lines, swing sets, property, mines, crops, sanctuaries, the chest and heart, home steads, fields, farms, root cellars, harvests, pots on stoves, brooms, backyards, agriculture, vines on trellises, handmade blankets, grandparents house, laundry baskets, attachment styles, singing lullabies, history, deep emotions, instincts, the unconscious, summer, waxing moon, vase of flowers, bath time, picking berries, celebrating holidays, chicken coops, older sisters, family gatherings, stone paths, forest walks, ancient structures/buildings, ancestral languages, cupboards, staying in

6th house

vitamins and supplements, morning routines, pharmacies, tasks and lists, doctors offices, health food stores, stomach medicine, hygiene practices, journals and planners, schedules, herbal teas, personal rituals, emergency kits, dog walks, lymphatic drainage, caregiving, donating blood, examinations and checkups, meditation, colour coordination, sticky notes, gastrointestinal problems, folded laundry, labels on everything, retirement homes, hand washing, braided hair, herb gardens, filing cabinets, face masks, kombucha, detailed diagrams, volunteer work, medicine cabinets, cleaning supplies, shelves, acts of service, skin care, organic linen, gauze and stitches, stress-induced illnesses, essential oil/herb baths, house plants, instructions, repetition, holistic medicine, giving advice, yoga studios, "gut feeling," bone broth

8th house

altars, divination, near death experiences, candle wax, feeling crushed by a heavy weight, grave dirt, red/dim lighting, funerals, double income, control, the underworld, cheques, insurance, heirlooms, ghost sightings, power imbalances, crime documentaries, ouroboros, bank accounts, grief and loss, shadow work, the womb, manipulation, scrying mirrors, Russian nesting dolls, keys, mortuaries, tests from the universe, pendulums, crime scene tape, the phoenix, projections, credit scores, animal bones on a forest floor, blood stained sheets, metaphysical shops, spiritual attacks, deep emotions, snakes, dead flowers, late autumn, wedding veils, envelopes, full moon, muddy boots, shadows at the corners of your vision, scarab beetles, inner processing, experiencing crisis, inherited possessions, natural disasters, sexual trauma, psychological studies, ancestral connections, cracked dolls, veil between realms, mental illnesses, deep connections, intimacy, reincarnation, torture devices, keys, whirlpools, the sound of sirens, unconscious fears, intense first impressions, pushing limits, feeling bound, scratches on walls, ten of swords

12th house

abandoned places, liminal spaces, long winters, shadowy figures, reoccurring dreams, repeated patterns, fog-filled forests, self analysation, inner worlds, cave systems, unfinished basements, hallucinations, solitary confinement, empty parking garages, spiral staircases, substance abuse, trapped in purgatory, hidden beneath the surface, maladaptive daydreaming, hospital hallways, confines of society, waning moon, moths, wandering aimlessly, disconnection from the world, psych wards, healing others, tired eyes or dark circles, chronic mental illness, suppression, addictions, hiding places, overnight shifts, unexplainable experiences, past life karma, exhaustion, cobwebs, others projections, catacombs, bird cages, premonitions in dreams, prescription bottles, self destructive patterns, late night walks, misty lakes, the feeling of walking out of the movie theater at night, identity crises, blurred faces, empty public transport, astral projection, comas, diary entries, dissociative episodes, shape shifting, generational trauma, observing people, mirrors, padded rooms, the afterlife, chain link fences, paradoxes, feeling misunderstood, repression or memory loss, hikikomori, the freeze response, disappearance, waiting rooms

[ew-selfish-art]

DP x DC AU: Letters and Paper goods are easy to store, and therefore, easy to hide. Danny has drama to monger though.

Tim Drake becomes a ward of Bruce Wayne at the same time the Drake Corporation is crumbling, and his father's health is declining. Dana, his father's physical therapist turned new wife, isn't optimistic these days, and Tim can read the writing on the wall.

Times have changed and Bruce and Dick are treating him with kid gloves. Jason Todd is alive again, been there suffered that. Young Just-Us has proven yet again to be his true family... But Bruce 'welcomes' him home the second the fake uncle is sniffed out.

So, Tim rationalizes, If Drake Corp is going down, then so shall the reason he spent his childhood abandoned. The many, many archeology digs his parents left him for over the years and their many, many stolen historical pieces. Tim is ready and able to get rid of them all.

He first returns the artifacts that have obvious origins to the people with whom they belong. Then it starts to get a little hazy as to where each item stolen is from. The paper goods are the hardest to place.

Years later, Tim has almost completely emptied his parent's old home of their stolen goods. By now, he runs a fortune 500 company and is working as Red Robin. Going through the last of the archives means going through the very last objects his parents ever preferred over his company, and he can't wait to be rid of them.

A glowing green envelope however... this one he feels compelled to keep. He hadn't known it back when he started this project- but somehow his Parents had found objects drenched in the essence of the Lazarus Pits. And it wasn't just one letter, it was dozens and dozens.

Tim Drake knew it would be risky to move them, but he needed to get these letters to an ex-league member to understand what the language of the dead was trying to proclaim.

_____

Danny hates a fetch quest but apparently Ghost Writer is having a bad day. It starts with Danny running by the guys library to have a chat when all of a sudden, the question of certain... ghost relations... came up. Danny is always more than thrilled to hear about how the various ancient-as-in-old ghosts interacted with the Ancients-as-in-yikes ghosts.

Ghost Writer finally admitted to the monarch in training that if he wanted to know so badly, that he could track down Clockworks old letters. They'd been scattered well before Ghost Writer could properly work on the ghost archives (read: was still alive), and it wasn't until he'd long worked on the library that such affairs were noted as missing.

The potential for gossip was just too good! A call home to Sam, Tuck and Jazz to let them know he was on an adventure, and then Danny flew off with little more than some hints by GW and an annoyed nod of cryptic agreement by CW.

Danny goes about wondering Gotham as himself, not yet seeing the need to be Phantom, when he runs into the very guy he was looking for.

"Hey- you don't happen to have a shit ton of letters written in the language of the dead do you?" Danny smiles as innocently as possible as he watches all seven stages of grief play out on the guy's face. Then something changes and Danny can tell that this guy is like, scary competent.

"I do, however, I was double crossed and a shit ton of assassins are on their way to try and take them."

"Uh... Bummer for them I guess? I'll just take them and go- I don't even really need to keep them if you want em back-"

"Assassins. They won't exactly leave empty handed."

"Huh. Well... Wanna come with? These are supposed to have some pretty juicy drama in them." Danny awkwardly places a hand on the back of his neck.

A knife being thrown in their direction was enough to get this guy to make a decision.

"Let's go spill some tea then."

Danny grins as he pulls the guy through a rapidly drawn portal, ignoring the wide eyes he makes. Turns out his name is Tim, and walking him through afterlife drama is the best- how does he know so many dead assassins??? One of these letters is about a guy who took Tim's spleen??

[slowlyoats]

The Lost Boys: What they do in their free time

Marko

- Beach-combing

- Since low and hide tide happen often at night or early in the morning when it’s still dark he gets to comb the beach for new TriNkEts

- David always yells at him when he returns from his treasure hunting with “more crap”

- There is a TON of sea glass in his corner of the cave. It’s all kept in glass jars, but he keeps the red pieces in a separate little jar because that color is super hard to find

- He also likes to look for washed up toys, bottle necks, and shiny rocks

- HE DESPERATELY WANTS A ROCK TUMBLER

- Unfortunately they are expensive, and Dwayne says that there isn’t enough electricity flowing through the cave to power one

Paul

- Ease dropping

- This man LIVES for the DRAMA

- He doesn’t even know the people he is ease dropping on or who they are talking about, but you bet your bottom dollar he doesn’t mind his tea unfamiliar and piping hot!

- Because he is with the boys 24/7 they really don’t have any secrets between them (that Paul knows of )

- So he has to get his tea fix elsewhere

- He likes to listen in on conversations while he’s in line for rides

- at the record store

- around the food vendors

- he gets lots of tea from just hanging out on the beach and at the local drive in

- You would be surprised the amount of people who talk during movies….

- His ease dropping skills have come in handy on occasion

- Every once in awhile a vampire hunter will wander into town, and start asking the locals questions they have no business asking

- Paul usually hears of their arrival through the grapevine and is able to warn the boys

Dwayne

- Helping out Laddie’s family

- It’s kind of sick that he does this, but he honestly can’t help himself

- After Max brought Laddie to the boys, Dwayne couldn’t help checking out Laddies kin and seeing for himself what this kid’s background was like

- It wasn’t great

- They lived in a run down apartment complex, that was missing half its ruff and probably hadn’t passed an inspection in 20 years

- After some snooping around, and stalking the place a few nights Dwayne was able to determine that Laddie had an aunt (who was his guardian it seemed ) a sister a few years older then him, and a 5 year old cousin

- At first Dwayne HELLA judged the aunt, because clearly if Laddie was able to find his way to the board walk and into the arms of Max, she was not keeping an eye on him in the first place

- He witnessed her grief, her tears, her confusion, when she realized Laddie was missing

- he gave her no sympathy for what he thought were the consequences of her incompetence

- but then

- He witnessed a family dinner in their small apartment that changed his opinion

- They were all sitting down to eat dinner, when there was a knock on the door. One of the children who lived in the apartment complex stopped by to play with Laddie’s sister. The aunt was just about to tell the boy to come back later, when the boy’s stomach growled. And it wasn’t a “ I’m a little peckish” or “ gee I forgot to eat lunch” type of growl. It was an“ I haven’t eaten in a few days” growl

- Without hesitation, she gave her meal to the boy and told him to come back whenever he had no food to eat at home

- Dwayne found himself to be in a little bit of a dilemma after this

- He felt guilty, but sending Laddie back wasn’t an option anymore

- The kid was half vampire now and he belonged with his brothers

- But then he noticed the lock on the door was broken, and the least he could do would be to fix it. So he snuck in once everyone was asleep and took care of it

- And then he fixed the leaky faucet

- And the loose cabinet

- And the floor board that was coming up would only take two nails to get back into place, so he might as well fix it, right?

- Dwayne soon found himself paying the apartment a weekly visit to repair stuff here and their

- Laddies aunt just assumed that the landlord decided to do his job for once and so doesn’t suspect anything

David

- breaking into Max’s house

- He LOVES to screw with Max and he would do it on a nightly basis if he could

- But

- The boys *cough cough* Paul and Marko, would probably be a tad too destructive if they came along

- Together the boys like to find vampire related objects and leave them outside Max’s house as a joke

- They’ve left costume vampire teeth

- Cloves of garlic

- Fake blood packets

- Vampire comic books

- The bat kite we see in the movie

- Max secretly finds it endearing though!

- He’s sons are playing little pranks on him and he find’s it adorable

- But what Max doesn’t know is that David takes it a step farther

- Max doesn’t lock his door, because, you know, he’s a vampire and he has Thorn to guard the place when he’s gone

- Max some how has not figured out yet that David likes to spend time in his home when he’s not there

- I think it’s because Max spends a decent amount of time around the boys, so that their scents feels normal to have around and be on his clothes. So when it’s been a long night at the video store, and he strolls into his house and can smell David it doesn’t feel out of the ordinary

- David has slowly become cordial with Thorn. I would say friend, but Thorn would rip David to shreds if Max gave him the command. But! if David brings Thorn a nice, juicy bone, then he will let him pass

- Kind of like Cerberus

- David likes to sit on Max’s back porch, and in his recliner

- He likes to snoop around his books and in his desk drawers

- He will swipe cash here and there when he finds it

- He just really likes the idea of being in Max’s space with out Max’s permission

[b1rds3ye]

I have to HC Simon is hella expressive under his mask because he really never has to worry about schooling his expressions; the mask does it for him. So picture it - he sees his work crush in the grocery store and immediately hides. Face, neck, ears bright red. (I also HC that he's got the mask off if he's off duty for extended periods of time.) All of a sudden, you're right behind him super excited to learn you live near each other and he just CANT get a grip. Can you picture it? Cause I can picture it, and I'm as soft a fucking pillow about it lol

AYO I CAN TOTALLY SEE THAT. Even with the mask, we’ve seen Simon be super expressive, he throws a nasty side-eye, has a death stare that would make anyone cry but have you seen the zoom up on his eyes?? They’re actually the sweetest puppy eyes sometimes oh my gOD-

Personally, I feel off-duty Simon still wears a mask for anonymity and also not to worry about pulling a funny face in public (man's being covid safe what a legend) but then there will be one day he forgets. And that will be the one day he runs into you and he knows fate is playing some stupid trick on him. He's so conflicted, he wants to hang around the vicinity (he usually just lets himself be found by you so he can get the small ego boost of you approaching him), but conversely there's nothing flattering about his face looking like a cooked lobster with how red it is. The rush of embarrassment overrides his want to see you and he's ducking behind aisles, hoping you'll get distracted by the rack of lollies that's fifty percent off. But of course you don't, you're far too stubborn, and you track him down throughout the grocery store.

"You alright Simon?" He hears your voice directly behind him in no time. Do you bloody teleport now? Seeing your face contorted in such concern has him reeling, wanting to snap out in denial that no, his face is not that red because he's found you.

"Sunburn," Simon grumbled and he's mentally slapping himself because Manchester hasn't seen a ray of sun for the last damn month. And you must've known that too because you're cocking an eyebrow at him, trying not to laugh and for once in his life Simon feels like an absolute muppet.

"Yeah, alright. It's nice to see you too," you snicker. You eye the items in his shopping cart, undoubtedly questioning the lack of diversity in his diet and Simon is genuinely hoping at this point that the earth will swallow him up whole.

"Hey," you clear your throat, eyes trained on his trolley cart, but no longer for scrutinising. If he hadn't trained for literal years to keep his composure, he'd likely be cupping your cheeks and cooing over your bashful expression as you struggled to get your next words out. But no, instead his composure is fully invested into desperately pummeling down the blood in his cheeks.

"I live pretty near here. If you want, you're more than welcome to come for dinner or a cup of tea? You like that, right?"

Good grief, his blush wasn't going to go down anytime soon.

[sturniolosass]

Sick - a Matt Sturniolo x Reader

Summery - Nick and Matt are sick with Covid and you offer to come and help take care of them.

*fluff, like…pure fluff*

It’s Tuesday Night and you get a call from your boyfriend Matt letting you know he tested positive for covid, Your first reaction was to ask if he need anything medicine, soup, water. He had stated that he and the boys were fine without it and that you should stay home and rest but you insisted. So ending the call you decided to head over to him and his brothers home to help take care of all three of them.

Before heading to the house you decided to run to your local grocery store and grab a few things for the soup you’d be making and also a box of tea.

Once you checked out you started making your way to the house.

Once you arrived you knocked on the door urgently and saw Chris, you urgently pulled a mask over your face

“Yo! I’m good, i don’t have Covid…” he said

“ohhh oh my god, i thought all of yall were sick as fuck” you stated with a sigh of relief

“where are Matt and Nick?” you asked with a sense of panic

“they are both locked away in their rooms..i wouldn’t let them contaminate you” he laughed

“I don’t think it would matter hence i put myself in this situation. Wanna help me cook?” you ask Chris hoping he’d say no remembering his cooking history

“uhhhh im not sure you want that..” Chris replied

“you know what! you’re right” you replied rushing over to the stove

You put everything down on the counters before rushing around the corner hall to Matt’s room. Knocking on the door you say “Matt, are you hungry? How’re you feeling?” then listening in for a response you hear counting..

“1..2..3..4..5” Matt counts..

You call again “Matt?!”

Matthew then hurriedly opens the door wearing a mask he then says “what’re you doing here..? you’re gonna get sick! go home!” he rushing griefs to shut the door.. but your foot’s in between the hinges “i wanted to come and take care of you guys i know you guys don’t really know how to do that yourself.., have you even had any medicine..?” you ask worriedly “yea..” Matt looks around suspiciously “well no..but still i don’t want you getting sick, you should go home, coming here was sweet though i really appreciate you thinking of us honestly” he replies expecting you to leave which you do.. but not the house

Time to cook..

You grab all your ingredients and start making the soup. Onion, Celery, Garlic, Carrots, Noodles, etc.. once everything is cooking you decide to throw on a movie within the same time in which Chris decides to come up stairs from the ground floor… “sooo like, I know i’m not sick but that smells oh so yummy” he says in a weird yet entertaining voice “can i please have some too?” he begs. You look at him funny and reply “I mean.. i guess i’m trying to make enough so that there’s at least enough for two days..” he then notices the TV and asks “what is this? saltburn or some shit?” you look at him in disgust “No. it’s The Turning” you say matter of factly. “what is it about” he asks, “i don’t know for real, just some indie horror film” you tell, “oh alright well please let me know first when the food is done” he pleads. “whatever.” you say.

One the food is done you call up the guys one by one to grab a bowl. First Chris cause he asked so kindly, then Nick.. Once Nick comes down he seems fine, Then he starts coughing a lot, causing you to worry and offer him tea. He politely declines claiming to not enjoy tea that much. He then heads back upstairs and Matt comes out of his room after 5 minutes..

“Hey, I really appreciate you coming here and treating me and my brothers so sweet.. i was on the phone with my mom and she really thanks you because she can’t be here to do these things for us” he says lovingly smiling up at you with his cute little red nose from blowing it all day. “no problem, i love you guys a lot. you especially, so i have no problem with probably leaving here sick just to make sure you guys are ok” you reply. Matt them comes behind you whilst you’re stirring the soup on the low heat and gives your back a nice firm hug. “I love you” he says. At first you’re very caught off guard because that’s the first time he’s spoken those three words to you.. but coming to your senses you immediately respond “i love you too, Matt” in to which he smiles in the crook of your neck and kisses it. You turn and hug him back.

“Want some soup or tea?” you ask politely. “Sure, i’ll have some tea” he responds thankfully. “i already had food like a few hours ago. thank you though.” he adds. You pop a Peppermint tea in the keurig and he sits at the table. “i’m glad you’re here, i feel like i’ve been going crazy locked in my room all day.” he speaks. “I was counting my steps as i paced my room earlier because my apple watch felt i was being ‘lazy’ even though i’m quite frankly sick as all hell” he adds.. “hahaha yea i heard that, i was so confused” you reply coming in for a kiss in which he hesitates “i don’t wanna risk your chance of getting more sick” he states in to which you reply “the sickness is airborne, love. if im gonna get sick it’s gonna happen regardless. i’ve already stepped in the house.” leaning in you kiss his lips. The keurig finishes and you mix a little bit of honey in his mug and hand him the cup.

Nearing the end of the night you and Matt head into his room to relax, figuring you’d already be sick Matt invites you to stay the night knowing it shouldn’t get any worse from here unless you go home where your family lives. You both decide to watch a movie, Matt begging you to help him finish saltburn stating he was bored with it in the first 20 minutes. You oblige only to regret it seeing he’s only watched a small portion of the ‘weird’ movie, however you continue watching just to keep him company and watch him fall asleep comfortably in your arms...

The End :)

a/n: idk how i feel about the end of this.. but you know what, its my first and i’ll only get better as i keep going.. :)) THANKS FOR READING!

[humansofnewyork]

(49/54) “We still take long walks together, even today. There’s a path through the forest near our house. Mitra still can’t stand the silence. She’ll walk off the path so she can hear the dry crunch of the leaves. She still talks the entire time, but these days our conversations don’t reach back as far as they used to. We mainly talk about the things we see. She’ll count her steps, count the houses, count the trees. Mitra’s memory is no longer her friend; it no longer supports her. But she still says ‘hello’ to everyone that she sees. And she’s still a queen, I am always at her service. These days we have become inseparable. If I do not see her for two minutes, I will find what room she’s in. I button her jacket. I tie her shoes. I handle all her medications. I do not grieve the situation. I feel gratitude that I am able to do these things for her, despite nature. My only grief is for her. Her memory was her greatest gift. It’s where I stored my treasures. I could tell her any verse, even once. And she could remember it forever. Now it will escape her after only a minute. Every day her world gets smaller and smaller. Tighter and tighter. It’s the oldest memories that she remembers most now. Recently she has been fixated on her hand. She keeps holding up her crippled hand, and asking: ‘Why did you ever marry me?’ When we were young in Tehran, her father had a tradition. Every morning he would insist on having the first cup of tea. He said it was the one that tasted best. He called it ‘the flower of the tea.’ So now when I brew our tea every morning, I will wait. Until Mitra is up. Until she’s ready. So that I can serve her the flower of the tea. Then as soon as we’ve finished the kettle, she’ll make me go outside. And pour the remains on the roots of our trees.”

 ما همچنان با هم به پیاده‌روی‌های درازآهنگ می‌رویم. راهی جنگلی در نزدیکی خانه‌مان هست. میترا همچنان خاموشی را برنمی‌تابد. هنوز به راه رفتن روی برگ‌های خُشک و شنیدن خِش‌خِش آنها ‌دلبسته است. هنوز همه‌ی راه را سخن می‌گوید، اما گفت‌وگوهای ما به گذشته‌های دور بازنمی‌گردند. این روزها بیشتر درباره‌ی آنچه می‌بینیم، سخن می‌گوییم. او گام‌هایش را می‌شمارد، خانه‌ها را می‌شمارد و درخت‌ها را. حافظه‌ی میترا دیگر یاری‌اش نمی‌دهد، دوستش نیست، از او کناره گرفته است. ولی هنوز با هر رهگذری که از کنارمان می‌گذرد، خوش‌آمد می‌گوید. او هنوز شهبانوی خانه است و خواهد ماند و تا هستم او را پرستار و خدمتگزار خواهم بود. این روزها ما جدایی‌ناپذیریم. اگر برای دو دقیقه او را نبینم، در اتاق‌ها به دنبالش می‌گردم. دکمه‌های ژاکت و بند کفش‌هایش را می‌بندم. داروهایش را به هنگام به او می‌رسانم. هرگز برای خودم دل نمی‌سوزانم. سپاسگزار بختم که می‌توانم اين کارها را برای او انجام دهم. برای او اندوهناکم. برجسته‌ترین توانایی او حافظه‌اش بود. یاد او گنجینه‌ی یادهای من هم بود. می‌دانستم هر بیتی را یک بار برای او بخوانم، برای همیشه به یاد می‌سپارد. این روزها پس از دقیقه‌ای از ذهن او می‌گریزند. دنیایش هر روز کوچک‌ و کوچک‌تر، تنگ‌ و تنگ‌تر می‌شود. خاطره‌های دوردست را بهتر به یاد دارد. تازگی‌ها به دست چپش می‌اندیشد. پیوسته دست کم‌کار خود را بالا نگه می‌دارد و می‌پرسد: "به راستی تو چرا با من ازدواج کردی؟" روزگار جوانی که در تهران بودیم، پدرش دوست داشت هر بامداد، نخستین استکان چای را بنوشد، می‌گفت بهترین است. آن را «گُلِ چای» می‌نامید. هنگامی که هر بامداد چای‌مان را آماده می‌کنم، چشم‌به‌راهش می‌مانم تا بتوانم با گُلِ چای از او پذیرایی کنم. شب‌ها دست مرا می‌گیرد تا با هم تَه‌مانده‌ی چای را پای گل‌ها ودرختان بریزیم

[glitter-stained]

What your favourite batfam member (of the ones I know enough about) says about you- a 100% accurate list of logical conclusions that are true about everyone.

(Those are not assumptions, just cold-hard logic based on what is appealing about each of the batfam members.)

> Alfred: One time in a shop, you picked up a holiday decoration, one of those bright red and gold shimmery ornaments they hang on Christmas trees, and it was so simple and beautiful your throat clogged up with grief over something you could not name and you were tempted to crack it open like an egg. You didn't.

> Kate: The other night, you were at the park, and it was that time of the evening where the cold breeze picks up just a little and breathing just a little raw, and there was a woman standing under a street lamp with a long black coat and she was smoking a cigarette and she took a deep breath and exhaled a cloud of smoke and the lamplight went out and you watched the woman disappear.

> Bruce: At the nearest comic store next to you, there's a young woman behind the counter who chews bubblegum and has a pink strip in her hair. She knows every issue you will think of and can navigate the obscure sorting system of the shop in her sleep. Sometimes, on the weekends, there's a little kid in a big scarf that will huddle in a corner of the shop and read comics, and she will not say anything about him, and neither will you.

>Barbara: At your local library, the books are organized along the official system, but you can tell this change was recent, due to the faded book tags on the spines. Very often, people will leave their bookmarks in the books: elegant, woven lace or printed leather ones, painted ones homemade with care and watercolours, practical ones that double as a ruler, thematic ones from books or shows or favourite bands, the ones with the holographic animal pictures... The librarians know this. They leave them in the books like a little treasure hunt.

> Dick: You were a little kid, eating cereal in the morning before your parents were awake, watching cartoons with the volume on low. Your favourite cartoon came up and you hummed the theme song under your breath, careful not to wake anybody up. It was a Saturday, no school today. You were wearing your favourite pyjama.

> Cass: When you were ten years old, you would crouching over a tree root in a corner at recess, watching a little colony of firebugs travel in line out of the tree trunk. You took a little bramble and held it in their way, just to see what would happen, if they would climb on it instead. They walked around it and carried one their way; you didn't insist. Nearby on the ground, you found a beautiful marble.

> Steph: Seven months before you were born, your mother was walking down the street to get some last minute work groceries, when she took a wrong turn and ended up staring at a tv screen from inside a shop, and she couldn't hear the noise but something in the image petrified her, mouth open in awe, blue light reflecting in her eye with the empty grocery bags hanging limp in her hands.

> Jason: Your neighbour has a dog. Though you've never seen it, you can hear it barking and whining from behind the wall. When it gets cold, you blow in your hands and rub them together, and the air you breathe out swirls up in a little cloud. Something you stand on the side of the road for a little too long and that old lady sitting at the bus stop looks at you with concern. It's going to snow soon.

> Tim: On your birthday this year, a group of old ladies gathered together to discuss the important events of this month. One of them made tea and offered it to the others; the whistling of the kettle and the chiming of cups and little spoons sign the beginning of this ritual like the ringing of church bells. They didn't know that this was your birthday. If they knew, maybe they would have whispered about it amongst eachother - "didn't you hear? This one's one year older, just today. My, my, how time flies."

> Duke: One time you and your friends were swimming in the lake and your friend's necklace slipped out. You dove under the surface and opened your eyes to find it, and came face to face with a fish that swam away the moment that you blinked. You're not that good at holding your breath, but your friend really cared about that necklace, so you swam deeper and eventually you saw it, slowly sinking between dead water flowers floating around like algae. You picked it up, dizzy, and swam to the surface; when you emerged, you took a deep gulp of air, and it felt like stepping out of a different universe.

> Damian: Picture a frog. It's a relatively normal-sized frog, round-shaped like a little ball with big, comically bulging eyes on either side and a prehensile tongue that jolts out from time to time to catch a fly. It looks a little silly, fingertips wide and splayed on a water lily, but also very serene, practically unmoving, in the middle of the pond. The frog is a beautiful glossy green like the grass in a luxurious valley. Now here is a mind frog. You like the frog.

[waywardangel-wilds]

Regarding your previous post, what do you think are the habits that Peeta and Katniss adopt from each other?

oh man, I don't really know! One thing that comes to mind is sleeping with the windows open. Katniss, in a way, keeps Peeta to herself. We don't know any of his habits until she's blurting them out with grief in Mockingjay. That tells me there's lots to him that she stores in that special private place inside her, just for her. Maybe she'll stop taking sugar in her tea, or maybe she'll take the time to notice the subtle differences in colouring of the world around her. I guess that's her little secret to keep.

[sashaisready]

This Must Be The Place: Chapter 1 - Home is where I want to be

Biker!Bucky x Femme Reader

Back at your beloved late grandmother's home to pack up her house, you have a run-in with the town's biker gang 'The Howling Commandos' and find yourself entangled with the metal armed President.

Series Masterlist

Warnings for: death of a loved one, grief, angst (it gonna be angsty!), Bucky not always being a good guy.

You sighed heavily as you pulled up to the house in your beaten-up Mustang. Hard to believe you were back, but life certainly has a sense of humour.

You parked up and leaned against the driver’s door, looking up at your new home.

Well, old home.

Granny’s place.

Once the centre of your world – a place of home baked cookies and tyre swings, of blanket forts and climbed trees. Of carefully tended to scraped knees and long hugs on the couch in front of Granny’s favourite shows. Sitcom reruns and Murder She Wrote, more lemonade than you could ever feasibly drink.

You came to visit every summer and they were the best summers of your life. But of course, you got older. As you grew, you wanted to spend your summers with friends, to kiss boys and go to the diner with Stacey and Monique. Granny’s place would always hold a large piece of your heart, but you grew up. You looked back now with a sense of sadness, wishing you’d gone for one more summer. Maybe two.

Granny understood. She was always telling you to spread your wings and live. ‘Don’t tread water, Cub’, she’d tell you. ‘Go out there and enjoy yourself’.

And you did. Maybe a little too hard.

You stayed close with Granny despite the physical distance between you as you moved across the state for school. Plenty of phone calls and letters were shared, and she’d send you novelty postcards she found at gas stations and thought you’d find funny. You still had a pile stored in a shoebox, now shoved into your car’s trunk with all your other worldly possessions.

You still visited occasionally, always telling yourself you needed to come more – she needed someone to clear out the attic, to sort out her paperwork, fix the old fence. You should sort that. The town was nice enough, but the biker gang that owned the local dive bar and auto shop gave you a bad feeling. You’d hear the roar of their motorcycles late at night, feeling grateful that was Granny was safe on the outskirts of town.

A few months ago, just as you were looking at your calendar to arrange your next visit, she suffered a sudden, huge heart attack. The hospital staff told you on the phone that it was quick, mercifully. She was in front of the TV, sipping a cup of tea. It would’ve been exactly how she wanted to go, quick and comfortable in her castle. No long, drawn-out illness. No forgetting her own name or wasting away in a bed. She often told you her worst nightmare was to become a burden and forget the life she’d lived.

But you couldn’t shed the guilt that she died alone. If you’d been there…

Your parents meant well but weren’t particularly distraught. You and Granny were closer than anyone else in the family. Still, ever the pragmatists, they arranged the funeral and filed the paperwork while you pulled yourself together. Granny was organised enough to have a will, and even had a document in her bureau with details of her finances and who to contact for every possible loose end that might need tying up in the event of her death.

Despite your closeness, it was still a huge shock when you found out she’d left the house solely to you, and nobody else in the family. Her few savings were divided between her children and other grandchildren. But you got the house.

‘Cub’, read the note in the will. ‘You loved this place, so it’s yours. I don’t care what you do with it. You can sell up and use the proceeds to take a vacation for all I care. Buy a fancy car or a designer bag or even invest in something dumb. You can stay here and lay down roots. Whatever you want. It’s all yours. Just fix that damn fence before you do anything’.

Nobody in the family quibbled it. The property wasn’t worth much, and nobody wanted to sort through Granny’s things, so here you were. Still mourning, but trying to move forward.

You didn’t really have a plan. You weren’t exactly set up in life, even flailing, some might say. Flitting between bullshit jobs and bullshittier boyfriends. No real roots or ambitions. You decided to move in for a while and sort the house out. Maybe get a temp part time job in town to keep you afloat. At least you didn’t have to pay rent. Then you’d sort Granny’s things, give the place a lick of paint, fix the aforementioned damn fence, then you’d decide. But you’d probably sell up. I mean, what would keep you here?

*

You spent a few hours getting your own stuff moved in and sizing up the task ahead. Granny’s place was clean, spotless in fact, but she was a bit of a hoarder. There were endless Rubbermaid tubs of clothes and blankets, spices in the pantry older than you were, and cardboard boxes of seemingly every birthday and Christmas card she’d ever received.

You also weren’t prepared for the emotional impact. Every corner held a childhood memory, you could practically hear the radio she used to play as she cooked, smell whatever mouthwatering dish she’d be whipping up that day.

You channelled your energy into the work and made some calls. There was a Goodwill store in town and a women’s refuge a few miles away, and they were very keen to take some of Granny’s things off your hands. You made plans to do some drop-offs over the coming weeks. You arranged to have wifi installed and took some time getting utility bills moved into your name.

You sat at the dining room table with a glass of water, exhausted, when your phone buzzed with a text notification.

“Hey! Are you here? How about we catch up with drinks tonight?”

Wanda. The one person you knew in this town apart from Granny. You’d played together as kids and hung out every summer. As you got older, you stayed in touch on social media and would go for coffee when you visited Granny. You liked her a lot. She had reached out to you when Granny died (as apparently everyone knows everyone here) and you’d thanked her. You kept her updated with your plans with the move. She’d always stayed here in this town, getting serious with her boyfriend Vis and settling down.

Part of you wanted to keep your head down, but you knew you’d benefit from some company, especially Wanda’s. You didn’t want to be the weird recluse living in her dead grandmother’s house who only ventured outside to buy groceries. Besides, it would be nice to reconnect with her.

“Hey!”, you replied. “Sure am. Just getting comfortable. Okay, sure. I could use a drink. Where we going?”

She responded seconds later. “The Snake Pit. Yeah, I know it sounds scary but it’s okay, really! The Howling Commandos own it, but they’re cool when you get to know them. Vis and I will pick you up at 8?”

You sighed. Great. Drinking in some biker gang’s sleazy dive bar. This was your life now. Well, you’d had worse Saturday nights.

“Alright. See you then” you fired back before you could talk yourself out of it.

*

Wanda was right. The Snake Pit was okay. A little dark and dingy inside, but a more varied clientele than you’d expected. There was everyone from excitable college girls to the old geezers nursing a single bottle of Bud for over an hour. You had worked in bars; you knew the types well. It wasn’t the rowdy biker gang hangout you expected, but you guessed options are limited for drinkers when there’s only one drinking hole in town.

The bartender was a little all over the place, messing up a few orders and rushing to get everything done. He seemed to be serving people haphazardly with little regard for who was there first. Fine. Whatever.

Splayed across barstools and were the Howling Commandos themselves. All clad in heavy leather and denim, they joked and drank beer with each other while keeping a close eye on the customers. You got the impression they weren’t necessarily looking for trouble but wouldn’t hesitate to deal with it should some occur. A broad blonde with a thick beard seemed to be in charge, you could see in the way the others hovered around him that he held some sort of authority. They were quite intimidating in their matching kuttes and big boots, but you supposed that was the point.

The blonde man locked eyes with you and watched you, a mix of curiosity and wariness on his face. His eyes were blue and strong, the intensity of his glare causing you to turn away as you went back to nodding at the story Wanda was telling. You had a strange feeling of dread in your stomach, but maybe that was just the anxiety of being somewhere new.

“You wanna play pool?” she asked, nodding towards the corner.

There were a couple of pool tables and the back of the room, with a dartboard nailed to the wall not far from them.

“Sure,” you smiled as you stood up and grabbed your drink, “I’m a little rusty…it’s been a while”.

“Modesty I’m sure,” Vis grinned as they followed you over. “I bet you’re secretly a dark horse”.

You winked jokingly as the three of you laughed and moved towards the table. It was nice to catch up with them, you settled in so comfortably together that it was as if you did this every week.

As you set up the balls and chalked your cue, you felt the presence of a group moving behind you. The Commandos group had moved from the bar and headed to the dart board, jeering and laughing as they lined up to take their turn. A striking redhead, the sole woman in the group, was busting their balls about their darts ability (or lack thereof).

“Hey” you heard Wanda say softly as you moved around the table, and a few of them murmured greetings back at her.

They were being loud and obnoxious as they ragged on each other for their poor aim, and you suppressed an eyeroll as you leaned over the table to take your shot.

The laughter got louder as you pulled your cue back and aimed, they were practically shouting, you pushed your cue forward through your fingers and moved to the ball and-

Pain.

PAIN.

You flinched and your legs buckled as the cue clipped the ball and sent it flying in the wrong direction. You felt a pressure and a sting as your brain tried to catch up with what had happened. You could hear Wanda gasping and Vis talking to you calmly as another voice interrupted.

“Ohmygod…Ohmygodsorry…I didn’t…oh my god, FUCK” they said, the panic evident.

You turned and looked, to your horror, to discover one of the darts embedded in one of your ass cheeks. This surely couldn’t be happening??

As you turned back towards the panicking voice in front of you, it became immediately evident who was the perpetrator.

He was young, chocolate brown hair slicked back to reveal a baby face. Wide, horrified chestnut eyes stared at you. Despite the kutte and motorcycle boots, he looked like a scared little boy. Behind him stood members of the gang, some smirking, some rolling their eyes and nudging each other. They didn’t intervene, just enjoyed the show. You felt your face flush with mortification.

“What…what the fuck is wrong with you?” you spat, furious as well as in pain. You noticed the entire bar had stopped to watch. You gripped the dart but couldn’t quite build up the courage to pull it out.

“Are you stupid...?” you continued as he just stared at you, his mouth flapping like a fish as he tried and failed to explain himself.

Wanda said your name in a wary tone and Vis told you it was okay. Even through your angry haze you could tell they were nervous about where this was going.

“Hey…come on now,” said someone else. “You all shut up”.

The group quickly parted and quietened as the blonde man from earlier appeared in front of you. “Parker…” he sighed under his breath.

“Look…it was an accident, okay?” he told you sternly. “I’m sorry…look, I’m Steve, I’m the co-owner and-”

“I don’t care!” you hissed. “What the fuck kinda place are you running here?”

You knew you sounded shrill, but you were upset and embarrassed. And it hurt! You were half aware of the group suddenly tensing up, the atmosphere in the air shifting to something a bit darker.

The man raised a brow in annoyance and went to speak again when you suddenly yelped, feeling a hard sting in your bottom half and then an immediate loss of pressure.

Someone had yanked the dart out.

You turned, aghast, to a man who had suddenly appeared behind you.

“What the fu-,” you exclaimed as you looked at him.

Your words died on your tongue as you were greeted by the face of the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. Long, coffee-coloured waves of hair sat at his well-chiselled jawline. Big, broad shoulders stretched out a clinging white t-shirt beneath his kutte. He had a metal arm that moved robotically, but mostly you were caught in the depths of the cerulean pools of his eyes. The others all seemed to straighten up and go quiet in a way they hadn’t even done with Steve. This must be the other owner, then.

He smirked and waved the dart in front of you. “Fixed it”.

You furrowed your brows. “Ow…” you said monotonously.

“You want some ice for that or…?” he smiled a wide bright smile, and you did your best to ignore something igniting deep within you.

“It’s funny, is it?” you scowled. “I could sue for this…”

Could you? You didn’t know if you could. But you were too mad to stop.

The man sighed.

“Look…we’re sorry. Parker’s sorry. Steve’s sorry, and I, Bucky, am sorry,” he told you, his voice softening. “Parker can’t play darts for shit but he’s never been a safety hazard until now. It was bad luck. He sure as hell won’t be playing again. Now, how about we get you and your friends a round of drinks on the house to apologise? And if you still wanna stay after that, you can get as much beer and pool as you want – no charge.”

You looked at Parker who was still visibly panicking but not quite as much, then Steve who watched you curiously. Wanda and Vis were nodding effusively as if encouraging you to accept his offer. You were still angry but didn’t really want to piss off the local motorcycle gang on your first night here. You were grateful for this de-escalation, even if you were still mad. You could practically see the room start to relax again.

“Fine” you sighed with defeat, rubbing the sore spot on your backside. “But a warning you were about to do that would’ve been nice”.

He laughed, “Yeah…but I didn’t want you to freak out”.

Ugh. His laugh. His perfect laugh.

You rolled your eyes, annoyed that he was right, you would’ve freaked out if you’d known. You felt yourself mellowing, then became irritated at yourself for folding so easily for a handsome man. Habit of a lifetime, huh?

“Maybe you should still ask before getting that close to someone” you muttered.

“Point taken”.

He smiled with amusement and gestured you towards the bar and you followed, nodding to Wanda and Vis that you’d be right back. The rest of the bar’s patrons went back to their drinks and conversations as if nothing had happened. The darts game continued, with Parker noticeably sitting down away from anything sharp and pointy.

“He means well…he’s new at all this,” Bucky explained as he watched your eyes follow Parker. “He gets ahead of himself when they rile him up”.

“Well, your friends thought it was hilarious”.

“Trust me, they were laughing at him. Not at you. But yeah, it was kinda funny”.

You huffed and leaned on the bar, giving him a side eye and only replying with your drink order. Bucky signalled to the bartender who nodded and looked flustered as tried to speed up serving his customer.

“Your bartender sucks” you muttered.

“I mean he’s a little slow but-,”

“No. He sucks. Why is he doing a Guinness now? You pour a Guinness first and let it settle, do the rest of the drinks, then come back and top it off,” you explained as you pointed to the sloppily poured lager he’d put on the bar. “And does your customer want any beer with that foam?”

Bucky laughed again. “Well, okay. Point taken, Sugar. Are you saying you could do better?”

“Sure. A monkey could do better…”

He laughed again, turning to look at you as he smiled and watched you with curious eyes. “What did you say your name was again…?”

*

[startanewdream]

Halloween

Written for the @greenhouse-seven's No-Tricks-Only-Treats event, and my prompt was Trick or Treat. Harry and Ginny, angst with the promise of better days, around 900 words.

*****

There’s a radiant smile on Ginny’s face when she comes home holding two bags filled with candies and chocolate bars.

“Wow,” says Harry, watching her pour the candies into a giant cauldron. “Did you get swapped with Ron?”

In answer, Ginny winks at him before pulling him closer and proceeding to kiss him in a way that leaves no room for identity questions.

“Wow,” he repeats again, breathless.

She laughs. “I got excited on the store. We need to be ready for trick-or-treat! After lunch, I’m leaving again to get the decoration.”

“Decoration?”

“Yes! We cannot be the only house on the street that isn’t decorated for Halloween.” She frows suddenly. “You do remember it’s Halloween in a couple days?”

Harry nods. He isn’t indifferent to Halloween — he’s seen the houses decorated every time he walked down the street this past week, especially at night, when they are lit with candles or buzzing with electricity. He didn’t know that Godric’s Hollow made such an event of Halloween, but he guesses it was to be expected, with the village famous amongst wizarding folk.

Only he didn’t know how it would make him feel.

Harry had been glad to move to Godric’s Hollow; he and Ginny had found the perfect cottage, a place that promised home the moment they had visited the first time, and it had been so for the last six months. He’d never had second thoughts, but this week…

“I’ve never celebrated Halloween,” he says, aware that’s only half the problem. “I mean, there were feasts at Hogwarts, but at home… this is new.”

“But before—”

“The Dursleys wouldn’t even acknowledge Halloween.”

“I wasn’t thinking about them.” Ginny huffles, lips pursued as always happens when the Dursleys are mentioned. “I meant before.” Her expressions softs. “Your parents celebrated with you.”

“I guess.”

She caresses his arm. “I’m sure they did. I’m thinking about a small chubby baby dressed as a pumpkin.”

Harry smiles for a moment. Ginny’s expression doesn’t shift; she still looks concerned.

“What else is troubling you?”

If it were anyone else, Harry would just shrug off. But since it’s Ginny, he allows himself to sink in the nearest chair.

“It’s Halloween. My parents died on Halloween, and… I don’t know why it’s bothering me…”

She sighs. “Well, they were your parents.”

“I mean, Halloween was never a problem before, I didn’t even know the date of their deaths exactly until Hagrid told me when I was eleven, and yet—it’s weighing on me.”

Ginny bites her lip. There’s no pity in her eyes, for which Harry feels grateful. With her right hand, she twirls her wand; behind him, in the kitchen, the oven is lit, and Harry knows she’s preparing tea for them. With her free hand, she runs her hand through his hair, very smooth.

“I am no expert,” she mumbles, “but it seems to be as if what you are feeling is grief.”

“They died over twenty years ago.”

“And you were too young to understand. Then you were at Hogwarts without a break—your Halloweens were always eventful—and now you have no other trouble, and we are here, twenty years later, where everything happened. It’s okay to have feels.”

“Not when it’s troubling us. You looked so excited.”

Ginny twirls her wand again and a cup of tea materializes in front of Harry. “Your troubles are my troubles, remember? We are together.”

He sips the tea. “Exactly. I… I want to do this with you. Decorate the house—Halloween, Christmas, Valentine’s Day if you want—”

“Singing dwarfs and pink-shaped hearts? No, please.”

Harry chuckles for a moment. “Every holiday.” He holds her hands, places a soft kiss on her wrists. “That’s why I didn’t want to say anything.”

“And I wish you had told me sooner.” She offers him a smile. “We can lay low on Halloween. No parties or anything, just a quiet night. Visit their graves, leave some flowers.”

“This would be nice.” He closes his eyes for a moment, but instead of picturing the cemetery, he thinks about the happy family in the monument in the square; imagines them going out together every Halloween, sees that little boy growing up in a loving family with whom he would share Halloween costumes. The life that could have been. The life his parents wanted him to have. “But let’s open the house for any kid playing trick-or-treats.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Yes, but also… I think this is what my parents would want. And I want to celebrate my second first Halloween with you.”

She kisses him softly. “It will be also my first Halloween. There were no trick-or-treats on the Burrow.”

“That’s why you went over-the-top.”

“Guilty.”

He chuckles again. He enjoys the idea of sharing all firsts with Ginny, every little milestone in their relationship. There will be a moment for missing his parents this Halloween, and also a moment of hope for better days. Maybe even daydream about a small chubby baby with Ginny’s red hair and his green eyes, though this thought he will keep to himself for a while.

His smile is serene now.

“You know, Muggles dress up for Halloween. I could go with you and get a costume.”

“Oh.” Ginny giggles. “I already got mine. I’m going as a witch. Broomstick, wand and hat, the full set.”

“Well.” He touches her face, leans closer. “You’ve already bewitched me, Ginny.”

[zosa95]

Gemma: How about your teen years?

Jude: Much of the same, but add in stupid teen activities. We drank cheap-ass booze, smoked weed, occasionally experimented with harder drugs, built bonfires for parties, skinny dipped, gave each other poke tattoos, and played games like Seven Minutes in Heaven.

Gemma had read of such activities and even pretended to experience them in acting roles. But her real life was devoid of any teen adventures like this.

Gemma: (hesitantly) Did you and Chessie date?

Jude: Nah, contrary to the rumors, there was never anything between us. She and Marcello became an item in their first year in high school. She went straight from "that shit is gross" to "I'm going to marry Marcello." And while every couple I know has wobbles in their relationships, not these two.

Gemma: Why would there be rumors to the contrary?

Jude: Because she always picked me for Seven Minutes in Heaven. She loved to piss off Tinsley, and she knew I wouldn't paw at her. We usually planned the next party or trip into Windenburg during our seven minutes. Growing up in a tiny village has disadvantages. Everybody knows everything. If you tried to purchase condoms, you were labeled a lecher, and no one would let you date their kid. If you bought a pregnancy test, then you were grounded until adulthood. And forget about getting booze unless you bribed the town drunk to go into the liquor store for you.

Gemma: Where was my other sister? I don't even know her name.

Jude: Carlotta - never Carla or any other nickname - is wired differently. Whereas Chessie saw rules as suggestions, Carlotta saw them as laws. She's damned smart and very reserved. While Chessie and I ran wild, Carlotta practiced the piano or calligraphy, read books, and dressed up for tea. Sometimes, despite their age gap, she'd play dolls with Eva.

Jude: She applied for a posh boarding school between Britechester and Windenburg during high school. It was there she found her people. She thrived in that way of life and never looked back. She went to uni and law school, where she met her old money-husband from a titled family. Don't get me wrong, they are always gracious when you talk to them, but they live in a different world.

Gemma: Carlotta isn't going to like me, is she? I'm the illegitimate child and a former Del Sol actress. I hardly fit into a posh life.

Jude shrugged and didn't answer immediately.

Jude: (carefully) Carlotta has always felt like a misfit in her family. I believe that you will fit in and become Chessie's best friend. That will bother Carlotta. And yes, slotting you in the family tree will cause her discomfort, too. Her husband will probably ask if you trained at the prestigious acting uni in Britechester and which Shakespeare plays you have starred in. When you say you starred in daytime television, he'll likely say, "I think our family maids watched that type of show."

Gemma: (slowly) I see.

Jude: Gem, don't take it personally, and don't allow it to affect your relationship with the rest of your family. Carlotta isn't mean; I'm positive she won't try to cause you grief. But don't expect a lot from her.

Gemma: (quietly) Okay.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Reunion / Post-TRF Pt. 4

meetinginsamarra said: I'm very curious about "Reunion Part 4" 🙂

As I mentioned on this post, I needed a list for this weekend, and this was the only response I got, so I hope you guys enjoy this list! <3 As usual, if you have a fic to add, please do!!

=====

Tea by Art and Soul (K, 693 w., 1 Ch. || Angst & Friendship, Reunion) – John’s habit of making tea for two has little use, considering his flat-mate has been dead for three years. But he keeps on making that second cup, hoping he’d wake up and it’d be gone. But it never was… (FFNet)

Black Cars by johnsarmylady (T, 1,186 w., 5 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Post-TRF) – John is getting on with his life...if only he didn't see black cars everywhere! A short Post Reichenbach tale in 221B style in 5 parts. (FFNet)

Hallucinations can't open doors by Bespectacled dreamer (K+, 1,330 w., 1 Ch. || Reunion, Hurt / Comfort, Friendship, Hallucinations, John’s Wedding, Light Humour) – In which John gets married and Sherlock gets a broken nose. (FFNet)

Here to Stay by MockJayPhoenix12 (K, 1,574 w., 1 Ch. || Post Reunion, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Headache, Bed Sharing, Care Taker Sherlock, Hand Holding, Fluff) – On Sherlock's first day home, John wakes with a migraine. (FFNet)

Given In Evidence by verityburns (M, 5,034 w., 19 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Angst, Drama, Case Fic, Romance, BAMF!John, Submissive Sherlock, First Kiss, Humour) – Coming back from the dead can be a complicated business. With a new case on the horizon, rebuilding a life is one thing... rebuilding a friendship quite another. For Sherlock and John, things may never be just the same...

This Year by DiscordantWords (T, 6,283 w., 2 Ch. || TEH Divergence / No Mary, New Year’s Eve, John’s A Mess, Jealous John, Awkward Conversations, Trapped in a Closet, Estranged After Return, John POV, Semi-Reunion, Angry John, First Kiss, Reconciliation, Clueless Sherlock, Happy Ending) – Last year, Sherlock Holmes showed up at the Landmark with a fake moustache and a bad French accent and threw John's entire life into disarray with two words: "Not dead." This year, there are more surprises in store.

The Skin Over My Heart by standbygo (E, 8,849 w., 1 Ch. || Post-Hiatus, Fake Relationship, Case Fic, Dog Tags, Military, Homophobia, Gay Bashing, POV First Person Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Declarations of Love, Undercover, Haircuts, Flashbacks, Touching, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Metaphors, Introspection, Hand Jobs, On the Couch, John’s Past, Angst with Happy Ending) – Sherlock and John are still trying to adjust to Sherlock's return from his hiatus when John's friend Bill Murray brings them a case. Someone is targeting the LGBTQA+ members of Bill's unit. John and Sherlock go undercover at the unit, but when they end up having to flirt to flush out the suspect, Sherlock realizes he's in over his head.

There's So Much Labour Just in Breathing Lately by Susan (E, 12,708 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF / Mentions of S3 Events, Romance, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Grieving John, Mutual Pining, Meddling Mycroft, Therapy, Ambiguous Hopeful Ending, Infidelity) – The dreams he hated most – the ones that left him a sweating, shaking mess when he woke – were the ones in which Sherlock was just Sherlock. Laughing or drinking tea. Sitting across the table from him at Angelo’s eating pasta. Trailing his open hand behind him on the way to the bedroom. “C’mon, John. I’m about to have my way with you.”

Sunday Evening 6 p.m. by Silvergirl (E, 30,712 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF / TEH Divergence, Grief / Mourning / Stages of Grief, Mutual Pining, Dreams, Reunion, Love Confessions, First Kiss / Time, Alternating First Person POV, Smart John, BAMF Boys, Emotional Love Making, Song Fic, Referenced Suicide, First Kiss / Time, Touching, Sleepy Sherlock, Blow Job, Villain Mary) – Six months after Sherlock jumped, he learns that John is dedicating songs to him on a requests-only radio programme. Is John just working through grief? Or is he—communicating? Fixes the hell out of S3 by pre-empting it altogether. Remember, as TAB told us, John is Pretty Damn Smart.

Inscrutable to the Last by DiscordantWords (M, 48,842 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, Alternate S3, John’s Blog/S3 is a Story By John, Divorce, Marital Difficulties, John is a Mess, Emotional Reunion, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Grief / Mourning, Pining John, First Kiss, Adorably Clueless Sherlock, Nostalgia, Love Confessions, Eventual Happy Ending) – He wasn't Sherlock, he couldn't work miracles. All he'd ever been able to do was write about them.

The Hollow Woman by ScopesMonkey (M, 51,335 w., 22 Ch. || Post-TRF, Major Character Death, Mystery, Romance, Friendship, Family, Angst, Crime, Reunion, First Kiss / Time, Nightmares, Doctor John, Jealous Sherlock, Jealous John, BAMF John, Angry John, Dub-Con, Rough Sex, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Villain Mary, Open Ending) – Forced to return to London sooner than expected, Sherlock falls into a case too close to home. Part 1 of the Hollowverse series

Spare Parts by Raina_at (E, 63,497 w., 10 Ch. || 24th Century / Futurism AU || Post TRF, Pre-TRF Relationship, Case Fic, Mutual Pining, Estrangement, Reconciliation, Science Fiction, Reunion, Nightmares, Angry John, Cybernetic John, Emotional Discussions / Heart to Heart, POV John, Scars, Past Drug Use, Forehead Touching, Emotional Lovemaking, Kissing, Apologies, Kidnapping, Rescue Mission, BAMF John, Bed Sharing, Top Sherlock) – Two years ago, Sherlock Holmes jumped off the roof of New London Hospital. Two months ago, he walked into John's clinic as if no time had passed at all. John hasn't seen him since. But then Sherlock knocks on John's door with a case he can't say no to, and while figuring out why the biggest manufacturer or synthetic limbs in the System is going after veterans, they also need to find out whether there's a way to fix what's broken between them. Part 1 of Realigning Gravity

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns. 

MARKED FOR LATER

Out of the Shadow of Missed Chances by MargueriteSomebodyoranother (T, 1,132 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post TRF, Reunion, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining) – He’d had eighteen months - it seemed like a goddamned eternity at the time - and he never uttered a word.

Sound of Silence by SailorChibi (G, 1,554 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF, Emotional Trauma, Implied Past Torture, Mutism, Reunion, Protective John, BAMF John) – Sherlock returns from the dead but nothing is like it was. He doesn't speak and John doesn't understand, not until an encounter with the Yard explains the depths of Sherlock's trauma. 

English as a Foreign Language by standbygo (G, 1,739 w., 2 Ch. || Post-TRF, PTSD Sherlock, Reunion) – Sherlock is not quite right after Mycroft pulls him out of Serbia.

Dear Sherlock by by Tara Laurel (T, 7,729 w., 3 Ch. || Post-TRF, Reunion, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Christmas) – "John was happy. Too happy. Of course Sherlock preferred to see his friend in good spirits, especially after the cloud of depression that had hung over him the past weeks, but this was simply maddening." John's got a serious case of Christmas spirit, but is there something serious hidden behind it - something that surprises & saddens a self-proclaimed sociopath? (FFNet)

Nothing to Celebrate by DiscordantWords (M, 30,066 w., 23 Ch. || Post TRF / S3 Rewrite, Not Nice Mary, Secrets, Lies, Pining, Angst with Happy Ending) – Sherlock Holmes is back from the dead. Things only get worse from there.

Ride On by Silvergirl (M, 34,342 w., 9 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || TEH Divergence, Reunion, First Kiss / Time, Mutual Pining, Alternating POV, Sherlock’s Violin, Music, Original Characters, Happy Ending) – After the disastrous reveal at the Landmark, John tells Sherlock there can be no excuse for what he’s done, and no forgiveness. Sherlock leaves London and starts a new life, and not even the British Government knows where. It’s up to John to track him down and make things right, with a trip around the world and a clue only John would recognize.

Full Mount by ArwaMachine (E, 54,887 w., 10 Ch. || Post-TRF, Fighting, John Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Bed Sharing, Mixed Martial Arts, Angry John, Sherlock and No Boundaries, Masturbation, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fighting, Toplock, Reunion) – After Sherlock unceremoniously returns from the dead, John finds himself inexplicably angry all the time. So he does what any emotionally-constipated British man does: he joins a Mixed Martial Arts gym. As John throws himself into the sport and joins in on underground no-holds-barred brawls, situations arise that just might force John to face what is really going on underneath all the rage.

Over/Under Series by khorazir (M, 319,561 w. across 5 works || Cabin Pressure Crossover || Post-S2 / Reichenbach, ReunionFriendship, Angst, Humour, Pining, Cycling, Mountains, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Dev. Rel., Case Fic, First Kiss, Pining, Family Issues, Inexperienced Sherlock) – After his Fall, Sherlock travels the world to destroy what remains of James Moriarty's criminal empire. When things don't go according to plan and he finds himself in desperate need of a discreet means of travel, cue MJN Air ...