#i was just happy to be a contender‚ i was just aching for anything

[wardenparker]

The Unbearable Weight of Perfection, ch 11

Javi Gutierrez x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When an accident of fate throws Javi G into the path of his soulmate, his instinct is to dive in head first. Adjusting to life as the fated partner of someone you barely know is going to be harder than either of you suspect, but anything worth having is worth working for. Isn't it?

(This story is heavily inspired by the lovely house museums that I work in every day and the fantastic few months that HBO was using our houses to film a TV show in fall! I spent each day on that set in wonder and I can't wait to share the experience with all of you through this story.)

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 5.3k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this story include: Cursing, alcohol, food, references to abusive family members -- i.e. Lucas, discussion of money/finances.* Big surprises, celeb name dropping, fluff and love. Summary: A big party holds a surprise for everyone involved. Notes: Apologies for the short chapter this week, loves. Keri had a particularly tough work week and I was in and out of the hospital multiple times with my husband. Everyone's okay now, but it's been an exhausting week.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10

Saturday, September 13, 2025

“A wrap party at two in the afternoon?” Javi asks again, even though he knows the time just as well as you do. He’s just questioning the time, the attire, everything about the party Alex had decided to throw at his newly purchased home. “Housewarming and wrap party in one?” He poses, adjusting his shirt in the mirror as he waits to help you zip your dress up.

“It’s got to be an extra wrap party.” The official one was last night and everyone was out insanely late. So late that you and Javi had had breakfast soaking in the bathtub this morning to soothe your aching muscles as well as get clean. You’d danced practically until dawn. “I love this suit on you, amor.” The charcoal pinstripe with the contrasting soft blue dobby shirt underneath is a handsome pairing and by the magic of paying way too much attention, you had made the dress you’re wearing tonight out of a satin fabric that matches the blue of his shirt.

“I’m just surprised that Alex wants to throw a party.” He admits. “Although we were all surprised when he announced he bought a house. It was very…sudden.”

���Not so sudden.” You contend, nursing a growing smile. In the mirror of your shared bathroom, you and Javi get ready side by side like you always do when you go out. “He and Billie both wanted better places. I think it’s sweet. A big gesture for her.”

“I know, but still.” He adjusts his cufflinks, having decided to forgo the tie but still wear a little bit of bling. “He just snapped up the first house he toured.”

“Maybe they really liked it?” The earrings and necklace you have picked out were a gift from Javi, of course. Little pearl pieces that complement the soft look you’ve chosen perfectly. “Or maybe we only heard about this one because he chose it. There could have been others.”

Javi frowns slightly, biting his lip. “Would you have preferred we pick out a house together?” He asks. “Property. I mean, I already had this place.”

“Cariño, no! I love this place.” The structure of the house is built now, with the work crews now focusing on things inside and finessing the exterior. “We’re building a dream house. That’s extraordinary and I love it.”

“Okay.” You’ve turned to him, giving him your full attention and he takes your hands. “I just want you to be happy here.” He murmurs softly. “And if you’re happy, I’ll not say another word.”

“I’m extremely happy.” You promise him. “With you and our life and all of it.”

He smiles softly and reaches up to touch the necklace. “You look beautiful, amor.” He murmurs softly. “I am so lucky you are mine.”

“I love you too.” It’s just a sweet, little moment in the broad scheme of things, but Javi has a way of making even the small things seem enormous moving. It’s one of his many talents.

He smiles and leans in to peck his lips against yours, careful of your lipstick. He can kiss you more after the requisite photos. “Are we ready?”

“I think so.” The last thing left is to grab your purse, and that is on the dresser in your bedroom. “I’ll grab my purse and we’ll set the alarm on the way out. Easy peasy.”

“Easy peasy.” He grins. “But we have to get that machine we got them as a housewarming present.”

“It’s a pizza oven,” you remind him with a grin. “I wrapped it and put it by the door. We just have to grab it on the way out.”

“Pizza oven.” He nods. “That’s right. Alex liked ours.”

“Yup. He straight out threatened to steal it.” That particular dinner party had been a hell of a lot of fun. Alex and Billie and Jason and Moira had all come over to make personal pizzas and play poker. “So now he won’t have to.”

“That’s good.” He chuckles. “Now I just have to worry about him taking my money.” He had been surprisingly good. Not the best Javi’s played again, but he had a good poker face when he wasn’t stuffing his face with pizza and begging to bet the pizza oven.

“That’s why we don’t play poker every week,” you remind him, giggling as you swipe your purse off the dresser and follow him down the stairs. “Alex has enough money, he doesn’t need ours.”

“True.” Javi smirks. “And I’ll only play strip poker with you.”

“Damn right.” Javi is far better than you at poker but that doesn’t seem to matter to either of you. The fun part is what happens after one of you loses.

He chuckles, honestly wishing he had time to drag you back to the bedroom, but you had wanted to get there a little early to help out however you can.

“When we get home,” you hum, reading his mind purely because you’re thinking the exact same thing.

He winks, taking your hand and guiding you out of the bedroom towards the door. “My car or yours?”

“Yours.” He doesn’t let you pick up the large box, so you get the door and set the alarm behind you. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be good at driving in heels.”

“I’ll make sure the top is up so you don’t mess up your hair.” He promises.

“Thank you, baby.” It’s as simple as that, and within two minutes you’re pulling out of the garage and heading across town to Alex and Billie’s new home.

It’s different driving with the top up, but at least the conversation isn’t shouted over the wind. “There’s a lot of traffic today.” He hums, looking at the lines of cars. “Unusual for this area of town, right?”

“I don’t know,” you laugh, leaning against the window as he drives. “I think we usually spend Saturdays at home. Or at least we don’t go out until later. This could be totally normal and we have no idea.”

“Why would I want to go out when I have everything I need at home?” He asks, smirking slightly as he waits to turn.

“Because,” you laugh, poking his arm. “My husband likes to shop.”

He does, shrugging off that truth easily. You still have not completely gotten used to spending his money, but you’re better about it.

It’s sunny and warm today. Mid-September means it’s a touch dry but not dangerously so, and most people are still out and about in good spirits. The drive is short, and the gated community where Alex and Billie now live is bustling. The block is full of expensive cars and the people exiting them are all well dressed for the party they’ve been invited to. Most, like you, have brought some kind of host or housewarming gift, and many friends are amongst the group.

“Wow.” Javi is impressed when after giving your name to the security, you are motioned to a different line and guides towards a valet. “He went all out for this.” There’s a humongous white tent that is looming up over the tall fence, dominating the space.

“Big damn housewarming party,” you observe with a mix of awe and being very impressed.

“Yes it is.” Javi has been to a lot of parties and it’s got a lot of security for a housewarming.

You make it up to the front door is a steady stream of party guests, and find Alex there in his foyer shaking hands and giving out hugs. “Hey, you’re here!” He turns immediately when he sees you and clasps you and Javi both in a tight hug.

“We wouldn’t miss it for anything.” Javi promises, smiling at how he is dressed. A little fancier than he expected the party to be, even with the formal wear marked on the invite.

“Biggest and fanciest housewarming I’ve ever been to.”

“Well,” Alex shrugs and grins, giving you one more squeeze before he lets go. “We wanted to make an impression.”

“You have done that.” He promises, pulling you to his side again and smiling. “Everyone will be talking about your party.”

“The last party we had that everybody couldn’t stop talking about was your wedding,” he reminds you both with a wink.

“Yeah it was.” There’s something leading in that comment, but he doesn’t say anything. “Where is Billie?” He asks instead

'Upstairs." Alex beams at the mention of his soulmate's name. "She'll be down in a little bit. She just wants everything to be perfect."

“I’m sure it will be.” There’s something he’s not saying, but rather than being suspicious, Javi smiles. “Anything we can do?” He asks Alex. “Last minute party prep is always chaotic. My party planners were always frantic.”

“I think we’ve got everything under control.” Alex is beaming. He’s definitely not saying something, but he’s clearly having so much fun with his secret that neither you nor Javi wants to spoil it for him. “You guys can head out to the garden—” Billie loves calling it a garden so Alex is phasing yard out of his vocabulary, “and grab a drink. Everyone should be here soon.”

Javi nods and smiles as he guides you away. The clues are starting to click and he doesn’t want to voice what he thinks this might be in case he’s wrong. “A drink sounds good, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely.” It’s sort of an unspoken rule at this point that the booze is always good when it comes from Alex. He tends to do as campaigns for liquor companies most often than other things, which means he always has top shelf stuff.

“Wow, they really went all out.” Javi sees all the fresh flowers as you come out onto the patio that will serve as the open bar for the moment. The cocktail menu impressive. “What do you want to start with?”

"I'm feeling fancy, how about you?" When Javi nods, you ask the bartender for two of the blood orange French 75s on the cocktail list. It's a beautiful drink for a beautiful day, and you have your beautiful husband to boot.

“Wow.” Javi turns towards the tent. “Impressive.” He chuckles. “I would not want to be in charge of setting that up or taking it down.”

"They hired a company," you observe, looking around at waiters in all black carrying trays of things to nibble on. It's a bright and sunny day which means people are congregating in shaded areas. "Leave it to Alex to show off for a housewarming." The laugh in your voice is obvious as you walk through the party on Javi's arm. "I guess we're just going to have to step up our housewarming plans if this is what our friends are doing."

“Yeah?” Javi’s eyes sparkle with mischief. “We could blow this party out of the water.” He predicts.

"I know you want a big party," you laugh, nudging him. "We'll see how competitive we're feeling by the end of the night."

He chuckles, looking around and recognizing a lot of Alex’s former co-stars. “Look.” He murmurs. “Meryl is here.” He so wants her to be in his next movie.

“Holy shit.” It startled you out of whatever thought you were having when you following the direction he points his glass in. Across the lawn, Meryl Streep and a whole group of other Hollywood A-listers are laughing and chatting. “I guess I…forget how famous you and Alex actually are? That you…you know her?”

“I’m trying to convincer the studio to budget for her to be in the next movie.” He admits with a small smile, nodding.

“In—” your eyes widen. “In the movie you’re writing…about me?”

“Yeah.” His grin gets a little wider. “Want her to play the older version of you and Mamie to play you at the age you are now.”

“Oh sure, because that is the simplest casting in the world,” you huff, because Javi’s ideas are nothing if not grandiose. “Let’s just get Louisa Jacobson to play the character as a teenager while we’re at it.”

“Does she look like Meryl?” Javi asks seriously, not recalling the name straight away.

“That’s one of her daughters,” you grin and squeeze his arm. “She’s on that period drama I like.”

“Ohhhhhh.” Nods immediately. “Then yes. We should. It would be fitting. I will talk to the producers.”

“You already have producers?” You knew he’d talked to someone, but this is the first time you’re hearing any kind of confirmation on that front.

“I sent a few pages over to my agent and it was passed on.” He admits, shrugging slightly. “They have the option on it for the next three months before it’s finished.” He didn’t understand that part of the deal, but apparently they paid him a lot of money for the idea of him finishing the script and being able to shoot it.

That makes a hell of a lot more sense to you than someone jumping at a screenplay inspired by your life, and you nod. “We should still say hello to your friends,” you encourage, not wanting him to be blue.

“We can talk to them later.” He promises with a grin. “Unless you want introductions?” His eyes sparkling with mischief and he winks at you.

"I'm too nervous now," you admit, and if you were holding something larger that a champagne flute you might eve duck behind it to hide.

“Then let’s find Jason and Moira.” He suggests, knowing your best friend will ground you and keep you from bouncing off the walls when you realize that Elton John and his husband, David are also walking into the garden.

Characteristically for Moira and Jason, you find them over by a corner where they can survey the whole party. Being the most introverted pair in your friend group, they like to take stock of things before diving in, and you can practically see the relief light up Moira's face when she catches sight of you.

“I thought this was supposed to be a small party!” She hisses, dragging you closer and whispering frantically. “Elton John does not attend small parties!”

"I think," you giggle, hugging her tight, "we've been fuckin' lied to. This is not small in any way."

“No is not.” She huffs, pulling back and grinning at you. “You look beautiful. Is this the dress you’ve been telling me about?”

"What do you think?" It had taken ages to work on because of the oversized folds and pleats, but you finally got the off-the-shoulder beauty to cooperate a few days ago and you give a little twirl for your best friend now. "Do you want one, too? It's so comfy."

“I think it’s gorgeous.” She admits, her fingers touching the dress carefully, as if you had made it from spun gold. “It looks like something you would see on a fashion runway.”

“Flatterer.” And yet you’re beaming. Because something you made with your own two hands, designed from your own pencil and paper, out of your own mind, really does feel exceptional. “I’ll make yours in pink,” you promise her, best your best friend is nothing if not loyal to her favorite color.

“Oh please?” Her eyes brighten and she looks over at her soulmate with nothing but pure adoration. “Jason likes pink too.”

“Pink it is.” You promise, knowing how absolutely perfect it will look on her. Jason will lose his mind.

“You just have to let me pay you.” She chides, wagging her finger at you playfully.

“Never.” And on that point, you stand firm. “One day when it’s a business? Maybe. But for now these are gifts.”

She huffs, glowering at you slightly. “At least let me buy the material?” She asks.

“Fine,” you roll your eyes like it’s a trial but still grin. “You can buy the material for this one.”

“Yay!” She claps her hands together, aware that this is a major victory for you. “We can go shopping soon?” She asks. “If - and it’s a big if - it’s done in time, maybe I can wear it to the premier!”

“I can absolutely have it done for the premiere.” You beam at that suggestion, loving the idea. At this point you’re now making four dresses and two suits so that’s probably all you can manage for one event, but you’re thrilled to do it.

“Are you sure?” She sends you a worried look. “I don’t want you to be stressed out.”

“I’m okay,” you promise. “Compares to what I’m making for myself and for Tamara, this pattern is pretty easy.” And in point of fact? It’s a beautiful feeling to have so many people so eager to wear clothing that you have designed. It feels incredible.

“You know it’s so amazing you are making practically the entire cast’s wardrobe for the red carpet, right?”

“It’s not a big deal.” Even as you say it, it feels like sort of a lie. The best you have is hoping that everyone likes the clothes that you make for them. As long as your friends are happy you couldn’t care less what critics say.

“It’s a very big deal.” She argues. “And you are allowed to be excited about it.”

"Hi everyone!" Alex's voice comes through a speaker system planted around the backyard loud and crystal clear. "Sorry to interrupt everyone's good time, but I'd like to thank you all for coming before we get down to the fun stuff."

“So, thank you.” Everyone has turned towards him and he is about to burst, he is so excited. “Now, the tent is open, if you could please enter and find a seat.” He claps his hands together. “We should get started in about ten minutes.”

There is a little bit of noise and chatter as the confused guests try to guess what could be starting, but since it’s a Hollywood party they’re mostly guessing what could be screened tonight. Maybe Alex has a secret passion project he’s been working on? Who knows.

There are men in resplendent suits, drawing back the flaps of the overly large tent. A big reveal that is as dramatic as it is romantic. To reveal rows of chairs and an aisle leading to a small platform. “Oh god.” It strikes Javi just as soon as he sees it, before the small string orchestra even starts to play.

“Oh…” You grab his hand just a second later, surveying the inside of the enormous tent with wide eyes.

Aisles of wooden chairs are marked with hanging baskets of greenery and large white blossoms. A green carpet runs down the middle aisle and the small platform is framed by the small beautiful green and white florals, and winking fairy lights accent the eaves of the tent’s peaks with elegance.

“Oh my God…” Moira’s hand flies to her chest and water to her eyes. “They’re—?”

“They’re getting married!” You whisper in awe.

“Hey kiddo.”

The soft hum of a deep voice sounds behind you and you whirl around to find your uncle standing there proudly. “Uncle Rick!”

He scoops you up in a hug but motions toward the house. “She asked me to come get you once the announcement was made.”

Javi kisses your hand. “Go.” He urges you. “We will find seats up front.” He promises, aware that you will probably be a little nervous standing beside her, but this is wonderfully gorgeous.

"Te amo." You kiss him quickly before heading off to follow your uncle, thrilled to see him again after ages and ages and under such surprising circumstances.

Billie blows out a breath, nervous and so excited that she can’t keep still as she paces around the guest bedroom that she had turned into her bridal suite. “You look so beautiful.” Her mother coos softly, trying not to make her mascara run again.

"This is the craziest idea we ever could have had." She laughs, pacing again. She hits the end of the room and turns again, and at least this time she's facing her mother. "I'm so excited but it's also completely crazy."

“It’s perfect for the two of you.” She might not have spent much time with Alex Powell, but she knows that they are crazy about each other. He balanced her baby girl out and protects her without crushing those fairy wings she’s had all her life.

"Bills, I swear to god!" You come barreling into the room with your uncle on your heels, but it's all for show. You well up the second you see her shining, gorgeous face, and outright sob a second later.

Your cousin is getting married today and she's wearing the beautiful white peasant dress that she begged you to make for her. The bell-sleeved, Steve Nicks inspired, lacy fairy goddess dress. One of the pieces you're most proud of in your whole life, and she's going to get married in it.

“I know, I know, I couldn’t tell you!” She launches forward to crush you into a hug while she laughs and cries all at the same time. Thank God Alex’s makeup artist had insisted on waterproof eye liner and mascara. “It’s okay, right? That I’m wearing it to get married?”

"Of course it is! It's--it's-- I'm honored and flattered and I'm so happy for you and thank fuck for waterproof makeup!" Both of you are trying so hard not to cry but you know it won't last. Instead you just cling to each other and laugh breathlessly. "You look like a fairy princess." That is the highest commendation you can possible give and you mean it with all your heart.

“That’s what I was going for.” She admits shamelessly. “And the dress- it’s- it’s better than I could have ever imagined.” She admits, stepping back and once again picking up the skirt to twirl around. “It’s like you took my vision and made it better.”

"Has he seen you yet?" She twirls for you and shakes her head and you giggle unabashedly. "He's going to lose his mind, Bils. You look incredible."

“How does he look?” Her eyes go soft and dreamy. Since that night at the hospital, nothing has bothered her at all. At least not where her soulmate is concerned.

Her love is so obvious, worn entirely on her sleeve, and you grin. "Like Cary Grant."

“Cary Grant.” She melts a little and sighs softly. “He perfect, absolutely perfect.”

"Your dad said you wanted me?" You prompt gently. "How can I help, honey? Absolutely anything. The answer is yes."

“Be my maid of honor?” She asks softly, reaching for the bouquet she had made for you to carry.

You basically squeak in response, the two of you squealing and giggling through watery eyes and stuck throats as you throw your arms around each other and share a squeezing tight hug. "Of course I will, honey!"

“I am so glad that you are here.” She manages. “Even though it’s only because of you that I even met Alex!”

"I wouldn't miss this for the world," you promise her. "I'm so glad you found him, honey. And I'm so excited for you to get married today."

She takes a deep breath. “And I’m sorry we didn’t tell you.” She apologizes softly. “We wanted it to be a surprise and Alex didn’t want the press to get wind by accident. Even our event planner’s staff had to sign NDA’s.”

“No apologies necessary. It’s a gorgeous surprise.” As long as she’s happy with how the day goes, you’re happy. And Billie is absolutely ecstatic.

“I wanted this to be perfect and it seems like it is.” She gushes, biting her lip. “We are going to wait to honeymoon, because of the reshoots and ADR stuff for the movie.”

“I think all of us are waiting.” You grin and give her a squeeze. Jason and Moira’s Chicago wedding at his parent’s house is already set and planned for after the premiere, and they have been talking about setting off for somewhere warm after. Santorini or the Azores, knowing Moira. “We’ll have the premiere, all take our honeymoons, and come back to LA just in time for the house to be finished.”

“That’s so exciting.” She turns back to check her reflection one last time. “I’m ready.” She tells you and her mother.

“I’ll go let them know.” Aunt Kay kisses her daughter’s cheeks, beaming as she tries not to cry again. “I’m so proud of you, baby,” she whispers before gliding out the door. She’ll be the one to start things up in the tent, giving you and Billie and Uncle Rick time to get in position downstairs.

Billie turns to you, smiling softly. “Just so you know, mom wants to have a reception for both of us.” She warns. “Her ‘girls need to be celebrated’.” She repeats what your aunt had said. “Because she didn’t get to celebrate with you the first time.”

“I wish I’d known you were here.” You squeeze Billie’s hand before you let her go so she can move back to her father’s side to head downstairs. “We’ll have a family party. All of us together.” Everyone who matters, anyway. Everyone who shares love and support for each other.

“Absolutely.” She agrees, understanding that you don’t want to talk about your mother. “Okay, so I want you to go in ahead of me, obviously.” She tells you as the three of you walk down the hall towards the stairs.

“Does Alex have a best man for me to walk with?” You ask, thanking your past self for your good planning — this dress has pockets and you slip your slim clutch away into the hidden compartment so you can more easily carry the flowers she has handed you.

“His brother is going to be standing beside him, but we decided that you should walk by yourself?” There’s a question in her tone. “Since you are married.”

“Whatever you want,” you promise her. You’d walk with all four of Alex’s brothers if that is what they wanted you to do. As long as it makes them happy.

“I honestly just wanted something simple.” She admits with a grin. “It’s elaborate because of Alex, but he knew exactly what I wanted.”

“We have soulmates with big hearts and big dreams,” you remind your cousin at the bottom of the stairs. “Thankfully we both like having sweet puppy-dog men in our lives.”

“They are perfect for us.” She smiles softly, “even if we didn’t know it at first.” On the outside, she and Alex, you and Javier could not appear more different. However, you mesh so well together, it’s hard to imagine life without the other half of your being.

The ceremony is perfect. Heartfelt words and smatterings of laughter are punctuated with tears, just like a wedding should be. Most of the guests are so shocked at the turn of events that they either sit in awe or cheer raucously, and when Alex's pastor father pronounces them man and wife the applause is unmatched in its joy.

Billie is glowing, her smile wider and brighter than the sun’s rays as she turns to the crowd and lifts her bouquet up.

There are enough young, unmarried, excited guests to amass a crowd, and that crowd is making a hell of a lot of noise as Billie playfully takes aim over their heads. Jason encourages Moira into the mix even though they already have a plan, because he loves to see the giddy grin on her face. Alex's youngest brother's girlfriend joins the fray. There are even a few celebrities you recognize amongst the group. It makes it all the more entertaining when Billie lets her beautiful white and green bouquet fly and the fracas of guests goes wild.

Javi laughs as one of the girls gets tackled in the attempt to catch the bouquet and lets out a wail when she realizes that the greenery isn’t in her hands. He winks at you when you glance at him from your position at the altar.

If it had been you down there putting stock in the superstition, you would have been just as upset not to come out victorious. As it stands, you follow Billie and Alex up aisle with Alex's brother trailing behind you, and step out again into the bright sunlight with you cousin and brand new cousin-in-law.

“You are my favorite person in the world beside my bride, right now.” Alex turns towards you and folds you into a tight hug. “You brought me my soulmate.”

"I will happily take second place," you laugh, returning the hug full force. "Welcome to the family, bud. We're glad to have you."

“Thank you.” He whispers softly. Family is all he really cares about, even his career is second place. He’s become successful despite putting his family first and now that extends to you and Javi.

"You've got the best girl in the whole world." Giving him one more squeeze, you step back to let Alex and Billie come together again. "I hope you know that."

“Without a singular doubt.” He promises, wrapping his hand around her waist and dropping another proud kiss on her lips. “Now we just need to take a million photos.” He teases her with a wink. “For the kids.”

"Always for the children," you laugh.

"Always," Billie agrees, before she looks back at you. She really is beaming so much brighter than the sun. "Do you want to go and grab Javi? He belongs in the family photos, too."

“I’m right here.” Javi steps forward, having been talking with your aunt and uncle as they made their way out of the tent. The other guests have been guided towards the charcuterie buffet for the cocktail hour while family photos are taken.

"Mi amor." In the unexpected light of another wedding, you move to his side like a magnet. "What do you say? Come and take some photos with us?"

“Absolutely.” He smiles as he reaches out to shake Alex’s hand. “Cousin.” He hums with a chuckle. “I was shocked to find out what this day was, but I’m happy for you both.”

"We didn't want everyone to make a fuss about it." Alex beams, waving everyone over to a separate part of the garden with a particularly beautiful little copse of trees. "We wanted to have a party with everyone we love. We make the fuss, and you all just arrive."

“It was perfect.” Javi assures him. “Now we will make sure that it’s a party everyone will remember for the rest of their lives.”

"I couldn’t agree more." Alex grins, lays another kiss on top of Billie's head, and lets the photographer take over. His family and Billie's family amount to a sizable number of people when all is said and done, and it really does take the better part of an hour before you're all ready to rejoin the rest of the guests. Thankfully, the beautiful fruit trees on their new property provide the perfect backdrop for pictures.

“Can we have one more photo?” Billie asks, turning back to you and Javi. “Just us, and you two?” She asks softly. “I promise this is the last one.”

You tut, doing exactly as she says and moving back into place with Javi at your side. "You can have as many as you want, honey. It's your wedding day."

A few snaps of the photographer’s camera gets the exactly shot that Billie wants. Something that she will frame and keep on the wall as a favorite wedding memory. The people responsible for bringing her the soulmate she was worried she would never meet, beaming together on the perfect day.

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[twentysidednerd]

hello i’m bored and need something to take my mind off of Bad Thoughts so here’s a list of my top 5 favorite LOA characters regardless of campaign:

1. Ko Tetsutora - I mean. Do i even have to elaborate lmao. her whole vibe is fantastic and i’m a sucker for the reckless, older sister, punk types of characters. she’s a badass and i love her. she does anything for the people she loves and the causes close to her heart and i am just. ah, i love her

2. Victoria Isaacs - On the other side of the character types, we have Victoria lol. She feels so tragic most of the time and knowing more about her on the second, third, and even fourth rewatch of “Curse of Strahdanya” makes her even more tragic. I’m a firm believer that her situation with Ilmater was kinda similar to Marius Renathyr’s situation with Lethander. how the Duchess of Sin was able to exert so much power over Marius that Lethander was unable to fully reach Marius despite multiple attempts. I believe that because Victoria is a half shadar-kai elf with the Raven Queen’s blessing quite literally in her blood, she was never Ilmater’s. Perhaps he tried to answer her prayers, but she was a child of the Raven Queen. and she was already suffering enough as it was. knowing what i know about Ilmater, i don’t think he wanted Victoria to inflict more needless suffering on herself (wow that was an essay, i’m sorry. i just really like Victoria lol)

3. Caprice De Sesto - another contender for the “stuck under the influence of the wrong person” crowd. he’s such a goof but also has such a big heart and doesn’t wanna see anyone get hurt. his songs make me laugh as much as they make my heart ache

4. Silas “Shepherd” Morgan - always a sucker for a cowboy. AND a gunslinger?? girl, i’m sold lol. another character with a huge heart and a moral code as admirable as it is fierce. he’d do anything for the people he loves but also tries to adhere to his moral code as best he can. his scenes with the kids from the mill are just. mmm so good

5. Daisy (i can’t remember if she has a last name) - What?? An NPC?? No fuckin way! Look, she’s a baddie and no one will ever tell me otherwise. she’s been through so much but absolutely REFUSES to let it get her down. she’s funny, she’s sassy, she’s hardy. i love her so much. she also finds a way to take up her own agency in a campaign that’s as brutal as Icebound and i’ve never been so happy for a fictional character lol

(obviously this is not an exhaustive list. i love a lot of the characters in the Avantris world but these are just MY personal top five who i think about the most :P)

[grahamfolgersdeliciousnotebooks]

Happy Jmart-iversary!!! Have some S1 annoyances-to-lovers (or, well, annoyances-to-mutual pining) Jmart to celebrate their day!

Martin usually has more shame than this.

Despite what certain Archivists might think, he isn’t oblivious. He knows Jon doesn’t like him, and while Jon seems to think that Martin has made it his mission in life to bother him whenever possible, Martin usually does his best to avoid Jon as much as civility and his job will allow.

But the thing is, Martin is lonely.

Worse than that, he’s 1 AM Lonely.

Martin has become something of an expert in loneliness, over the years, and he can confidently assert that 1 AM loneliness is the absolute worst. 7 AM loneliness is rough. 8 PM loneliness can be dire. But 1 AM loneliness is utterly, entirely hopeless. If he felt this way while the sun was still up, he might be able to find an excuse to call Tim and Sasha that wasn’t just, “I wanted to hear your voice.” If nothing else, he could walk to a library, or a coffee shop, and remember that there were other people in the world. But at 1 AM, he has nothing to do but sit with the yawning, aching emptiness in his chest, and feel like he is the last person left on the face of the earth.

Except for Jonathan Sims. 

He’d always sort of suspected that Jon had a deeply unhealthy work schedule, but he was still surprised at how often he wandered out of Document Storage after midnight, expecting to have the Archives to himself, only to run into Jon in the breakroom. He’s always more irritable at night – which Martin wouldn’t have thought possible, a month ago – but an irritable Jon is better than nothing, which is how Martin has found himself standing outside Jon’s office in his pajamas, socked feet barely keeping out the chill of the scuffed linoleum floor.

There’s still time to change his mind. He could still turn around, go back to the cot in Document Storage, and sit in his insomnia with some semblance of dignity intact.

He knocks. 

There’s no response, but Martin’s used to that, so he lets himself in. When the door opens, Jon lifts his head from his work to stare daggers at him.

“Yes?” he snaps. “What do you want?”

“Just– J-Just checking in. Do you need anything?”

“No,” Jon says with a finality that borders on rudeness.

“Right.” Martin can take a hint, so he starts backing out of the door. “I’ll, uh… I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Jon purses his lips like he wants to say, See to it that you do, but is aware that that would be rude even for him, and says nothing. Martin winces as he pulls the door shut behind him.

Well. He did achieve what he was setting out to. He no longer feels like he’s completely alone in the world – there’s at least one asshole here with him.

Somehow, that thought comforts him enough that he is finally able to sleep.

*

The next few days, Martin manages to sleep a bit better. The Archives are remarkably empty on the weekend – not even Jon is working Saturdays, this week – so he has to contend with 3 PM loneliness (and 4 PM loneliness, and 5 PM loneliness…) but by 1 AM he is sound asleep. When the work week starts again on Monday, Martin is feeling almost well-rested.

Jon, it seems, isn’t.

He hasn’t stayed late at the office for the past few days, but whatever he was doing away from work, Martin feels confident that it wasn’t sleeping. He’s in an even worse mood than usual, and chews Martin out for a full 5 minutes about a simple formatting error that Martin has seen Tim and Sasha make before. 

(Tim used to work in publishing, he thinks but does not point out, he built his career on finding formatting problems, so if even he screws this up occasionally, I’m pretty sure it’s not a huge deal. But of course, when Tim makes a mistake, he gets a note on his report asking him to revise it, not a 10-minute lecture in which it’s implied that he doesn’t take seriously the historic institution for which he works, and that he may as well be spitting on the grave of Jonah Magnus with each misused semicolon.)

Which makes it all the more embarrassing when 1 AM rolls around and Martin once again hesitates outside the door to Jon’s office. He’s got tea this time, which is a pretty feeble excuse to barge in at 1 in the morning, but it’s a better one than he had last time. He has to shift both mugs to one hand to get the door open.

“Tea?” he asks in lieu of a hello. “I was making some for myself and figured you might want some.” (It’s a bald-faced lie, but Jon doesn’t need to know that.) When Jon doesn’t respond, Martin trips over himself to fill the silence. “It’s, uh. I-It’s herbal. I hope that’s alright. Thought caffeine was probably a bad idea, this time of night.”

“Hm,” is all Jon says in response, but he still takes a sip.

Martin settles into the seat opposite the desk. Jon eyes him suspiciously, but once again says nothing. He turns his attention back to his laptop, and they drink their tea in silence. 

It’s almost pleasant, somehow. The tea is delicious, in Martin’s completely unbiased opinion, and Jon relaxes enough to become a reassuring presence. He doesn’t speak, but he’s a living, breathing human in the same room as Martin, and that’s all Martin needs right now. Jon sighs and coughs and taps his foot, and whenever he notices a mistake in whatever it is he’s reading, he gives an irritable click of his tongue and starts typing furiously. At one point he even laughs. It’s not much – a quiet little bark of a laugh, barely any louder than his sighs – but it still comes as a surprise.

“What?” Martin asks, and Jon startles as though he forgot Martin was there.

Jon looks vaguely mortified to have done something so human and unprofessional as to laugh, but he explains, “Tim’s report on the Ramao case. His methods for obtaining Ramao’s marriage license were… very Tim.”

“Ah.” Martin has a few guesses at what that could mean. “B&E, bribery, or flirting?”

“Flirting,” Jon confirms. “Honestly, I’d prefer a good B&E. At least then I wouldn’t have to explain to Elias why dinner for two at Frescobaldi counts as a business expense.”

“Always happy to do my part,” Martin grins, but his smile droops as he adds, “Though my last break-in didn’t quite go to plan.”

Jon’s face grows serious as well. “Right. How, uh, h-how are you… adjusting?”

“Fine,” Martin says, and it’s not the biggest lie he’s told in his life, but it’s close.

“Right,” Jon says again. He doesn’t ask any follow-up questions, and Martin can’t help but be relieved to let the subject drop, even if the rest of the conversation drops with it. They go back to drinking their tea in silence, and soon enough it’s time for Martin to collect their empty mugs and slink back out of the office.

This time, at least, Jon says good-bye.

“Good night, Martin.”

Martin’s lips twitch upward, just a hair. “Good night, Jon.”

He sets the mugs in the sink and heads back to Document Storage, and he’s asleep within minutes.

*

Tuesday night he manages to fall asleep at a shockingly reasonable hour. Which is wonderful, right up until it isn’t.

He wakes up in a cold sweat from a nightmare that is already fading from his memory. His dad was in it, which is rare. He tries to recall what his face had looked like, but it’s gone. Maybe he hadn’t even had a face – dreams are like that sometimes – but he can still feel it at the edges of his memory, slipping away with each passing second.

He does his best to remember what the dream had been about. He was back in the apartment he used to share with his mother, the tiny, dingy place that forever smelled like mildew and cigarettes even though neither of them smoked, and his father was there. Then he left, again, and his mother was furious. She didn’t need to say that she blamed Martin, he could read it in her face, but she told him anyway. And then the apartment was a hospital room, and there were nurses yelling at him, too – how could he upset his mother at a time like this? Didn’t he know how ill she was? And then the hospital was his new apartment, and the mildew smell wasn’t mildew at all but worms, worms and rot, and he hadn’t spoken to anyone in weeks. He hadn’t spoken to anyone in weeks, and no one had thought to check on him, and the only one in the world who cared whether he lived or died was the woman trying to break down his door and fill him with worms.

So not the best dream he’s ever had.

He checks his phone. 12:22. Great. Too late to talk to anyone, too early to just get out of bed and start the day.

He stares out at the dark room. Document Storage has no windows, and with the hallway light off, there isn’t even any light spilling in under the doorway, so his eyes have nothing to catch on. He can do nothing but sit in the dark as the afterimage of his bright phone screen gets swallowed up by the gloom.

It’s not as though the dream was real. He’s safe for now; the worms can’t get to him here. And he’s not alone in the world. He’s not. His coworkers didn’t just abandon him to die – he’s seen the texts, he knows they had every reason to think he was safe.

Still, if Tim had been out for two full weeks with a stomach bug, Martin would have been on his doorstep with soup and ginger chews and an offer to drive him to the doctor any time he needed. He would have checked up on him. So would Sasha. So would Jon, probably – as much as he likes to present himself as aloof and coldly professional, Martin knows he cares about Tim and Sasha a whole lot more than he lets on. There’s only one person in the Archives who could disappear without being missed.

It isn’t that his friends don’t care about him. He knows they do. But he also knows, with bone-deep certainty, that they don’t care about him as much as he cares about them, and that’s a very lonely feeling.

Martin pushes himself out of bed. He doesn’t know what to do, exactly, but he’s had enough nightmares in his life to know that getting out of bed and away from the room he woke up in is a good place to start.

There’s a light on in Jon’s office. This time, Martin can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed when he steps inside.

Jon is sitting behind his desk, like always, scribbling furiously in the margins of some document Martin doesn’t recognize. He doesn’t even glance up when Martin enters the room this time.

“Yes?”

“Do you–” Martin’s voice is hoarse and rough – he hadn’t thought to get anything to drink when woke up, and now his throat is painfully dry – but he clears his throat and pushes through. “Do you need anything?”

“No.”

“Right.”

Martin takes a seat in the chair beside the desk. He doesn’t try to make conversation. He doubts Jon wants to hear it, and he isn’t feeling up for it, anyway. He just sits and listens to the scratching of Jon’s pen.

He’d be more than happy to sit in silence all night, but Jon keeps pausing his work to shoot suspicious glances Martin’s way, and Martin knows he ought to say something, so he clears his throat again and asks, “Are you sure you don’t need anything?”

“Quite sure, thank you.”

He sounds more than a little irritated. Martin should definitely take that as a sign to leave, but he isn’t ready to go back to sitting in the dark in Document Storage just yet.

“I could make tea?” he offers. “It’s no trouble, really.”

“I don’t need tea,” Jon snaps. “And I don’t need help, and I certainly don’t need a nosy coworker barging into my office every five minutes to try and guilt me into leaving work.”

“What?”

“I know what you’re doing,” Jon insists. “And it’s none of your business how late I work–”

“I don’t care how late you work! I mean, I think you could stand to get some sleep once in a while, but that’s not–”

“Then why are you always hovering around any time I work late?”

Martin is too tired to think better of it before he snaps, “Because I’m lonely, Jon! Because it’s one in the bloody morning and I can’t sleep and everyone else I know is already in bed. Believe me, if there was a single other person I could be talking to right now, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Oh.”

That’s all Jon says. Martin isn’t sure what he’s going to say if he stays in this room any longer, so he stands up.

“I’m going to make tea. Do you want any?”

Jon nods.

When Martin comes back with two perfectly-brewed cups of camomile-and-vanilla, Jon has set aside his pen and his notes and is fidgeting at his desk. Anxiety and shame flicker across his face when he accepts the mug that Martin offers him.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I wasn’t thinking. I thought you just wanted me out of the Archives.”

“Yeah, well. Not everything’s about you.”

And Jon laughs at that – the same soft, barking laugh he’d given to Tim’s report – and Martin feels a strange sort of affection flood through him at the sound. Pretty inconvenient, given that he was just getting used to being irritated with Jon.

“I suppose I deserve that.” Jon smiles, and it’s somehow worse than the laugh. There are a few more minutes of silence before he speaks up again. “Have you, um. Have you ever tried lavender?”

“What?”

“Whenever I tell people I have insomnia, they always recommend lavender – lavender essential oil, lavender tea, lavender eye masks…”

“Have you tried it? Does it help?”

“Not in the least,” Jon says. “Not for me. But maybe it would help you.”

“Maybe,” Martin agrees, more out of politeness than any real hope. “Never hurts to try.”

Jon nods. He looks for a moment like he’s debating with himself whether to say anything else, then he clears his throat with an awkward little grimace and says, “If– i-if you ever need to talk… I can’t promise I’ll be very good conversation, but I can promise I won’t yell at you next time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

*

Martin’s insomnia doesn’t get any better. Breathing exercises don’t help, and neither does the white noise app he downloads. A box of lavender tea mysteriously appears in the break room, and it doesn’t make him tired, but it does leave him with a warm, fuzzy feeling that can’t be entirely explained by having drunk a hot beverage.

Jon starts staying late more often. Some nights, just knowing that he’s there is comforting enough to stave off the worst of Martin’s loneliness, but some nights he finds himself once again sitting in the chair in Jon’s office while Jon sits across from him with his nose buried in a statement. Jon never asks for an explanation anymore, just nods at Martin when he comes in and then gets back to work.

They don’t talk much on nights like this, but they do talk. Mostly it’s just chatter – how was your day? Did you see what Tim was wearing today? How long until they fix the aircon in this building? – but some nights the conversation opens up to the kind of vulnerability that only 2 AM can bring.

“I wish I was as close with Tim and Sasha as you are.”

It’s not a complete non sequitur – they were just talking about their coworkers – but Martin can still feel the tone shift between them.

Jon just blinks. “What do you mean? I’m certain they like you more than they like me – The three are always going out to lunch–”

“And we always invite you!” Martin reminds him, “You just never come! And anyway, you three go way back, you all know each other so well… They don’t even know me well enough to know if it’s me texting them or some evil worm woman.” He’s gotten to know Jon well enough over the past few weeks to know that, supportive or not, Jon’s never very quick with words of comfort, so he goes on. “I can’t complain – I mean, they’re nice! They’re really nice! It’s just… it’s not fun, feeling like the odd one out.”

Jon flashes him a grimace that Martin thinks is supposed to be commiserative but mostly just looks awkward. “For what it’s worth,” he says, “I also wish I was closer with Tim and Sasha. Things haven’t been the same since we transferred from Research. And it doesn’t help that they both know Sasha should have been promoted over me.”

Martin wants to reassure him, tell him that Elias must have promoted him for a reason, but he’s the last person who can argue that Elias always hires the most qualified person for the job.

“Anyway,” Jon says, “I know for a fact they like you. Have you just told them how you feel?”

“Have you?”

Jon smiles. “Alright, fair enough.”

The conversation moves on to lighter topics from there, and Martin almost forgets about it. But the next time 1 AM loneliness hits, it’s a relief to know that he isn’t the only one in the Archives who’s lonely.

*

Jon stays late every night the next week. 

Martin knows Jon doesn’t want anyone chiding him, but he worries. He looks more and more worn out by the day, and Martin’s pretty sure he’s getting less work done for all the time he’s spending in the Archives.

When Martin wakes up from another nightmare (just a Prentiss nightmare this time, not a Prentiss-and-his-mother double feature) he doesn’t have to question if Jon’s around. When he checks his phone and sees that it’s well past 2 AM, some small, optimistic part of him thinks Jon might have gone home by now, but he isn’t at all surprised when he sees light spilling in from under the door in Jon’s office.

Jon doesn’t look up when Martin enters the room. 

He looks rough. His head is resting in his hands, shoulders slumped, fingers wearily massaging his temples. When he hears the door click closed behind Martin, he finally looks up, and Martin can see that the dark circles under his eyes have gotten worse.

“Go home, Jon,” he says, and Jon shakes his head.

“I’m fine.”

“You need sleep.”

“I doubt I could get any sleep tonight regardless,” Jon says. “Insomnia, remember?”

“Well, try,” Martin says, patience waning. “Go home.”

“I can’t.” Jon’s voice is small and hoarse, and he sounds more vulnerable than he ever has in all their late-night chats.

“What do you mean, you can’t?”

 “You were alone for two weeks, Martin,” he says, voice hushed as though he’s confessing something. “I can’t leave you alone like that again.”

Oh. Martin puts some pieces together. His boss has been running himself ragged, staying at work past 2 in the morning most days, because he’s convinced Martin can’t handle being alone at night. He thinks that Martin is a child in need of a security blanket, and has decided that the best course of action is to simply never leave work. It is, unfortunately, very sweet, but it’s also utterly humiliating.

“I can handle being alone!” he sputters, mortified beyond belief. “Believe me, I’ve had plenty of practice. I don’t need you to always be around. I-I know I said I get lonely sometimes, but, God, I’m not that pathetic.”

Jon frowns. “I don’t think you’re pathetic,” he whispers. “Believe me, Martin, that’s the last thing I think. I know I haven’t always been… fair to you. Or kind. Or even civil. If I had been fair to you, you wouldn’t be living in this basement.” He drops his gaze and addresses his next words to his hands. “It’s my fault you have to stay here,” he murmurs. “The very least I can do is ensure that you don’t have to stay here alone.”

Martin doesn’t know what to say to that. His brain cycles through several options and discards them all as insufficient. In the end, he decides to forgo words altogether. He stands up, reaches over, and pulls Jon out of his seat and into a hug.

Jon startles, and for a moment Martin thinks he’s made a horrible miscalculation, but then wraps his scrawny arms around his middle and squeezes tight.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“I forgive you,” Martin says. “Now go home.”

*

That Friday, the four of them go out for drinks after work. It’s Martin’s idea, and he insists that they invite Jon. Tim and Sasha tell him it’s a lost cause – Jon’s never agreed to get lunch with them, he certainly won’t agree to drinks – but lo and behold, Jon agrees.

It’s awkward. Martin hasn’t left the Archives much since Prentiss, and he’s on high alert for worms, but he can’t deny that having his coworkers with him is a comfort. Sat around a sticky high-top table in a pub that smells like stale beer and fresh sweat, the conversation simply flows. Every now and then, the other three will laugh at some inside joke from their research days, but Jon always makes a point of bringing Martin up to speed.

Afterwards, Jon walks him back to the Archives. Martin is floating in a warm, hazy middle ground between ‘tipsy’ and ‘drunk,’ and Jon seems to be feeling much the same.

“I could stay, if you’d like,” Jon says.

“I’ll be fine,” Martin says.

When he makes it to the cot in Document Storage, he’s asleep the moment his head hits the pillow.

*

It would be nice, Martin thinks, if getting closer to people were the straightforward antidote to loneliness – if making friends were enough to stop him feeling so utterly friendless. But loneliness is never a simple thing, and some nights he still finds himself lying awake at night feeling like the last man on earth.

He checks the time. 1 AM. Naturally.

For the second time in a week, Jon doesn’t look up to see Martin when he enters the room. This time, he’s slumped over the desk, dead asleep.

He looks smaller, somehow, when he’s sleeping. His face is slack, the perpetual furrow in his brow is gone, and his hair is falling across his face in a way that leaves Martin itching to reach over and tuck it behind his ear. He looks cute, if Martin’s being entirely honest, but Jon’s only started being mostly-nice to Martin in the past two weeks or so, so Martin isn’t ready to be that honest with himself quite yet.

He reaches out a hand and gently shakes Jon’s shoulder.

“Jon.”

Jon stirs but doesn’t wake, so Martin shakes harder. 

“Jon,” he repeats. No luck.

He sighs. He’s still wide awake, and he doubts that’s going to change any time soon. At least one of them should get some use out of the cot.

It’s surprisingly easy to pick Jon up. Jon stirs slightly as Martin scoops him into his arms, and for one terrifying second he thinks he’s going to wake up in Martin’s arms, but he doesn’t. Opening the doors to first the office and then Document Storage is more than a little tricky with his hands full, but he manages.

He sets Jon down on the bed as gently as he can, but Jon finally rouses as Martin tucks a blanket over his shoulders.

“Martin?” he mumbles, voice still thick with sleep.

“Go back to sleep, Jon.”

It doesn’t seem like Jon needs any encouragement. His eyes are already slipping closed again, but he manages to ask, “Will you be alright on your own?”

“Yeah,” Martin says, “I’ll be alright.” 

And he means it.

(View this story on AO3)

[myreia]

Castaway

CHAPTER THREE: FORM SHIFT

Chapter Rating: Teen Characters: Aureia Malathar (WoL), Thancred Waters, Minfilia Warde, Yda Hext, Scions of the Seventh Dawn Pairings: Aureia/Thancred (pre-relationship) Chapter Words: 2,356 Notes: A Realm Reborn, set during A Wild Rose by Any Other Name. Written for the prompt “anxiety”. Summary: Aureia’s inauguration into the Scions of the Seventh Dawn should be cause for celebration, yet she cannot shake her feelings of unease. These newfound friends of hers may have the best of intentions, but is she anything more than a means to an end in their hands? Chapters: part one • part two • part three Read on AO3

You shouldn’t have said all that. You shouldn’t fight with him.  

Aureia curses inwardly, a wordless groan vibrating on her lips as she climbs the stairs. She is irritated with herself. The thought has chased itself relentlessly round and round her head for the past half hour. On one hand, she wants nothing more than to yell at Thancred, get in that smug face of his and tell him off. On the other, she blames herself for reacting the way she did. He was being nice. He has been nothing but nice to her. Joining this organization was supposed to be a good thing, but she just had to take it in the worst way possible.

What is wrong with you…

She puts a hand on the railing and pulls herself up another step, her calves aching from the steep incline. She was happy to remain on the docks, but she had little desire to be surrounded by a flood of incoming passengers once the ferry arrived. Nor did she want to hang around the main square and Lolorito’s domineering statue. If she returned to the solar she would have to contend with Thancred and Minfilia and their archon friends… and while she supposes she owes them an explanation and an apology for her odd departure, the last thing she wants to do is go back and trap herself in a face-to-face conversation.

Uncertain where else to go to find a quiet place to herself, she escaped to the nearby lighthouse, slipped through a door in the back and disappeared up the staircase.

Panting from the exertion, Aureia reaches the top, nudges the door open, steps outside.

The searing sun shines brilliantly in her eyes. She steps from the shadows and raises a hand, shielding her face, and rounds the beacon burning brightly in its iron brazier. Unnecessary now, given the time of day, but the lighthouse signal never dims. She scoots around it and reaches the edge, folding her arms against the rough stone railing.

A magnificent view of Vesper Bay unfolds before her. The settlement feels so distant from up here—the tops of the marketplace’s colourful tents fluttering in the breeze, the burnished roof of the Waking Sands glinting in the sunlight, Lolorito’s statue feeling more Lalafell-sized from afar than up close and personal. The docks bustle with people as streams of new arrivals flood the area. Some make their way to the marker, others go directly to the chocobokeep; others still make for the Foothills, intending to make their way to Horizon on foot.

It all feels so ordinary. So regular. So average.

Her heart pangs with longing. It would be so simple, to join this procession. Turn her back on the Waking Sands and the invitation extended to her, walk away. Keep putting one foot in front of the other until it is nothing but a distant memory.

Minfilia’s organization existed long before her. It will exist long after her. There is no reason for her to stay.

“I thought I’d find you here!”

Aureia whirls around—breath high in her throat, trained instincts screaming at her to expect the worst—and drops into a defensive stance. An unfamiliar face stares back at her, half-obscured by a headwrap and visor. Pale, wisps of blonde hair escaping from the headwrap, those familiar tattoos on the side of her neck…

Archon.

“Hello!” The woman raises a hand and waves, a little awkward despite her high energy. “I’m Yda. We already met. Downstairs, that is. In case you forgot. My name, not that we met, of course!”

Aureia blinks, muscles still tensed.

“Oh, I wouldn’t blame you if you did!” the woman continues airily and stuffs her hands behind her back. “Lots of new faces, hard to keep track of us all. Tataru was all for throwing a tea party, but Thancred thought it might be too overwhelming for—” She cuts off abruptly, a flush on her cheeks. “Well. I don’t really know anything about all that. I’m usually the last to hear about anything. Well. Anything important.”

She pauses again, kicking a foot absently against the tile floor. “Not that I’m complaining, of course! There’s a time and a place for everything, at least that’s what my sister used to say.”

Aureia frowns.

“I’m talking too much again, aren’t I? Papalymo says I do. Sometimes I fear I have nothing worthwhile to offer but useless talk, but that’s his opinion, not mine. I think I have plenty to offer.” She raises her hands and punches a fist into her open palm. “Since all the others aren’t here, how about some proper introductions? I’m Yda. Yda Hext.”

A stubborn smile tugs at the corners of her lips. “Aureia Malathar.”

“Aureia… as in Aur?” Yda grins excitedly with recognition. “That Aur?”

She lets out a frustrated sigh. “Thancred calls me that sometimes, yes.”

Yda waves a hand. “And Papalymo calls me tactless sometimes, but I don’t let it bother me.”

“I—what?”

“You can drop your stance, you know,” she continues knowingly. “Unless you’re planning on challenging me to a sparring match, but between you and me, I don’t think there’s enough room up here. One of us  might go flying over the edge and I don’t think Minfilia would approve.”

Aureia splutters. “How did you… how…?”

“I’m not just a dumb blonde in a visor, you know. Regardless of what the others say.” Yda walks determinedly across the lantern room and draws up next to her. She leans out over the railing and inhales deeply, enjoying the fresh air. “Where did you train? Your form is different from Ala Mhigan and Ul’dahn practices, I don’t recognize it.”

Aureia swallows the lump in her throat and lets her stance go, deflated. She crosses her arms and rests her elbows on the railing, chewing her lower lip as she wonders how to reply. Garlemald won’t go over well. “I’m not Eorzean,” she says.

“Othard, then? I haven’t had the chance to meet many Domans. Did you study there?”

“Not… exactly.”

“Or was it Thavnair? Oh, I’ve always wanted to visit Thavnair! It must be such a pretty place, and I’ve heard the food is to die for…” She trails off and stretches, resting her hands against the back of her head. “I’m sorry. Here I am prattling on, asking questions uninvited. It wasn’t my intention to pry. Believe it or not, I know a thing or two about not wanting others to dig around in your past. I’ve been a bit thoughtless, I suppose.”

“You haven’t.” Aureia glances at her, searching her visored face. It is difficult to get a reading on her with it in the way; she didn’t realize how dependent she was on eye contact until now. But even with her face half-covered, Yda strikes her as someone honest and genuine. Far more than Thancred has been. “Quite the opposite, I think.”

Yda brightens. “I was worried about you. I’m sorry if it’s not my place, we don’t even know each other, but the way you left… I thought you may have been… Well. They can be quite the overwhelming lot, don’t you think? Between Thancred’s witty quips and Y’shtola writing another archon’s thesis every other paragraph. Urianger doesn’t say much, but when he does speak it goes right over my head. And Papalymo will turn every situation into a lecture. They’re all a bit too smart for me.”

“Aren’t you an archon as well?”

“Hm? Oh…” She drops her hands. Her fingers brush the tattoos on her neck, as if reminding herself that they are there. “I am. Not that I deserve it, it was my sister who…” She blows out a puff of air. “Let’s just say that I know where my strengths lie.”

“Don’t tell me you have a degree in punching things.”

“I may very well have a degree in punching things.”

“How does one even go about earning that?”

Yda flashes her a grin and curls her hand into a fist. “Sharlayan state secret. I’m afraid I can’t share.”

Aureia returns the smile, her heart lighter than before. Exhaling a soft breath, she leans against the railing and takes in the view. Most of the ferry passengers have found their way to the chocobokeep and they are preparing to leave. It’s a long journey to Ul’dah even by chocobo, one she has made many times. If you aren’t in a rush and have time to spare, it’s well worth it. Thanalan has its own unique beauty, one that is underappreciated even by those who have spent their whole lives in the desert.

This wasn’t the home she asked for, but it was the one she found. And if joining the Scions of the Seventh Dawn ensures it remains protected from outside threats—whether it is as pressing as the Garleans or as esoteric as primals—then maybe there is a place for her there, Echo or no Echo.

The thought gives her pause.  

“You didn’t mention Minfilia in your analysis of our friends down there,” Aureia says quietly.

Yda makes a strangled noise. “No, I suppose I didn’t…”

She trails off, her tone growing hesitant. Aureia sighs, giving her a moment, and returns her attention below. She spots a familiar figure in the meandering crowd below, his pale hair shining white in the afternoon sun. He rounds the marketplace, a tall Elezen in a robe strolling serenely at his side.

Thancred. Though she is still irritated with him, a part of her is happy that he has thought to look for her.

She bats it away.

“Minfilia is the Antecedent,” Yda says hesitantly. “All of this is her dream. Her purpose. If I had half the determination and faith she does…” She pauses again. “I think all of us would be better people if we were a little more like Minfilia.”

Aureia’s jaw clenches, her gut twisting. The statement, though innocent and well-intentioned, rubs her the wrong way. “Perhaps,” she murmurs. “I don’t know her well enough to make that judgement.”

“Some day you will.” Despite the overly bright and optimistic, Yda’s words carry a weight to them. Behind the bubbly cheerfulness and the unrestrained volume is a sense of self-awareness and understanding that Aureia would have overlooked if she took her at face value.  

She is someone who sees more than she lets on. The visor may be a physical mask, but she is wearing a much more intangible one underneath.

Yda stretches again, raising her hands high as she nods to another figure exiting the Waking Sands. Y’shtola is immediately recognizable from her brisk walk and the way the crowd parts before her; no one seems to want to get in her way. “Don’t let them intimidate you,” she says.

“I’m not intimidated—”

“You walked out the moment you could and ran all the way to the docks.”

Aureia chews her lower lip, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “Doesn’t mean I’m intimidated.”

“Mhm.” Yda grins, but the moment is short-lived. “They mean well, but I think sometimes they forget no everyone thinks the way they do. Thancred, Urianger, Y’shtola, Papalymo… especially Papalymo… For a group of open-minded people, they certainly are stuck in their ways sometimes. Don’t expect any of them to be normal. None of them are. I don’t think you can become an archon and be normal.”

“I wasn’t going to. I’ve met Thancred, remember?”

Yda laughs. “What I’m trying to say, Aureia…” She presses her back to the stone railing and takes her hands in hers, gripping them tight. “I know what it feels like—to be the least impressive person in a room of impressive people, to feel like you are always chasing them and you can never catch up. Sometimes I think that I don’t belong here, that I’m not smart enough or haven’t done enough to deserve it.”

“Don’t say that—”

“I can and I will. I know where I stand next to the rest of them.”

“Yda…”

She exhales a long breath. “I’m not telling you this to put myself down, but because I think I know what you must be feeling. Because I’ve been there myself. I’ve doubted, I’ve wondered, thought myself worthless… Lies. Good lies. Ones I was very good at telling myself.” She brightens, her smile returned in full force. “I know how much you’re wanted here. And it’s not because of the Echo, but because of what you’ve done.”

Aureia swallows hard, a lump forming in her throat.

“All those people you helped when no one else dared to stand up and do it. That’s the mark of someone I would trust to the end of the world and back, don’t you think?”

Aureia squeezes her hands. For the first time since she stepped foot in the Waking Sands, she feels like she can breathe. Somehow these words, spoken sincerely from a young woman she barely knows, were exactly what she needed to hear.

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

Yda lets her go. “Give them a chance, aye?” she adds, nudging her in the side with her elbow. “This journey we’re on together… This world Minfilia envisions. It will be worth it in the end. I promise.”

They exchange smiles and fall silent, content to watch the settlement below. The crowd thins, eager to move on as the afternoon bleeds into evening. The last of the ferry passengers flock to the chocobokeep, the carriages prepare to depart. A moment’s pause and then off they go, trundling through the gates and out of sight, carrying their travelers onward to whatever fate awaits them.

Without the crowd, Thancred, Urianger and Y’shtola’s figures stand out even more in the distance.

“I wonder how long it will take them to realize we’re up here,” Yda says idly, rapping her fingers against the railing.

Aureia arches an eyebrow. “I wonder…”

“We shouldn’t let them search too long, they’ll be worried.”

“We really shouldn’t. It would be unfair.”

“Most unfair.”

Their laughter rings out from the top of the lighthouse, lost to the sound of crashing waves.

[my-head-is-an-animal]

The Sitter

Mycroft Holmes x Bethany Wheeler (OFC)

Story Masterlist

Chapter 22 - For The Ages

Mycroft was a little nervous, he didn’t think there was much reason to be, because Bethany didn’t expect anything of him, but somehow the nerves got to him more than usual. He text her to say he would pick her up a little later than usual due to some meetings he couldn’t reschedule, and then proceeded to put on his newest dark blue suit. He’d been keeping up with his workout routine and felt he looked worthy of a dinner date with Bethany. It was the first time he’d really felt like that and he was certain she’d appreciate it.

He got through his day as quickly as he could and told Anthea to divert his calls where appropriate unless it was an emergency. She gave him a knowing smile and agreed.

Mycroft got into the car and made his way to Bethany’s home, driving past the house that was still being cleared out. He felt something of pride in his chest that he was able to help in some way.

Bethany stepped out of her front door, wrapping her grey coat a little tighter around her body, he was glad she was at least staying warm, the last thing he needed was for her to freeze on their way home.

‘Mycroft.’ She smiled at him as she stepped into the car, he could just see the bottom of the same mauve dress she wore the first time they went to dinner, her slender legs slipping into the same black heels. Stunning. ‘How are you?’ She asked, happily.

‘Fine.’ He nodded.

‘Fine? You want to talk about it?’ She offered, kindly.

‘Not at all.’ Mycroft smiled. ‘What have you been doing today?’

‘Well,’ she took an excited breath. ‘It was my turn to go over to Sylvia’s to do some housework this morning, but when I got there, someone else answered the door… her carer.’ Mycroft sucked in deep breath and nodded, pretending he had no idea what she was talking about. ‘Thank you.’ She said, quietly.

‘You’re very welcome.’ He felt her hand slide over his, her much cooler skin made his heart inflate. How was she always so soft?

Mycroft began his routine of tracing over every part of her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers, taking note of every detail he could, but somehow, always, he missed out on the crucial details that told him she was a lifelong musician.

‘Have you spoken to Sherlock recently?’ He suddenly asked, turning to see that her eyes had been closed as she absorbed the feeling he had been creating unknowingly.

‘Sorry, erm, no I haven’t recently.’ She said, almost waking herself up and trying to refocus. ‘We spoke a little once I was out of hospital, he just asked me how I was. Why?’

Mycroft was a little too busy staring at her every feature to answer immediately. ‘He mentioned something about music. I’m sure he’ll get in contact at some point.’ Mycroft was suddenly completely uninterested in music or Sherlock or anything that wasn’t sitting in the back of his black town car looking into the darkened eyes of Bethany Wheeler.

He scanned over her face, taking note of her freckles lightly scattered over her cheeks and the small creases around her mouth and eyes indicating a life time of smiling and happiness. The image of her suddenly in pain as he told her he loved her, flashed in front of his eyes, it was real for a moment, he could feel his chest aching and his heart breaking. Why did he allow his mind to wander to something so painful?

‘What are you thinking about?’ Bethany asked, bringing him back to the present.

Mycroft just smiled and shook his head. ‘Nothing that will make you happy, I’m afraid.’

Bethany watched him, concerned, but not pressuring him to talk or do anything he didn’t want to. She was incredibly accommodating that way, never wanting him to be anymore or less than himself, but he was still contending with the deserving nature of their relationship, if he could indeed call what they had a relationship.

They arrived at his home and Mycroft was around the other side of the car to open the door for her in seconds. She chuckled at him, not teasing, more appreciatively and thanked Andy for picking her up. He nodded to the driver, still not comfortable calling him by any name, and led Bethany inside.

They decided to order in as once again Mycroft failed to plan, why did he always fail to plan ahead where Bethany was concerned? She was in a good mood and looking forward to settling in the projector room.

Mycroft poured her a glass of wine and watched her choose what they would watch together that night. She carefully placed the tips of her fingers over each label, biting her lip or furrowing her brows as she read the titles, some she smiled at, others she grazed over with disinterest, until she landed on one that looked interesting. He wandered over to see what she’d picked and smiled.

‘The Strange Woman,’ he chuckled. ‘How fitting. Any reason for the choice?’

‘Just seems to fit the evening, I think.’ She smiled up at him sweetly. His gaze drifted momentarily to her mouth and he would have kissed her, but his courage failed him.

Mycroft was just a little frustrated, but excitement soon took over as Bethany asked him to show her how the projector worked. His explanation was long and detailed, and he was sure in moments that she wasn’t really listening, but if he’d learnt anything in the past few weeks, it was that she was always listening.

Bethany, under his supervision, set up the film for them to watch just as the doorbell went. He excused himself to retrieve their food and felt his anxiety rising as he realised, he’d left her alone with one of his most prized possessions. He was in a small internal battle with himself as he tried to convince himself that everything was fine, but also worried as she may not have been confident at dealing with any issues that might have arisen.

Mycroft looked up as he entered the kitchen to see Bethany leaning against the door frame watching him.

‘I could hear your anxiety across the house.’ She rolled her eyes.

‘Impossible. You can’t hear anxiety.’

‘Oh really? So, you weren’t just thinking about how you left me alone with your projector?’

Mycroft didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. She just laughed, shaking her head and helped him get dinner ready, he would spend hours in the following days trying to work out how she knew what he was thinking, but for the time being, he just wanted to focus on the present.

They got comfortable at the kitchen table and he asked her about her dissertation. She spent most of dinner, explaining things that he only partially understood, it had been a long time since anyone confused him with words, but it was a testament to her intelligence that she could speak with such precision and so fluidly.

Mycroft asked the occasional question, and she had an answer every time with a brief explanation. She loved the subject of science and she loved the chemical aspect of it the most, but it was becoming very clear, very quickly that Bethany knew a substantial amount about surrounding subjects as well, including biology, physics and now mathematics.

‘Numbers just confuse me sometimes,’ she chuckled, sipping her wine as Mycroft cleared away their plates. ‘Bit of a tricky conundrum in the scientific field, but I suppose I’ve got to work hard at something.’

‘That suggests that your studies, thus far, have been incredibly easy and therefore unchallenging.’ Mycroft stood up, putting the dishwasher on and shoving his hands in his pockets behind his chair.

‘It does suggest that doesn’t it?’ She chuckled.

‘Why don’t you just fast-track?’ He picked up his glass, taking a mouthful. ‘It seems obvious that you could have completed your degree well within a year, potentially taken only another to complete a masters, PhD, or whatever other qualification you desired.’

‘Yeah, I probably could’ve done.’ She nodded, sitting back in her chair, her dress moving a little further up her knee to reveal the top of her thigh, making his mouth water.

‘Then why didn’t you?’

‘Because I would need to study every hour of every day,’ she laughed as if it were obvious. ‘Mycroft, I have other things I like doing, you know, other priorities, like Rosie, like music and travelling and my friends.’

‘I understand that, but you have a mind capable of extraordinary things, why waste time not filling it with as much information as you can?’ Mycroft frowned.

‘Isn’t having a happy life more important?’

Mycroft stopped for a moment and thought on what she was saying, there was something he was missing.

‘Look,’ she said, standing up. ‘I can fill my brain with every fact under the sun, I can study, learn, fast-track through anything I want, but I won’t be happy and no one will be better for it. I’m motivated by the things I enjoy, but if I don’t take the time to enjoy anything, then what is it all for?’

Mycroft was surprised by her logic, it made sense he supposed. She smiled all the time, because she was enjoying herself and everyone around her smiled as a result, including him. He couldn’t deny his progress at work when he thought about her, she distracted him often and confused him almost always, but she always made him work harder. Maybe she had a point.

They headed into the projector room and Mycroft let her get comfortable, taking her shoes off and pulling her knees up to her chest, while finished getting the film ready. Once he was done, Bethany leaned over to get the lights. The only illumination came from the screen and in a lot of ways, Mycroft preferred that. He loosened his tie and sat down next to her.

For some reason, he automatically put his arm behind her, allowing her to shuffle closer, she knew he liked to feel her against him, it had been a topic of conversation fairly recently over the phone, but again, she wasn’t making fun of him for it.

Mycroft liked how engrossed Bethany became, she enjoyed the story and thought there was something beautiful about the film. It wasn’t one of Mycroft’s favourites, but he was starting to appreciate it in a new light. He’d tried to steal a few glances at Bethany while she watched, but every time he did, she smiled just enough to let him know she knew he was watching her.

It was just as the film was coming to an end that Mycroft realised that while one hand was behind her, stroking her shoulder gently, the other was across his waist and delicately touching her arm. It was just his fingertips, but enough to be able to feel the soft skin that was her signature. Mycroft could smell the ginger much more strongly now, he turned slightly feel her body gently pressed into the side of his and thought it wasn’t enough.

He gently pressed his lips to the side of her head, feel the soft hair against his fair and felt settled for a moment. He pulled away, the shame over his forward action getting the better of him and he began to remove his hands as well, she hadn’t expressly given him permission to touch her and the thought that he might have been taking advantage crossed his mind.

‘Don’t.’ Bethany whispered, startling Mycroft a little. She turned to face him, her eyes were heavy and black, her hand stopped his from moving away from her arm. ‘Don’t stop.’ Was it a beg? Was it a simple request? Did it matter?

Mycroft couldn’t tear his eyes away, she wanted him to continue to touch her, perhaps kiss her. He debated for only a second before giving in.

Mycroft brushed the back of his fingers down the side of her arm, his eyes focused on the way her skin reacted to his touch, the little bumps forming indicating either she was cold or… well, she wasn’t cold.

He went slow, no longer using just the back of his fingers, but his whole hand to stroke and caress her arm all the way down to her fingertips. Mycroft had failed to notice she had a few tiny scars, most of which just looked like cuts from her adventures abroad, but some he couldn’t identify at all and he was desperate to know.

Something in the back of his mind had him desperate to know every inch of skin on her body, to know what it had been through and how it worked. He wondered if it was a normal response, but he knew if he told Bethany, she wouldn’t think any less of him.

Mycroft lifted his gaze, still tracing over the thin skin on the inside of her wrist, her breathing was shallow and quick, her eyes were closed and her lips parted just slightly. She was exceptionally beautiful, half illuminated by the light from the screen that was concluding the film.

Mycroft felt himself lean a little closer, the side of her mouth twitching in a smile as she felt him moving. His eyes grazed over her face once more before he took the plunge and touched his lips to hers. Bethany let out a small gasp, but she was the one to lean in for more pressure, taking him by some small surprise. Mycroft didn’t let the chance go to waste though, he brought his hand away from her wrist to cradle her face, listening to the quiet whimper of emerging from Bethany.

He felt himself take control of the kiss and explore her mouth the same way he had done before, but still managing to rediscover her. Mycroft never thought it possible to have done the same thing more than once and still not feel fully satisfied that he knew it inside and out, but once again, Bethany was proving him wrong.

Mycroft felt her hand place delicately on his thigh and it gave him a moment of hesitation. He pulled away just enough to realise what was happening, or rather what could have happened.

Bethany smiled against his lips. ‘It’s okay,’ she whispered. ‘I can wait.’ She began pulling her hand away, but Mycroft’s chest began caving in again.

‘I can’t.’ He breathed. He felt a desperation take over that he’d never felt before.

Mycroft felt her hand return to his thigh and he sucked in a deep breath, he could somehow feel the sensation running through the rest of his body and it only made him want to kiss her again. Bethany’s hand stroked just above his knee, nothing too extreme, yet the contact alone was enough for him.

He kissed her more desperately, his teeth dragging over her lip and a much breathier sigh came out, one that Mycroft was instantly addicted to. He swallowed the sigh and began his passionate attack again, repeating the motion and getting the same result. What made him stop was Bethany’s hand moving further up his thigh.

Mycroft was all too aware of the effect kissing Bethany was having on him, it was one thing to kiss her against his kitchen counter, another for her to actively seek out that part of him.

‘Mycroft.’ She breathed, panting a little, much to his liking. ‘If you’re not ready-‘

‘I am.’ Mycroft panted, desperately. He leaned his forehead against hers, again feeling like he was disappointing her. ‘I just…’ This time he could feel her smile and it grounded him once again.

‘You won’t disappoint me.’ Bethany told him, softly. ‘It’s not just about me.’ Her thumb brushed over the outside of his thigh and it sent another rush through him. ‘Do you want me to stop?’

‘No.’ Mycroft breathed, suddenly not in control of his words anymore.

Bethany smiled, but it was the sound of the projector running out of film that broke the moment. She giggled and took her hand away, knowing he couldn’t just leave his projector like that, it had already been broken once thanks to John and Sherlock’s antics, he wasn’t risking the repairs that were made.

Mycroft pulled away and took a moment to regain his senses. His head was light and a little dizzy, it took him more than a moment to actually get up and deal with the projector. Bethany just sat, much the same a little dazed, but she couldn’t stop smiling at him and Mycroft suddenly felt a bravery take over that he desperately needed the first time he thought about her.

Mycroft held his hand for Bethany to take, she did with a small frown and stood so that she was almost pressed against him. The smell of ginger ignited him once more and he felt his courage finally take hold. He slowly leaned down to press the softest kiss to her lips. He felt the shivers running down her arms as her hands came up to his chest.

‘Bethany.’ He breathed.

‘Yes.’ She breathed back, an answer to the non-verbal question.

Mycroft took her hand in his and led her down the corridor to his bedroom. He felt himself starting to get nervous, but the second he closed the door and turned to see Bethany spinning back, her dress flowing around her waist just a little and her dark frizzy hair catching in the moonlight, his chest began caving in again.

Two strides and his mouth was on hers once more. His hands delved into her soft hair, hers were on his waist as she moaned against him. Mycroft found that the more desperate and needy he appeared, the more positively she responded. Bethany’s small sighs and whimpers, turned into moans and Mycroft devoured them all.

He felt the bed just behind her, making them stop mid-kiss. They both breathed out a chuckle and Bethany looked over every part of his face, before sitting back on top of the bed. He hadn’t quite noticed that she’d unbuttoned his waist coat the entire way, but in an uncharacteristic moment of desperation, he took it off, throwing it somewhere behind him, his tie following closely.

Bethany reached up, gently guiding Mycroft to follow her back to lie on the bed. He could feel every curve of her body beneath him, he mentally scanned down his own body, taking careful note of the connection points and memorising how they felt, the shape, the warmth, the desire it spurred on inside him.

Mycroft let his eyes graze over her face once more, she looked so happy and he couldn’t help his own smile at how happy she was. He let his lips graze hers once more before kissing her with more intensity, his hips pushing into hers, her back arching just a little every time, pushing her chest up as she felt him move against her.

Mycroft wanted to find out more about the way her body reacted, his hand came up, his thumb grazing her bottom lip, but somehow her tongue instinctively licked the tip, making him groan and shudder. He was fascinated at the way her tongue moved around his thumb and soon his hips were grinding against her as she sucked gently.

He took the opportunity to guide her head upwards so that he could press his lips to the impossibly soft skin along her jaw, moving down her neck and making her mouth open and release his thumb. Mycroft made her sigh and groan as his mouth begun to work out where her skin was most sensitive, he wanted to hear her, louder and more pronounced, to know that he was the one allowing those sounds to emerge from her at all.

Mycroft descended down her neck to her collarbone, his tongue came out to trace along it and felt her hands twisting into the fabric of his shirt. Her leg came up to his waist and on instinct alone, Mycroft moved his hand from her face to smooth skin.

The contact between his hand and her smooth leg, had Mycroft stilling, breathing hard against her chest. He’d expected to feel the fabric of her dress, but was somehow surprised that it might have fallen away. He moved his hand slowly from midway down her thigh almost to the curve of her hips, he could feel small bumps and a scar in his brief exploration and wanted to know how she got them.

‘Mycroft?’ She whispered, he’d stopped moving and naturally she was kind enough to be concerned for him.

Mycroft looked up at her swollen lips, a pride that his kiss had been responsible, and her heavy, dark eyes that showed concern for him. Her fingers traced his jaw, trying to assess his expression, but he didn’t have an explanation, he just wanted to feel for a moment.

Bethany smiled, realising he was fine, her fingers moving to the buttons of his shirt, going slow enough for him to stop her, but he didn’t want to, he wanted her to continue. The tips of her fingers caressed the hair on his chest as she exposed more of him, she was gentle and caring and she felt so good that his eyes closed of their own accord, just to block out any distraction that took away from the feel of her soft fingers.

Mycroft felt her lean up and place a light kiss to his lips, she’d made it half way down his shirt buttons, caressing his skin as she exposed more of it, but now she was gently guiding him off of her so she could stand up. He watched her, feeling the slightly cooler air of the room hit his chest, but he was heaving breath into his lungs at such a rate that he didn’t care for it.

Bethany stood just a little away from the bed and smiled, biting her lower lip. Mycroft could feel his trousers, unbearably tight and restrictive. He watched hungrily as Bethany reached behind her, pulling the zip of her dress down at the back, before gently pulling the shoulder straps away and revealing what was the single most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Mycroft sat up straight, his eyes scanning over her quickly before going back to take every single detail in. Her smile seemed to pour out of everywhere all at once, he didn’t even know what that meant, but he could see it. Her legs were smooth, toned, to be expected from all the adventures she had, her hips just a little wider than average, but gave her waist that smaller quality, which also happened to make her breasts look bigger and softer. He noticed the scar on her thigh that he’d previously felt, another on her collarbone that his tongue had found, the two from the snake bites and another that curled around her ribs.

‘Beautiful.’ Mycroft breathed, not even really able to focus on a single part of her body without getting distracted by another. He swallowed thickly and let his breath go when he realised she was smiling and what seemed to him as a little bashful. Why would she be afraid of showing him her body? It was stunning in every way, especially when it was only covered by a pure white thong.

Mycroft smiled and reached his hand out for her to take, guiding her closer so he could once again inhale the ginger that he only associated with her now. She stood between his legs, one hand intertwined with his while the other, tracing fingertips from the bottom of her thigh to her hip, made her shiver.

He felt himself lose all control for just a moment and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her stomach. A wonderful sigh escaped her chest and Mycroft remembered something. He moved his lips towards her hips and her breathing became stuttered and shallow. Her hand grasped his a little tighter and tangle in his hair, indicating just how much she loved her hips being worshipped.

Before he could really stop himself, he hooked his thumbs into the top of her thong and pulled it down just enough to run his tongue from one side to the other.

‘Fuck, Mycroft.’ She groaned, so he did it again, changing up the motion, sometimes kissing, sometimes licking and even gently biting at the thin layer of sensitive skin. Bethany responded to every movement, every intention he had to fill her with pleasure and listen to her moan, was understood by her and it gave Mycroft a courage to give into her completely.

Her hand was pushing his shirt away and Mycroft interpreted that as her own need to feel him against her skin as well. He continued placing messy kisses to her stomach, but quickly went about unbuttoning the last few buttons of his shirt and tossing it aside. Bethany gently stopped him from returning to her as she took a moment to gaze down as his body.

Mycroft felt a wave of shame, he wasn’t nearly as beautiful as she was, at least that’s what he felt, Bethany didn’t agree. She lifted his head to look at him properly and smiled a slightly weakened smile.

Bethany then did something Mycroft never quite felt he ever deserved; she began to kneel down in front of him. He felt his chest panting hard in anticipation, she didn’t break her gaze and Mycroft watched as her fingers open his belt, avoiding the obvious protrusion. She was being precise and clinical in a way, she knew what she was doing and it made Mycroft breath another laugh, making her smile.

Bethany slowed down, making sure that he was okay with everything she was doing. She then unzipped his trousers, the sensation sent small vibrations through him that made him break his gaze and take a deep calming breath. Mycroft lifted his hips so that she could bring his trousers down, revealing his tight briefs. The next part had him slightly more hesitant.

She sensed his nervousness and lifted herself enough to kiss him. The kiss grounded him instantly and the smell of ginger made him need her.

Finally, Bethany ran her fingers beneath the waistband of his briefs and dragged them slowly down. ‘I’ve been thinking about this.’ She whispered, making him groan into her mouth again.

Bethany pulled away, Mycroft stared down at the most beautiful creature in existence and saw a hunger in her eyes. She licked her lips, before running her tongue from the bottom of his shaft to the very tip.

‘Oh God!’ Mycroft cried out, his hand going straight to one of the bedposts for support. He couldn’t quite handle both the sensation and the sight of Bethany working her mouth and tongue around his cock, but he hoped he would be able to at some point.

Mycroft let his head fall back and his eyes close as she moved her mouth slowly around him. The feel of her wet, warm mouth encompassing him was a feeling he would never forget. Her hands working with her mouth, over his hips, his thighs and her pacing were all on point, she listened to every small noise he made, every groan, every stuttered breath, she learnt exactly how to please him and more importantly to him, she learnt the moment to slow down and give him a fighting chance.

Mycroft felt his hand dive into her soft, frizzy hair and gently massage her scalp, anything to show his thanks for what she did, she hummed, chuckling as he did and Mycroft showed the ultimate control in not responding to it. He couldn’t afford to mess this up now.

He looked down to see her lips once again swollen and immediately cradled her face, kissing her deeply. Her lips were soft and it only made him groan. Mycroft guided her up, got rid of his trousers and briefs that were around his ankles and turned his attention to her thong. He didn’t have any nerves about peeling them away from her hips and discarding them somewhere with the rest of his clothes.

Mycroft let his eyes scan over her body once more. He breathed another laugh at how wonderful she was, how everything about her just seemed to be what he wanted without him knowing.

‘Come here.’ He said and gestured to the bed. Bethany just laughed and did as she was asked. Mycroft was once again on top of her and kissed her deeply, he didn’t dare press his body to hers just yet, he was saving that feeling for after he was done.

Mycroft looked down at her and gave a small smile, which seemed to excite her, but she couldn’t have known what was on his mind, could she?

He slowly kissed down her jawline, remembering what he had learnt about the sensitivity of her neck and exploited it to the maximum. He felt her hands running up his back and dragging her nails lightly over him, something else he didn’t know he enjoyed. But Mycroft continued to descend down her chest. He brought his hands up to feel the shape of her breasts, how soft and perfectly shaped for his hands they were. If he were that way inclined, he would have thought she was made to fit with him, but he wasn’t so his conclusion was that she was simply that beautiful.

It came as a small shock when he felt her body writhe beneath him, his tongue circling her nipple and sucking gently seemed to be something of another sensitive spot. Mycroft experimented for a moment, trying to find out what made her back arch the most, what made her moan out louder, what brought her closer to coming for him.

That was the goal, he wasn’t oblivious to what sex was all about, but everything felt different with Bethany, it felt more important in a way. Mycroft did everything he could think of, but eventually he realised that she needed something a little more. He brought his hand to her ribcage, lifting his head to capture her mouth, he lowered his hand, caressing her body gently and slowly, rubbing his thumb against the inside of her hip, feeling her mouth drop open.

Mycroft hovered over her, leaning on his forearm and wanting to hold her gaze while his hand gently moved her leg to open up to him. She was panting hard in anticipation as his fingers drifted closer to her core. Even Mycroft had to take a moment as he felt how wet she was, had he really done that to her? It was the ultimate indication that she really wasn’t making fun of him, surely that couldn’t be faked.

Mycroft’s lips grazed over hers as he slid his fingers through her folds, finding where she was most responsive, where she needed him to go, he listened and watched as carefully as he could, not missing a single thing, until he slowly inserted a single digit making her heavy eyes close and a deep moan emerge from her throat. It was a beautiful sight and a wonderfully pure sound, but he wanted more.

He began slowly pumping in and out, reaching deeper and finding a spot that made a thin layer of sweat form on her forehead. Mycroft then moved his mouth back to her neck, kissing, sucking, biting, anything to bring her higher. He descended, remembering every part of her body and the way she liked it to be treated, he didn’t stop, he kept going until he was between her legs.

It was never a strong skill Mycroft had, but he was certain he could do this for Bethany, he’d listened and made mental notes, revised them and he knew he could put them into practice. Mycroft used his tongue to lick through her folds and found the right pressure and pacing easily enough, but he needed to make her come.

‘Fuck.’ He heard her say without any hint of control. Mycroft groaned into the movements and felt the first indication that she was close, she clenched around his fingers, and it made him groan into her again. ‘Fuck, yes.’ She said again and realised that his enjoyment was what was bringing her close.

Mycroft devoured her and made it known just how much he loved what he was doing. Before he even got a chance to pick up any pace, Bethany cried out his name and clenched around his fingers, contracting against his mouth. It was bliss. Pleasure that Mycroft had never known. It was beautiful.

He slowly helped her descend and looked up to watch her chest heaving, panting more and more breath into her lungs. Mycroft removed his hand as slow as he could, kissing the soft skin of her inner thighs and taking a moment to appreciate the sound of her panting, clearly with a smile on her face.

Mycroft eventually made his way back up her body, seeing it in a new light and enjoying every part of it’s new hypersensitivity. He felt her body still reacting to him, her dark frizzy hair splayed out against the white sheets of his bed and an exhausted smile on her face. Mycroft smiled down at her.

‘That…’ she panted. ‘Yeah.’ She laughed and Mycroft took that to mean he’d done well. ‘I don’t think anyone… you know.’ Bethany frowned trying to remember.

‘You mean to say I was the first to make you… like that?’

‘Don’t get too cocky about it, you’ve set the bar pretty high now.’ She teased.

Mycroft chuckled and placed a kiss to her lips, tasting a thin layer of sweat. ‘I feel confident I can exceed expectation.’ He said, lowly, making her smile against his mouth.

Bethany’s body froze for a split second, she had an idea and it excited Mycroft. She guided him to sit against the pillows on the bed, making sure he was comfortable before getting up onto her knees. Bethany swung her leg over his hips and Mycroft pushed himself a little further up, preparing himself for what he thought was about to happen.

She was so stunningly beautiful in the dim light, her body was soft and warm and everything that ignited Mycroft to no end. He looked up at her and readied himself for the moment she took him inside her. She was incredibly tight and Mycroft, again, let his head loll back for a moment. He held her hips, just trying to control her descent, to slow her down a little and Bethany was entirely complicit. She didn’t want to rush this either.

Mycroft lifted his head to see her, just to watch her pretty face reacting and smiled, finding that her eyes had fluttered shut. Her hand was on his chest to help hold herself upright, the other was gripping the wooden headboard and finally, Mycroft felt himself surrounded by her.

He couldn’t resist, Mycroft wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his body to hers and feeling every patch of skin against his chest. He took a moment to feel her hand tangled in his hair and to once again burn this moment into his memory. The smell of ginger and sex, the echo of moans and the sight of something truly spectacular.

Mycroft felt her hips moving just slightly and chuckled to himself, leaning back and watching as Bethany took control. She smiled as she moved, biting her lip, encouraging his hands to roam her body, if that was what she needed then that was what she would receive, he wanted her to come again.

Bethany’s hand released the headboard and snaked between their bodies. Mycroft was hypnotised by her, engrossed in the movement and the way she worked her body. He watched and listened and felt her get so close, just a little more and she would come again.

‘Bethany.’ Mycroft groaned, feeling her tighten around him, his voice seemed to do something, but again it wasn’t his forte, what did he say? He went with the only thing he could think of. ‘Will you come for me?’ His voice was more of a growl.

‘Fuck, yes!’ She cried.

Mycroft sat up, feeling Bethany clench tight around him, he swallowed her moans, devoured the sounds erupting from her throat and there was no stopping what was about to happen. He held her secure against his body, not leaving her mouth for a second, he moved them so he was once again on top and began thrusting into her at a pace he didn’t know he had.

He needed to see her, he wanted to look at her beautiful face, but he could feel her still reeling, still keeping a tight hold of him and her dark eyes piercing his was enough to make his whole body shudder. Mycroft thrust all the way inside her, coming hard, not being able to keep quiet and only her name emerging from his lips. It was all he could think of, the only thing in the entire world, nothing else existed.

His eyes had closed as he panted, regaining his breath, and he felt her lips graze his. Mycroft smiled, opening his heavy eyes and saw Bethany almost laughing she was so happy. He looked down and wondered how much longer his arms could hold him upright, he didn’t have much time left, they were about to give in.

Mycroft stroked his hand over her forehead and into her hair, examining her face in the afterglow and kissed her slowly. There was nothing sensual about it anymore, now it was comforting and grounding and reality was calling them back.

He slowly removed himself and sat back against the pillows, taking in the room again, still trying to steady his breathing and looked over at Bethany trying to do the same.

‘I love you.’ Mycroft frowned, not sure why he hadn’t said it since the day he thought she was going to die. Bethany looked over at him, startled that he’d said it, but soon began smiling uncontrollably. She rolled over to him and placed her head on his chest, he naturally came to wrap his arms around her body and keep her close.

‘I love you too, by the way.’ She said, making him chuckle. ‘In case that wasn’t clear.’

‘I had my suspicions.’ He teased and sure enough it made her giggle.

They stayed where they were for a few moments longer before deciding they both needed a quick shower and some water. Mycroft took note of her kindness on previous occasions and refused to let her do anything more than her body would allow.

Despite his own body not wanting to move or do anything more than he absolutely had to, Mycroft refused to let her go downstairs to get water, instead he retrieved it for her himself. He stepped into the shower with her and helped her clean her body, taking the clear opportunity to once again understand the way her body reacted in the afterglow.

Mycroft felt happy, he couldn’t remember the last time he could genuinely say that, but then he couldn’t remember very much at that moment.

They got into bed and Mycroft didn’t dare look at the time, instead he allowed Bethany to rest, and he instinctively curled his body around hers. It felt natural, no, it felt essential. Mycroft never wanted to know another day without her again.

END

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[hallothere]

87 (smile) + 34 (comfort/safety) for my girl Idhrien? :unlessranger: she should have a nice day

87. Smile 34. Comfort/Safety

A woman of the city- possibly a noble, though Idhrien had no way of knowing- had made it her solemn duty and highest priority to see her dressed for the evening.

"You may wear what you like, of course." Bright brown eyes blinked back tears. "But please... let me render whatever services you desire to that end. If it is only someone to fashion your hair, or provide the traditional flower adornments for your..." here she made a gesture at Idhrien's travel-worn uniform and trailed off, "...or even a dish of soap for your bath. Or... or nothing."

Idhrien turned back to look at where her brothers aggregated, some looking askance at the elaborate bath halls next to their quarters. As much as she ached to be near them, to see them breathing free air and laughing, she could hardly say no to a moment for herself.

But still... "You are very kind to offer," she began, "but I need no special treatment. I am no person of status, only a healer and humble servant of King Elessar's."

The woman kept blinking tears. "I...see..." she said, as though she did not, "Forgive an... old woman for insisting, but... I still wish to do something for you." She wrung her hands a little, clearly nervous, but pressed on. "I have very little in skills or trade, or even the healing arts. Some embroidery, not kept-up, and I have fashioned my own curtains since the days grew darker."

She sniffed and wiped at her eyes with a fine handkerchief, unembroidered. "But I have made it my business, in times I could, to help any young girl in the city who wished to... who had some event or another she--" Pausing again, she increased her efforts to remain dry-eyed with little avail. "You are not a young girl. It is quite fine if you have no wish to... There is plenty else for me to worry over. My husband's business, and him gone on the Pelennor--"

Her voice caught, and before she could turn away Idhrien reached out a hand to stop her.

"Forgive me," Idhrien began, "for I both misjudged you and misunderstood. While we have our own grand events in the North, they might seem... rustic to you. We wear our uniforms- though they shall receive some tending before tonight- to honor our Chieftain and King. But-" she hastened on, "-I should do him no dishonor to wear something else, especially a gift so kindly given from a cousin who has already suffered much." Idhrien swallowed thickly. "I... lost my father on the Pelennor as well."

"Oh, you poor dear." The woman's tears flowed freely with her pity and understanding. "You shall have whatever you like."

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

"Is it lavender?" Idhrien held the dress up to the light of the window. Her host- who had tearfully introduced herself as Lengwen- had practically thrown open her wardrobe, closets, and stores for Idhrien's inspection. This, and a dress of 'Calembel cream' color, were the top contenders.

"It looks paler in this light," Lengwen said, "but by the evening and in the torches it will shine differently. If you don't wish to-"

"No," Idhrien reassured her, grinning, "no, I think it's just perfect."

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

"Mistress Lengwen!" she called from within the bath chamber of the lady's house, "Which of these soaps should I use?"

"Whichever you please, my dear, I'm sure!" Lengwen paused. "And none of this 'Mistress' nonsense. Should you continue, I will be forced to point out that one of us ought to warrant a Ladyship due to her kinship with the King..."

Idhrien took the soap that smelled strongest of herbs and laughed.

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

"I fear we have brushed it too thoroughly."

Idhrien could feel her hair rising, crackling, sticking to her face in places. Likely as anything it stood up all over. She imagined great puffball flowers and tufts of wool. Lengwen only shook her head knowingly.

"Oh, never fear, my dear. We are quite happy it is dry and shining. I do have something for it."

She returned with a small bottle and Idhrien felt all the sillier.

"Oil! Of course. I'd forgotten, but we have our own mixtures back home. It's just.... been so long..."

Lengwen returned the sad smile that was surely creeping up on her own face. "There aren't great celebrations like this every day, but I hope we are coming on a time where they are not so far apart as to be easily forgotten."

Idhrien nodded. "So do I."

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

"Oh, pardon me, madam, I--"

It was worth a hundred tears to see Lothrandir choke on his drink. They had all agreed to gather before the ceremony- only partly in jest to see that no one got lost- and to have a drink while they ensured Aragorn took his place on the Pier with any trinket he might wish and forget in haste. Halbarad's star was one such effect, and Daervunn guarded it closely against all incident.

"You are thus pardoned, sir." She said, curtsying. Oh, certainly most of the rest had cleaned up- and some plainly accosted and consented to styling like herself- but only a handful had seen her in anything but her uniform. Amlan, across the room, still seemed to be puzzling over her identity.

Corunir looked stunning, but strode over still ignorant of city decorum. "You look wonderful!" he said, picking her up in his arms and spinning her around. "I should swear you were to be wed today! Amazing!"

She laughed aloud, and then louder still to see the faces of her brothers peering at this new curiosity. Helchon was agape, Mincham nodded sagely, and Mithrendan... Neither could voice the sentiment or bear it today, but his eyes welled up all the same.

My father, she could nearly read out of his mind, would have been happy to see me so well.

"Oh you'll forget me in an instant." She said, swatting Corunir's arm. "Once Lady Arwen ascends the steps, I'll be some sort of tablecloth starched-standing off to the side. And you a big tree-" she poked Lothrandir in an un-mopped spot on his shirtfront, "-that someone tried to water."

And they laughed, and cried, and spun around to show off stitch-work and borrowed finery. When their Chieftain- their King- arrived, they ascended to such a celebration as none could forget.

[amugoffandoms]

Ooh, 3, 17, and 29 for the fic asks if you want :D

whoopee!! more mug's ao3 writing wrapped!! here's the list!

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

i am incapable of picking just one so here's a list aidnjf!!

Sing Your Sins! - yeah this would be an obvious choice but like audhgjgjg it was so fun to write about!! just let them be happy guys please!,!@,&$$

37.2°C -- Yuno Kashiki's Trial 2 Voice Drama - I had a blast rewriting some of yuno's trial 2 vd for this swap au judt man some of the last lines kinda just hit hard and man judt man

a mug of whumptober 2023 fics - is this cheating?? yeah a little bit buy i had so much fun writing some of this!! really can't wait to get to the rest shhffjjf

ILOLL - yeah the characters are historical figures, I like writing and if the story just so happens to be through these figures that were sort of modernized by a musical then yeah ajfjfjf ANYWAYS you can see my favorite part of formatting and also gruesome writing in this ajfhfj love both of those things dearly sjjf

17. Your favorite character to write this year?

yuno.

but there are some close contenders!!

Sayori is really fun to write! There's a balance of bubbly and bittersweet you have to hit and it's always fun standing on that line! also just sayo :]

Es, Mahiru, and Fuuta all because I've written them a few times to understand their character better and also they have beliefs and traits that are so intrinsically woven into their character that it's like Oh we're gonna have fun writing this yippee!!

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

oh man there's so many auauausu

here are some that i picked out sjfjf

“Ha, you know that you’re just pushing everyone away when you’re being honest?” She knows. She knows. It’s stupid, but she knows. No matter what she’s like, she’ll have to lie. Just to have a little warmth. How cruel is that?

Shidou hears that voice. He can’t tell who said that, probably one of the doctors pulling him out of the room. Closing his mouth to stop the next scream, he realizes, for a second, he believes them. He believes that if he lets other people dip their hands in the ocean of blood he wades through every day, his wife will be waiting for him. His wife will be alive.

It's only that noise and him standing around. He can feel his chest tighten with guilt and dread. If he dared to breathe, it felt like something akin to a noose constricted his breath, pulling him away.

"Sometimes I wake up and everything feels frozen. It's cold and I can't feel anything. It's nothing. I can't feel the light against my face. I can't feel my body ache for relief."

"Y-Yuno—" "I can't tell if I'm on the edge of my life or I'm already dead." "!" "Then, Mahiru-san comes into my cell with Shidou-san. He fixes my bandages. And, eventually, I feel something. It's cold." "..." Es stares at the other. "I think we both know, even Shidou. I'm on the verge of dying, Es." Es stands up and slams the table, with Yuno only blankly staring. "Yuno, you aren't going to—" "Am I... really alive?"

so that's it!! :D thank you for asking ^^

[spacetravels]

🎧 Ser🫡

And I was just happy to be a contender

And I was just aching for anything

And I used to have such steady hands

But now I can't keep 'em from shaking

[marble--tears]

[A Raindance in Traffic Interpolation]

I was just happy to be a contender

I was just aching for anything

And I used to have such steady hands

But now I can't keep them from shaking

[There, There Interpolation]

Oh I'm sorry I...

I'm sorry I don't laugh at the right times

Is this what it feels like with my wings clipped?

I'm awkward and nervous

I'm awkward and nervous

[The Devil in My Bloodstream Interpolation/Verse 4]

Two blackbirds on a highway sign

Are laughing at me here with my wings clipped

I'm staring up at the sky

But the bombs keep fucking falling

There's no devil on my shoulder

He's got a rocking chair on my front porch

But I won't let him in

No, I won't let him in

'Cause I'm sick of seeing ghosts

And I know how it's all gonna end

There's no triumph waiting

There's no sunset to ride off in

We all want to be great men

And there's nothing romantic about it

I just want to know that I did all I could with what I was given

23/05/23 - 4 AM

[wordsintotheether]

It was so beautiful to fall in love with you. I miss you all the time. How many years will it take to stop feeling a spark when I look at our pictures? It has been painful and arduous to walk away. I ache for you. And yet I know if you were here, we would feel miles apart.

I’ve never been good at change. I will stubbornly reassess and try again a thousand times over before I accept things are different, that they have changed against my will.

In my youth I made the mistake of having a talon-like grip on everything I loved, convinced I could prevent loss if I simply did not let go. With age, I have seen too much slip through my fingers, as if those precious things I clung to had suddenly turned to dust and cascaded through my hands into the depths below.

With age, I learned to hold on loosely, prepared to let things come and go, knowing some love is only meant for a season of our lives. I have somehow accepted the inevitability of loss while drowning in its wake.

To you, I held on loosely. I was skittish, ready to let go and run at any sensed shift. I lived on high alert, too afraid to let myself believe anything could stay. And yet there you were, lulling me over my walls into your bed where I could live in your warmth and sunshine.

I don’t have it in me to regret letting my guard down. It was the most peace, the most loved, the most safe I have ever felt. And, I fear, may ever feel.

I didn’t know what to do when you put up your walls and disappeared behind them. You, my stable little home that stood and made the world feel still in the midst of its noise and belligerence, I did not know what to do when my worst fear came true:

I would once again brave the world without you.

It feels unfair, which feels so petulant to say. But simply, how do I make sense out of being given my world and then watching it crumble underneath me? How do I contend with my apparent forever-lesson in life seems to be: I am doing this alone.

Why did you have to love me so well that in this moment, in this ache, I just want to come running to you? You don’t make me feel good anymore. In your addiction, you can be cruel and careless. In my heartache I become distant and mean. I could not disgrace our love like that, to continue to act that way with each other in the same hallowed grounds of our connected lips whispering “I love you”s and sweet nothings as we lay all tangled up in one another. You felt like happiness on my skin, both comforting and exhilarating.

No, those grounds are sacred, and I love you too much to stomp through the gardens and effigies we erected. I know that what is right is to leave them untouched; to leave well-trodden paths to become overgrown as these monuments to us are slowly, quietly, swallowed up by the good earth that holds them. Swallowed up and birthed a new as the soil repurposes our pieces and life goes on.

I know all this, and yet I sit here, aching for you. It’s certainly gotten easier, but the end is still not in sight.

I hope you are safe. For all our distance, in the rain you will always have me as your umbrella if you choose to reach for it. I only worry that your pride will stop you from asking from the help you know is there.

You do not have to fear death while I’m alive; I’ll shelter you forever.

[im-always-the-problem-its-me]

dear tumblr, i forgot about you again. i'm always abandoning you for what i think are more nobler pursuits, but then i remember some things can't be shared publicly. some things go beyond the pages of my private journal. some things need this outlet that stains my memories and reminds me that if i post some things maybe they'll transform. the void makes them concrete. tangible. something i can look back on and think 'oh, i remember that.' 'i remember those feelings' or 'wow, i'm still right there.'

i have escaped a place that was killing me. i have healthier eating habits now (meaning, i'm actually eating). i am very active. my pain levels have decreased. i feel happier, but i still have secret dramas to contend with.

i am in a place with family i barely know, but am getting to know. how strange not to grow up with people you share blood with. especially such close blood. a new sibling. the father who actually contributed to my biology, even if he had nothing to do with my upbringing.

i am surprised by the mix of things i feel although it seems totally normal to feel how i do. i am happy. i am trying to 'fit in' with new people which is bringing up the horror of how i used to feel in high school. i'm too old to feel 'nobody likes me' but i do. i analyze all i say in social situations and wonder if that was 'too something' for people.

i have been told i'm 'too much' for the majority of my life. is this true? i know i'm 'out there', but i'm kind. i don't feel the need to assert my opinions. i feel i listen to others very well and am not argumentative. i share how i feel. i still write my surface bullshit, terrified to actually bare my soul, and still debating whether or not to get back into publishing.

i quit a lot. i gained a lot too though. life will always be a battle. i just don't really fight anymore. i just slowly let everything fall apart and fall back into place again.

i am at a crossroads. again. i have a month to make a decision that will probably destroy my life. i'm leaning toward not going through with it of course. i don't even think i can. i mean, i just got used to being happy. why do i have to be my own wrench in every good plan?

i don't feel so confused anymore. i only feel bad for others' involved who will be affected. i can't keep secrets. well, i can...but they destroy me inside. never a good idea when you're a fragile girl who already has a stomach ache about life in general 82% of the time.

i realized that i hold a lot. everyone talks about autumn and how it teaches us to let go. what if you don't want to hang on but you do...like, you can't control that you do?

HE says to learn to be cold and indifferent in certain areas, but i am all or nothing. either i'm numb to everything, uncaring, cruel even...or i'm feeling everything so intensely that the only way to release it all is to scream.

i'm in this post-transition phase i guess. i just made a big change. a big move. i am used to my surroundings and finally, i love them...but i'm worried about finances, i'm worried about all i feel and flipping out on my new family...and i'm worried about the possibility of seeing HIM in a month. i'm pretty sure it's happening but i don't know WHAT will happen when we're in the same room again and i have to have some control or my entire life will burn down.

i once said i was ok with that. i'd do that for HIM. but HE doesn't want that. he doesn't want me destroyed. too late though. what can't be, could have been, maybe will be...all that eats me alive.

i warned HIM. HE can't hold anything against me if he chooses to do so because i have been clear about how i am and how i handle things. which is always 'not well'. i'm good. i'm not good at being bad. i'm just really good at feeling bad when there's no reason for me to.

i'll figure this out. or i won't. i'll sweep it under another rug and discover it again in the future.

it's what i always do.

[devilsvenom]

Perhaps she had been out of it for too long. Caught up in her own personal shit, because there was always something with the Halstead's, and always something that Annalise found herself avoiding. In the span of nine months she felt like she had lived multiple lifetimes, and begged for death in almost every single one of them. Vampiric brother with a sociopathic sire, kidnapped by the human she'd once loved who now wished to hand over his soul to the undead, sister committing herself to a mental health facility, dead brother missing for months. Looking for him for months, looking for Anika though. . . she would always feel guilty that finding her had been second on her list. She had looked for Reid until she couldn't stand, until she'd lost her job and been unable to even afford rent. Finding magic and aching for it to rush through her veins, no better than any other addict, even if the giver was happy enough to supply her with a roof over her head. Now the brother had returned but he was different, hurting his sisters in one way or another and Lis hadn't even thought to seek out Anika. In truth, she didn't know that the Booker was back to society.

She was fucking exhausted, and yet there always seemed to be more.

"No, I didn't know that." She sighed, already gesturing for the blunt back after Anika took her first hit. It was deep this time, filling her lungs and uncaring if she choked on it. "Another thing to contend with, though I much doubt that I'm high on the list of The Brotherhood's favourites right now. I don't remember the last time I participated in something organised by them. Too much of my own shit has been going on, and I've had to focus on protecting my own." Reid included, unfortunately.

A pause as she looked up at Anika, motioning for her to join Lis where she sat because the huntress certainly had no intention of moving. "I'm not going to ask you questions, Anika. Just know if you want to talk, about anything, I will listen and if you need anything, I'm here." For now. She could feel the wheels spinning in her head, cogs turning but it was though they didn't quite fit. She had ideas, a plan, always did but this one was flawed and yet she couldn't bring herself to care.

"I don't know if you've seen him, but if you do... don't trust Reid. He's not himself. Rose is compelled, and he shot me. Perhaps with you it'll be different. You two had been... different, but if how he treats his sisters is anything to go by then you should at least be wary." A warning paid back with a warning, because Anika had been through more than enough recently. "I need to ask you something, Booker. And it's a yes or no answer, I can't answer questions because honestly I'm not sure I have the answers just yet." The blonde waited for an answer, to see if she would be argued against or simply offered to go ahead.

She wasn't hard to track, for a hunter. Certainly the better choice between the two sisters. Rose would have her head, and her heart, for being gone as long as she was. She’d demand answers, demand truth, demand repentance. And Anika would lie. And lie. And lie again. Because the truth was locked in a memory she didn't dare touch. Lis wouldn't press the same way.

Sometimes, she forgot how young Lis really was. Just a kid, really. One who deserved better than Book to look up to, a brother who wasn’t dead, and something more than whatever hole she’d carved out just to survive.

Looking at her now, a quiet, shamed kind of remorse twisted in Anika’s chest — for the nights she’d wished Lis dead. When knife-like words from Reid had plunged into her, and all that came out was cold, spiteful hate. She’d stare at him and feel sick with it; the fact that he still had both his sisters, while hers were buried deep in the dirt. He didn’t deserve them. Not when he’d never known what it meant to lose like she had.

"Shit’s already hit the fan." Hunters dropping like flies, vampires getting the fucking upgrade to their miserable lives— taking strolls in the sun now, like they were anything more than monsters. She had to warn her, if the blonde didn’t already know. 'You heard the fuckers can walk in the daylight now?'" a distraction, meant to pull the focus off her, and the damn hand, or whatever it was that made the blonde think she needed those sympathy questions.

Just pass me the fucking thing.

Cloudiness came like bliss to a mind that never shut up. Smoke slipped out through her nostrils as she spoke—"Better." Only half a lie. At least she didn’t need help with basic fucking tasks anymore.

[brionysea]

kind of mike wheeler coded

[star-girl69]

My Heart Never Knows

Jake Sully x Neytiri x Fem!Reader

—-

a/n: hello everyone and welcome to my new series!! some of you might know me from my hotd writings, and some of you might not know me at all. i am so excited to give you this new series- jake sully x neytiri x fem!reader!! i’ve had this idea rolling around for a while, and i finally decided there isn’t enough of this pairing so i decided to write my own. thank you so much for reading and i hope you all enjoy!! (not beta read)

also- please send me a private message, a comment, or an ask if you would like to be added to the taglist!

warnings: none, but tell me if i missed anything!!

Chapter One - Under My Ribs

—-

When the Sky People come, you are not scared.

They have come before, and now they have come again. Ronal hisses they are a sore that keep recurring, something no herbs can fix. Tonowari soothes the clan- saying that it is not the Metkayina’s war. It is over the sea, he says, in the forest. We are reef people, not forest people.

The village is assuaged and life continues as it did before.

But with each wave, each whisper of wind, you can feel something changing. It has been a year since they came again- and you know it is happening.

You are not the Tsahìk, not like your sister. Ronal is the most talented Tsahìk you have ever known. She is in tune with the water, with Eywa. There is this air about her, this wisp of something. Like she knows more than you, and will not deign to tell you.

As her sister, you are awarded more of her kind smiles than most. Ao’nung even jokes that she loves you more than her own children. You know that isn’t true, but you humor him anyways.

Ronal is the sun, and you are the moon in her shadow.

It is hard, to simply be the “other.” To crave the light so much it aches in your ribs, but to be denied it time and time again by your own blood. She does not mean it, this you know, and it is not her fault. She probably thinks you content in the shadow, content to be the moon.

But you want to be wanted, want to be needed. To be loved.

Tsireya and Ao’nung love you, call your their aunt, listen to you, respect you.

Even Tonowari loves you in his own way. Although it is mostly just pity, a sorrow he feels for his poor mate’s sister. Alone and unmated, childless and teetering on the edge of useless. You are not a warrior like him.

Instead, your days are filled with trailing behind Ronal, carrying her supplies, holding her tools, helping her while she cures sickness and prays to Eywa. She is a force, like that. You swim with Tsireya, race your ilu’s near the edge of the reef.

It is something deep under your ribs, near your heart but not quite, this longing, this feeling- knowing that you are meant for something more.

When the Sky People come, you are not scared.

Tonowari says you are safe in the reef, in your village. So you contend yourself to your life, live with something growing under your ribs.

When the Forest People come, you are entranced.

—-

“Y/N,” Ronal says, looking into a steaming pot. It is full of herbs and sea plants, simmering and cooling down into a soup, meant to be fed to a injured man, to help with his pain.

He snagged his arm on a rock, and he is lucky to not have died. Ronal had only looked disappointed when she saw him, before diving into her work and effectively saving him. You stood in the background, listening to her commands, handing her what she asked for.

Normally it was Tsireya who helped her, but you had persuaded Ronal to let her go into the sea today. It was a beautiful day, and there will always be other injuries. She relented, eventually, and you had smiled at Tsireya as she leapt into the water.

You watched her disappearing figure until you could not anymore.

The morning is calm, and Ronal is in a good mood this morning. The news of her baby has put her in good spirits, and you are most happy for her.

You turn you attention back to her, looking over from where you are tidying some cases of herbs on the shelf.

“Will you get me some more seaweed?” she asks, glancing at you over her shoulder.

“Of course, sister,” you murmur, and collect a handful of the green plant and give it to her.

She looks it over, taking about half and putting it into the pot.

She starts muttering to you about what she is craving for the evening meal, and you indulge in the mindless conversation.

The morning is normal. You feel something in the air, like you have been feeling so often lately, a changing. This feeling under your ribs. It aches and wanes, and Ronal knows not what it is.

The ache flares when you hear the sound of the shell being called, warning you that outsiders are approaching. It is not the war call- but you and Ronal still share a look anyways. She leaves the pot to simmer, hand brushing your arm as she leads you out of the home and onto the sandy beach.

When you come out into the sun, feel the sand under your feet, you see people crowd around something. You can just barely see the figure of ikran, steady on the ground. You gasp. Ikran- forest people- have not come to the Metkayina in years.

Then, you see them, and the feeling under your rib aches. You suck in air, and Ronal looks at you. When you shake your head, she appraises you once more. She does not believe you are fine, but there are more pressing matters.

Her expression glazes over again, inquisitive and slightly worried. Neither of you know why the forest people are here. They are fighting a war, but your people are not.

The crowd parts for you and Ronal, and she looks around at the crowd before her eyes narrow. She stands next to you, although slightly in front of you.

Regardless of anything, you are still her baby sister. And without a mate, and without your parents, it is her and Tonowari who will protect you. Your sister’s mate stands in front of these strangers now- spear pointed up, ready to stand for battle at any moment. He shoots the two of you a glance.

The two of you come to stand next to Tonowari, and you finally see them. Forest people. Familiar, although not by face. The air about them is.

It is a man, a woman, and four children. Your eyes flick down to the youngest one, a girl, you think, and she cannot look to be more than seven.

“I see you, Ronal.” The man speaks, raising his fingers to his forehead. The woman copies him. “Tsahìk of the Metkayina.”

“Why do you come to us, Jake Sully?” Tonowari asks, hand extended, and you suddenly realize who they are.

It is Toruk Macto and his wife, Neytiri. And their children stand behind them, around your niece and nephews age. Besides for the little one, of course, who stands close to her mother.

Your eyes flick up- and the ache in your ribs flares again. Neytiri is the most beautiful woman you have ever seen. Her eyes shine in the light of the sun, holding that reserved sadness behind them. You faintly wonder why, before she meets your eyes.

You watch as her mouth parts. She looks at you like she is blown away- but it must simply be surprise. You do look a bit like Ronal, and to see you stand so close to her, she just must not have known that Ronal has a sister. You dismiss any foolishness in your heart, ignoring the ache in your ribs.

Jake Sully holds his arms out. “We seek uturu.”

The clan immediately jumps into whispers, and you bite your lip.

Tonowari is a revered warrior, a wise Olo’eyktan. But this strange man, this forest person, he is Toruk Macto.

You glance at Ronal, and she looks taken aback.

“Uturu?” she asks, looking past you and towards Tonowari.

“Yeah, sanctuary for my family.” He steps forward, and you see his face fall. He is… scared, you realize.

“We… are Reef People. You are forest people.” Tonowari says, as Ronal starts to circle them. “Your skills will be nothing here.”

“We will learn your ways, right?” Jake laments, turning towards his family. He looks at them expectantly, and you see Neytiri reluctantly nod. His voice is hurried, nervous and scared. And suddenly you cannot hold your tongue.

“You look scared, Jake Sully. Did something happen? To the Omaticaya People?” He looks towards you in the same way Neytiri did, as if noticing you for the first time.

“N-no.” He says, but you are not sure you believe him.

Ronal grabs Neytiri’s tail, the little ones arm.

“Their arms are thin,” she observes. The little girl whispers for her mother, bounding away over to her father. “Their tails… are weak.” An older girl takes her tail back from Ronal. “You will be slow in the water.”

She looks down, suddenly, grabbing the girl’s arms roughly. She grips her wrists, holding her hands up for everyone to see the five fingers she possesses.

“These children… are not even true Na’vi,” she hisses.

The girl she is holding looks to Jake, calling for him.

“Yes we are!” She says suddenly, and Ronal drops her arms and walks away. She grabs one of the boys next.

“They have demon blood!” The people gathered around jump back and gasp, the whispers rising again.

“Look!” Jake calls, holding his hand up to your sister. “Look, I was born of the Sky People and now I am Na’vi, alright.” He turns back to you and Tonowari, still frantic. “We can adapt. We will adapt.”

“My husband…” Neytiri starts, face blank and apathetic, “was Toruk Macto.” She points her chin up, stepping closer to Ronal. “He lead the clans to victory… against the Sky People.”

When she looks to Tonowari, you watch as he nods. He cannot deny Jake Sully’s achievements, cannot deny what Toruk Macto has done.

“This you call victory?” Ronal asks, voice cruel. “Hiding, among strangers.” She steps forward. “It seems Eywa has turned her back on you.”

Neytiri bares her teeth and hisses, and you sister does the same. But Jake steps in just as you place a gentle hand on Ronal’s arm. She steps back, reluctantly.

“I apologize for my mate. She is-”

“Do not apologize for me,”

“-tired, we have come a long way and she is exhausted.” He gives Neytiri a small flick of his head, and Neytiri hisses and turns away.

Tonowari steps forward, placing a hand on Jake’s shoulder.

“Toruk Macto is a great warrior!” he proclaims. “All Na’vi people know his story. But we, Metkayina, are not at war.”

Your heart squeezes when Jake picks up the smallest child, cradling her to his chest.

“We cannot let you bring your war here.”

“I’ve done my war. Okay? I just wanna keep my family safe.”

Ronal and Tonowari share a look, and your eyes flick between the two of them.

“Arturu has been asked,” Neytiri says, arms wrapped around herself and chin pointed to the ground.

Ronal stares at them, mouth parted, as Tonowari turns and looks at her. You watch as they subtlety move their heads, silently speaking.

“Ronal…” you whisper, and when they turn to you, you nod.

You know Ronal values your opinion, and Tonowari does by extent. You cannot let this family be turned away, left to travel the planet hoping for someone to take them in. Finally, Ronal breathes in and nods.

Tonowari stands tall, addressing the people. He breaths in.

“Toruk Macto and his family will stay with us. Treat them as our brothers and sisters. But they do not know the sea- so they will be like babies, taking their first breath. Teach them our ways so they do not suffer the shame of being useless.”

“Thank you,” Jake breathes, and the rest of the family follows.

“Our son, Ao’nung, our daughter, Tsireya will show your children what to do.”

Ao’nung steps forward, complaints spilling from his lips, but Tonowari stops him. He sighs, and Tsireya beams. You see her eyes fixed on one of the young boys, and you smile to yourself when you notice he is looking at her as well.

“Tsireya and Y/N, my sister, will show you the village.”

You look towards Ronal, eyes wide, and she only looks at you pointedly.

“Ronal,” you hiss, but she only touches your arm and pushes you forward.

When you look forward, Jake and Neytiri’s eyes are on you.

—-

taglist:

@sully-stick-together

[metacrisisdoctor]

Lying with this love, that’s where he’ll be

an alien intruder makes itself known in the tyler household. for the @tentoorosemicrofics challenge. i used “icy” as the prompt. cookies for anyone who understands what the title is a refence to!

1.7k. family fluff. post empire of the wolf.

READ ON AO3

Like most things, it will all make sense in retrospect. Or at least some of it will.

The situation is starting to come into focus now, really- the thought of what could be happening so terrifying Rose can only mentally kick herself for letting the Doctor wander off into the snow to get her some aspirin for her cramps.

("Never doubt my love for you, Rose Tyler. This stuff could kill me.")

Well- what she had thought were period cramps.

Cramps have never felt this bad though, and the only thing Rose can focus on is the terrified look on her daughter's face. And the pain. Oh God, the pain. Splitting pain radiating from her womb and spreading, spreading, spreading until she can barely walk over to the sofa, even with Mia holding her arm and leading the way with a patience no teenage girl can muster unless they're really scared.

It's then that is clicks. The only time she's ever felt this pain was seventeen years ago.

She's in labour. And she hadn't even known she was pregnant.

This universe has a sense of humor, doesn't it? Hard to deny that now.

For years Mia had begged them for a sibling, and they'd tried. Of course they had. Many times, without complaint. Sometimes multiple times a day, as due diligence. They had a name picked out and everything, the perfect name. And when the Doctor saw a tiny suit or miniature converse, he couldn't help but bring them home.

They'd tried until they could say that one child was miracle enough, and after a while Mia had contended herself with an orange cat that the Doctor pretended to hate and playdates with Tony.

They were happy. They are happy. 

Happiness comes and goes, however. In this moment, happy is certainly not the term she would use.

The contraction that takes a hold of her is so intense that her knees give out. It increases until she can't help but scream in agony while Mia holds her waist. A drop of sweat falls into Rose's eye and blurs her vision when she opens her eyes. The room seems bigger than it ever has, the couch never so bloody fucking stupidly far.

"Don't die," Mia whimpers. Rose can feel her daughter's arms trembling, and she knows she's crying. There is nothing Rose wants more than to comfort her, to stand up straight and tell her that she's fine. That she isn't dying. But she can barely string together three words.

Three words are better than none, "I'm gonna alright." 

Mia sniffles, "I love you, Mummy."

And blimey, Mia hasn't called her anything other than "Mum" or "whatever," in ages. It's enough to to make her laugh, tears springing to her eyes at how young Mia sounds. But it makes her heart hurt too. Mia really thinks she’s watching her die. 

The pain ebbs into a dull ache, giving her enough reprieve to say those words back and keep moving. When they finally make it to the sofa, Rose pulls her phone from her pocket to call her husband. Her hands are slick with sweat and the device slips from her hands like butter and clatters to the floor.

Rose curses, taking a deep breath. "I need you to call your father. He should be back soon, he just went to the store but we should warn him... before he gets home."

Mia's eyes are as wide as saucers despite the sleep lines on her face and her messy braid. Guilt twists inside Rose again. She had hoped this, whatever it was, wouldn't wake her. But it did, of course it did. She was having a baby for Christ's sake.

"Warn him about what?! We don't even know what's wrong. We have to get to the hospital."

A furious shake of the head has Mia's mouth closing back up. She lifts her hips and starts tugging her sweatpants down. "No time. Baby's coming."

"Baby?! Since when are you pregnant?!"

"Hell if I know!"

Just then fresh, freezing air spreads throughout the room, cooling Rose's burning skin as the Doctor bursts through the door. The small bag of pain killers and crisps in his hand looks equal parts ridiculous and terribly endearing. He has snow on his shoulders, piled on the blue wool of his coat, soaking his cotton jim jams and stuck to his hair.

He's panting like he's been running, his own terrified expression mirroring Mia's- but it's clear that he heard every last bit of their exchange before opening the door.

"I already called him," Mia explains, tapping her temple a bit smugly, "with my mind."

Before Rose can respond something cheeky about their alien mind connection the pain rips through her again, and she slides off the sofa and onto the floor with a groan. She tastes blood and realizes she's biting her cheek. 

Snow tracks across the room as he makes his way over to them. He quickly shrugs off the coat and kneels on the floor in front of his wife. His hands are cold as ice and Rose flinches when he gently touches her thigh, then leans down to have a look.

"Oh hello," he croons, before looking back up and smiling widely. "You're crowning. I can see the head. Looks like I'm right on time for once."

"I didn't know," Rose sobs, thinking of all the glasses of wine she's had. The prenatal pills she should have taken- especially at her age. It's hard to know exactly how old she is anymore, but above forty is a good guess. She thinks of the spotting she had taken as her period, as menopause kicking in.

The small, tiny bulge that she had thought was bloating. But it was a baby, their baby, somehow hidden away in her own body.

How could she have been so blind?

"Rose, I know what you're thinking but it's alright. None of us knew. But I don't think our child wants to be ignored any longer, eh?"

They share a small smile and Mia nods in agreement, pushing the sweaty hair away from her mothers face. Rose attempts to pull her hand from Mia's but the teenager refuses to let go, determined. "I'm not leaving."

It's all goes so fast then, nothing like her seventeen hour long labour of years past. The silence of the night is filled with the sounds of one small, (mostly) human life making it's way home.

"Come on, you're doing so well. Just one big one for me."

Her red, blotchy face scrunches as she pushes one more time.

"I'll catch you," the Doctor says, and she knows he's not talking to her anymore. Suddenly, she really really want to meet her baby. It's as if she can't wait another second to hold them. Besides her Mia gasps and let's go of her hand, finally, to whip off her favourite pink hoodie for the Doctor to wrap the baby in.

Just like that it's over. Her husband makes a sound of victory, between a sob and cheer. The room is suspiciously silent though, and she sits up straighter, trying to get a look at them despite her pain and confusion. The entire room smells like copper.

Her voice is raw and trembling when she speaks, "Why isn't he crying?"

He's so small, the chock of brown hair on his head the only thing making him seem bigger than he is. 

Fear contracts around her heart like scar tissue, old memories of children they have both lost in their time apart bubbling to the surface of the ocean of her mind and threatening to pull them down into an abyss she doesn't know if they could ever come back from. She watches as the Doctor rubs circles on the baby's back, his face tense. After what feels like an eternity, a piercing cry fills the room.

"That's more like it," the Doctor chuckles, his voice thick with unshed tears. Relief courses through her entire being, her arms opening instinctively. "I think he was asleep."

It makes sense doesn't it? At least in her mind it does. Mia had been non-stop energy, dancing on her bladder at all times. Takes after her father. Maybe this one shares her love for sleeping in. But even if he doesn't, she doesn't mind one bit.

"Where have you been hiding?" She murmurs as their son is place on her chest, wrapped in his sisters love, delivered from his father's hands. The three of them sit in stunned, awed silence until he settles, making small snuffled sounds into Rose's sternum. 

Mia's words are accompanied by a small giggle. "A little stowaway, he is." She tugs the fabric that obscures his slimey little face down to run a fingertip over his features, amazed that her little brother has finally made an appearance.

Rose marvels at how well the Doctor is taking this, how perfect the timing is. He had been so afraid to be a father again. If it hadn't been for Tony, maybe he would have been able to open his heart to this part of himself again, but she's so glad he did. Fatherhood fits him like a glove, like he was born for it. But if Mia had been a surprise, she doesn't know how he would have reacted. 

Everything worked out just as it should have, it seems.

In a few moments they will rush to the hospital, they'll call Jackie and tell her there won't be a Christmas party this year after all. There will be months of nappy changes, and sleepless nights and guilt followed by comfort. By happiness. By love. Always, always love.

Now, at three in the morning, there is a moment of complete serenity as snow continues to fall around their townhouse. The fireplace crackles. All old wounds heal.

A family of four, propped on the floor, nestled safely in their home.

"It's good to finally meet you, Jack." the Doctor whispers then leans toward and presses a kiss to Rose's brow, then one to Mia's before making his way back down to the newest member of their family. "And don't you dare let your grandmother think we named you after her. I'll tell you now, in fact, at two minutes old, that you were named after-"

—

Somewhere in a world not much different than their own, Captain Jack Harkness suddenly looks up at the sky and smiles.

He doesn't know why.

[eclvpses]

Everything’s scary to someone. It was a hard concept to get behind when Rosa tried her best to always seem unphased, tough, like nothing did bother her. And then turned around and cried at the drop of a hat. But her emotions never spilled over because she didn’t want to feel them, or that it was the equivalent of a dam - too much, bowling over, nowhere else to go. Rosa always felt deeply because she thought it made her better. But fear was always something a bit confusing to her, a bit foreign and hard to clutch at. Most of the time her emotions were tangible, but fear was fickle. She’d learned that fear was different for everyone from a young age, and a lot of the things she was scared of, it didn’t make sense. Not that she was special. People shouldn’t be scared of their families, or scared of their romantic partners, but those were always top contenders. “You know that staplers will never chomp your hand off, right?” And then she remembered the time Viktor had hexed one of Rosa’s eyeliners to smudge all over her face any time she used it. “No - no, you’re right. Some are nice. Not all, though.” Aoife was good at that - being unbiased, but somehow simultaneously aware. “Just give him some time. It’s like - like me with Bo. He hated me at first. Now look.” Still, Bo seemed a bit rigid, even while he rested on Aoife. Probably Rosa’s fault, but she was just happy he even allowed her to give him some pets. She almost wanted to push it and give his tiny little head a kiss - he was so cute, it pained her every time to hold back. But she knew to take a win when she saw one, at least where the bunny was involved. Listening to Aoife’s rationale, Rosa played it around in her head. She could understand it. Wanting to touch but not wanting to be touched, not being ready. The only thing that made Rosa hesitate was the fact that she’d never experienced such discomfort with Aoife. Who was nothing but good, practically rained sunshine on even the most deviant persons life. The first time she’d manifested Sylvie, Rosa had spent three days at her house, occupying her space, still greedy for more, and Aoife had just accepted it. Rosa loved it now, the trio that’d been created - and Aoife never complained, not once. But some people just couldn’t accept a good thing if it bit them on the nose, so she understood. Aoife was too good to be true, sometimes. “Yeah.” Rosa pushed off her bed as soon as she sat down, moving to rummage through her drawer. Didn’t want to bother indulging in Aoife’s response about how to commune with the ghosts in her life, because sometimes it made Rosa’s heart ache a bit too much. “I have… a Twix bar, KitKat, or Starburst, Sour Patch Kids, and Skittles.” Taking the lot, she hauled them back to her bed for Aoife to merely rifle through. They were all in the bite sized packages, usually used as positive reinforcement for her students. She didn’t mind sharing with Aoife though, already peeling back one of the Starburst packets to share with her. “What?” Barking out a giddy laugh while simultaneously blushing. Rosa forgot being perceived was being known, and Aoife knew her better than most - it still left her flustered, lips pressed together to hide her grin. Usually, Rosa would make a big deal of it in her discomfort, but she didn’t feel anything akin to awkward or emotional irritation. It felt nice, what she assumed was a compliment from Aoife. “I’ll make you a strawberry shortcake next time you come over. To curve the urge. I haven’t baked in forever. That work?” She teased, peeling back the wrapping on a strawberry flavoured Starburst and holding it to Aoife’s lips for her to take.

Aoife let out another heartfelt exhale, only to be greeted by Bo inching closer, sniffing ferociously all around her lips and nostrils. Clearly he wasn't happy with the sigh that'd escaped them, wanted to track down the source and chomp on it with the fervour he'd approach a particularly rigid carrot. A little giggle emerged under her breath despite herself, then her eyebrows crinkled as she focused once more. Another careful comb of his ears. "Everything's scary to someone. Like staplers. They scare me. Their whole job is, like, to bite things, with needle teeth." Almost immediately, she felt a pang of remorse; staplers couldn't help it if that was their purpose, born to their role just like a flea or dung beetle. "I mean, I'm sure some are nice, though." She had a habit of that, too; talking about things like they were people, motes of dust made sentient by an overactive imagination. "I tried. I talked to him about the trees. Like, the way they sway. And I got super into it, 'cause it was like they were dancing, then I looked back and he'd gone. I don't know... Maybe he doesn't like dancing." Bo regarded Rosa as cautiously as he did anyone who wasn't Aoife, but allowed the pets nonetheless; he'd grown used to her, less agitated by her presence than most. "Well," Aoife began, fingers lacing together atop Bo's back, comforted by the gently emanating heat, the faint pitter-patter of his pulse. "It depends. I think they decide. Or their brain... decides. Sometimes they -- they wanna hold my hand but something in them... can't. Like, they aren't ready to be touched yet." Aoife understood this concept all too well. A swallow. Images over the backs of her eyelids: her father's hand leading her outside, scabs like cracked beetle husks on the insides of his elbows, the slimy pallor of his smile in the sunlight. You can't take her, John. Please, we've talked about this. "Do you... have any candy?" Aoife blinked, zoned in. Another blink had her appraising Rosa's face, her own newly hopeful, yearning for something; to feel like a kid again, for a second, whatever that meant. Then, after a prolonged pause, eyes unabashedly roving, a classic case of Aoife's verbal diarrhoea. "Y'know, sometimes your freckles make me wanna chomp on a strawberry shortcake."