#the count walked right next to us as well and i am still recovering

[sapphicbuddies]

I saw TdV live again. before I watched it I was like "I can't get sucked back into a full on obsession. there's little to no content for it online this is hell". I'm happy to announce that I have in fact been sucked in full force yet AGAIN. this is literally the only reason I am even using tumblr at this point lol

[wonderlandwalker]

One Day at a Time | Finnick Odair x Reader

Previous Part / THG Masterlist / Inbox

Summary: a short collection of sweet moments shared between you and Finnick as you recover, reminding the both of you of the love you share

(part 4 of the remember series but could also be read on its own I think, you can find the other parts in my masterlist)

Content Warnings / Tags: Fluff, no use of y/n, mentions of punching, I really think that's it.

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: It's finally here! Sorry it took so long my only excuse is that I am an absolute mess of a human being which is a terrible one but oh well. This will be the final part of the series, hope the fluff makes up for all the heartbreak I've put you through <3

It's been a week now, one week of blissful moments spend with Finnick while recovering from the attack within district 13. After all that had happened you were in need of some peace, and the universe granted it.

On the first day you were still in the hospital wing, an IV dripping steady fluids into your system. You woke up to Finnick sitting next to you, one of his hands holding onto yours while the other was holding up a book. It was one of your favourites, and you had been pestering him about reading it so you could talk about it with him, but he had always brushed you off, saying he'd get around to it eventually. It seems eventually finally came around. You coaxed him into getting in the bed with you, he was hesitant at first, not wanting to hurt you, but he wasn't above your charms either, your eyes pleading with him in a way he couldn't resist. He had settled in behind you, letting you lean against him, ignoring the dirty look the nurse gave you. You had asked him to read to you, and even though you already knew it by heart, his sweet voice added a whole new element to the story so beloved.

The second day was spent trying to convince the nurse to let you leave the hospital room, if only for a few hours, she didn't initially want to agree, but Finnick simply wouldn't drop the subject. So you walked together towards the dinner hall, feeling like little children sneaking out past the curfew.

Supper had already finished, but Finnick was friends with one of the cooks who let him into the kitchens. He told you to sit down on the table in the middle of the room and gave you a quick peck on the lips before moving over to the fridge. It was simple, it wasn't much, but it was perfect. He would let you taste the dish in-between steps, always forgetting one ingredient or another, but you didn't mind reminding him. At some point you could have sworn he was doing it on purpose, but maybe he was just too caught up in having you there with him again. You offered to help with meting the butter, dicing the vegetables, stirring the sauce, but each and every time he would insist you stayed right where you were, accentuated with a quick kiss, his hands on your face smearing flour all over your jaw, not that you minded. He claimed he was the better cook anyway, that you'd only hold him back, now that one you both knew was a lie, but it was a precious one, one that didn't need to be disturbed.

Day three consisted of a slow day back in your room, having been cleared by the doctor and finally being in your own space again. You and Finnick hadn't shared a room in a while now with everything that had gone down, but you had immediately decided to spend your nights together again, not wanting to spend more time apart than necessary. You hadn't fully recovered yet, still needing your rest, but Finnick had set his mind on moving your things back into his room today.

So there you were, sitting crossed legged on his bed absentmindedly sipping on some coffee he had brought you as you watched him bustle about. He was only gone a few minutes at a time, but you never failed to produce a smile when you saw him approaching again, hands full with some of your books, the collection of flowers he had given you over the years that you had dried and pressed in-between the pages were sticking out slightly, but he handled them with care. Even while you weren't together you couldn't find it ins yourself to get rid of them, and you're glad of it now. He goes back and forth for a while, collecting your pillow, your skin care products, your small radio that barely managed to get a reception down here, but you couldn't bare to part with. Each time he'd ask you where you wanted him to put it down, carefully creating a space that consisted of the both of you.

On day four you had finally woken up in his arms again, wondering how you could have ever forgotten this feeling. When he noticed you were awake he had moved to place a delicate kiss on your lips, basking in the simplicity of the fact that he could. He had told you he had a surprise for you today, and you couldn't help how giddy you already got from the mere thought of what it could be. But it was oh so much better than you could have imagined, because today Finnick took you to the surface. How he managed to get you past all the checkpoints was beyond you, and when you asked he had simply said he had friends in all the right places.

It was a bit of a walk to the spot he wanted to take you, but you revelled in the sunlight against your face, needing to squint your eyes to see properly with how bright the sun was but too blissed to care. The high grass rustled against your bare legs as you continued to walk, and the tickling sensation brought back so many fond memories. When you finally made it to the clearing it was a sight from a dream. The tree next to the lake provided a shadow you could both comfortably lay in as the smell of the fresh water blessed your senses once more. The wildflowers adorning the space around you were once you could recall from back home, with a few others you couldn't identify. Finnick had picked a few, placing them behind your ear as he talked about what the flower meant. A myosotis, he had called it, representing true love and dedication. He told you about the myth behind the forget-me-nots, how they had been afraid of being forgotten by the gods, and you had vowed in return to never spend a day without thinking of him again.

During the fifth day you didn't do much of anything special, but you supposed that depends on your definition of the word. Finnick had made dandelion tea from flowers he had collected yesterday, the familiar taste bringing back a sense of nostalgia for a time that you wouldn't be able to return to. You had once told him your mother used to make it when you were sick, and ever since he would go collect them by the cliffs for you. You had insisted it was too much work that he didn't need to worry himself with, he had countered that he enjoyed the view where they grew anyway, and really, he was going for himself as much as for you. Maybe he had simply been trying to get you to stop fussing over the subject, maybe it had really been true.

You spend the day talking to your friends, reminiscing in regained memories and filling in gaps that you couldn't on your own. As you sat next to Johanna she talked on about the days Finnick spent longing after you, claiming he was alright wirh being just friends, but she was convinced that if any of her friends looked at her the way he looked at you she would have suckerpunched them.

On the sixth day you had begged Finnick train with you, saying how you wanted to get your strength back, how you missed the exercise and the content feeling of aching muscles. He had been reluctant, of course he had been, but once you had managed to drag him onto the training mat he revelled in it. He couldn't deny he had missed sparring with you, the action so effortless with you. He had made fun of how you threw your punches, saying you had to extent your arms further to complete the motion, but he was the one not protection his core properly while fixating on you. It had been good to feel your body in motion again, he was still stronger than you, knocking the breath out of your lungs once be stopped holding back, but you were still faster, getting the drop on him in the split seconds he was distracted. The manner in which your muscle memory still held up, the way in which you still used the same techniques without meaning to, it was good to know there are some things people can't take from you.

The seventh day you picked your routine back up. Waking up to an empty bed but not lonely, his side was still warm as you rolled over. Once you opened your eyes you saw the cup of coffee and the note on the bedside table. Finnick knew you never slept for long after he left, somehow he still knew. He had been given some time off during your recovery, but district 13 didn't stand still and they had needed his help. You weren't expected back yet, but the sense of purpose was one that you were always glad to have. You drank the coffee he left you as you got dressed, smiling as he had made it exactly to your liking, even if he used to complain you couldn't even call it coffee anymore with that much sugar in it. And so you went back to work, moving to scribble a quick message on the back of the note if he came back looking for you, not that he needed it, somehow he would always know where you were.

In the past week you had learned that a love as great as the one you shared with Finnick could never be forgotten, not really, because no matter how many memories faded, there would always come new ones. And soon, even though you didn't know it yet, Finnick would give you his mother's ring once more, and this time you would remember everything that led you here, and you would remember saying yes.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Could we get a Frankie Morales fluff or smut (whichever you're feeling, or both?) with

35. "Better than I ever imagined."

👀👀🥺🥺💚

Find You.

35. "Better than I ever imagined."

Author's Note - this is a drabble written as part of my 500 Followers Celebration!! find that post here if you're interested in sending a request!! i love writing for any pedro characters. those big brown eyes get me everytime :(

Pairing - Frankie Morales x Neighbour!Female Reader

Warnings - mild cursing. smooching <3

Word Count - 811

Masterlist. 500 Follower Celebration Masterlist.

Your episode of TV is interrupted by a knock at your front door.

"Sweetheart? It's me. It's Frankie."

Sighing with relief, you make your way to the door, opening it to be met with none other than your next door neighbour, Frankie Morales.

"Hey!" you greet, probably a little too chirpy. Your crush on this man is monumental, and you often find you have to remind yourself to play it cool around him.

"Hey, I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Ever the gentleman. No, you're not. Just watching TV. What do you need?"

It's not uncommon for you and Frankie to show up at each others doors unannounced. Sometimes, he'll come to borrow sugar, or you'll pop over to ask for help fixing your faucet. You make good neighbours, always helping one another out in whatever way you can.

"I have a weird request," he explains, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.

"Hit me with it, Morales."

"Can I use your shower?"

Oh. Suddenly, your mind is flooded with images of Frankie, dripping wet, towel hanging low on his hips, hair messy...

"You with me, honey?" he asks, slight smirk on his lips.

"Yeah, sorry. Daydreaming," you recover. "Any reason you can't use your own?"

"Something's wrong with it. I've tried to fix it, but I think I made it worse. I've been at work all day, and the plumber can't come until tomorrow," he explains.

"Well, you know where the bathroom is. I'll get you a clean towel," you begin to walk towards your cupboard when a strong arm grabs your wrist and pulls you back.

"Thank you, so much. You're an angel, you know that right?" he winks at you, and you throw your head back in a laugh. The melody of it makes him smile.

He makes his way to your bathroom, you following shortly after with his towel. You retreat back to the living room, resuming your episode and trying not to think about the currently naked Frankie Morales in your apartment.

"Sweetheart?" he speaks from the doorway, startling you.

"Shit, Frankie! You move like a Prius!"

"Sorry," he laughs, clearly amused.

You look at him carefully. He's still dry.

"I'm totally interrupting something, aren't I?" he asks.

You raise your eyebrows in confusion. He continues.

"There's a pretty dress hanging up in the bathroom, and your makeup is all over the counter. Were you going out? Am I totally ruining your plans right now?"

Shit. You'd forgotten you'd hung your dress up to try and get the creases out, and totally forgot to put all your makeup away. You'd scrubbed your face with a makeup wipe haphazardly and made yourself cosy on the couch, paying no mind to the mess you'd left behind.

"No, no," you explain. "I was supposed to be going out, but the plans changed."

You're hoping he doesn't notice the slight wobble in your voice. He does.

"Hey, hey, are you okay?" he frets, coming to sit next to you. "Did something happen? You can talk to me."

"It's nothing. Seriously. It's stupid."

"It's not stupid if it's upset you."

He's looking at you so intently with those warm chocolate eyes, you're struggling not to burst into tears.

"I was meant to be going on a date. I was kind of excited, actually. But he cancelled last minute with some bullshit excuse."

"Oh, honey."

"It seems to happen to me a lot. Do I repel love, or something? Why can everyone find it but me?"

Frankie grabs your hands in his, warm palms calming you down.

"You're too good for men like that," he says firmly. "They don't deserve you."

You smile half-heartedly at him, and sit in the silence for a while, fingers still intertwined. Frankie's voice breaks through the quiet gently.

"Maybe you need to stop looking for love. Maybe it'll find you." Then, a bit quieter, "Maybe it already has."

Your eyes widen at his confession, searching his face for any traces of humour. Instead, you're met with Frankie looking at you carefully, no hints of amusement on his features. He's deadly serious.

"I'm so glad that idiot cancelled on you," he admits. "Because it means I get to do this."

He surges forward and captures your lips in a searing kiss. His hands move to cradle your face, and yours move to tangle in his chocolate curls.

The kiss is electric, alive with excitement. It's passionate and loving and heated and well worth the wait.

You pull away, gasping for air. He rests his forehead on yours, breathing each other in.

"Better than I ever imagined," he whispers against your lips.

"Yeah?" you smile.

"Yeah," he confirms, grinning from ear to ear.

Suddenly, Frankie stands up from the couch, pulling you by the hand. He's smirking, mischief rife in his eyes.

"Now, how about that shower?"

[12-seconds-to-live]

How do we say goodbye?

pairing - f1drivers/2022

summary - this is pt2 of “How do I say goodbye?” 

warnings -  mentions of death, explicit language, description of a crash.

word count: 1.255

“I wonder if I was in a coma, who would visit me in the hospital?”

For the drivers, hearing that letter was something, to imagine a member of their family thinking about their goodbye was not very common. Inexplicable and sad.

Everyone was in the hospital waiting to enter your room and see you, to dedicate words that without knowing if they would do any good, help you heal, wake up, laugh with them at the jokes, comfort them when they thought they would lose you or at least say goodbye.

How to say goodbye?

"Good morning, are you all related to Miss Brooks? - a chorused yes was heard in the waiting room. "Well, please, the first person may enter, take as much time as you need."

Between them they all exchanged glances, they had never heard a doctor say such a thing, considering 19 people in the waiting room. Lando and Alex sat with tears about to come out of their eyes. Daniel turned his gaze to the door of your room and walked in. For Daniel, being the soul of the group by always having a smile on his face is an incredible quality but seeing you on that gurney with lots of wires, a breathing mask and no trace of your cheerful look and contagious smile broke his heart. What could he say? It's like losing your little sister. He pulled a chair closer to you and took your hand, cold and without a trace of warmth.

  "I'm afraid, afraid of losing you, much more afraid of leaving Formula 1. You always know what to say and how to make us laugh. You're not afraid of what people will say about you. We are not best friends like you are with Alex but I don't know what my life would be...our life without you" Daniel felt the tears falling and uncontrollably "I'm sorry but..... Please fight and recover, I will wait for you to show you Perth as you have always wanted, accompany you in your next podiums and live life" With a last look, Daniel gets up from the chair and before leaving he says what he thinks is right in case you don't come back "Don't say goodbye again, please, I love you and I am not good at goodbyes and even more when I know you are coming back".

Alex is the next to enter the room next to George. Your teammate is not feeling well but is still very sure what to say to you "Lily says hi, she's sorry she can't be here and that she's waiting for you to play golf together, clearly you're her favorite student" He looks up and George encourages him to continue "I hate this. You have been an amazing teammate, you care about everyone on the team and you have accomplished so much more than I have this season, no, that has never bothered me because I am happy for your accomplishments as you are for mine and please wake up. You are our family, we are heartbroken and we don't know what to do after seeing how you were taken out of the car. No one will replace your place Alice, I...I want you to know that you are our favorite person". George, who has tears forming in his eyes says "We will wait for you and we don't accept that you will give up".

Lando enters the room and the image of everyone around your helmet, remembering your short F1 career makes him sigh sadly "I never thought you were so sentimental. Although it's not your fault, I'm really sorry that the FIA is so stupid and they don't see what their actions cause" The British man runs his hands over his face trying to think what he can say that won't make him cry a lot more. "I don't want to say goodbye to you, you are my other sister, my best friend and...and it's not right for me to tell you but Zak made an offer for you to be with me next season and I've been wanting to tell you for weeks because I admire you and I want you with me or without me to achieve your dreams and be the best female driver ever" Another sigh. "I promise if you wake up I will stop pulling your hair so you hear me before everyone else, stop calling you in the middle of the night for nonsense and only post pictures of you on networks that you like. I miss you, we all do and we want to see you competing."

Carlos seeing you in such a way on the stretcher closes his eyes and sighs. Since you met you have considered him a big brother and he is one of the people who suffers the most from your jokes "I never expected to see you like this, pequeña. I called your parents yesterday and cried with them. Apart from Isa, I think you're the only girl my parents know and well...I don't want the last image I see of you to be here" The Spaniard sits back and watches your slow way of breathing. "The Canadian GP was postponed. Your accident has caused noise and no one has the head to get in the car and race with an empty seat. You will be back and stronger than ever, we have no doubt about that. The rest of the world has yet to see what Alice is capable of."

Charles and Pierre are the only ones who are dedicated to keeping you company, words are superfluous and the sentiment is the same, they want you to come back and be the soul of the grid again.

Yuki leaves next to your bed a Koala doll, one of your favorite animals and hopes that when you see it, a smile will appear on your face. He's not very good with words, but the Japanese guy has always enjoyed your company and your efforts to get a smile out of him and give him ideas on how to ruin the intro of the AlphaTauri podcast. He takes your hand and says the only sensible thing and that if perhaps you listen to him, know that it comes from his heart "We love you and we need you. Without you we are not the same and I don't want that feeling to be the constant reminder of you."

Checo and Max enter the room together. Checo prays in Spanish while Max gives you one of his serious looks. Without expressing it, he feels fear, dread, anger that you will give up and not come back. Not having a partner to practice with on the simulator or running in the mornings or practicing phrases to annoy the press. With a simple "please" he takes your hand and follows his partner out of the room.

Lewis and Sebastian are dedicated to reminding you of the times they gave you the lessons to get you started successfully in F1, clearly you heard them those times. They hope to see you reach the championship, to be a star and the inspiration for the next generation. They hope they are right.

The rest of the grid visits you and gives you words of encouragement to heal and return to your team and family. They are not certain what is coming for you, but their minds don't want to think about a memorial or a funeral. Traces of past memories of people who have meant so much in their lives make their presence known and for you to enter into those memories would be the worst of this season...of this life.

June 27, 2022 at 02:37 marked the date when you moved your left hand and opened your eyes, alone in a hospital room, ready to move on with your life, ready to hug your friends and tell them you heard them and thank them, ready to put on your helmet and get in your car and make history.

Ready to run off to a new adventure

‘cause you’re not ready to say goodbye.

[anim-ttrpgs]

Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy Playable Monster Popularity Contest

Alright the Kickstarter is launching on April 10th which at the time of writing this is in 2 days. The Kickstarter trailer for Eureka is going to be uploaded tonight or tomorrow, but it is still my job to do as much promotion as possible even though I am worried I might be running out of ideas. I still gotta post.

Let’s just have a Eureka playable monster popularity contest.

The vampire is not exactly your 20th and 21st century Hollywood vampire. They dont have super speed, don’t hypnotise people or make them thralls, and don’t instantly die when exposed to sunlight—though they are significantly weakened by it. The Vampire in Eureka is more of a 19th century and earlier folkloric vampire, with all the powers and weaknesses that come with that, including a compulsion to count things, an inability to enter homes uninvited, turning into a bat or other creatures, walking on sheer walls, etc. The vampire has almost no way of restoring their Composure except by drinking human blood, which means they will need to go on the prowl pretty often. Luckily, they never need to eat or sleep. They are also super strong, super stealthy, and resistant to all forms of physical damage—and they can only be killed permanently by ritual means.

The wolfman shares a lot of features with the vampire, such as super strength and resistance to all physical damage, and this is because they are a Hollywood wolfman. They can regain a little Composure through normal means, but if it ever runs out, they will transform involuntarily and go berserk. This is one of my favorite things about them honestly, and I can’t wait to see it actually happen in play. They’ll also involuntarily transform if they are exposed to the full moon, but that’s a lot more situational.

The witch is up next, and for all intents and purposes, they are pretty much a normal human, except for the ability to command curses and a variety of powerful spells. These curses can render victims violently ill, put them to sleep, turn them to stone, turn them into an animal, or reduce them in size. While witches can restore their Composure just as well as a mundane human, they can also do it by eating people, and the Composure drain of using their supernatural powers is much faster and harsher than any other monster. Oh, and one of my favorite things is that they can ride around on a broomstick or other flying vehicle.

The fairy is shares the ability to cast the same curses as the witch, and, optionally, the same spells, but they are also supernaturally charming, with a few other abilities unique to them. They cannot tell lies, but they can sure steal people’s names and other aspects of their identities, and/or spirit them away to the fairy world. Another interesting thing about them is that their Wealth skill gets a boost from being a fairy, and unlike anyone else, their Wealth skill can actually be capped by Composure just like any other skill.

Then finally the Thing from Beyond, which I will be abbreviating to TFB for the rest of this paragraph. The TFB is the most unique monster in the lineup, a large flat blanket of skin and teeth that can fold up into a human shape to interact with society. They can change the color, shape, and texture of their skin to mimic anyone they’ve studied long enough, right down to the outfit. Unlike other monsters, who get their Composure back one bit and victim at a time, TFBs engulf one person whole and slowly digest them over the course of a week, recovering 1 point of Composure each day. They can even have a body inside their human-shaped disguise and you wouldn’t even notice!

You can find out a lot more about these creatures and their powers by downloading the free Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy demo from our website and going to Chapter 8!

The vampire is really strong in combat and stealth, with a lot of powers to draw from, but is handicapped by far the most weaknesses.

The wolfman is a good combat powerhouse that isn’t quite a strong as the vampire in most cases, but doesn’t have to deal with as many weaknesses. Watch out though, if things get too intense, they could completely lose control of themselves and end up eating someone they weren’t supposed to!

The fairy is more a “face” character, with more tools at their disposal for convincing people to cooperate with them than ability to use force, though curses do definitely fall under “use of force”, I suppose.

The witch is just a good all-rounder, with something for every situation, though it might not always be the *best* something.

The TFB is very good for stealth as well, but a different kind of stealth. The vampire is good for a more Solid Snake or Sam Fisher kind of stealth, while the TFB is more Agent 47’s style of stealth.

There’s also two honorable mentions I’d like to include because they’re Kickstarter stretch goals and thus not really fully fleshed out yet.

The dullahan is a headless specter from Irish folklore that feeds on death. We haven’t really figured out exactly how to make this work mechanically yet, but that’s because we haven’t hit that stretch goal yet.

The gorgon is the last written stretch goal, and maybe the one I’m most excited for. They turn people to stone by looking them in the eye, and this is such an awesome blessing and curse to work around during gameplay that I really really want the excuse to implement it. They also may eat have snakes in their hair up to player choice, and eat people whole with mechanics sorta similar the way the TFB works, we aren’t quite sure because until we hit those stretch goals they just exist as a bunch of scattered notes and ideas. I gotta count on y’all to make sure we hit those stretch goals.

There is also a potential for the option to play a talking dog or a living doll, which will also be stretch goals if we can swing it.

Remember also, all of these will be playable as PCs, so they could be your enemy, or your ally.

Now that aaalllll that is out of the way..

Now, if you really want to support me and my team specifically Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy, our debut TTRPG, is going to launch on Kickstarter on April 10th and we need all the help we can get. Set a reminder from the Kickstarter page through this link.

If you’re interested in a more updated and improved version of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy than the free demo you got from our website, there’s plenty of ways to get one!

Subscribe to our Patreon where we frequently roll our new updates for the prerelease version!

Donate to our ko-fi and send us an email with proof that you did, and we’ll email you back with the full Eureka prerelease package with the most updated version at the time of responding! (The email address can be found if you scroll down to the bottom of our website.)

We also have merchanise.

[writethrough]

The Diviner (Part V)

(Morpheus x Prophetess Reader)

Synopsis: Your body needs time to heal, but your unconscious is finally dreaming.

Warnings: None? (Message me if you see any.)

Word Count: 3219

A/N: Did you really think I'd leave you hanging a full week after that little blurb of a last chapter? I think I've more than made up for it with this sucker.

Thank you to everyone who's stuck it out with me. I really enjoyed hearing what you like about this series.

To everyone who has reblogged, you are spectacular humans and deserve an endless supply of your favorite food.

I hope you all enjoy this final chapter! I'd love to know what you thought of this series, and if I should post more multi-part fics in the future.

Series Masterlist

You wander. A maze of darkness before you.  

You exhale and remember Morpheus.  

A room appears, lit by stained glass, with a throne in the middle. And he's there, alive, staring at you in shock. 

—  

“I don’t understand,” you say. “How am I awake?”  

You were dying. At least it felt like you were dying. So, why are you...fine?  

“If I may?” Lucienne asks. Morpheus called for her as soon as he saw you.  

His chin dips a fraction, but it’s enough for Lucienne to continue.  

“Given your abilities, I believe the severity of your injuries—and healing in the Dreaming—has allowed your subconscious to manifest.” She smiles, pleased with her next words. “You’re dreaming, my lady.”  

Your brow furrows, and you glance from her to Morpheus.  

“How is that possible? If I’m healing, shouldn’t my mind be recovering as well?”  

“Your mind is the most resilient part of you, prophetess. It stands to reason it would need little to no time to replenish,” Morpheus says.  

Your eyes lower to the floor, considering this.  

For centuries, you’ve seen possible futures—travesties no one could imagine. And you haven’t forgotten one.  

Day in and day out, vision after vision, a constant rush of images, sounds, smells, and even sensations when intense enough. Your mind has built up a tolerance for nearly anything and everything.  

It seems almost dying is child's play for it though your body would be down for some time.  

You take in Morpheus’ throne room, truly seeing where you are. “I’m…dreaming.” And you laugh. In disbelief, in wonder—in sheer joy.  

You are dreaming.  

—  

Morpheus transported your body into his realm as soon as you fainted.  

Between your physical injuries and the attack meant for Morpheus, your only chance was the magic and tools in the Dreaming.  

Lucienne, Matthew, and Death helped him stabilize you, but he never expected you to walk right up to him as if you were fine.  

However your body absorbed the attack, it caused your powers to shut down, and you’re experiencing the Dreaming for the first time in centuries.  

You’re acting yourself mostly, but sometimes you grow tired, your physical form telling your unconscious you aren’t out of the woods yet.  

Morpheus urges you to take a seat, worry flashing through his eyes.  

“I’m okay,” you say. “It’s just a minor spell.”  

“I wish I could do more,” he says, hand still on the back of your bicep.  

“You’ve done plenty. More than I could ever hope for.”  

His jaw clenches, a twitch of movement, but you catch it. You’ve gotten better at picking up his micro-expressions.  

“I mean it, Morpheus. I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for you.” You try to push as much conviction in the words as possible.   

“You wouldn’t have been in harm's way if it wasn’t for me.”  

You shake your head, dizzying yourself and need to rest it on your hand. Morpheus’ brow pinches slightly.  

“Warrens decided to trap you and use me. I should've predicted that.”  

“That’s not in your ability,” he says.  

“And I should’ve figured I'd be in danger when Death said you’d be fine. I should’ve known she saw me dying and not you.”

It clicked not longer after you woke up. Of course, Death knew what was supposed to happen.

“You must not focus on the past. It will do nothing to aid your recovery.”  

You sigh. “I know. I just feel so stupid.”  

Your eyes are downcast. It surprises you when a gentle touch lifts your chin and directs you to focus on him.  

“I will not have you speaking as if you’ve done something wrong,” he says. “Because of you, I am alive. I will forever be grateful.”  

He waits for an answer. All you can do is nod.  

His touch vanishes, and he stands.  

“Perhaps I can show you more of the Dreaming.”  

You give him a small smile. “I’d like that.”  

—  

Time moves differently in the Dreaming. It was best when you stopped trying to keep track of it. All you know is that you’ve been recovering for some time. Long enough for you to have your role carved out here and for the residents to call you by name.  

Your exhaustion and dizzy spells are few and far between, but they’re intense and accompanied by symptoms of visions. A faint smell, a phantom touch, even a whisper of a voice, but no matter how much you try, you can’t hang onto them. They slip through your fingers before you recognize what they are. It’s like you’re missing a limb.  

Today, the loss is affecting you more than you thought it could. You miss your ability. As much trouble as it can cause, you somehow feel untethered from yourself. Even with your body lying unconscious, you’re more of a shell now than ever.  

And as much as you try to hide it, somehow, Morpheus knows.  

“You will return to yourself,” he says.  

You’re sitting in Fiddler’s Green on a bench beneath a grove of magnolia trees.  

“It feels like it’s been years,” you say, rubbing your arm. You haven’t felt the breeze on your skin since the attack. You hardly notice it now as the grass moves with it.  

You can tell he’s about to respond, and you already know what he’ll say.  

“Don’t tell me ‘it takes time’ or ‘be patient.’ I’ve been patient. I’ve had to be patient since Destiny gave me this damn power, and now I can’t even access it because I missed the signs last time!” You rub your face, trying to push the frustration out.  

He lets you have your moment to feel that anger.  

“Immortality is crueler than death,” he begins. “It's companions are loneliness and waiting.”  

You look at him, scanning his features, and nod. Your agitation cools into sympathy. 

“I forget what happened to you sometimes. I’m sorry.”  

“I will not accept an unnecessary apology,” he says. “My experiences do not outweigh yours.”  

“Nevertheless, I’m free here. You weren’t.”  

He locks eyes with you, a softness to them. “I am also free.”  

It’s like he’s latched onto your soul. His timbre pulls you closer. And you realize you don’t feel so lost when he’s around.  

“Boss!”  

You lean back and look toward the sound, missing Morpheus’ eyes widening a fraction at Matthew’s interruption, too.  

“Boss! Death’s here.” Matthew lands in front of you.  

Your brow furrows, and your heart quickens. “Death’s here?”  

Why would Death be here? She wouldn’t come to the Dreaming if she didn’t have a good reason.  

What if she’s working? What if you aren’t improving and the Dreaming is masking your worsening condition?  

Morpheus tilts his head slightly, sensing your tension. He puts the pieces together quickly as he stands. 

“I requested she come.” He turns to you, voice tender, reassuring. “I wished to spend time with her.”  

—  

You haven't seen Death since you arrived.  

She and Morpheus urged you to stay even though you wanted to give them privacy. You forgot what it was like to have friends—to be close to others. It was nice.  

Then she whisked you away, telling Morpheus it was “girl time.”  

You’re strolling on one of the paths: one that extends as long as you can walk and leads to wherever you wish.  

You’ve had enough time to think about that day, your limitations, Death’s, what Warrens did to you…  

“You knew I’d be there,” you say.  

Neither of you stop walking. It’s not a surprise that you’ve brought this up.  

“That’s why you were surprised. Not because I had a vision of Morpheus, but because I was supposed to be there all along—because I was supposed to die—and you couldn’t interfere.”  

She grimaces. “I’m sorry.”  

You let out a breathy laugh. “I should be used to all the secrecy, but I’m not.” You pause. “And yet, I get it. Price of power and all that, I guess.”  

Now, she halts. “I know this won’t bring you comfort, but your being alive is a miracle.”  

“Then how am I…”  

“I don’t know. And that’s not something I say often,” Death says. “I can only speculate, but the day Destiny came to you—before that, he came to me and asked I keep you here. I didn’t ask why, but maybe this was meant to happen. You were the only one who could save my brother.”  

You shake your head. “I still don’t understand. Why give me this power at all? Why not just put me on the path so I could save Morpheus at the end? And how could you see my murder if you made that promise?”  

“Not even I am sure of that.” She answers your last question. “But: Is that not what Destiny did? Put you on that very path?” She pauses, then softly. “And gave you a purpose. One bigger than anyone should have, but a purpose nonetheless.”  

That thought runs around your head. 

Did Destiny do that? 

It's hard to imagine that being the reason. But why else would he— 

“Do you…Do you think Destiny gave me this power so I would survive?”  

You aren’t sure that makes sense. 

You. Out of everyone that could make a difference in the world, Destiny chose you.  

Death shrugs. “Again, I can’t be certain. But think about it, it brought you to Hob, to me," she gives you a knowing look, "to Dream.” 

You roll your eyes. “Need I remind you that I hated Morpheus for the longest time.”  

“Need I remind you that was in the past tense.” She grins.  

“So, you’re saying it’s harder to kill me than I originally thought,” you say, trying to change the subject.  

“None of that,” she tuts. “Even though it’s not under the best circumstances, I am happy you and Morpheus are getting to know one another.”  

You hum. “I spent so long not knowing what to feel for him—having all of these unanswered questions—it’s strange…to finally have that behind me.” You pause. “I enjoy his company.”  

“I would’ve used a stronger word than that,” she says, grinning cheekily. 

The tiny smiles Morpheus sent you and the glances you threw him could’ve made her squeal if she was the type.  

“Okay,” you wave her off, “enough.”  

She puts her hands up, yielding.  

You hesitate before telling her this next part.  

“I think—No, I know my visions are returning.”  

“That’s great!” She grabs your arm. “...Isn’t it?”  

“It’s just…They aren’t back yet. They’re not full visions. And I don’t know what that means. Or how long I’ll be like this.” You gesture to yourself.  

She smiles empathetically. “It means you’re getting better. I can only imagine how frustrating it’s been, but you are healing.”  

You nod. She’s right.  

She slips her arm into yours. “Now, let me tell you all the embarrassing stories about my brother.”  

You throw your head back and laugh.  

—  

It’s been a few days since then, you think. You and Morpheus have spent most of your time together. He’s become someone you care for deeply, and you wonder if he feels the same.  

You think he does when he pulls out your chair or helps you cross a stream. He’s interested in your life besides your visions. And when you told him about your family and loved ones throughout the years, he placed his hand atop yours. You could still feel it sometimes.  

You’re both in the library. A rare occurrence of rest brought Morpheus to curl up with you on the plush sofa. Well, you curled up. Morpheus has his feet on the floor but is leaning into the cushions.  

“I’ll have read everything in here by the time I wake up,” you joke, flipping your page.  

“I can feel your bouts of power when they rise. It will not be long now.”  

He always speaks so assuredly when it’s about your healing. His steadfastness has rubbed off on you. You aren’t so pessimistic about it anymore.  

You don’t notice you’re staring at him until he asks if something’s wrong.  

You shake your head. “No. I just don’t know what I would’ve done all this time if you weren’t here.”  

He faces forward, not staring at anything, and silence settles over you. The atmosphere shifts, and you can almost feel the tension coming from him.  

“There is no universe where I would have been elsewhere,” he says, as still as ever.  

And it’s his seriousness that makes you drop your light tone and scoot closer.  

“I know. And I appreciate that.” You glance at your fingers. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”  

“You haven’t.” He rests his hand on yours. “But know that you are my priority, and I am happy to have been by your side.”  

“Morpheus…” you lock eyes, “we’ve been over this. I hate that you feel obligated to help me.”  

His brows twitch inward. “I feel no such compulsions. I am grateful you saved my life, but I can never repay such sacrifice.” He pauses. “Your wellbeing is my concern as your…friend.”  

His thumb brushes your cheekbone as he searches your eyes.  

You pull your lips into a thin line, hoping he can’t feel the heat in your cheeks. “Just know that I wouldn’t change what I did. I wanted to save you—I needed to.”  

“You didn’t—”  

“I did!” You say almost desperately. “You’re the only connection I have to my past. You’re the only one who knows who I was. I can’t lose you…”  

You’re afraid to look him in the eye, but he lifts your chin with a slightly hooked finger, tenderness in his gaze.  

“You won’t.”  

He pulls his hand away, and you realize how much closer you both have gotten.  

“You can’t promise that, though,” you whisper.  

“No. I cannot. But I can promise that ritual is gone.”  

You clench your jaw. “That won’t stop me from worrying.”  

“Then you know how I feel.”  

He says it like a joke—mirthful—a tone that’s both strange and welcome in him.  

You roll your eyes halfheartedly. “You don’t need to worry. I’m fine.”  

“I will stop worrying when you’re awake,” he says. “Until then, I will watch over you.”  

A slight shiver runs down your spine. Morpheus' entire focus on you always makes you a little weak, but hearing him say those words? They almost send your knees buckling.  

“I don’t understand. Why have you been so insistent about this?”  

Something seems to settle in his eyes, his head tipping closer.  

“When you were writhing in pain—screaming—something came over me that hasn’t in a long while.”  

You tilt your head, waiting.  

“Fear.”  

“What?” you whisper.  

The back of his fingers grazes your cheek, lingering, caressing.  

“I feared I would lose you.” He’s searching you, analyzing every twitch and passing emotion.  

“Morpheus,” you start, “what are you saying?”  

The corner of his lips lift briefly.  

“You’ve become important to me,” he breathes. “My prophetess.”  

His lips are so close to yours. A moment more, and they’d touch. But as much as you want this, you stop him.  

“I don’t want our first kiss to be when I’m dreaming,” you say. “I want it to feel real because…you’ve become important to me, too.”  

Softly, he rests his forehead against yours.  

“I will wait as long as I must. Knowing you feel the same is enough.”  

—  

Your dizziness has been nonexistent these past couple of weeks. You’ve been able to help Lucienne in the library much more. However, this morning, if you could even call it that in the Dreaming—it’s like you’ve been getting hit from all sides.  

A breeze on your cheek while you were indoors.  

A shimmering red when you paged through a book.  

And whispered words of “regret this” and mumblings you couldn’t decipher.  

But this is your strongest one yet.  

It’s not images or scents, not even a noise, but an expansive, all-encompassing feeling blooming within your chest. You swear you’ll burst when Lucienne sees you steadying yourself against a table.  

She says your name. “Are you alright?”  

The feeling keeps getting bigger and bigger, and then Lucienne seems so far away, then the entire library. And you realize it’s time.  

“I think…I think I’m waking up.”  

A moment after you spoke, it feels like you're falling backward.  

Your eyes open with a quick inhale, and you look around.  

You’re in a bed, and everything feels so much more tangible. There are soft sheets, a comforting breeze from the open window, and that unmistakable feeling of something new beginning.  

You slowly rise, but where you thought there would be soreness, none comes.  

You've healed.  

You laugh in disbelief, running out of the room and to the one person you need to see.  

He’s creating dreams, something you’d usually take a moment to marvel at, but you can’t seem to give a damn.  

He glances over his shoulder, lips ticking up when he sees you.  

He’s about to speak. Then, his eyebrows twitch downward when you don’t stop walking, and you barely contain your smile before you kiss him.  

It takes him no more than a moment to grip your waist and pull you closer. To feel him like this instead of those phantom pressures, it's indescribable.   

You reluctantly retreat, and he stares at you with this kind of awe, tracing the back of his knuckles down your cheek, his features brighter than you’ve ever seen.   

“How are you feeling?” he asks.   

You take a moment before answering. “I’m okay. Everything feels…stronger now.” You give him a small smile. “Real.”  

“Not many have visited the Dreaming as you are,” he says. “If you’re overwhelmed, please tell me.”  

You shake your head fondly. “Not overwhelmed, just…happy.”  

“I am glad.”  

Your hands rest on his chest as you stare at him, too thrilled to care that maybe you should say something. But all you want to do is look at him—feel him now that you’re back in your body.  

Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to mind.  

He’s gripping your hips, the lightest of touches, yet it almost burns you in the best way possible. His thumb grazes one side, grabbing your attention. Like he knows you’re daydreaming. 

“I must give you something,” he says.  

He reaches within his coat, and in his palm is a gold band embedded with a ruby, a piece of Morpheus’ Dreamstone.  

“Stay with me,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours. “Come and go as you please, but always return. To your home.” He pauses. “To me.”  

You stare at him, eyes wide with wonder and glistening.  

“Yes,” you breathe, beaming.  

He strokes your cheekbone with his thumb before cupping it fully and slotting his lips between yours.  

You giggle. “I have to say I really didn’t see this coming.”  

If Morpheus was one to roll his eyes, he would have.  

“Do not make me regret this.”  

The lit in his voice pulls a playful gasp from you.  

“It’s too late. You can’t change your mind,” you say, eyes alight.  

His warm smile sends gooseflesh up your arms.  

“Never,” he whispers.  

Destiny has strange ways of working, but after centuries of unanswered questions, you finally think you understand why he chose you.  

Maybe the eldest Endless has a softer spot for his younger brother than any of you realize.

Taglist: @sayumiht, @hatterripper31, @snowsatsu, @1950schick, @navs-bhat, @bookshelf-dust, @sapphireonline, @fictional-hooman, @steph-speaks, @ladyredstar1991, @secretdreamlandmentality, @ababycake, @morpheuss1mp, @boofy1998, @alice-the-nerd, @herfantasyworldd, @poemfreak306, @under-kitty

If you’d like to be added to any taglists, please comment or message me with the character you’d like updates on. 

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 21: Welcome Back

2 years later

Kimber wasn’t the only one who suffered from the battle. Campbell took a shot. Left his leg useless. Witnesses said a blonde woman did it. But that’s all behind us now. Small Heath has grown into my heart as a new home. Unfortunately the calling to my old home wasn’t weak enough to stop me from tying up loose ends. A few months after the whole Kimber dual I decided to take a quick trip back home to Brooklyn. The Shelbys were disappointed to see me leave, especially Finn. But I assured them I would be back in a few weeks’ time. 

Sadly time did not agree to my plan. The instant I arrived back home I discovered my stay was going to exceed far beyond what I’d hoped. Mother contracted tuberculosis and since my brothers were called away on ‘private business’ I was obligated to stay and nurse her back to health. For the next half a year I received multiple letters from the Shelbys asking about my return. After a while I simply replied that only God can answer for me.

And God must have heard my prayers because lo and behold after what seemed like a whole century mother finally recovered. I thank the angels a million times and counting for her good health. My parents are reluctant towards my decision to return to Birmingham but the mention of an official job persuaded them. No words were said about what type of business I’m working for. One packed trunk and one boat ticket later I’m right back to where I’d been lost two years ago.

Nothing seems to have changed. Small Heath is still the same gloomy and dusty crime heap as it was when I arrived last time. The sight of the familiar Shelby household makes my heart soar. But my excitement is crushed the minute I enter the home. No lights are on. A dreary atmosphere has draped over the house and is dead silent. Where is everyone? According to Thomas’ letters their business has been thriving. Where else would they be?

“Hello?” I poke my head into the kitchen. 

Still no one. I set my suitcase down and move to the back door. Where on Earth-?

“Who’s there?” a gruff voice asks sharply. I know that voice.

“Is that any way to treat a visitor?” I accuse lightly and open the door. “Thomas Shelby. It’s good to once again be of service.”

Same handsome smile. Same piercing blue eyes. As usual he’s dressed to the nines in a fine black suit. But this seems slightly fancier than usual.

“Hello, love.” He offers a hand and we shake. “‘S good to see your smile light up this place.”

I get straight to the point. “What happened? Why the dress-up?”

Thomas hangs his head and pulls out a cigarette. “Freddie’s dead. Pestilence.”

Dear Lord. Another death. Poor Ada, she was so happy with him.

I give a heavy sigh. “Why is it whenever I’m around the shadow of death follows me? I am so sorry. How’s Ada been?”

He takes a puff and a halo of smoke clouds his face. “She’s taking it fine, actually. Says she’s free now.”

“Acceptance is a vital stage of grief.”

He gives a small hum and passes me to walk into the kitchen. “How’s things in America?”

I guess that discussion is closed. “Much better now that my mother’s well. Though I wish I could say the same for my in-laws in Germany. They had to move back to the Netherlands since the economy’s been so run down.”

Thomas, as usual, reaches for a whiskey bottle I’ve brought. “I heard Prohibition is in full swing.”

I groan. “Don’t remind me. Father’s been taking a hit and we finally convinced him to open a speakeasy.”

He takes a drink and hums in approval. “‘S good to have you back.”

It’s sad to see Thomas hasn’t lost his gruff personality. If anything he’s just as cold as before. I suppose all hope of having a relationship higher than being his employee has withered in these long two years. But at least his heart has been given time to mend.

I haven’t seen Grace around in America… Though maybe that’s because as soon as I got home I had my brothers send out a warning to our contacts to keep her away from Brooklyn. In America we stand by loyalty and never forget.

“We’re expanding to London,” Thomas continues and I follow him towards the Bull Ring.

“Yes, your last letter hinted at that. Congratulations.”

“Congratulations can wait. The Garrison’s just been attacked.”

Seems that the Shelby’s lives are still violent as ever.

“Another mystery for Thomas Shelby to solve. Mind if I help?”

Thomas opens the door to let me through, then takes a drag from his cigarette and smirks. “It’d be a waste of a trip if you didn’t. Although some of us are still surprised you’ve held on this long.”

Shelby Company Limited is now officially on the door. There’s also new hired help. A few new bookkeepers and secretaries. But no familiar faces. 

“You can go catch up with the others while I go see to a lead,” Thomas says and gestures to the back office.

“Where are the others? Where’s Polly?”

“She and John are in the back. Better let her know you’re here or she’ll have my head. Finn too. They’ve missed you.” He pauses and seems to think over his next words. “We’ve all missed you.”

A warm smile creeps onto my face. “‘S good to feel wanted. I’m glad to be back.” I point to the new sign. “You’ve got your name on the door now.”

He nods. “‘S my office.” 

I raise a brow and tilt my head respectfully. “Impressive. It suits you.”

He opens the door and I stride in, literally walking into a conversation between Polly and John. Both of them haven’t noticed me yet. What I do see is that Finn has hidden himself under the table, trying to be part of the conversation. Sneaky lad.

“Six. Six questions since you’ve walked through that door,” the Romanian woman says. “Soon you’ll have to start being the man with the answers.”

“Why?” John asks.

Polly frowns. “Seven. Because when London happens you’ll have to hold up your end. Or we’ll find someone else who can.”

“He can do it,” I say, determined.

Both their heads whip around to spot me in the doorway. Beneath the table Finn’s eyes go wide and Polly breaks into a wide grin.

“Verena, love! Good to see you!” Polly rushes over and pulls me into a hug. “You made it over ok?”

“Yes yes, it was a dull trip.” I catch my breath from her death-like grip and smile at the young Shelby. “My goodness! Look at you! Finn, you grew like a weed! Might I say a fine young gentleman!”

Finn, wearing a sheepish smile, stands up from under the table. He holds out a hand and we both shake. “You talked with Thomas?”

“Briefly. He still as stubborn as before?”

Finn rolls his eyes. “Don’t remind me. Since you’re back now, does that mean…?”

I cannot stop smiling today! “Yes, Finn. I can set aside time for some more lessons. I thought you’d be sick of them  by now.”

He gawks at my words. “No way! I’ve missed them.”

Oh. I didn’t think they meant this much. But I suppose since his brothers have been so busy with the London expansion then Finn might get looked over now and then.

“Patience, Finn. I’m sure Verena’s tired from her travels.” Polly ushers him away and gestures for me to follow her out. “You have no idea what it’s been like to be the mother hen around here. Thanks so much for coming back. How’s your mum?”

“She’s recovered and hasn’t let it slow her down,” I answer. “And now my brother Abel-”

But a John pulls Polly over and I’m left alone. Um, good to be back? I guess I can wait in the kitchen until someone gives me further instructions. Patience, Verena. It’s been two long years. These people don’t need me busting in with catch-up chit chat. 

“Ugh.”

There’s no mistaking that grunt. Thomas must be back from his lead. I poke my head out and see my guess is correct. The gangster seems angered by something.

“You’re upset,” I observe, wanting an explanation.

Thomas grunts again and puffs on a cigarette. “Best for you to stay out of it.”

Oh. So much for clear communication. “Thank you for taking your anger somewhere else. Can I help with anything?”

“Apparently I’m the chosen one. Some Irish scum tried to shake me up.”

Irish. Possibly IRA. Uncle Colon would have told me if he was sending any contacts.

“You gonna call a family meeting?” A bit of my Brooklyn slang slips.

Thomas cracks a small smile at my accent. “Bingo. Would you mind making biscuits to go along with it? You have no idea how hard it’s been without them.”

I mock-curtesy and Thomas goes on to enter his office. “It would be my pleasure, Mr. Shelby. When should I tell them to expect you?”

He gets to his desk and turns around. “Don’t bother with that. I’ll show up when I show up.”

Same old Thomas. God has graced his family with prosperity. Still I suppose time hasn’t been too kind on his heart for him to act so brash. So where do I come in?

Good to know the kitchen hasn't changed. How appropriate. My place remains doing what women do best: keeping house. Soon enough I mix up some dough for biscuits and bake the first batch just as Finn walks through for the family meeting.

“John and Arthur are on their way. You can join too.”

Word must travel fast. I quickly throw the hot cookies onto a plate and follow Finn into the back office. Finn begins pacing beside where Polly is standing. There are a few more standing in the back but I can’t put my finger on their names. Esme waits on the staircase, while the rest of the Shelby brothers are in front.

“Sit down, Finn,” Arthur instructs.

Finn obeys but is still antsy.

 “Where the bloody Hell is Tommy?” John asks impatiently.

“He’s on his way,” Polly answers sternly.

Arthur thinks for a moment and then stands up to fetch a wooden crate. “Well while we’re waiting so patiently.” He sets the crate on the table. “Whiskey.”

Now I step closer into the room to make my presence known, holding one of father’s bottles.

“If you’re looking for whiskey, might I suggest the Steenstra brand?” Both brothers look up and I give them a wave. “John, Arthur. You’re looking well.”

Behind their stern frowns their eyes lighten up and they each offer a quick hug.

“Good to have you back, Steenstra.” Arthur gladly takes the bottle and offers me a glass. “You still don’t drink, eh?”

“Only for special occasions.”

“And being reunited with the Peaky Blinders isn’t one?” Arthur replies. “Come on, Steenstra. Have a drink!”

I can’t help but give into his hospitality. “Very well.”

John passes over the glass with a small frown. “You’ve got some catching up to do.”

“She’s forgiven, John. She made biscuits!”

John’s attitude immediately changes and he pulls over the plate I’ve brought. Finn joins in on drinking as well but I keep my mouth shut. I settle down next to him just as John gets up to address us.

“Before Tommy gets here I think there’s a few things we need to get straight between the rest of us.”

Polly scoffs. “You think?”

John nods. “Yeah. I want to know… when did we all take a vote on this expansion south?”

This doesn’t sound right. “You mean the move to London wasn’t a group decision?”

Esme speaks up. “Should she be here?” 

She gives John a look and he mulls over the idea. “Um, maybe-”

“Shut it,” Finn interrupts sharply. “Verena’s the one who taught me to think, not you. She stays.”

John looks at the floor and nods. “Right then. Now, I see all the books. Shelby Company Limited has been making 150 pounds a day. Sometimes more. Why are we changing things?”

Finn considers this with a serious expression. I’m glad to see my teachings about economics haven’t gone wasted. John and Polly bicker some more and Esme tries to butt in. If only someone would tell me about what the Hell is going on then maybe I could do something besides make biscuits.

Just then Thomas walks in and the arguing stops.

“Everyone’s allowed to speak. On your feet, Esme. Let’s hear what you have to say.”

She stands up from her place on the stairs but John begins before she can speak.

“I speak for our household. So-”

Thomas won’t have it. “John, this is a modern enterprise that believes in equal rights for women. On your feet, Esme.”

My, Thomas has changed. He’s allowing more outside opinions. Women’s ones, at that. In some places back home it’s like pulling teeth to even win a conversation against a man about what shoe polish is better. But I know better. Grace left a bigger mark on him that he’ll care to admit.

Esme takes a breath and sets her jaw straight. “‘M not a bloody member of this family, but perhaps that can allow me to see things in a different light. I have kin in Shepherd's Bush and Portobello. It’s more like wars between armies down there. I want to raise my child somewhere with no violence.” She glares defiantly at Thomas. “London is just smoke and trouble, Thomas. That’s all I have to say.”

“That was a lot of words.”

Arthur offers a glass. “Wash ‘em down with a drink.”

Thomas nods in response. “Thank you, Esme. Firstly, the bang in the pub had nothing to do with London. Understood? That is something I’m dealing with on my own. Secondly, we have nothing to fear from the proposed business expansion so long as we stick together.” He gestures to where I’m sitting. “Our dear ally and friend Verena is joining us for this, so we will have strength in numbers. After the first few weeks, nine-tenths of what we do in London will be legal. The other tenth is in good hands. Isn’t that right, Arthur?”

His brother nods. “That’s right.”

“Some of you in this room have discussed your reservations,” Thomas addresses. “Fair enough. If any of you don’t want no part in the future of this company, walk out the door. Right now. For those of you with ambition, expansion begins tomorrow.”

John’s itching to say something but remains silent. Polly still looks torn about the matter but Arthur seems fine with it and celebrates with another drink. Finn rubs his head and soon both he and Thomas are looking at me expectantly. The answer is obvious.

“I just traveled thousands of miles to get back to work. I’m not backing out now.”

Finn lets out a sigh of relief and his older brother slowly claps. Family or not, I’ve just dug myself deeper into this crazy world.

“Welcome back, Ms. Steenstra.”

[lily-janus]

The Art Of Letting Go

my first order for The Sleepy Bean Fanfic Cafe' on @tsspromptmonth this is for @edupunkn00b who wanted, a time travel AU with only one bed, time loops and any characters as long as we've got Logan in there. Hope you like it!

summary: Janus struggles with letting go of his husband Characters: Logan, Janus, a little bit of Virgil Relationships: romantic Loceit Word count: 1,506 Trigger warnings: car crash/car accident, death, grief, lots of angst, let me know if I missed anything.

Janus opened his eyes slowly, blinking as he got used to the light streaming from the window. Yesterday’s events returned to his mind slowly…

There was a car accident and... Logan is dead… his husband  is dead…

That can't be true… it couldn’t be true.

There was a knock on the door and Janus called the person in as he grappled with the reality of things. Logan was- standing in front of him?

Janus stared at the person standing next to the foot of his bed, Logan… and did he look younger?

Logan let out a sigh, “I know I'm the last person you want to see right now… but you haven't been to school for three days now, I had to check on you”

Three days? School? This felt familiar, a memory? A dream?

“I'm sorry about what I said, I know we always fight but I shouldn't have gone as far as I did” Logan stood there awkwardly, waiting for Janus to respond.

Janus then remembered this, during high school, Logan and him always fought, always trying to best one another... one fight went different though, Logan seemed more on edge and snapped at Janus harshly.

Rather conveniently, Janus got sick right after and didn't show up to school the next day, Logan felt guilty and came to Janus' house to apologize... that was the first time they really talked with each other.

The first step on the road that will eventually lead to them falling in love and getting married.

How is he back here? Was he dreaming? He pinched himself as hard as he could... and nothing happened. Odd.

"Janus?" Logan's voice snapped him back to the present... well the past that's apparently his present again?

Janus smiled, young Logan looked so cute and adoringly awkward, surely it couldn't hurt to stay here a while before trying to figure out what's happening, right?

Logan blushed, "what? You only smile at me when you're laughing at me, I don't think I did anything that can be mocked-"

"You actually think I didn't come to school for 3 days, because of our little fight? Oh honey, give me some credit, I know I can be petty but even I have a limit." He smirked.

Logan looked confused, adorable, "why else would you-"

"I'm sick, Pointdexter, as shocking as it may seem, not everything is about you." Janus teased, knowing full well how selfless Logan tends to be.

He cleared his throat, embarrassed, "ah... I see, I shall leave you to recover then." He went to leave and Janus hesitated for a second.

"...I could use company though." 

Logan stopped and turned around, frowning, "my company? You really are sick."

Janus chuckled, "indeed I am, I might not make it, would you deny a dying man's wish?"

Logan rolled his eyes, "you're not dying, Janus, but if you truly want me here... I guess I don't mind."

They spent the rest of the day together, talking, drinking tea, reading next to each other.

This was perfect, Janus almost never wanted it to end as he went back to sleep.

He woke up the next day, blinking against the light and hearing a soft knock on his door.

Logan walked in, why was he still so awkward? They spent all of yesterday together...

Logan let out a sigh, “I know I'm the last person you want to see right now… but you haven't been to school for three days now, I had to check on you”

What? That was exactly what he said yesterday...

"Logan? We already talked about this-"

"I know I said some awful things... I crossed the line, I didn't mean to go so far." Logan continued, as if he didn't hear Janus.

"Logan? I'm sick, remember? We spent all of yestarday together?"

"Ah... I see, I shall leave you to recover then." He said, as if only hearing the first part.

Something was wrong here wasn't it? They just had this exact conversation... or did they? Logan doesn't seem to remember and his memory is flawless...

Janus shrugged off the weird feeling, asking Logan to stay again, and they spent another perfect day together.

Except... the same thing happened the next day, and the day after that... what was happening?

"Logan, what's happening?" Janus tried to ask when the day started the same for the 6th time.

"Oh dear, are you sick? Is that why you didn't come to school? ...well that's embarrassing... guess I should leave then..."

Janus was starting to freak out now, "I'll come with you!" He jumped out of bed, grabbing Logan's hand and dragging him outside. 

The moment he opened the front door, however, he woke up in his bed again, Logan knocking softly on the door to his room.

This can't be happening... was he trapped? For how long?

...does it matter?

Logan is right here... why would he want out? What does life have to offer him without-

He shoved the thought away, knowing it'll lead to pain. No, even if he was trapped, he didn't want to leave... he's not ready to let him go... he just can't...

"Come in" he called his future husband in, he can stay here forever...

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

Logan felt... stuck, and he couldn't place why. He just came to Janus' house to apologize, they may not like each other but he never meant to hurt him.

But... didn't he do that already? He looked at the date, no he definitely wasn't here yesterday, he was sure of it.

The strange Deja-vu feeling persisted, however, despite all the facts pointing at it being the first time he came here.

He was walking to Janus' house to apologize, he never meant to hurt him despite their differences. But he couldn't shake off the feeling of something being extremely wrong. 

All the facts checked out, however, so he couldn't fathom what could be wrong...

He was walking to Janus' house to... to apologize...

Why could he hear a car crash?

...he never liked Janus much but he never intended to hurt him...

Distant ambulance sirens

...he- he needs to apologize to set things right...

Pain... he could feel pain everywhere...

"Come in!" Janus called from inside and Logan walked in. He looked at Janus and began apologizing.

Janus' face, struck with grief and shock...

...he's... he's not supposed to be here, does he?

"Janus? ...where are we?"

Janus froze, turning slowly to look at Logan, "...at my house of course, you came to check on me and-"

"Janus." He cut him off firmly but gently, "you know that's not what I meant... I'm... I'm gone, aren't I? in the process at least."

"You don't have to be...! You... WE could stay here... for... for as long as we want!" Janus grabbed his hands firmly, as if fearing he'll slip away.

Logan smiled softly as his husband, shaking his head, "you know this is wrong, Jan... you have to let me go."

Janus shook his head frantically, "no... no, no, no! I can't... I'm not strong enough... please I..  let's just stay... please!" He buried his face in Logan's chest, clinging to him desperately.

Logan brushed his hand over his husband's hair gently, "have I ever told you when was the first time I realized my feelings for you?"

Janus shook his head without looking up, crying, his tears staining Logan's shirt.

"We were on our way to meet our friends for a vacation, there was a storm and my car broke down, we had to walk in the rain for the nearest motel and, of course, the only room available there had only one bed. I would have offered to sleep on the floor but it was cold so we had to sleep together to keep each other from freezing."

"I remember that, the next morning I told you"

"Don't get used to it" they said in unison, then chuckled, Janus finally looking up to meet his eyes.

"That morning I realized... I liked waking up next to you." Logan said, "you'll always have these memories, Jan, and our friends will help you. You'll get through this, I know you will. I love you."

"I love you too... so much... I don't know what I'll do without you.." Janus said.

Logan felt himself slipping away and smiled, "you'll figure it out, you were always the smartest of us two." And with that, he disappeared forever, his consciousness finally letting go.

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

Janus watched his husband disappear, and his surroundings soon after.

Next thing he knew, he was in his room... their room, blinking away tears. A knock came from his door and a tiny part of him still hoped it was Logan.

But, of course if wasn't, Virgil walked in instead.

"Hey... you've been hold up in your room since the funeral... how you holding up?"

Janus broke down, tears streaming down his face as Virgil went to hug him tight, "I've been better..."

But he'll get through it... he has to, he promised Logan.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

Ψ M is for Maraclea: Chapter Four

M is for Maraclea: Following an accident you had over summer break, you find yourself in limbo after being legally dead for several minutes. Now an outcast at boarding school, you end up finding comfort in a strange boy named Nigel. As winter draws near and tragedy strikes, your only reprieve from madness comes from a mind much like your own.

Warnings: Bullying.

To Note: Nigel Colbie x Fem!Reader, NAMED Reader for Plot Reasons, There Are A Lot of DARK Themes.

Word Count: ~2.8k

Previous | Masterlist | Next

You stack the music sheets, careful not to smudge the notes you’ve penciled in. The rehearsal hall echoes with the last strains of a hurried exit, leaving you, Susan, and Ethel to tidy up. You feel the weight of their glances, curious but not unkind.

Susan tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes darting towards you. “So, Michael still out with that flu?” she asks, trying to sound casual.

You nod, folding the sheet music precisely. “Yes. He’s pretty sick. They’re not sure when he’ll be back.”

Ethel frowns, straightening the chairs. “We can’t keep waiting on him. The play will arrive soon and if he doesn't practice with us the flow won't be right the right of the play.”

You agree silently, placing the stack of music onto the piano. “I shall be here should circumstance call for my fingers.”

Susan steps closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “How are you handling it? I mean...with everything? The girls have been very unkind to you, even after I tell them to stop.”

You glance at her, unsurprising by her concern yet taken aback. It’s been a while since anyone asked how you’re doing. They always just assume. “It’s...the play helps to keep my mind busy.”

Ethel stops what she’s doing and looks at you directly, her expression unreadable. “You’re doing great, Mary. Honestly, better than Michael in some parts.”

You feel nothing at her off words of praise. Compliments are rare these days. “Thank you,” you murmur.

Susan shifts awkwardly before speaking again. “I think it’s good for you too. Keeps you out of your dorm and engaged. I would hate to see you locked up in our room all semester studying.”

You nod at Susan, appreciating her concern even if you don’t entirely agree. The dorm room has become your sanctuary, a place where the whispers and sneers can’t reach you. But you don’t say that. Instead, you offer a small smile, one that feels foreign on your lips.

“I’ll try to be more social,” you say, though it sounds hollow to your own ears. "For you."

Susan’s eyes soften. “That’s all anyone can ask.”

You turn back to the piano, running your fingers over the cool keys. The sensation is soothing, numbing. You start to play a few notes, lost in the familiar comfort of music.

“Hey,” Susan’s voice breaks through your thoughts, “how about we grab a coffee or something? You know, just us.”

You glance at Susan, her hopeful eyes meeting yours. “I can’t, Susan. I’ve got an exam to study for.” You try to sound convincing, though the idea of socializing makes your skin crawl.

Susan’s face falls slightly, but she recovers quickly. “Alright, but you should come next time. Promise?”

“Yes,” you lie smoothly. “You and Ethel go ahead. Enjoy the coffee.”

Susan exchanges a look with Ethel, then shrugs. “If you’re sure.”

“I am,” you insist, forcing another small smile. It feels more of a grimace.

They gather their things and head towards the door. Susan looks back once more, concern etched in her features. “Take care, Mary.”

“You as well,” you reply softly, watching them leave. With the hall empty, you let out a breath you do not know you hold. The silence and solitude is bliss. Blinking, you ensure everything is in its place—chairs straightened, music sheets organized, piano closed. The silence wraps around you like a comforting shroud.

You walk out into the crisp evening air, pulling your coat tighter around you. The path back to the academy winds around the lake, a scenic route that usually calms your mind. Tonight, though, a sense of unease lingers.

Halfway around the lake, voices break through your solitude. You see them before they see you—three girls from your class, notorious for their cruel jokes and harsh whispers. Jane, Victoria, and Charity

“There she is,” Charity sneers as they spot you. She lacks the most charity out of the three of them, “Zombie fish girl.”

You keep walking, eyes fixed on the path ahead. They were hardly worthy of your attention.

Victoria steps in front of you, blocking your way with a cool sneer. “What’s the rush? Got another play to practice for?”

“Or maybe she’s just in a hurry to join the fish in the lake," Jane chimes in, laughter bubbling in her voice. You stop and slowly raise your eyes to meet theirs.

"Please move." They laugh and Charity's smirk deepens.

You fix your gaze on Victoria, your eyes unwavering. “Please move,” you repeat, your voice steady but low.

Jane steps closer, her breath mingling with the cold air. “What if we don’t want to?”

You tighten your grip on your coat, feeling the rough fabric against your fingers. “I don’t particular care for conversation at the moment,” you say, keeping your tone neutral while moving to step to the side. "If you will excuse me…"

Charity laughs, a sharp sound that cuts through the night as she steps in time with yours. “Going so soon? We’re just having a little fun. Lighten up, Forbes.”

Victoria nudges Jane, her eyes gleaming with malicious. “Yes, Mary. Why so serious? You are always such a bore. One might think that you are a robot!”

"A robot zombie fish?" Charity offers with a twist in her lips. "I've never heard of that before. I suppose there is always a first."

The girls press closer, their laughter blending with the rustling leaves. Your pulse quickens, a throb of tension echoing in your ears. You feel the edge of the path under your feet, the ground growing softer as it nears the water. They are ever persistent.

“Why so quiet, Mary?” Jane taunts, her eyes alight with cruel amusement.

You take a step back, your heel sinking into the damp earth. The lake glimmers under the moonlight, an inky expanse that seems to call you. Another step and the cold water laps at your shoes. Such sweet ecstasy.

“Aw, look,” Victoria coos, “she’s scared.” Far from it actually.

Charity grins, her eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong? Don’t like getting wet?”

Your back hits a low branch hanging over the water. There's nowhere else to go. The water seeps into your shoes, sending a shiver up your spine. You gasp as the cold bites into your skin, but beneath that shock is a strange comfort—the numbness you crave.

They see it—the way your breath catches—and their laughter falters for just a moment. You grip the branch behind you, grounding yourself while your mind obsesses over the growing numbness crawling up your ankles.

“Look at her,” Jane scoffs. “She’s pathetic.”

Victoria steps closer, peering into your eyes with mock concern. “Enjoying yourself down there?” Oh very much, very much in deed.

The chill spreads through you, wrapping around your legs like icy tendrils. You draw in a breath, steadying yourself against the wave of numbness that overtakes you. You nearly shudder from the euphoria.

“Numb,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper but firm.

Charity rolls her eyes and tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Let’s go,” she says dismissively. “The fish freak is not worth any more of our time.”

The three girls exchange looks before turning away with bored expressions. They walk off, their laughter fading into the night.

You stand there for a moment longer, feeling the water swirl around your ankles. The cold seeps deeper into you, but it’s a relief—a momentary escape from everything else. You take another deep breath and then slowly step out of the lake, your feet heavy and wet but grounded in a way they haven’t felt in weeks. And it was to only get colder.

You stand there, feeling the cold water seep through your shoes, chilling your skin. The numbness creeps up your legs, a familiar and oddly comforting sensation. You close your eyes for a moment, letting the cold wash over you. It's a welcome distraction from the constant noise in your head, the whispers and taunts that never seem to fade.

You draw in a deep breath, the crisp night air filling your lungs. For these few moments, you are alone with the cold and silence. No sneering faces, no mocking laughter—just you and the lake. The cold is an anchor, grounding you in the present.

After a few more moments, you reluctantly pull yourself away from the water's edge. Your feet feel heavy as you step back onto the path, each movement slow and deliberate. The wet fabric of your shoes squelches with every step, but you don't mind. It's a small price to pay for a brief respite.

You make your way back to the academy, the cold air biting at your cheeks. The path is deserted now, just as you prefer it. You walk slowly, savoring the quiet and solitude. Each step takes you further from the lake but not from the peace it brought.

As you reach the entrance to the dormitory, you pause for a moment, looking up at the building that has become both refuge and prison. You draw in another deep breath before pushing open the door and stepping inside.

The warmth of the dormitory envelops you immediately, contrasting sharply with the chill that clings to your skin. You move through the hallways quickly, avoiding eye contact with anyone you pass. You don't want to explain why you're soaked or why you've been outside alone at this hour.

Finally reaching your room, you slip inside quietly and close the door behind you. The room is dark and quiet, just as you left it. You peel off your wet shoes and socks, feeling the sting of warmth returning to your feet.

You sit on your bed for a moment, letting yourself adjust to being back inside. The numbness begins to fade slowly, replaced by a dull ache that reminds you you're still here, still alive.

You reach for a blanket and wrap it around yourself tightly. The fabric is soft against your skin but does little to chase away the lingering cold. You don't mind; it's a reminder of those precious moments by the lake when everything else fell away.

With a sigh, you lean back against the pillows and close your eyes, allowing yourself a few minutes of rest before returning to reality.

You jolt awake to the sound of tapping on your window. For a moment, disoriented, you sit up, the blanket slipping from your shoulders. The room is dim, shadows dancing on the walls as the moonlight filters in. The tapping persists, insistent and rhythmic. Your eyes dart to Susan, blissfully deep asleep in bed. The tapping continues.

You get up and move toward the window, your heart pounding in your chest. You pull back the curtain to reveal Nigel standing outside, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. His eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

"Mary," he mouths, his voice barely audible through the glass. "Come with me."

Without thinking, you crack the window open and lean your head out.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"We're going on a train ride," he says simply, his voice low and steady.

You hesitate for a moment, blinking at his statement but then nod. Retreating back into your room, you shut the window and turn to grab a pair of shoes and a coat to cover your nightgown. Snatching your dorm key, you slip from your dorm room and quickly made your way down to the ground floor. When you exited the dorm building Nigel is waiting for you.

The two of you make your way to the train station in silence, the only sound is your footsteps echoing off the pavement. When you reach the platform, Nigel buys two tickets without a word and leads you to an empty compartment. You take a seat and sit in silence as the train begins to move. A sense of calm washes over you.

Oh how calming and peaceful this feels! No chittering girls gossiping about you. The calm peace makes you quiver.

Nigel sits next to you, his gaze steady and unwavering. "Do you always take their bullying in silence," he says finally, breaking the quiet.

Your eyelashes flicker as your mind mulls over his words. He must have seen you cornered by Jane, Victoria, and Charity. You stare out the window, the dark landscape rushing by in a blur. Nigel's question hangs in the air between you two, heavy and unavoidable.

“Yes,” you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper but devoid of emotion. “I take it in silence. There's no point in fighting back.”

Nigel's eyes narrow slightly, curiosity lingering in his gaze. “Why?”

You sit there, the rhythmic clatter of the train beneath you. You feel Nigel's eyes on you, waiting for an answer. He doesn't push for an answer, just waits. You draw in a breath, steadying yourself.

"It happened over the summer," you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. "I went swimming alone in the lake near our house. I got a cramp...and I couldn't swim back."

Nigel's gaze intensifies, but he stays silent, letting you continue.

"I drowned," you say flatly. "They pulled me out, but by then... I was dead. Legally dead for several minutes."

You pause, watching his reaction. His eyes widen, and he leans closer, hanging on every word.

"They managed to revive me," you say, the memory making your skin crawl. "But something changed. It's like a part of me stayed behind."

Nigel's breath quickens, his fascination evident. "You...you died and came back?" His voice trembles with excitement.

"Yes," you confirm, your eyes meeting his. "That's why they call me zombie fish girl. Because it's true...in a way."

Nigel's face lights up with an intensity that makes your stomach churn. He reaches out and takes your hand, his grip firm and almost possessive. You like it, unlike the touch of others.

"You are...incredible," he murmurs, his eyes searching yours. "A living Maraclea."

You frown at the term, not fully understanding his obsession. What was so special about you? But before you can question it, Nigel moves closer, his face inches from yours.

"Mary," he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. "You're a miracle."

The intensity within Nigel's gaze makes your heart flutter. An odd sensation you don't mind. You can feel his breath against your skin, warm and inviting. A change from your crave of cold. He leans in closer, and for a moment, you forget everything—the cold, the bullying, the constant noise in your head. There's only him and the way he looks at you like you're something precious.

His lips brush against yours, tentative at first, as if he's afraid you'll pull away. But you don't. You stay still, letting the warmth of his touch seep into you. Your eyes flutter closed, and the world narrows down to this single point of contact. A warmth you like, a warmth you begin to crave.

Nigel's hand moves to cup your cheek, his fingers gentle but firm. The kiss deepens, and you find yourself responding in a way you never expected. Despite the numbness that usually clings to you like a second skin, there's a spark—something warm and alive that spreads through you like wildfire.

Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat echoing through your body as you lean into him. His lips are soft but insistent, coaxing a response from you that feels both foreign and thrilling. You part your lips slightly, allowing him to explore further, and a shiver runs down your spine at the intimacy of it.

It's your first kiss—something you've never really thought about before now. But with Nigel, it feels right.

There's no hesitation or fear, just a sense of connection that you've been missing for so long. You lose yourself in the kiss, the sensation overwhelming in its intensity. Your hand finds its way to Nigel's jacket, gripping tightly as if you fear this unsound warmth till slip away. You do. The cold that usually surrounds you melts away under his touch, replaced by a warmth that fills every corner of your being.

Nigel pulls back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. His gaze is soft but intense, filled with an emotion you can't quite name but recognize all the same. He strokes your jaw.

"Mary," he whispers against your lips, his voice low and filled with awe. "You are perfection."

You swallow hard, trying to find words but failing. When was the last time you have been praised as such? You can't find words to speak. Instead, you press your forehead against his, closing your eyes as you savor the lingering taste of his kiss.

For once, the numbness recedes completely, leaving only the warmth of Nigel's touch and the promise of something more.

Date Published: 6/9/24

Last Edit: 6/9/24

Previous | Masterlist | Next

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober Day 12: “I haven’t slept in days, but who’s counting?” (Insomnia)

Amazing how when I write something short, I can finish it sooner. Who would have guessed...

Read on ao3

Warnings: mentions of injuries

————————————————————

Wind pulled his knees up to his chest as he sat in the grass, drawing aimlessly in the dirt in front of him. A voice sighed, but Wind ignored it, same as he’d been doing for the past ten minutes.

He didn’t want to hear it.

“Sailor please, be reasonable,” Warriors said with a firm bent to his voice.

“I am being reasonable,” Wind replied, adding sails to his dirt drawing. “You’re the one arguing your head off with a thirteen year-old.”

Warriors crossed his arms.

“Look Sailor, you’ve got to sleep. It’s been nearly three days,” he said, voice more pleading than before, but Wind shook his head, crossing his own arms as he looked up at the captain.

“Time hasn’t slept either, and you’re not yelling at him,” he pointed out, and Warriors massaged the bridge of his nose.

“...he won’t listen to me.”

“Well I’m not listening either,” Wind snarked back, and Warriors let out another heavy sigh.

Wind felt a small prickle of guilt, but he shoved it aside, scrunching up his shoulders. He knew he was being obnoxious, and that Warriors didn’t need one more thing to stress about, but he was being so annoying!

“Look, Wind... not sleeping isn’t going to wake Twilight up any faster,” the captain said more softly, and Wind’s shoulders went up even more. “Please come to bed. One of us can wake you if anything changes.”

Wind closed his eyes. “I’m staying here.”

Warriors shifted where he stood like he wanted to continue, but he merely sighed again. Then his footsteps trailed away, and Wind lowered his shoulders.

As glad as he was to finally have gotten him to leave, Wind couldn’t help but feel guilty as he raised his head and watched Warriors walk off. But he shook it off, and looked back over at where Twilight lay in his bedroll, still and silent.

His hair was pushed out of his face, making room for the bandages that wound around his head and covered the gash Wind knew was right above his ear. The bandages were clean still, but there was a considerable bump swelling where Twilight had been hit, and Wind felt another surge of anger and worry all bundled up together crash over him.

Why did you have to take that hit for me, Twi? Wind thought miserably. You only just recovered, and now...

The cloth that they’d used to wipe the blood off of Twilight’s face caught his eye, and Wind swallowed.

I thought we were past this.

He sighed, and pressed his hands to his eyes, trying to alleviate the heavy feeling in them. He did feel tired, was the thing. Really tired. But having everybody constantly tell him he needed to go to bed was mushing with the frustration he was already feeling, and the stubborn part of him refused to do what they wanted.

They never listen to what I say, why should I listen to them?

Footsteps rustled behind him, and Wind growled, words to chase Warriors away again already on his tongue. But when he turned, he realized it was only Time returning from checking on the others.

“Oh. Hi,” he mumbled, and Time nodded in reply, settling himself on the grass next to Twilight again.

The silence stretched between them, and Wind carefully added a tiny head to his boat drawing, turned to talk to the stick figure riding it.

“How are you doing, sailor?” Time asked finally, and Wind shrugged, still poking at the dirt. “...the Captain’s worried about you.”

“I’m not who he should be worried about,” Wind muttered, and the silence came back.

He finished his tiny dirt portrait, the King of Red Lions smiling back at a tiny stick figure of himself. He hadn’t gotten all the details right, but it wasn’t bad really, and if you knew what you were looking at you could tell what it was for sure. Wind stared at it for a second, then scuffed the dirt away, erasing the image.

Then he looked over at Twilight, and swallowed.

“I just wish he would wake up already,” Wind whispered. “I still can’t believe he did that.”

“He didn’t want you to get hurt,” Time replied quietly. Another sigh escaped him. “He saw that club coming when you did not, and made a decision in the heat of battle.”

“I know! But I’m not the one who nearly died a week ago!” Wind suddenly yelled, feeling frustrated tears start to well in his eyes. “Why couldn’t he have just let me take that hit?! I could have taken it!”

He swiped an angry hand across his eyes, and felt Time’s hand gently rest on his shoulder, warming his back.

“Because it’s in his nature to protect those he cares for,” Time said quietly, “and you in particular, Sailor, remind him of his brother. Whom he once failed to save.”

Wind swallowed, and swiped away the tears trying to escape his eyes. He wasn’t going to cry in front of the Hero of Time. He wasn’t.

“You have a younger sister, yes?” Time said after a moment, and Wind nodded, not trusting his voice. “Then you know what it’s like to care for a younger sibling. Twilight... I believe has unconsciously placed you in that role.”

“Well that’s great,” Wind muttered, though a part of him warmed at the thought. “But how do I get him to stop doing things like... this?”

Time actually smiled, just a little. “You can’t.”

“What?!”

Time chuckled, then met Wind’s eyes. “You can’t make him do anything, Sailor. He’s stubborn as a mule. And truth be told, he would have jumped in front of that club if it had been any one of us— you or me, or our Veteran, or even the Captain.”

“So... so it wasn’t because he thinks I can’t handle myself?” Wind asked confusedly.

“...I believe he just has trouble separating you from his brother in his mind,” Time replied, smile fading as he looked back at Twilight again. “I can’t say for sure, of course. But his actions seem to point to it.”

He looked down at Wind again, and squeezed his shoulder.

“I understand it is frustrating to be underestimated. But try to give Twilight some grace. He only wants to keep you safe, just like you would do for your sister. It’s in his nature to protect.”

“I don’t need protecting though,” Wind said quietly, and Time hummed, looking up at the sky.

“Indeed. But Twilight protects regardless of ability. He does it out of love.”

Wind stared at Time for a moment, then looked over at Twilight again, watching his chest go up and down, his eyes remaining closed.

“...I wish he would save some of that love for himself,” Wind murmured.

Time sighed. “As do I.”

They both stayed silent as they watched Twilight breathe, and Wind blinked heavily, his eyes drooping against his will. Time gently steered him so he was resting against his shoulder, and Wind let him, not bothering to fight against it.

“...I’m not tired,” he murmured, biting back a yawn, and Time put an arm around him.

“Whether or not that’s true, you may as well be comfortable while we wait,” Time replied softly.

Wind squinted at him suspiciously, but he didn’t bother to muster up the energy to argue. Time’s shoulder was pretty comfortable after all... maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he took a short nap.

He looked back at Twilight, still pale, still unmoving, and felt the lump come back in his throat.

Please wake up, Twilight. Don’t scare us again.

He rested his head on Time’s arm, closing his eyes against the tears that were trying to come back, and let out a shaky sigh.

“Wake me up if anything changes,” Wind whispered, and he felt Time nod, the older hero holding him a little tighter.

“You’ll be the first to know.”

[anzynai]

Study Break!

Riddle & Ace & Chenya (TWST)

a/n: WOOOO another twst fic done! and its lee riddle!! surprisingly enough, i actually got a lot of lee riddle requests (which i dont blame u nom nom) so im planning to write those requests in the future. still, here i combined two of them so i hope u dont mind! this was actually meant to be posted much sooner but well.. got sidetracked. plus, i wanted to write another fic before i posted this one. (that did not happen) ANYWAY, enjoy!

summary: when ace is forced to study with riddle, he finds that things may not be so bad after-all when a friend of riddle’s comes to visit!

word count: 1.5k

——

“Urghhh..” Ace groaned to himself. “This sucks..” Slouching over his papers, he wanted nothing more than to just go back to his room and sleep for ten years.

See, it was his fault, wasn’t it? That he had to waste three hours of his day on schoolwork instead of doing literally anything else. It’s true that he did get a.. well, less than favorable score on his test, but no! What he blamed himself on was the fact he had accidentally let Riddle see it!

And now, he was here, in the Heartslabyul Lounge, textbooks as far as the eye can see (or really, only covering the table) and Riddle drilling lesson after lesson into his brain. He was sure that if he stayed there a second longer, his brain would quite literally melt.

He hated that Riddle was actually a really good tutor. This wasn’t Ace’s first time getting a tutoring session with the Housewarden, despite the other’s busy schedule. But.. he had to be in the mood to study, you know?

“Do you get it, Ace? This is important,” Riddle asked, causing another groan to pass through the freshman’s lips.

“Yes… but..” He said, knowing full well that he hadn't been listening to Riddle for the past five minutes. “Can’t we just take a small break?”

“Not when you haven’t been listening to me at all. Do you really think you’re deserving of a break?” Riddle narrowed his eyes, his arms crossed. Ace, on the other hand, averted his eyes after getting through his initial shock.

“So you noticed..”

“Of course I did.”

“I just can’t focus! It’s just one test. I’ll do better on the next one.” Ace shrugged, looking out the window. He could be doing other things right now. Should he just.. say he needs to go to the bathroom and just leave? No, it’s Riddle. He would wait until Ace got back and punish him. And no one wanted to be on the receiving end of Riddle’s punishments.

“But you didn’t do well on this one. Tell me, what will you do if this material shows up on the final exam?” Riddle questioned, doubtful.

“Eh..”

“Hehe, playing teacher?” A voice suddenly cut out, startling the two. Ace jerked his head over towards the source to see.. a floating head?!

“Ah! It’s you!” What was his name? Arte… Pinky..? Huh???

“Chenya,” Riddle sighed, then looked up, a glare directed at him, rather than Ace. “Stop using your signature spell to scare others.”

“Hehe.” Chenya winked, then the rest of his body appeared.

“Freaky…” Ace mumbled to himself, still recovering from his heart attack earlier. How did he get in here anyway? When did he get here?

“What are you doing here?” Riddle asked the RSA student.

“Can’t I just visit my friends~?” Chenya put his hands behind his head, casually.

Riddle pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m assuming you’ve already met with Trey then?”

“Nope,” Chenya started, popping the p. “I actually thought I was gonna see you two together. You two used to be like, attached at the hip.”

“We were not.” Riddle looked away.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatcha doing?” He said, half-walking, half-skipping over to the table. Sevens, him and Floyd would get along swimmingly— no pun intended.

“As you can see, I’m tutoring one of my freshmen. He got an unacceptable grade on his last test and I am going to ensure that doesn’t happen again,” Riddle explains, gesturing at the textbooks sprawled about on the table.

“Way to put all my business out there, Housewarden..” Ace muttered under his breath. Riddle pointedly ignored him.

“Looks like he’s been working hard. I heard him ask for a break! Why not give the little freshie one?”

“Little freshie?!” Ace can hardly be grateful for Chenya trying to convince the housewarden to give Ace a break when he’s called that! Still.. a break would be nice.

Riddle looks between the two, a hopeful glint in each of their eyes.

Then, he sighed. “Fine. I will permit silent reading for ten minutes,” He responded, at last, handing him an alchemy textbook.

“Eh?! That’s not a break at all!” Ace exclaimed, before he could help it. He withdrew slightly at the glare that Riddle sent him.

“Yeah. I mean, like, something away from studying. Come on, the Chenya is visiting, do you think I’d wanna watch you two studying?” Chenya whined, throwing his arms out. He seemed very.. mischievous. Clearly, this was not his first rodeo.

“And what do you suggest?” Riddle raised a brow.

“I know!” Chenya declared, like he had been waiting for it, then he set his sights on Ace. Ace startled when Chenya started walking towards him, getting closer and cupping his ear to whisper into it.

Ace lit up while Riddle grimaced. Ace looked at the housewarden, newfound fervor in his demeanor. Ace had a mission and he could tell Riddle was not looking forward to finding out what it was.

“What are you two scheming over there?” Riddle demanded and Chenya shook, like he forgot the other was there. Then, the same fervor was in his eyes.

“Get him!” Chenya shouted, suddenly, as if Ace were a soldier or a knight or… something. Still, Ace obliged, running to pounce Riddle. Riddle didn’t seem to stop him, even though he very well could have, so the freshman could tell that he was curious about where this was going to go.

Then, Ace wiggled his fingers on Riddle’s sides and Chenya joined in, tickling Riddle’s ribs and armpits.

“H-huh?! Unhahand me!”

“No way! You were right, he is ticklish!” Ace exclaimed, almost incredulously.

“Hehe, isn’t he?” Chenya giggled. And that’s when it seemed to click in Riddle’s mind that that’s what they were whispering about. Riddle bit his lip, trying to resist but it was all over before he even began.

“Lehehehet gohoho!” Riddle laughed, an unwilling blush rising to his cheeks. Ignoring all that Riddle was, he looked so.. cute and innocent here.

“Nuh uh! This is how I want to spend my break!” Ace started poking his fingers in between Riddle’s ribs, loudly and obnoxiously singing some classical music, like Riddle was a piano. He knew he would probably die later, but… it was worth it.

When he hit a particular sensitive spot on his ribs, Riddle actually snorted. Yep. Definitely worth it.

Chenya was squeezing Riddle’s thighs, lightly grazing the tops of his knees all the while.

“You twohohoho, stahahap!” Riddle cried, squirming and trying to grab his magic pen from his pocket. That is, until Ace started scratching at Riddle’s waist, grazing his sides just barely, but enough to drive him mad.

“No way! Not when I found out my housewarden is,” Ace started, teasingly. “…this ticklish~” He enunciated his words with a poke to his side, laughing at how Riddle jolted each time.

“Teehee, he is just as ticklish as he was when he was little! So cuteee!” Chenya cooed, his slender fingers exploring Riddle’s tummy and bellybutton.

“Shuhuhut uhuhup!” Riddle screeched, his face bright red and Ace wasn’t really sure whether it was from embarrassment or anger. Maybe both. Maybe this shouldn’t go on much longer, he thought, thinking back about the times Riddle had used his unique magic on him. Riddle was better about it now, but he definitely still had his limits.

“Seems like you’re having fun?” A voice called out of seemingly nowhere. All three heads jerked towards the sound, spotting Trey in the doorway.

“Trehehehey! Mahahahake theheheem stohop!” Riddle giggled, finally giving up on trying to break free as he looked at Trey who chuckled in response.

“Alright, don’t you guys think he’s had enough?” Trey asked, walking closer to them but never actually stopping. Ace looked at his house warden and backed away. Chenya got in a few more pokes in before he stopped, as well, deciding to jog over to Trey.

“Trey! Your best friend is here!” He exclaimed, pointing at himself and winking. A fond smile made its way onto Trey’s face and Ace offhandedly wonders about the history between the three.

It is almost silent for a few moments, save for Riddle exhaling slowly and deeply.

“I hope that made for a sufficient break.” Riddle glared at the two, but especially Ace. Likely for giving into Chenya’s whims, which.. fair, but shouldn’t he be more angry at Chenya who suggested tickling him in the first place?!

“It definitely did, Housewarden!” Ace admitted, pushing any fear of retaliation that he might’ve had, recalling the moments just now. If Riddle hadn’t collared him, he must be safe, right? And well, it’s Riddle. Riddle would never do something so petty like tickle him back.

“Whatever. Let’s just get back to learning. And there will be no breaks until we are finished,” The Housewarden declares, sitting up to pick up one of the textbooks on the table. However, he scooted closer towards Ace, so that they were more diagonal than across.

Ace decided not to think about it too much. That is, until Riddle began poking him in the side every time he lost focus or got an answer wrong.

He supposed that this was what he deserved, so he didn't say anything. At least pokes in the side were all it was…

He shivered at the thought of Riddle finding out about how embarrassingly ticklish he was, but he’ll save that for another day! Now, he just has to get through this tutoring session… Ughhhh…

[emerald-notes]

Noona! Please! Help! - Part 4

Fandom: BTS Characters: Younger Brothers BTS and Elder Sister Narrator Genre: A Little Dramatic and A Little Comedic Word Count: 900+ Words Warning: Academic stress, despair etc. Note: It’s a siblings AU story of BTS with the narrator as their elder sister. I tried to write something different from what I usually write about. I had fun making this. Hope it makes you feel good too. Happy Reading Everyone :)

Summary: Her little brothers can’t attend to a single task without her help. Be it a dance competition or asking out a girl for a date, they always seem to be finding everything too hard to go through without her by their side. ‘Our lucky charm’; that’s what they like to call her. But what if she turns out to be a misfortune in different situations in one single day?

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - More to come

Goodbye, SNU...:

11:17 a.m. 1st September, 2015

Almost all the students seem to have gotten out of the exam hall already but there is no sign of Jimin. What can that mean?

"I don't think his exam went well, noona!" Yoongi quietly puts my thoughts into words.

I shake my head, "He must be talking to a friend. Jimin’s exam must go well. He prepared for it for months."

"Accidents happen, you know!" Yoongi shrugs.

Finally I see Jimin, slouching, coming out of that building all alone. My heart feels heavy. Jimin will not recover from this any time soon if something goes wrong.

Yoongi calls out, "Jiminah! Here!"

There is a moment of confusion in his face at first. Then it fades to recognition. He slowly walks towards us and gives a weak smile.

"Was it that bad?" I ask.

Jimin nods. His smile turns upside down. And the next thing we know is his eyes are wet. Jimin is crying.

I am sitting at a cafe table waiting for my two brothers to come from the washroom, wondering what life lesson the older one is teaching the younger one in his hour of despair. It does not take long. Finally, they make their way towards me.

“Everything okay, now?” I ask.

“Tolerable!” Yoongi sighs. There is a hint of annoyance in his voice.

As soon as they sit down, Jimin begins ranting about all the silly mistakes he had made. His brain was a mess during the exam time so he couldn’t concentrate properly and he had marked the number of bills and coins in South Korea to be five and four respectively whereas the answer is quite the opposite.

“C’mon, Jiminah, everyone knows that” Yoongi grunts mockingly and I glare at him to stop teasing.

I turn to Jimin and, noticing the dark circles and the sharp jawline, ask him, “Have you been properly eating and sleeping, Jiminie?”

“What?” His look was wearied. That answers my question.

I say, “Listen! What you really need is a proper meal and some sleep.” I check the watch on my wrist and calculate the amount of time still remaining before I meet up with Namjoon. “Alright! Let’s go to granma’s place and I’ll cook both of you some hearty meals.”

Driving all the way to granma’s place is tiring to some extent. It is all the more exhausting when you have a passenger talking non-stop about how terrible he’s feeling and how his life is all dark ahead of him as if not getting into SNU means that your life’s over. I understand that all the unnecessary amount of caffeine Jimin had consumed within the last few months had done little to no good to him. What surprises me more is the level of patience Yoongi has for Jimin. Because I am slowly losing my mind right now.

At last, here I am, trying to make some quick healthy lunch for me and my two little ones.

“You're home already?” The youngest enters the kitchen.

Alright. Three little ones now.

I hastily add more water and some spicy ingredients to the soup before turning to speak to Jungkook. “Yes! Just to prepare lunch. Go say hi to Yoongi and Jimin.”

“They're here?” He excitedly leaves without waiting for my answer.

The familiar sound of the boys’ laughter fills the living room. It is carried to my ears which in turns brings a smile to my lips. I prepare the dishes, pour the soup, take the kimchi out of the fridge and finally call Yoongi to help me carry them to the table.

I am surprised to not find Jimin in the dining room.

“Hyung fell asleep so I carried him to my room. He looked so tired. Didn't want to wake him up.” Jungkook informs.

“But the food will go cold when he wakes up.” I say.

Yoongi pulls the sleeve of my shirt and motions me to sit down, “it's alright. I'll just warm them up for him.”

I say, “You start eating. I’m gonna go check on him.”

Yoongi shrugs, “he’ll be alright, noona. We all do.”

I nod a little but my heart does not agree. Jimin is a perfectionist. I know how much it hurts him when he fails to meet his ambitions. And it pains me to even think how this is going to affect him. He is going to be so hard on himself from now on.

I step inside Jungkook’s almost-bare-except-for-a-bed bedroom and find Jimin snoring softly. He looks peaceful in his sleep. Almost angelic other than the fact that he has lost so much weight over the past few months so he looks kinda ill. His eyes have sunken into perfect brown circles and his jawlines look as if it can cut.

I slowly run my hand over his hair as my eyes start to prick. I wish he would stop worrying about being perfect. I wish he knew he was more than his mistakes. I wish he knew how much he is loved.

I quietly go back to eat. Luckily Yoongi and Jungkook are already immersed in a conversation about some comic books that I barely know about. After a few minutes of munching on my food in silence, my phone rings from the kitchen so I have to excuse myself. It is Namjoon.

“Noona! It's already 1:50. Are you sure you can make it in time?” I hear Namjoon's worried voice from the other side of the speaker.

“I'm leaving home right away. You wait for me a little longer. Can you do that?”

There is a moment of silence. Then Namjoon speaks, “of course, I'll wait. I ain't doing this without my lucky charm.”

< Previous || Next > Coming Soon

My Masterlist

Tag List:   @sophiatcha,   @lalavione1309,   @jwirecs,   @missmayaarmy,   @sarai-ibn-la-ahad,   @ayalies,   @karougirl123,   @juju-227592,   @coffeepurpleu,   @dreamerwasfound,   @wetfeline,   @phthao2406, @hoshi-is-ult-bbg, @bestloverstan,   @quixoticbittersweet,   @jwirecs-main,   @singukieee,   @l3aecon,   @bangtandoll20,   @gabcats5,   @latina-girl-18,   @kyuupidwrites  

[ten-cent-sleuth]

A Galling Yoke, Part 9

<- Prev | Next ->

for the “Look at me when I’m talking to you” and Location: Art Gallery squares on my July Break Bingo card

See this post for main info, including a masterlist and synopsis. See this post for warnings.

Word Count: 3.9k

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x f!Reader

Rating: Teen

Despite the bitterly disappointing nature of your last conversation, Sherlock did continue calling on you to “keep you apprised” of his progress. He always stayed much longer than would have been deemed appropriate for a proper afternoon visit, sticking around so you two could toss ideas back and forth about possible next steps, possible hints, possible culprits. There were a frustrating amount of possibles.

Sherlock had consulted his contacts in Scotland Yard circles and had combed through old cases to look for precedents in capturing hired killers or their hirers. He wasn’t having much luck, and his colleagues weren’t so eager to help anyway when all they saw was Sherlock humouring a family friend with an unofficial investigation. For your part, you were content to take a back seat in the field work now; as much as you appreciated Enola’s insistence all those days ago that you would be an asset to Sherlock, you just didn’t feel up to roving around London anymore.

Partly because the case was at a juncture that required Sherlock’s network and strengths more than yours. Partly because the temperature had dropped and you didn’t want to test your bad knee. Partly because you and Sherlock were back to that uncomfortable reliance on “Good afternoon” and “How are you?”, though with a little more variety thanks to the work you could discuss. And—the factor nobody else knew—partly because you were uneasy in any public situation at the moment.

“You have been rather shut in since Lord Coltidge visited us, ma’am,” commented Mrs Rogers one quiet afternoon. “The knocker has been down from the door all week and you have not taken a single walk. Is everything all right?”

A sip of your tea chased away the lump in your throat. “Of course, my friend. I am simply weary of the ton’s gossiping and must recover my tolerance for it in time for the upcoming Season.”

She looked neither convinced nor prepared to push. In truth, you had revealed more to her than you would to Sherlock, though his prying gazes were far more frequent than her single inquiry.

He knew something was up.

But you would feel silly telling him about it. You felt silly simply experiencing it. Your father had offered no proof, had very little authority in Town society, and yet…

You set aside your cup and saucer in order to stand and walk to the window. Ignoring Mrs Rogers’s watching you from her seat, you looked at the carriages and pedestrians on the street below and wondered how many had apparently heard.

Your father had no reason to lie, after all. When he had told you that your “skulking about” the East End and “confronting” Miss Algar had whipped the upper circles into a frenzy about a scandal surrounding the Voss family, you had been incredulous—not because you disbelieved him, but because you had not expected anyone to care what you were doing on Cable Street. Who in the world had seen or heard of your presence there and had wanted to dig deeper, deep enough to unearth your husband’s betrayal?

Lord Coltidge had not cared to inform you of that detail, however, only of all the whispers people were sharing about the new light in which they saw you. A wave of nausea washed over you, and you shut your eyes against it.

“Ma’am…” You had heard your housekeeper come up beside you moments earlier, yet her voice startled you.

“All is well, I assure you, Mrs Rogers,” you told her, though you still did not dare open your eyes.

“Certainly, ma’am. I only meant to ask whether you planned to accompany Mr Holmes out today.”

“I do not believe he shall come to invite me, Mrs Rogers. It is long past when he normally calls on me.”

“That is true, but if he were to arrive…? It would do you good, I think.”

You hummed in halfhearted agreement. If giving her the response she wanted to a hypothetical improbability would ease some of her worry for you, it was hardly a sacrifice. “Yes,” you said, “I would accompany him.”

“Splendid!” replied Mrs Rogers. “I shall fetch your pelisse.”

Your eyes flew open. “What do you—?” They caught on a familiar figure coming down the sidewalk, nearly at your door. “Mrs Rogers!”

But the clever woman was already out of the room. You shook your head, but a chuckle overtook your groan with little struggle.

To Sherlock’s visible surprise, you met him at the door, ready to go.

“How did you know I was to invite you on an outing?” he asked.

“Whether an invitation was forthcoming does not signify,” you answered. “If you had had no outing planned, you would have had to improvise one, for Mrs Rogers shall not have me remain indoors this afternoon.”

Your housekeeper tisked dismissively through a smile. Your butler looked pained to hand you your cane.

Sherlock looked even more befuddled but managed to bid the Rogerses adieu as he led you outside.

“I almost did not come today,” he informed you after a moment’s awkward silence. “I did not wish to go to you empty-handed, and I was stuck in a bit of a rut. Professionals do not leave loose ends, that much has been made clear to me these past few days. To err is human, of course, but if any missteps or oversights would have been minimised from the onset, could they have survived twelve years in the shadows? Without a motive to find the conspirator or a trace to find the contractor, how are we to move forward?”

A thread of wistfulness wound through you at the gentleman’s earnestness; this is exactly what you had thought of when faced with your father’s sanctimony.

“You know what this means, do you not?” the earl had asked you.

Defiantly, foolishly, you had remained silent, spitefully comparing his righteous tone with the sincerity you had taken for granted when Sherlock urged you to partake in his thought process. Defiantly, foolishly, you had made no attempt to hide your ignoring your father, and he had shouted—

“Look at me when I speak to you! Are you even—?”

“—quite all right, my lady?”

You flinched, jolted out of your distraction. “Forgive me, Sherlock, I was not attending.”

You braced yourself for the offended huffing that Sherlock always managed when he learned somebody wasn’t listening to him, and you were left slack-jawed when he instead grinned.

“What amuses you?” you demanded.

“It is only that I was explaining why I ultimately decided to come see you despite the case’s stagnation, and you are proving my point!”

Heat flushed through your face. “Well, what was your point?”

“Of late, your mind has been preoccupied, has it not?” He didn’t wait for you to decide whether to be honest or to attempt to lie to a human lie detector. “I shall not ask why; I endeavour only to ease that mind somewhat, if I can.”

Any hope of an intelligent—or even intelligible—response fled in the face of his tiny, hopeful, almost bashful smile, so you settled for a tiny, grateful, almost bashful smile of your own. Reddening, he spluttered on—

“Of course, I hope to refresh my mind as well, to gain some insight into this case of indirects by allowing the brain to attack it indirectly.”

Though you would normally find entertainment in Sherlock being flustered, this time you found only grief that a brick wall now ran through your friendship and guilt that you had erected it. But if he could make an effort to move past the suffocating fog of “childhood friends and first loves” to the clear blue sky where romantic feelings cast no shadow, so could you.

“Where, exactly, are we going?” you asked.

Sherlock straightened his shoulders, a sly look chasing away the distress on his face. “It is not altogether exciting, I fear: only a certain building at Trafalgar Square, which I have heard from certain sources is trying a new initiative due to the success of a similar one in York…”

Your brow furrowed. Trafalgar Square? What would Sherlock take you there for? The pigeons? Uniquely Sherlockian, of course, but not much for him to get sly about. St Martin-in-the-Fields? Mm…definitely not.

You whipped your head around to gape at Sherlock, who was looking even more impish at your realisation. “The National Gallery?”

His broadening smile was answer enough.

“I had thought it closed,” you said. “Are they not adding a new section that the public is not meant to…?” Trailing off, you thought back to the clues Sherlock had teased you with. “The York Art Gallery. It is known for its Great Exhibition Hall. Goodness! Is that what they have been building at the National Gallery, then? The grand opening would be the talk of the ton, I have no doubt, and I have heard naught…”

With a low hum, Sherlock pulled you closer to whisper, “It is not yet the grand opening. I simply have an in with one of the managers, ever since one of my investigations provided him much-needed assistance a few years ago.”

You would have gaped more if you’d known how. “You would use one of your contacts for a casual outing?”

He pursed his lips and glanced away. “It is not a one-time arrangement,” he defended himself, “so I may as well make use of it. Since I would not appreciate the opportunity as much as you, it was logical—” He glanced back with wide, horrified eyes. “That is, not logical, only…only…”

Your gaze dropped to the ground. Oh, goodness… Had you really reduced the great Sherlock Holmes to walking on eggshells around you? How could you possibly fix the mess you’d made of things?

“You like art very much!” he blurted out.

Your eyes shot back up. “Er—”

“At least, you did when we were young,” he said, looking ahead instead of at you. “I remember how much you enjoyed studying art theory and history, and I assumed you retained the passion due to the collection of artwork I noted in your home…”

“You noticed that?”

You flushed at your outburst, and Sherlock did not reply. You weren’t sure whether to be grateful for that reticence or not.

Pushing past your blunder, you ventured, “I do like art very much. I am sure I shall enjoy this excursion, but even if I do not, I apologise for apparently wool gathering so often that you noticed. Just now, I was…thinking of my father.” And you almost told him. You almost told Sherlock about Lord Coltidge’s reprimand, about the dreadful self-consciousness it had awoken in you. You almost told him about your biggest concern out of it all—

“I thought you were past all this, Daughter, all the insolence and the foolhardiness. Clearly not, if you would so carelessly handle the identity of your husband’s mistress.” The earl had sneered so zealously you had almost thought he was actually pleased with this turn of events. “Now that you have bandied about that you and Edmund did not have a happy marriage, you shall be the prime suspect of Scotland Yard and gossip corners alike when Holmes proves Edmund’s death was not an accident!”

—but one look into your friend’s sharp, bright eyes and you knew he would be troubled if you spoke a word of it.

This. This is how you could possibly fix the mess you’d made of things! Letting year-old hurts spill out of you had done no good; you would spare Sherlock any more of your woes, and that included the stifling shame of all your acquaintances knowing you were slighted by your husband as well as the suffocating anxiety of all your peers about to think you were involved in your husband’s murder.

With one stroke, you wiped away thoughts of your predicament and painted on a reassuring smile for Sherlock. “Do you recall how we met?” you asked him.

“Of course,” he scoffed. “How could I— That is, how could anyone forget walking down a corridor in their house like any day and coming across a strange little girl rummaging through it?”

You rolled your eyes. “How many times must I tell you I was not rummaging! I was merely leaning on that chest of drawers to better inspect the painting—”

“That is arguably more bizarre, you realise.”

“Well. Either way, I only had the chance to wander off and look at your corridors and corridors of family portraits because my father had brought me along when he visited with your parents. In a way, it is his fault we are friends, is it not?”

A corner of Sherlock’s mouth turned up. “I doubt he would appreciate that interpretation. As for me…” He leaned his head forward to look at you. “I would like to think that we would have run into each other eventually, regardless of your father’s involvement. Perhaps it is ridiculous of me to rely on the thought of…”

“Of inevitability?” You couldn’t quite keep the disbelief out of your voice; Sherlock couldn’t have faith in something so close to the concept of fate, could he?

But he looked away, and you hurried to reassure him, “We were both inquisitive children of a similar age on neighbouring estates. Perhaps our connexion was indeed…” You found yourself trailing off too; somehow, you couldn’t get the word inevitable out anymore.

With a shake of your head to clear it, you realised you were entering Trafalgar Square. You let the awkwardness melt away as you leaned heavier into Sherlock’s arm and grinned up at him.

“Oh, it is sinking in now,” you breathed. “Sherlock, I thank you for this. It is the height of thoughtfulness.”

He opened his mouth, then slowly shut it and opted instead for a rigid nod.

Sherlock led you across the square, tightening his hold when you jumped at the noisy and nearby take-off of a group of pigeons, before showing you through a side door of the National Gallery and past its standard wings into a renovated-looking section that you’d never visited before.

Letting go of Sherlock and wandering along, you drank in the hall of paintings, as clear and clean as any well maintained home you’d visit, but sunnier and, of course, more colourful. What home, well maintained or not, held this many paintings? Displayed this much warm red and bright yellow and deep green and swirling blue? You were floating off the floor as your head whipped left and right, trying to absorb as many of the various shapes and sharp lines and masterful strokes as you could.

Though you did not forget yourself enough to start rummaging, you were overtaken by a sense of lightness—the lightness of giddy freedom, the lightness of pure and unfettered enjoyment—that you could only remember from childhood, and you would not have been surprised if your steps were as skippy and your movements as twirly as they had been the day Sherlock found you admiring his hall of paintings. But in this room full of beauty and creativity and devoid of judgement and shame, how could they not be? In this room where Mr Sulyard did not haunt you, Lord Coltidge did not hound you, and indeed the only company was the person you most lo—

You skidded to a stop and stared agape at the wall. No, no, no. You could not entertain such foolish thoughts! You could not harbour such foolish sentiments! Your feelings had to be muddled, that was all—

“Interesting,” came Sherlock’s voice at your side. “You were enraptured by all the tints and brightness of the art around you, I noticed, but you pause to consider the solitary piece in monochrome.”

Blinking, you scrambled to take in the painting you had been staring at—or towards, really. The plaque helpfully informed you it was a portrait of Queen Margaret of Anjou, and Sherlock helpfully informed you of who exactly that was by reciting—

“She’s beautiful, and therefore to be wooed; she is a woman, therefore to be won.”

It took you a moment, but you recalled attending the start of Drury Lane’s run of Henry VI just a month or two ago. You turned towards Sherlock with a retort on your tongue and only stumbled a little at the startling discovery that he was looking at you rather than at Queen Margaret.

“I never did grow fond of Suffolk,” you said, “though I did like one of his lines near the end of Part One. Oh, how did it go again? ‘Marriage is a matter’, and something about attorney deals…companions or what-have-you…then: ‘For what is wedlock forcèd but a hell, an age of discord and continual strife?’”

Sherlock looked at you so long, so searchingly, that you braced yourself for another vulnerable conversation. But just as he seemed about to open it, he shook his head and smirked lightly.

“I do not much like Suffolk either,” he said. “I am not a great fan of Shakespeare’s histories in general—”

“Be they too inaccurate for thee, sirrah?” you teased. He shot you a look.

“—but I at least enjoyed Henry VI for Saye’s character, as minor a role as he may have had. In particular, I enjoyed his line, ‘Ignorance is the curse of God…’”

“‘…Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven,’” you concluded in unison.

You and he locked eyes, and the gallery echoed with silence for a long moment. He inched closer—or was that just a twitch?—and you froze. Your heart was racing, but your body froze.

And Sherlock looked away first.

Now, your heart shot to your throat. The only other time Sherlock had ever looked away first from anyone, as far as you knew, was that first day you and he had been reacquainted. Gracious, why did he make you panic? Why did you make him uncomfortable?

“I actually appreciate—” you started.

“Perhaps we ought to—” he said at the same time.

“Forgive me—”

“I— No, I apologise—”

“There is no need. What were you saying?”

“No, no, you may speak first, my lady.”

Your smile was taut but, hopefully, not too brittle. “I rather appreciate the Bard’s decision to write histories,” you said. “Studying the past would be fascinating and useful regardless, but with a play, those figures of study become more understandable, more relatable, and therefore more edifying. The plight of King Henry VI, for example, would not seem nearly so human to me if not for Shakespeare.”

Sherlock hummed in concession. “The playwright does succeed in portraying Henry as a good-hearted and therefore sympathetically naïve fellow, rather than simply a good-hearted and therefore hatefully weak king.”

“The measure of a man is on a different scale from the measure of a noble,” you agreed. “And it was all the harsher a proportion for Henry VI because of his father.”

Gravely, the detective nodded, but then his countenance lit up the way it did when a thought caught fire in his mind. “I suppose Lord Pashbroke shall be in a similar plight when he inherits and becomes Lord Coltidge instead.”

You grimaced. “I had not thought of it that way, but yes, I reckon you have the right of it.” You turned back to Queen Margaret and sighed. “I love William, but truly, I am glad he shall not be king.”

“I am sure he has the courage to protect England if the need arose,” said Sherlock with a chuckle, “but yes, the earldom shall be enough for him.”

You also chuckled—for William, more than enough. Another Henry VI quote popped into your mind then, but you brushed it aside in favour of continuing the flow the conversation had finally found. “Were you not going to say something as well, sir? ‘Perhaps we ought to…’?”

“Ah, yes! I was simply going to suggest a section of the exhibit you might like…”

The afternoon passed pleasantly. Although awkward moments poked through the bubble you and Sherlock had created around yourselves, they shortened rather than sharpened with time, so you returned home confident that you two could rebuild your closeness, your r—

Your friendship.

That’s all it was. That’s all it ever would be.

You wouldn’t even be surprised if that’s all it had been. Maybe all you had felt for Sherlock at Ferndell was admiration and endearment. Yes. Yes! Then, surely, all you felt for him here and now could not be more than that. Could not be… Could not truly be…

Shaking your head, you concentrated on your household tasks for the rest of the day. It was only as you did your nightly ablutions that your mind wandered back to that other Henry VI quote you’d thought of earlier.

“’Tis much when sceptres are in children’s hands.”

The line, though moving and memorable, had not seemed pertinent to your conversation with Sherlock: easily brushed aside. But why had your mind supplied it, then? Something about the conversation had made you think of it. What had you and Sherlock been discussing…?

Of course. William, dear brother. Still… Though he would always be your baby brother, he was hardly a child, and certainly not one with a sceptre in his hand. Your father was still Earl of Coltidge, as much as you believed the power did not sit well in his hands, and likely would be for years to come, unless some health-endangering issue lay in hiding beneath the surface or some apoplexy-inducing event lay in wait around the corner.

You snorted to yourself; if Lord Coltidge suffered an apoplexy, it would probably be by the hand of his own theatrics. The man was no good at coping with crises, much preferring to kick them under rugs and never talk of them again, even minor ones. That weakness was likely what had first pushed you away from seeing him as a fatherly figure, as a support or protector. Simply another role of his that did not sit well in his—

You stopped dead in your movements.

Another role of his.

Lord Coltidge was not merely an earl—he was also a father. Just as you had told Sherlock a few days ago, you had felt the need to make up for his parental lackings with William as a child. What if your brother had once felt the same need to do so with you?

Sceptres in children’s hands.

Yet that was nothing so terrible. Regrettable, perhaps, and another black mark on your father’s character, certainly, but… Something niggled at the back of your mind. When would William have needed to step in as a support or protector for you? What would have motivated him…?

Sceptres in children’s hands.

For the plain truth was you had not needed a father in a very long time. You had adapted your childhood to need no parental affection save for the occasional smile or compliment from Eudoria. You had found love and laughter enough from your London friendships and household. You had even survived a dreadful marriage without a hint of paternal concern or—

Oh, blazes.

The letter. The hitman. The motive.

The sceptre in a child’s hands.

Your brother had killed Edmund.

Thank you for reading, and if you have been following along the series since July, thank you for your patience. Thank you especially to @every-username-is-taken-damnit and @sailorguardianwannabe for (probably unknowingly) providing me the motivation to complete this update by your comments. :3 I hope this chapter, despite its delay and possible consequent differences in tone, is okay. Feedback is always welcome! :)

[nicoline1998enilocin]

Off Limits IV | The one where they're caught

PAIRING | Steve Rogers x Female!Reader

WORD COUNT | 1.9K

SUMMARY | The two of you have been keeping a low profile while dating because you really didn't want Tony to find out. When you think everyone is gone for a mission, you get a little bit reckless and it gets steamy in the living room. That is until someone walks in, and you get caught.

WARNING(S) | This is your official trigger warning. Do not proceed if any of these topics upset you. Implied shower sex, make-out sessions, cock warming, nipple play.

Likes and reblogs will be very much appreciated 💜

Main Masterlist | Steve Rogers Masterlist | Series masterlist | Part III | Part V

The past few months with Steve have been nothing short of amazing, apart from the sneaking around you both have to do. The night of your first time with Steve, he asked you to be his girlfriend, and you happily accepted. You're only demand was that you wanted to keep it a secret for now. ''As long as I am with you, I don't mind keeping it a secret,'' he said. There have been some stolen kisses when no one was looking, or some extra cuddles during movie nights, but nothing that would get the two of you caught. Until now.

Bucky knows his best friend through and through, so when he started acting a little different around you, he got suspicious. It wasn't enough for him to directly worry, but it was noticeable to him. It all started on the night of Tony's party when he saw the two of you dancing together, a lot closer than friends usually would, but then again, he was frozen and brainwashed for 70 years, so what did he know about modern times, right? But ever since that night, he was happier, his mood often lighting up when you walked into the same room where he was. He also noticed that you were called up to his office more than the rest of you were, and he couldn't figure out why. So he decided to bring it up to Steve on their morning run.

''So, how is Y/N?'' Bucky asked casually, not trying to show his suspicion too much. ''She's good, settling in well in her role,'' Steve said, and he wondered where this was suddenly coming from. ''I bet she is,'' Bucky muttered, but Steve chose to ignore it, although something didn't feel right at this moment. ''The two of you seem to be getting pretty close,'' he said then, and Steve agreed. ''We're really good friends, that's all. We enjoy hanging out together and we have a lot of fun when we're preparing for missions,'' he said while shrugging his shoulders. Bucky chose to not pry any further, it didn't feel right to do it so he would just leave it at that. The rest of the run they spent catching up about missions and life in general.

When Steve comes back from his run, he finds you laying on your stomach in bed, wearing only a pair of lacy panties and reading your book. ''Hm, I don't mind seeing this every time I come home from my runs, love,'' he says and he's practically drooling over you. Steve's room is soundproofed so when he lands a smack on your ass and you shriek out, neither of you is worried about the others hearing it. ''Babe, warn a girl next time! Now I couldn't enjoy it as much,'' you said with a little pout and Steve couldn't help himself. He rolled you over and laid on top of you, softly kissing you and brushing one of his hands over your nipples. ''Want to take a shower together? That way I can make it up to you a few times…'' he said with a mischievous grin and you couldn't say no.

1.5 hours and a combined total of 5 orgasms later, both of you were laying spent on the bed, still recovering from the mind-blowing shower you just shared. ''I should surprise you like that more often if that's how I make up for it,'' Steve said with a chuckle. ''I think so too,'' you said and you brushed his cheek with your thumb before planting soft kisses where your thumb just was. ''I think everyone will be gone on a mission in a few days except for us, maybe we could venture out of the bedroom a little bit for once,'' you say, and judged by the shocked look on Steve's face he doesn't think it's a good idea. ''I don't mean we should have sex in every room all day long, but I wouldn't mind having a good make-out session in the living room or something,'' you say and Steve turns red at the idea. He still isn't used to you talking about things like that so openly.

''I wouldn't mind that, but how about we have one right now?'' he offers, and you agree. ''We can spice this one up a little bit if you want though,'' you tell him and Steve can immediately tell you have something on your mind by the look on your face. ''I've noticed you're already hard for me again, and I wouldn't mind keeping it warm for you during our make-out session,'' you offer, but he isn't sure what you're getting at. ''I could cockwarm you if you're up for it. You'd slide it in while we make out, and if one thing leads to another, all you would have to do is move your hips and I could cum for you again,'' you tell him, your eyes blown with lust. Steve agrees and you wrap your hand around his cock first and pump a few times to get him ready before straddling him and sliding slowly down until he's bottomed out. ''Oh fuck, love, feels so good,'' he moans and you kiss him.

The kisses start slow and soft, but soon both your hands are wandering a little bit, and the kiss is deepened. Steve licks your bottom lip and when you open, he softly sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, letting it go with a soft pop. This makes you smile and you do the same to him, but you also nibble softly on his, getting a soft moan out of him right away. ''Feel so good inside me, Captain,'' you whisper against his mouth and when you say it, his hips buck up out of reflex, getting a louder moan from you. You reattach your lips to his again and you both deepen the kiss immediately, sucking on each other's tongues one by one, taking your time to explore each other's mouths. After a while, Steve can't take it any longer and softly starts lifting his hips, and it doesn't take long for either of you to have another orgasm. ''That was amazing, love, I think we should do that more often,'' Steve said with a smirk on his face, and you agree.

~ 2 weeks later ~

You and Steve have been preparing for the mission the rest of the Avengers will be going on, the two of you weren't needed for this one so you took full advantage of it. Steve usually woke you up with either his tongue or his cock and now the both of you gladly spent the entire mornings in bed together. At some point, you remembered the moment you asked Steve about maybe moving your escapades out of the bedroom, and you brought it up again. ''Babe, remember when we talked about maybe having a make-out session out of the bedroom for once? I think today would be the perfect moment, everyone's gone on the mission and they won't be back for a few days, so we can just let go for once,'' you say and Steve agrees with it. ''Just the making out, or also the cock warming?'' he says with a bit of mischief in his voice. ''STEVE!'' you exclaim and smack him against his arm playfully, there are boundaries to this after all.

You're both dressed in loungewear so you can be nice and comfortable on the couch in the living room, and Steve picks you up by putting his hands under your thighs and lifting you. Out of reflex you wrap your legs around his waist, and your arms around his neck, so you can be carried like a koala bear. He walks you to the door and instead of opening it, he pushes you against it and kisses you deeply, he honestly couldn't wait. When you pull away to breathe, you tell him you didn't even make it to the living room yet. ''It's gonna be a long road if we stop every time,'' you said with a giggle, and with a fake defeated look, he opened the door and carried you to the living room. When you reached the couch, you unhooked your legs behind his back and he sat down, you straddling his lap and thighs now.

Steve looked at you and admired your beauty for a little bit, whispering sweet nothings to you which made you blush like a tomato. When he figured you'd be red enough in your face, neck, and chest, he softly attached his lips to yours, slowly and tenderly kissing you without a single worry in his mind. Your worries and thoughts also melted away the second he placed his lips on yours, and your hands started wandering over his body. Down his arms, over his waist, and up his chest until they found their place on his neck again. Steve also let his hands explore your body, softly brushing his fingers over your back, up to your shoulders, and down your arms, before slowly moving under your shirt to feel the naked skin under there. His hands moved up to your nipples, and as soon as he pinched them softly you gasped, giving him the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth while he kept softly pinching and rubbing your nipples, making them nice and hard.

''You like that, baby? You like it when I play with your nipples here?'' he asks you and you softly moan in response. Just when he was about to mention how hard he was because of you, the two of you heard a gasp and Steve immediately let go of your nipples. ''Good friends, my ass,'' Bucky says when he walks into the living room. He was on his way to the kitchen to get some water for his throat, he wasn't feeling well so he stayed home from the mission. You quickly try to move from Steve's lap but he keeps you there, not wanting to show the erection he got from your make-out session. You were both showing the same deep red color on your cheeks from being caught and you couldn't look Bucky in the eyes right now, so you hid your face in Steve's neck.

''I'm happy for the both of you, don't get me wrong, but I can't get over the fact that you lied to me, Steve. You could have told me the two of you are together, and I would have kept it a secret,'' Bucky said, still shocked at what he saw. He was just going to the kitchen but he wasn't sure if anyone was awake so he tried not to make any noise, and he succeeded because they hadn't heard him due to his assassin-like walking. ''I'm sorry Buck, but we hoped to keep it a secret for a while longer, we're enjoying the fact that it's just something between us - and now you know of course,'' Steve explained, and Bucky understood what it felt like. ''I get it, but you do need to be more careful in that case, you never know when someone might sneak up on you,'' he said with a smirk before going back to his bedroom. ''I'm happy for the two of you though, you are perfect for each other,'' he said and he left. You and Steve looked at each other and burst out in laughter, your make-out session long forgotten now.

[laurie-stark]

Chapter IV: Billy Eichner

A/N:

thank you again for all the love and support. with this chapter, we wrap up act 1 of cherry bomb volume 1! how exciting.

Word count: 5.5k

Cherry Bomb Masterlist

Friday afternoon rolled around fast, and before I knew it the final bell rang through the school halls. A buzzed energy vibrated off the shuffling groups of students who were all eager to begin their weekends. I was eager to get home and pack my overnight bags, desperate to get out of the city. Brianna was leaning against the locker next to mine, talking at lightning pace about the musical she and her family were seeing that night. 

“Wait, you’re seeing Hamilton again?” I asked. I sifted through one of my binders to pull the notes I needed for studying. 

“Have you not been listening to a word I’ve said for the last three weeks?” Brianna rolled her eyes. “Yes, I am seeing Hamilton again.” I could have bet money that this would make it her seventh or eighth time seeing the show on Broadway that year alone. I used to think that I was a crazy musical theatre nerd until I met Bri.

“You are so lucky,” I said. I had heard such great things about the show from her and still hadn’t gotten to see it myself.

“Don’t tell me you still haven’t seen it Laur, it’s practically old news by now!” Brianna laughed, tossing ringlets of fire over her shoulder. 

“I know, I know!” I said, head thrown back against my locker as I shut it. “I keep trying to get my dad to buy us tickets but he has all these work trips and truth be told I think he forgets to buy them on purpose.” 

“Okay, but your dad like, hates musicals, right?” she asked. I nodded and she gave me a genuine look of apology. “Well, I’m sure he’ll just love our show. Maybe Mer and I can finally meet him!” 

I grit my teeth and grinned falsely. The Dalton’s school musical was set to happen in June, and my father wouldn’t miss it for the world. But the world had no idea that his daughter was in it, let alone that he had a daughter at all. When we found out I’d be performing, he arranged for a huge donation to the school so that he could attend the show under the guise of “funding youth’s artistic endeavours.” And it was a real kind gesture, I just wished he could come for me without the spangled banners and flashing bills. 

“Yeah, maybe!” I choked out. It was a running joke in our friend circle that my parents must be Russian spies or royalty, because neither Brianna nor Meredith have met them. At first, the jokes made me laugh, like the one time Meredith created the elaborate rumour that my parents died in a tragic accident when I was a baby and I was actually raised by my robotic nanny. But with the school year end approaching, and three more years left to go, I was getting stressed about having to maintain the facades. 

 I pulled my body away from the lockers, signalling to Brianna that I wanted to start moving. We walked side by side through the halls and out to the street. She and I both spotted her dad’s car at the same time. It was parked a few buildings down the block. Mr. Sinclair stuck his head out of the window and waved at us. 

“Oh my God, he is so embarrassing.” Brianna covered her eyes with one hand and spun us around with the other. I laughed at the way she shrunk into me. I pulled her into a quick hug to say goodbye. 

“You’re lucky that your dad can pick you up though, not everyone gets that,” I said. She pulled back from my embrace with a quizzical look on her face. I realized how what I just said sounded and quickly recovered. “My dad’s still on that damn work trip, I gotta walk today.” 

Brianna peered at me through narrowed eyes but resigned to not say anything. She stepped forward and threw an arm around my side to say goodbye, then turned down the street and got into her father’s car. 

The straps of my backpack weighed heavy on my shoulders, pinching the skin at the base of my neck. I tightened the straps and turned on my heels to begin the treacherous journey home (all twenty minutes of it). 

When I was younger, my dad used to say that the longer the days got, the shorter they felt because everything fun happens when it’s warmer. But back then we split our time between Miami and New York, so it was always warm for him. It wasn’t often that I asked Happy to disregard his unpaid childcare duties, especially in the winter when the streets of New York were covered in slush and mud. The people were always angrier during the cold months, always desperate to get wherever they were going. But God forbid I ever took the bus. Gross. 

Today, the sun was beaming down on my face, surrounded by the perfect array of puffy white clouds. It was lucky that my school got out in the early afternoon, I thought. The rush hour wouldn’t begin for another few hours and that meant the commotion on sidewalks was lessened. I made my way south down Park Avenue. This part of the Upper East Side was never all that exciting; mostly a residential area paired with blaring horns and car fumes. 

I beelined my way around nannies with strollers, kids on scooters and vendors looking to scam unknowing tourists. The people were the most interesting part of the city. I’d always been good at blending in, at keeping the attention drawn to a minimum. Even when I’d sit at the back of press conferences my Dad was at, nobody batted an eye at the six-year-old in a freshly pressed suit. I fit in well along a people-lined street, where everyone around me was hyper focused on their own lives to pay me any mind. To them I was just another city girl. 

Just as I was about to turn the corner and cross the street, a flash of cerulean blue stopped me. A middle-aged man holding a microphone and his camera crew had stopped me in my path. The man was shouting loudly but I couldn’t make out any of the words. He moved with such purpose, so much vigour, I felt like I just been hit by a tornado. 

“What?” I yelled back at him. He stuck his microphone in my face. The cord, which was attached to nothing, swung between us. 

“I said ‘Miss, for a dollar, who is the worst Avenger?’” the man repeated his question impatiently. A ridiculously giddy smile crept across my face as I realized who he was. 

“Iron man.” I leaned into the microphone and smiled cheekily at the camera. 

“Wonderful, here!” Billy Eichner thrust a dollar into my hand and took off to his next victim. I struggled to grasp the bill, still reeling from the encounter. Oh, the things that happen in New York. After a moment I shook my head and crossed Park Avenue, wondering if Billy’s segments were live or pre-recorded these days. 

The side street I lived on was beautiful, with classic brownstone townhouses and trees lining the sidewalk. Dad and I moved into the new house maybe a month after the Battle of Sokovia. After Dad decided to sell his beloved Stark Tower, we became a couple of regular, townhouse-owning Joe’s…apart from the several other properties he owned. 

The house itself was packed tightly between buildings on a street reminded me of a sardine can: two neat rows of houses with absolutely no space to wiggle. Dad picked it because it stood out from the rest; smooth white brick contrasting the surrounding muddy browns and reds. There was something very Roman about the architecture. Dad said it had to have been Italian, and therefore the best on the block. He really liked pulling the Italian card when it made him look cool. 

I stepped up to the front door and grasped onto the handle, placing my thumb directly onto the latch. A faint vibration buzzed beneath the pad of my thumb. The door was scanning my fingerprints, a security measure I was all too familiar with. I don’t think there was ever a house, a car, or a bedroom of mine that didn’t require some kind of bodily scanning. The door clicked and I pushed down on the latch, swinging the front door wide open. 

I kicked my school shoes off on the entryway mat and padded into the kitchen. Setting my backpack down onto one of the island bar stools, I made my way straight to the fridge for a snack. I settled on a small bowl of strawberries. They were my favourite, and I always missed them dreadfully when they were banned from the house to keep Pepper safe. 

A familiar ringtone to the tune of “Blank Space” by Taylor Swift cut the sounds of my chewing. It was muffled by my backpack; I’d left my phone in one of the pockets. 

“Who’s calling?” I asked out loud to the empty house.

“Your father,” A.P.R.I.L. responded over the house’s loudspeakers. “Should I answer?”

“Yeah, throw him onto the surround sound.” 

“Hey there, little miss.” Dad said after A.P.R.I.L. connected his call. His voice came down right above my head. “How was the rest of your week?” 

“Hi Daddy.” I smiled. He had called me after the fiasco that was Wednesday and I cried for an hour about my history test, but he got so busy with M.I.T. that I hadn’t heard from him since. “It was good, glad it’s over. How’s Boston?”

“Oh you know, it’s no tea party,” Dad joked, laughing at himself like he was hilarious. 

“You are so lame.” I rolled my eyes and popped another strawberry into my mouth. 

“You love my jokes.”

“Yeah, the one’s that are funny,” I laughed staley. 

“See? Ha, made you laugh.”

I rolled my eyes at the phone. 

“I heard that,” Dad said. I snorted and shook my head, glad that he couldn’t see what I was snacking on. Sometimes when he called he could project a hologram of himself, like a larger-scale FaceTime. “Anyway, more about me. It has been way too long since I’ve been to MIT. Did you know they redid the entire Edgerton Center?”

“I don’t even know what that is, Dad.”

Dad sighed dramatically. “I did not culture you enough growing up.”

And he wondered where I got my flare from. “Were the students happy with your visit?”

“Well, seeing as I am personally funding each and every one of their research projects for the rest of the year, yeah, yeah they were.”

“Very generous Mr. Stark,” I said in a posh British accent. This was one of our bits that originated when we made fun of a British delegate who wanted to buy STARK armoury way back in the day. 

“Why thank you, Miss Stark.” Dad’s British accent was not nearly as good as my own. 

“Are you still coming back on Sunday?” I asked. 

“Yes I am, so don’t throw any ragers while I’m not there, okay?”

“Dad I’m not going to throw a party-”

“But if you do, take a shot in my honour.”

“Dad! You are such a bad influence.”

“You turned out fine,”

“Yeah, thanks to Pepper.” The joke came out faster than I could catch it. Dad went quiet on the other end of the call. I cursed myself for saying anything at all. Silence fell around me like a sheet on old furniture. Silence that reminded you of how distant a father and daughter could be. “Sorry.”

I heard static on the other end, the sound of my father shifting around uncomfortably wherever he was sitting. 

“It’s fine, Laurie,” Dad said apprehensively. “It’s fine! Actually no, it’s grand even. You and I haven’t been on our own since…ever, and I’d bet that your psychiatrist would want us to take this time to bond.” 

“I’m not even gonna be here this weekend.” I rerouted the conversation, deciding it was probably better for Dad if I didn’t tell him I saw Pepper earlier in the week. His Arc reactor would go out.

“What? Where are you going? Are you seeing a boy?”

“NO!” I slapped my hand across my forehead. There was no way in hell that I’d ever tell my father anything about a boy. 

“Last minute spa getaway with the girls? Do tell Mer and Bri that I miss them dearly.” I heard some shuffling in the background as Dad spoke. Voices asking when Mr. Stark would be ready to go. 

“You’ve never met them,” I reminded him. 

“Eh, bygones. But spill, where are you going? Not that I won’t be tracking your location anyway.”

“I just undid that code in A.P.R.I.L.,” I groaned. The one downside to constructing an artificial assistant using my Dad’s old foundations was that he could get inside her systems almost effortlessly. “Relax. I’m just going up to the compound.”

“Why?” Dad’s tone was sharp. It caught me off guard and I felt myself sink down in my seat. 

“I dunno,” I shrugged. “Steve offered the invitation when I was there on Wednesday and I’ve got nothing better to do. Plus, this house is six floors of ‘too big for one person’. I’m lonely.” 

“It’s seven floors of really frigging cool! Go swim in the pool, go watch a movie. What do you mean you’re lonely?” Dad exclaimed. The last question came out all jumbled up, like one big word. “You’re not lonely, you got Happy!”

“Happy is a grown man. With a job, and a life,” I retorted. I had gotten up from my seat to put my now empty bowl into the dishwasher.  

“He’s our grown man.” 

I shook my head at nothing for the hundredth time during this call and picked up my backpack to take to my room upstairs. 

“Dad,” I drawlled. “It’s not a big deal, it’s just the compound.”

“Okay, well I just don’t see why you need to go all the way up there.

“Is ‘I want to’ not enough of an answer for you?” I shot back, more harshly than I intended to. 

The truth was, I knew that my dad was weary about me still having a close relationship with the remaining Avengers. He didn’t like that I was training at all, he thought it would put ideas in my head about wanting to become an agent again. But I knew deep down it was just for fun, and to get a handle on the powers that were growing more uncontrollable each day. I never wanted to become an Avenger, and I only liked being an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. because I liked being a part of something bigger than myself. With everything that happened in Sokovia or Washington in the last few years…I was happy to be rid of it all. But I was not happy to be rid of my family. 

“I am going,” I started, “to spend time with people that I love, okay? That’s all.” 

I heard Dad sigh into the phone. “Okay. Fine. But do me favour when you’re there.”

“What’s that?”

“Grab one of those stink bombs we made for April Fools Day and plant it in the old man’s office.”

“Oh my god, shut up!” I shook my head in embarrassment, but couldn’t help the smile that crept across my lips. “I need to pack a bag, and you need to go take care of whoever has been calling your name for the last ten minutes.” 

My father said goodbye, but not without shooting another joke across the cell line. I disconnected the call the moment I stepped into our elevator, pretending that I lost reception. We both knew that wasn’t true, Tony Stark would never stand for a reception-less elevator.

…

An hour and a half later, the train I was on pulled into an Upstate station. I funnelled through the sea of people making their way through the station out onto the streets. I wasn’t sure who was picking me up today. I had sent a message in our team groupchat about my arrival time and I hoped someone had seen it. 

I repositioned the duffle bag on my shoulder and sought higher ground to scope out the parking lot. There was a small garden surrounded by stones near the station’s entrance. I climbed up onto it. The sea of cars all looked the same to me and the sunlight reflecting off the metal was nearly blinding. To my far right I noticed a Black Corevette. Natasha’s car, I thought. But the tall figure leaning against it was definitely not Natasha. 

I staggered down from my rock and headed over to greet my mystery chauffeur. The sun was beginning to set behind them, casting a dark shadow that hid their face. It didn’t take long for me to recognize the shortly cut hair and tall physique. Steve Rogers was leaning against the passenger door of the car. He had his cellphone up to his ear talking to someone. I thought it was silly that he refused to upgrade from his little flip phone. 

“I will talk to your dad, kid. I promise. You know how much is going on for him.” I overheard the end of his conversation as I approached. “No, I know. I’m not excusing his behaviour, I just want to give him a break…Yes, you are, Theo, you are so smart.”

As I got closer Steve caught a glimpse of me and I heard him cut his phone conversation short.

“Listen Theo, Laurie just got here so I’ve got to run. I’ll talk to you later.” Steve paused, listening to the response on the other line. “Okay kid, goodbye now.” 

“Everything alright?” I asked as I approached him.

“Oh yeah, I was just calling to say hi.” Steve smiled, flashing perfect pearly white teeth. “How was the ride up?”

I shrugged. “Good. There was a baby sitting across from me.”

“Cute,” Steve said as he leaned down to open the car door for me. Seven decades in  the ice couldn’t knock the gentleman out of him. The commute to the compound was only fifteen minutes, of which I spent thirteen filling Steve in on the raunchy relationship drama between the kids who sat in front of me during math class. 

…

Unlike my room at home, where the sunrise poured in through the windows in the morning, I could always sleep in at the compound. The floor to ceiling panels here were west facing, which gave me the well-deserved rest I craved, and a killer view of the sunset over the lake. On this bright Sunday morning, I woke up just before eleven like a tried and true teenager. 

I sat up in bed, stretching my arms above my head while an exorbitant yawn filled the room. The muscles in my shoulders and arms ached. Natasha hadn’t been kidding when she said I was going to make up for my behaviour in our last training session. I spent all of Friday night and most of Saturday running drills and practicing the same old fighting techniques with her. It was safe to say that the relaxing weekend I had planned made me even more tired than the week I had before. 

I padded down the hallways of the west wing, past the closed doors of the other dorms. Eventually the walls opened up to the wider living space of the compound. I stepped into the kitchen to pour myself a much-needed cup of coffee. Resting against the island counter, I looked out towards the sitting room as I took my first few sips. 

Despite midday creeping up, the place was almost a ghost town. Usually the compound was buzzing with Avengers in the kitchen or trainees chatting in the living room. There was always the commotion of life echoing off the walls, with family-style dinners and comradery. But for whatever reason, the last weekend had been anything but warm and friendly. 

I was certain that something terrible had happened during the last mission my team went on. The night before during dinner, Natasha and Sam hardly said a word to me, let alone to each other. I was sat across them, watching nervously as they avoided any sort of eye contact with each other. To my side, Steve had been parading around as his typically cheery self, but it felt performative. He was overcompensating, but for what I couldn’t tell. And I hadn’t seen Wanda once. 

In the corner of my vision I noticed one of the throw pillows on the couches move. I leaned further over the counter to investigate, only realize that it was not a pillow, but a head. Steve was sprawled across one of the couches, his head propped up against the armrest as he was reading a book. I must have completely missed him when I walked into the kitchen. 

I hopped off the stool I was sitting on and trudged over to the living room. Steve heard the gentle thump of my footsteps and looked back. He smiled warmly when he caught my eye, sitting up to make room for me on the couch beside him. I plopped right down, tucking my knees under me so we could sit shoulder to shoulder. 

“Good afternoon,” Steve said with a grin.

“It is not afternoon,” I said from behind my coffee mug. “Yet. Where’s everyone else?”

Steve inhaled sharply. I felt his shoulder tense. “I’m not sure. We’ve all been doing our own thing the last few days.”

The muscles in my jaw clenched. I couldn’t figure out what happened to the team I started out with, the team that saved the world in Manhattan. Ever since Ultron, ever since Sokovia fell to pieces and took me down with it, the balance felt off. Maybe it was because we still had no idea where Bruce or Thor were. Maybe they were the glue. Steve opened his mouth again as if to give me another glimpse into his world, but he shut it just as quickly.

I decided enough was enough. I was fed up with walking on eggshells around what had happened on that mission. 

“Okay, that’s it.” I sat up straighter so that I could stare Captain America down. “Cut the crap, please.”

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“I’m done with your propaganda-style acting. It’s bullshit-”

“Langauge!”

“Sorry.” I inhaled shallowly. “But seriously, what the hell happened on your last mission?”

Steve brought a hand to the back of his neck and sighed. “It was rough. We thought had all the information but we didn’t, and some bad calls were made.”

I waited silently for him to go on. When he didn’t, I leaned forward with an expectant face. “Okay, so what happened?”

He looked around like he wanted to make sure no one else was listening. “I don’t think I’m at liberty to say, hon.”

“Come on, dude! It’s me.” I felt frustration bubbling up and burning behind my eyes. Fingernails dug into my palm to keep gravity in place. 

“Laurie, we are all okay,” Steve said earnestly. He put a reassuring hand on my shoulder, but it felt more like a warning. “That’s really all that matters.”

“No, of course,” I held my hands up. My word were laced with sarcasm “Because having zero information about what happened or about the wellbeing of my team is incredibly helpful Steven.”

Steve ignored the nickname. “Well, you aren’t a part of the team, Laurie,” he said slowly.  

I blinked. My head ricocheted backwards, the words firing like a slap to the face. I pushed Steve’s hand off my shoulder with so much force I almost thought I’d accidentally used my abilities. I must have been showing everything on my face, because Steve rose to his feet as I scrambled onto mine. 

“Laurie, hold on. You know that’s not what I meant,” Steve said, waving an imaginary white flag. 

“No, no.” I kept my hands up, creating a gap between us. “You’re right. I’m not an agent anymore. I’m not S.H.I.E.L.D..”

I walked backwards as I spoke, towards the dormitory hallway. I turned my back to him and sped down the hall to my room. Steve did look genuinely sorry, but I couldn’t get over how easily he had said it. As though he had it hidden underneath his tongue the whole time. He wasn’t wrong either, my affiliation with S.H.I.E.L.D. was revoked after Sokovia. I wasn’t an Avenger anymore.

Ultron was all the worst sides of my father put into one entity. Obsessive, controlling, and dangerously powerful. He took what he wanted, and also took the things he needed to get his way. I knew that my father felt completely powerless when Ultron managed to capture and use me like a chess piece. 

It wasn’t exactly a walk in the park for me either. After Sokovia fell, Dad wanted me as far away from imminent danger as possible. He told me his decision was final because I had already lost so much of my childhood. I never felt like I’d missed out on a normal life, but I opted to let Dad think he knew better than me.

As I sulked my way down the long hallway, I noticed one of the doors was cracked open. Wanda’s room was painted grey, with accents of purple and teal throughout. Light from her windows spilled onto the floor beneath my feet. I could hear muffled voices coming from behind the door, but I knew she was alone. Before I had a chance to think, my feet had turned to the right and I was in her doorway. 

My body nudged the door slightly, giving me a better visual of the room. The TV was on and playing the news. I had stopped keeping up with the news after everything with the Mandarin; I always got the heebeegeebees at the thought of a newspaper. Wanda was sitting on her bed, knees tucked under her chin and arms wrapped around herself. I knocked gently on the doorframe, not wanting to startle her. 

My heart seized when she turned her head. Wanda’s eyes were masked by dark bags and it was obvious now that she had been crying. The sight of her made me so uncomfortable, the way anyone would get when they see their role model in shambles. 

Wanda blinked slowly at me before drawing her attention back to the TV. I took that as my invitation. Gingerly, I took a seat beside her on the edge of her bed and listened to what the newscaster had to say. 

In a matter of minutes, all of Steve’s backhandedness, all of Natasha and Sam’s distance and Wanda’s swollen eyes made sense. I held my breath as images of bruised and bloody citizens flooded the streets of Lagos. One video in particular kept playing on a loop. An office building on fire after a detonated explosive had been thrown at it by none other than Wanda herself. The death toll ran along the bottom of the screen, along with the headline, Have the Avengers gone too far?

Wanda had the remote in her hand and was re-running the program over and over. I knew I should have taken it from her, I should have turned the television off. But just like I did in the gym, my body felt frozen in place. I told myself there was nothing I could do that would relieve Wanda from her grief, so there was no point in trying. I shuffled closer to her, leaning my chin on her shoulder and bracing one arm behind her and holding the hand in her lap with my other. 

We watched the segment another three times, and each time I morphed my body more and more into Wanda’s. I thought that knowing what happened in Lagos would answer all the questions I had, but I found myself getting more and more confused. I could not wrap my head around how Natasha or Steve let the fight get to that point. If I had been there I could have helped, if they had just let me help…

Our heads turned synchronously when the TV screen turned black. Steve stood in the doorway with his arms crossed. He leaned against the doorframe, eyes glassy. The muscles in my jaw twitched when I held his gaze, still reeling from the offhand comment he made earlier.

Wanda stared off into space as she spoke. “It’s my fault.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“That’s not true.” Steve and I spoke at the same time. I tightened my grip on Wanda’s hand. 

“Turn the TV back on,” Wanda replied, her tone disheartening. “They’re being very specific.” 

“I should have clocked that bomb vest long before you had to deal with it,” Steve said. He moved forward, taking a seat beside me. I scooted backwards a bit, giving him more room to sit and myself more distance from him. I could tell he noticed, because he faltered as lowered himself down. He was expecting to lean on me. “Rumlow said ‘Bucky’ and all of a sudden I was a sixteen year old kid again in Brooklyn,” 

I cocked my head at him, puzzled. When I found out they were going away, I got A.P.R.I.L. to steal the pre-mission reports. It said that they were going after Rumlow because he had biological warfare. What did Bucky Barnes have to do with anything? I fought the urge to ask. 

Two years ago when James Barnes had resurfaced, my good friend Steve began the wildest of goose chases. And of course, Nick Fury had found a way to get me tangled up in it all. Despite all the stories Steve had told me in the time between, to paint his friend in a better light, I could not shake the memory of the masked man who threw a car at me on a thirty-foot-high bridge. Next to Ultron, Bucky had been the closest anyone has ever been to killing me. 

“And people died. That’s on me.” Steve continued to offer support to his fellow agent, but his words fell onto deaf ears.

“It’s on both of us.” Wanda’s voice was so quiet that I almost missed it. Steve glanced back at me. His face was painted with a slurry of emotions. It made the room feel so heavy.

“I’m sure you both did your best,” I squeaked. It was a strain to get the sentence out; it felt so artificial. My brows furrowed and I clenched the fist that wasn’t supporting my weight. Steve offered me a trying smile.

“This job…we try to save as many people as we can,” Steve said quietly. “Sometimes that doesn’t mean everybody. But if we can’t find a way to live with that, then next time maybe nobody gets saved.” 

Wanda nodded along to Steve’s words. We resigned to sit in silence for a moment, as Wanda leaned her weight back against me. A pulse of energy in my core kept me centered. Steve brought a warm hand to my back, and this time I did not push it away.

All three of us jumped when Vision appeared, his body moving seamlessly through the solid wall. I had had very minimal interaction with it…him, since he was created. Vision was a mystery to me, a complex tangle of life and code that I both felt drawn to explore and terrified to touch.

“Vis! We talked about this,” Wanda reprimanded her red and blue counterpart. Unbeknownst to me, walking through walls must have become a regular occurrence. 

“Yes, but the door was open so I assumed that…” Vision trailed off when he saw the disapproving look on Wanda’s face. “Captain Rogers wished to know when Mr. Stark was arriving.”

That certainly caught my attention. My dad, here? He wasn’t supposed to be back from Boston until tomorrow. 

“Vision, what are you talking about?” I sat up a little straighter.

“Thank you. We’ll be right down,” Steve said. It was as if I hadn’t even spoken. Typical. 

“I’ll use the door,” Vision said lightly. “Oh, and apparently he’s brought a guest.” 

In a flash, my heart leapt and came crashing down with the hope that it would be Pepper. Foolish thinking, I knew she was long, long gone. Even still, the question still remained: What was Dad doing here, and more importantly, why didn’t he tell me that he was coming? 

“We know who it is?” Steve asked. 

”The Secretary of State.”

[sombersummerskies]

A Champion's Love: Chapter 30

Chapter 30: End of an Era Word Count: 5300 CW: Injury

Want all the chapters? -> Masterlist

~~~ <> ~~~

Everything is a blur.

At one moment when you blearily open your eyes, there’s two figures huddled above you. One red and one gray. There’s a throbbing pain in your chest, and your head, and your arm. You can barely stay awake.

The next time you open your eyes, the world around you is in motion. It takes you a few seconds to realize that you’re held in someone’s arms, and the earth bounces as they walk. You’re held closely, safely. Their chest is warm, but their jewelry is cool to the touch. You fall asleep again.

When you next open your eyes, it’s due to noise. Dozens of voices around you. Arguing, crying, questioning. You wince and turn your head, finding that you’re still held in someone’s arms. You feel a hand gently hold the back of your head, and a stern voice commands that everyone quiet down. Your eyes flutter shut once more.

You’re unsure how long you sleep for. The next time you wake it’s sudden, you gasp as you lurch forward. Your chest heaves in pain as you take in panicked breaths. Your eyes flicker about the room in fear, your surroundings completely unrecognizable to you.

Before you can react there’s figures, strangers, hovering above you. They hold your arms down and restrain you to the cot you lie in. There’s a sharp stinging in your bicep and you cry out in pain as your panic only increases.

“Let go of me!” you shout, chest rising and falling quickly with each breath, “where’s Sidon? Where’s Zelda?”

“You need to lie down,” one of them sternly instructs you, “you’re still recovering!”

You struggle, your heart pounding in your chest as you attempt to rise once more. A grunt passes your lips as your back is firmly pressed against the cot once more. With only one good arm you don’t have the strength to force them off of you. Before you can shout once more, another voice enters the room.

“Didn’t I say to come and alert us once she was awake? What’s going on here?”

You sharply turn your head towards the source, tears welling in your eyes. In all of your panic you hadn’t realized that the room you were in was in fact a tent. At the tent’s entrance stands a familiar face-

“Bazz!” you cry out, “Bazz, where am I- what happened-”

The Zora walks towards you and instructs the two strangers, “you can leave us alone for now, I’ll call you back inside if she needs further medical attention.”

Your relief is palpable as the hands on your shoulders and arms finally let go. They walk out of the tent leaving both you and Bazz alone. Your breathing slows as you finally begin to calm down and assess your surroundings. 

The tent is somewhat large. There’s a desk with some papers and medical supplies scattered about, as if someone had been working. A lantern in the corner is unlit. On the ground you recognize the bag that you travel with, and beside it is the Master Sword in its sheath. When you strain your ears, you can hear the sounds of idle chatter outside.

Bazz helps you sit up-right and you examine yourself for the first time since waking up. You’re dressed in a sleeveless tunic and shorts, though your arm is wrapped in bandages. You sniff the air and realize that you smell of soaps, like you’d recently been bathed.

Just as you open your mouth to ask more questions, Bazz hands you a small wooden cup with water. “Drink first, then we’ll talk,” he says.

Begrudgingly you comply, but the cool water running down your throat brings you instant relief. You swiftly gulp the whole thing down before setting your hands back in your lap. Your fingers shake as you hold the cup.

You lift your gaze and look back toward Bazz. His typical armor is missing, replaced instead by a simple silver neck piece with a luminous stone embedded in the center. His spear is nowhere to be seen.

“How are you feeling?” he asks gently, crossing his arms as he looks down at you.

“Not great,” you answer honestly, “I’m hungry. My chest hurts. And I would like to know where Sidon and the princess are.”

A look of concern flickers across Bazz’s face as his eyes examine you. “What do you remember?”

Your brow furrows, “what do you mean..?”

Just as you trail off, a pang of realization hits you. You gasp and the cup tumbles out of your fingers, landing on the ground with a clatter. Then the memories come rushing back.

The hijackings. The Yiga Clan. Finding Sidon. Getting ambushed. Drowning.

You jump up with a start, ignoring the throbbing pain in your bicep. Bazz says your name, reaching out in an attempt to soothe you but you frantically shake your head, the panic returning. When you feel him grasp your uninjured arm you jump back in retaliation.

“No- I have to- where is he- is he safe?” you stammer, your words sharp from how quickly your heart drummed painfully in your chest.

Sidon.

You haven't seen the prince since the incident. He’d been stabbed and battered and beaten, and you were unable to heal him. He’d done something, you weren’t sure what, but it caused Ruta to react and push out the Yiga Clan.

He’d saved you. But where was he now?

Bazz firmly grabs your wrists and holds you in place, “_____, look at me, breathe. Focus on breathing.”

You feel as if you’ve been run ragged despite only having just woken up. You struggle to focus your eyes on the Zora as you hyperventilate. Bazz begins to count and you do your best to time your breaths with each number he speaks. Slowly, you calm down.

Once your breathing steadies he lets go of your hands. “I understand that you’re worried. Much has happened since the incident, but I can tell you with full certainty that Prince Sidon and Princess Zelda are both safe.”

“I have to see him,” you reply with urgency, but the captain shakes his head.

“I’m very sorry, but your orders from the princess are to remain on bed rest. Until your arm is healed you need to remain here so as to not exacerbate your condition,” he says sternly.

“What?” you counter, “don’t be ridiculous, look I’ll just heal myself and then I’ll be right as rain.”

You take the palm of your healthy arm and hold it up to your other bicep. You concentrate on your injury, imagining the gash that was hiding beneath the bandaging. With an exhale you think back on your previous memories of using Mipha’s Grace, willing forward the previous champion’s healing powers.

But nothing happens.

Your brow furrows. Without meaning to you squeeze your bicep, resulting in a pained hiss slipping out of you. “Somethings wrong,” you mutter, “why can’t I…?”

When you look back up towards Bazz his expression is complex, but there’s one emotion that stands out above the rest: pity. “I’ll summon a nurse to examine you. Then you must eat something,” he explains.

“I’m not hungry-” you begin to reply, but he cuts you off.

“These are also instructions from Princess Zelda,” he interjects, “wait here a moment.”

And so you’re left alone once more. You blink, doing your best to ignore the tears that threaten to fall. You stare down at your palm, flexing and unflexing the fingers. When you focus you feel nothing. There is no warmth, no kind memories, no more magic beneath your fingertips.

With a heavy sigh you slide off of the cot. You exchange your sleeveless tunic for a beige, long sleeve shirt. Lifting your arms causes you to hiss in pain. You rummage through the belongings you had and eventually find your climbing bandana. To the best of your ability you tie your hair back.

The sight of the champion’s tunic at the bottom of the bag makes your stomach churn. The sleeve is still torn. The blood hasn’t been washed off yet.

Eventually Bazz returns with a nurse who performs an examination. Your bandages are replaced and your bruises are checked, though you can’t bring yourself to look at the yellow-ish blemishes on your abdomen and sides.

The nurse gives you an all-clear, and you follow behind Bazz wordlessly as he guides you outside of the tent.

Sunlight blinds you and you squint your eyes to see through the haze. Finally you’re given a chance to study your surroundings. You’re walking across an old stone pavilion, one that you recognize, with Hyrule Castle to the north. The trees that once surrounded this old fountain have been cleared to make way for a multitude of tents and structures and what appears to be construction equipment.

Various people mill about. A group of Hylians are stood around a table talking over blueprints and schematics. A pair of Goron carry large tree trunks, which with their strength seems like an easy feat. Some Rito fly overhead towards the largest of the tents. A troupe of Gerudo soldiers stand guard at the perimeter of the area.

You notice a lone Hylian who seems rather strong, able to hoist up planks of wood over his shoulder with ease. His blond hair is tied back loosely, his pointed ears are pierced, and for just a moment his striking blue eyes meet your own. You avert your gaze, embarrassed to have been caught staring.

 “Bazz… where are we?” you ask as you walk, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Hyrule Field,” the captain answers, “this is the site of some new construction. The princess thought it would be best to have a location at the center of the various settlements. I believe they plan on calling it Lookout Landing.”

You slowly nod your head, turning your attention away from all the construction. “Bazz… if I can’t see Sidon yet, could I at least know where he is?”

The Zora glances back at you over his shoulder with a faint smile on his face. “Well, if you must. He’s currently escorting King Dorephan to our location. They’ll most likely arrive by nightfall,” he replies.

“Why’s the king coming here? He never leaves the domain,” you retort with concern.

He stops walking and you look up at him, the sunlight glinting off of his adornments. “Princess Zelda has requested each region’s leader to gather here. There’s going to be a meeting regarding the Divine Beasts.”

“...oh,” you murmur, glancing down at your hands once more, “I see.”

You’re escorted to a makeshift tent that is being used as a kitchen to serve food. Your gaze lingers as you watch a trio of cooks serve food from pots to the hungry workers who were helping with construction. They had meat pies, fried greens, veggie rice balls, and baked apples.

For once the smell of food didn’t entice you. You were far too preoccupied in your own thoughts.

You’re silent as you grab a plate and avoid small talk as the cooks give you your meal. Conversation and laughter surrounds you as you find a seat. Bazz had excused himself, mentioning something about regrouping with the guard.

You pick at your plate, suffering from a lack of an appetite despite your stomach growling for food. Eventually you force yourself to begin eating, but your mind is still racing. Your champion’s abilities aren’t functioning. But why? What changed? You’d been in life-or-death situations before, but it had never affected your ability to summon their aid.

The expression on your face must have been rather perturbed, because when another Hylian sits across from you he has a look of concern on his face. When you glance up at him you realize that it was the blond you’d seen outside. His plate is piled high with food. He lifts his hand and waves it.

“Hello,” you mumble, curiously examining him, “are you a part of the construction team?”

He shakes his head, hair bouncing as a result. Then he begins to speak through hand signs. Momentarily you panic, as you hadn’t been practicing your Hyrulean sign language since you’d been training to become a knight. Luckily you have enough rusty knowledge to piece together what he says.

You manage to pick up on the words: no - I - do - volunteer - help - where - can.

“Ah,” you reply with a nod, “yeah, I’m sure the crew appreciates someone strong enough to lug around all that material.”

His lips purse into a smile and he continues, this time spelling out a name as well: yes - B - O - L - S - O - N - thanks - me.

“Ohhh Hudson and Bolson are in charge of the construction, that makes sense,” you nod, “what’s your name by the way?”

He spells it out for you. First he points his thumb and index finger, then just his pinky, before making a fist, and then holding up his index and middle fingers: L - I - N - K.

“Link,” you repeat, “nice to meet you.”

He continues to sign: yes - and - you - are - guard - for - princess.

You laugh a little. It shouldn’t surprise you that he knows you for that, everyone does after all. “Yes, I’m Zelda’s sworn knight. Have you met her?”

But a sudden voice interrupts your conversation.

“_____! Oh, it’s so good to see you awake!”

Your eyes and ears immediately perk up at the sound. With a turn of your head you can’t hide the grin on your face once your eyes meet those of the princess. You nearly trip over yourself as you get up from your seat and wrap your arms around her in a tight hug.

“Thank the goddesses,” you mumble into her shoulder, “I woke up so worried-”

“I know, I know,” she murmurs, attempting to soothe your nerves, “we’re alright, we’re safe. Once you’ve finished eating I can bring you to my makeshift study and explain everything.”

You shake your head as you pull back to look at her, “I’m fine, I don’t have an appetite.” You notice a few subtle changes in her appearance. Her long hair has been braided, she wears a cloak around her shoulders, and there’s a few small scars and traces of dirt on her face and arms.

She nods her head before glancing behind you. “Oh,” she says with a shy smile, “I see you’ve met Link.”

The blond Hylian gives a curt nod of his head to the princess, showing his respect. For a moment their eyes meet. Perhaps it’s a trick of the light, but you swear that you see the ghost of blush on both of their faces.

“Yes, he explained that he was working with the construction crew,” you answer, your gaze flicking between the pair as a smirk plays on your lips.

Zelda nods, clasping her hands in front of her, “indeed, he’s quite the diligent worker. I hope you’re having a good day, Link.”

He gives her a charming smile as he responds: yes - and - you - too - princess. He paused for a moment, as if hesitating, before continuing: you - look - lovely - today.

If you had an inkling that the princess had been blushing, it was far more obvious now. “O-oh, thank you,” she responds earnestly, also signing the phrase ‘thank you’ with her hands.

You can’t help but chuckle at the exchange.

The princess clears her throat before turning back to you, cheeks as red as a tomato, “well, shall we go to my study?”

“Let’s,” you reply. You sign a rusty ‘goodbye’ to Link before walking out of the tent alongside her.

Once again you feel confused and out of place as you walk across the pavilion. This time you’re guided in the direction of the largest tent, the entrance of which is flanked by a guard on either side. They bow their heads in respect for Zelda as they pull the fabric aside to grant you both entry.

The inside of the tent is spacious, with one large table having been set up in the middle. You assume that the meeting of leaders Bazz had mentioned will be taking place there. Along the perimeter are various smaller tables that contain a whole host of materials: maps, schematics, books, scrolls, letters, and more. Your eyes focus on one particular table that’s covered in various pieces of Sheikah technology.

Zelda guides you to what you assume is her table, her makeshift study as she called it. It’s covered in more sheets of parchment than you can count, each covered top to bottom in the princess’ scrawlings and notes, alongside small drawings that depict whatever she may be writing about. There’s a small vase on the corner of the table that holds three Silent Princesses that have been plucked and placed into water. An oil lantern flickers slowly, seemingly having been lit many hours ago.

The princess lifts one of two cups that had been waiting in her study. “Tea?” she offers, “it’s fresh, steeped just a few moments ago.”

You give her a weak smile, knowing she’s still doing her best to soothe you. “No, thank you,” you reply, gently pushing the offered cup away, “I feel as if I can barely keep anything down as is.”

“I understand,” she nods. She takes a seat, gesturing for you to sit as well. This offer you accept. “I assume you have a lot of questions.”

You nod.

“I’ll do my best to answer and give as many details as possible,” she continues, “so please, ask away.”

You lean back in your seat and cross your arms, chewing on the inside of your cheek. You barely even know where to start.

“I would ask about Sidon, but Bazz has already assured me of his safety,” you mumble. 

Your brow furrows as you gaze around. This settlement, this ‘Lookout Landing’, had seemingly sprung up out of nowhere. Beings from all four corners of Hyrule had gathered here. Not only were there tents, but construction of permanent structures was already underway.

“Zelda… how many days has it been since the Yiga attack?”

The princess opens her mouth to answer, before promptly shutting it. Her eyes fill with emotion as she forces herself to look at you. “_____... a week has passed-”

“A WEEK?” you exclaim, voice much louder than you’d intended. You force yourself to calm down, but suddenly you feel as if you’re full of tension that needs to be broken. “One week? Seven days? How- Why-”

“Your injuries from the Yiga Clan’s attack were far too grievous,” she explains, reaching forward to grasp your hands in her own, “by the time Prince Sidon returned to Zora’s Domain their healers declared you moments from death. They gave you a sedative, a medicine that would slow your heart enough to prevent your blood loss but keep you alive as your wounds were treated. Since then you’ve been asleep, and it was decided the best course of action was to have you transported here to be under constant surveillance by our medical personnel.”

You keep your mouth shut as you do your best to process the information.

After a moment of quiet you speak again, “I’m confused. If it’s taken me a week to heal, how is it that Sidon is fit to travel here? How was he able to carry me back to the domain? His injuries were…”

Your eyes shut as you think back to that day. The memory is haunting, the sight of Sidon’s slumped body on the ground, covered in wounds and his own blood. Because he was used as bait to lure you in. 

All because of you.

“His injuries were awful,” you finally continue, “worse than my own, I’d argue.”

“I wasn’t there myself to witness it, but based on Captain Bazz’s description the prince was in perfect condition when he walked out of Ruta with you in his arms,” Zelda replies.

You’re taken aback. How could that be possible? You hadn’t been able to heal him.

“Okay…” you mumble, “speaking of healing, I haven’t been able to activate Mipha’s Grace since I’ve woken up. Do you have any idea why?”

The princess sighs and leans away, her green eyes curiously examining you, “I had been worried that this would be the case. Once we had rid each Divine Beast of the Yiga attempting to hijack them, we made the decision to shut each of them down by disconnecting their power sources…”

She takes a deep breath before continuing, “I fear that the loss of power to each machine may have severed your connection with the four champions…”

You shake your head. “No… no, that can’t be right.” You quickly stand up, head reeling from both the revelation and your speed. The champions abilities, all that remained of your friends from a century past. Gone.

“That can’t be right,” you repeat, holding your hands in front of your face, “look- look, I’ll heal myself right now, just you watch-”

You press your palms to your sides, ignoring the way your bruises sing with pain. You shut your eyes tight and with all your might attempt to will forth Mipha’s Grace. Mipha, pure of heart and swift in battle, one of your earliest friends. Her kindness and heart knew no bounds, and she was always, always there to heal when you injured yourself.

But nothing changed.

You hear Zelda call out your name, but you’ve become too determined. You press your fists together in an attempt to summon the shield of Daruk’s Protection. Daruk, strong willed and ever cheerful. He took you under his wing as a father would, always making sure you were fed, keeping you strong and sure of yourself. He always knew how to make you laugh.

But nothing changed.

You feel the princess place a gentle hand on your shoulder as you snap your fingers repeatedly, desperate to feel the energy of Urbosa’s Fury. Urbosa, wiser than you knew and proud of her people. When she would chastise you it was with the air and grace of a mother raising her child. Her passion was endless and her beauty was unmatched. You remembered your promise to protect her ‘little bird’.

But nothing changed.

Zelda’s arms wrap around you, but this doesn’t negate your attempt to summon the winds of Revali’s Gale. Revali, stubborn as a mule but full of so much potential and so much hope. You would bicker with him as siblings would, and even when he would turn his back to you, you never lost your faith in him. His bluntness pushed you to become a better version of yourself.

But nothing changed.

A sob rips through your throat as you collapse in Zelda’s hold. You can’t hold back the tears that fall as you feel grief fill your body and mind. “They’re gone,” you cry, “there’s nothing left.”

You feel Zelda’s own tears as she hides her face in your shoulder. You cry together, mourning your long-gone friends. All that would be left of the four champions were their names, their legacies, and the memories of those who knew them.

…

The grass is soft beneath you. In the distance the sun sets. You watch as the sky shifts hues and the full moon slowly rises in the distance. Stars begin to twinkle, fading in and out as they perform their nightly dance. Your fingers grip the soil and rocks as you ground yourself in reality.

Following your session of mourning and tears, Zelda had given you more details on what had occurred since your incident with the Yiga Clan. Lookout Landing was being constructed as a central hub, as Bazz mentioned. Every settlement across the land remained on high alert, some even imposing strict curfews to ensure no suspicious activity could occur.

Purah and Robbie were both in the midst of researching new ways to control and manipulate the ancient Sheikah technology. The princess vaguely mentioned a ‘backup plan’ should the two scientists be unsuccessful in their attempts.

The leaders of each region would be meeting in Lookout Landing tonight to deliberate on the future. Zelda had said that for the time being the Champion Ceremony was postponed, and she was unsure if it would ever come to fruition. The construction of Lookout Landing had also halted all plans to reconstruct Hyrule Castle.

Beside you the Master Sword laid in the grass in its sheath. For a moment you consider reaching out to grasp the handle but hesitate. 

One final detail of your discussion with the princess was that she recommended you take a ‘break’ from your duties. This confused you greatly. She explained that it seemed you were under ‘great mental duress’, and that she would prefer it if you took some time to recuperate from the strenuous and traumatic events of the last few months.

You’d asked who would protect her in the meantime. She’d responded that she could ‘protect herself’. The small scars you’d seen suddenly made sense to you. While you didn’t agree with the idea of taking a break, it seemed that the final decision was not up to you. Zelda had practically ordered you to rest, at the very least until your wounds were completely healed.

You graze your fingers along the bandages that protect your bicep. Your armband from Sidon hadn’t been located. Perhaps it was swept away when the water flooded Ruta.

Perhaps it was for the best.

From your spot atop the hill you survey Lookout Landing. Despite all that had happened, it brings a smile to your face to see all the races of Hyrule work in unity to create something so special. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t excited to see Lookout Landing complete its construction.

It seems that most of the crews were wrapping up for the night. The Gerudo soldiers had swapped shifts with the Rito who now stood watch around the perimeter. The Goron workers relaxed around a fire, talking as they ate rocks found around the site. Bazz had just returned with some Zora soldiers following a hunt, carrying plenty of fish to be cooked in the kitchen. Hylians mingled around the area, and you managed to spot Link sat with some other men as they seemed to bond over dinner.

You’d opted to sit on your own, waiting rather impatiently for the arrival of the leaders. If you were being honest with yourself you were really just waiting for Sidon. It was one of the few selfish things you would allow yourself to do. Forego your knightly duties and simply focus on the being you truly cared for most in this world.

By now the sun was set completely and the sky was a deep shade of indigo. It was cloudless, a sight you enjoyed greatly. The stars and moon never failed to give you peace of mind. It felt as though hours had passed while you laid in the grass and stared at the sky. You were beginning to lose hope of their arrival-

Until a horn is sounded.

You practically jump, chest pounding as you stand from your spot on the grass. Your legs wobble as you regain your bearings. As you look up to the east you feel your heart skip a beat.

In the distance you see a great, tall figure. King Dorephan leads a large troupe of Zora. It’s impressive watching him walk through the marsh and grass. And beside him, leading the group is-

“Sidon,” you gasp, a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. Your fingers fumble as you grab your sword and tie the sash around you. Your boots slip and skid as you slide down the side of the hill. Once your feet hit solid ground you break into a sprint.

Your feet carry you faster than ever before as you dash across Hyrule Field. “Sidon!” you shout, elated at the sight of your prince.

Not just your prince. Your love. The love of your life.

The cool air of night whips past you as you run. Your eyes begin to water, and you feel the strain in your legs, but you’re far too ecstatic to stop yourself. Your feet stumble over rocks and underbrush, but you continue to push forth.

“Darling! _____!” you hear the prince call out ahead of you.

Your heart sings at the sound of his voice. A giggle spills from your lips as you realize that he, too, has begun to run, dashing ahead of the rest of the Zora to meet you in the field. Your legs begin to burn, you realize you’re probably pushing yourself to your limits, but you still don’t care.

It happens faster than you can even process. As soon as you reach the prince you collapse into his arms, a mess of laughter and tears. His strong arms wrap around you as you fall onto the grass, suddenly finding yourself atop his chest. You come face to face with him and grin.

His eyes are brimming with emotion as he looks up at you. You take in every detail in this moment, adoring the way his hands grasp you, enamored with the way the moonlight bounces off his scarlet scales, flustered by his intense gaze.

“I love you,” you say without thinking, “goddesses, I love you so, so much-”

You squeak as Sidon captures your lips with his own. You feel as if you could melt into him, face flush as your lips meld together. His fingers tighten their hold on your waist. You feel as if your breath has been stolen once he pulls back.

“I love you too,” he whispers, his lips grazing the side of your jaw, “I love you more than words can convey, more than the moon loves the tide, more than the wind loves the sea. I devote all that I am to you, body and soul. I never want to be apart from you again, beloved.”

You hiccup as tears slide down your cheeks. “What happened? How were you able to-”

The prince gently shushes you, wiping your tears away with thumbs, “I will explain it all soon, I promise. Allow me another moment to gaze upon the most beautiful being in all the land.”

Laughter spills from your lips as your cheeks turn red.

“A happy reunion, I presume,” a booming voice chuckles.

You turn your gaze upward and realize King Dorephan towers above the both of you. “Your highness-” you gasp, suddenly feeling rather exposed when you realize you’re practically straddling his son in the middle of a field.

The king chuckles good naturedly, “it is good to see you, Hylian champion. Have you healed well?”

As Sidon helps you stand to your feet the adrenaline rush finally begins to fade. All of a sudden the fatigue of your injuries hits you, as well as the strain you had just put on your legs. It takes all of your energy to keep you on your feet.

“Not so much,” you answer honestly, “it seems I’ve lost the ability to heal myself.”

Out of the corner of your eye you see the prince’s face lace with concern.

“I can explain my half once we return to Lookout Landing,” you suggest.

King Dorephan nods and turns his attention to the Zora guard alongside him, “yes, good idea, champion. Let’s move out!”

You watch as the king leads his soldiers towards the center of Hyrule Field. You feel a hand nudge your own, and smile as you lace your fingers with Sidon. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to the back of your palm.

“Shall we?” he asks, the moonlight causing his adornments to shimmer.

“Let’s go,” you reply with a smile.

~~~ <> ~~~

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter