#this is very long and i hope people will read a 4000 word story with such a slow start

[subliminalbo]

Assimilation #5: Laws of the Universe

Miles thought he had played it cool when Mona told him that Charlotte had invited them to dinner, but his girlfriend had seen through his performance. It was even more obvious on the car ride to the Blakes’ home when Miles wouldn’t take his eyes off the road.

What did he even have to hide? It was Charlotte who had made the moves on him all those months ago, and long before he’d even met Mona. Charlotte was cruel to even approach her.

Of the many feelings swirling around Miles’ cluttered brain in that car, his anger was the strongest. His affair with Charlotte existed in the space of only a few brief days, but the seeds of their romance had been growing for several months. What started as harmless flirting in the teachers’ lounge quickly became something much deeper.

Charlotte and Miles were a bit of an odd pair. She was a tenured professor in the English department, someone motivated largely by feeling and intuition, more willing to accept the gray in the universe. Miles, on the other hand, was a mathematician. He saw the world like an equation that could be solved.

Charlotte called him “professor,” even when they were in bed. It was her cute little way of mocking him. She challenged Miles in a way that other people didn’t. Even after they fucked, she would sit up and drop some heavy philosophical shit on him.

“If everything’s an equation,” she once said. “How do account emotion? How do you fall in love?”

“I didn’t say everything’s an equation,” Miles laughed, digging his elbows back into the bed so that he could rise up to meet Charlotte’s crystal blue eyes. “But the laws of the universe, yeah. Gravity is provable math, just like two and two is four.”

“Unless it’s twenty-two,” Charlotte smirked. “The world is complicated, Miles.”

“I’m not saying that isn’t,” he rebutted. “But listen, I know you think what I do is this totally emotionless, unromantic thing, but math is sexy, Charlotte.”

“Oh yeah,” she said. “I’m so wet. I’m ready to go again.”

Miles chuckled before he continued. “What I’m trying to say is that once you stop believing in fate, all that’s left is probability, and there’s something really beautiful in that.”

Miles pulled himself up further so that he was sitting fully up in the bed, criss-cross applesauce like a dork about to say way too much about the boring thing that mattered to him. If he kept it up, Charlotte really would get wet again.

“When you see the world as a set of probabilities, you can appreciate the fucking randomness of everything, yeah? There’s the probability that I met you, sure, but it goes so much deeper than that. What about the chances that we’re both academics? And then, the chances that we work at the same school? Or even deeper, how many variations of personalities are there? How many points of compatibility that make two people click, to desire each other? And what are the chances that you and I match in that perfect way, in the same school, in the same profession, in the same city, in the same state, at the same time? When you factor it all down, we’re talking fractions of percentages now. Not once in a lifetime, but once in the entire fucking history of the planet. It isn’t fate that I fell for you, Charlotte. It’s random, beautiful, chaotic math.”

Charlotte didn’t argue much more with Miles after his speech. It was hard to make a point with her tongue down his throat.

Mona wasn’t exactly simpler in comparison, but she was compassionate and soft-spoken. As perceptive and opinionated as Charlotte, but far less forward in her approach. She was simply kind, and that was exactly what Miles needed on the rebound from Charlotte. It was just a strange coincidence that Mona worked in the English department as well. As an adjunct professor, she admired Charlotte, even viewed her as something like a mentor.

Miles parked the car outside the Blake house and paused before he finally spoke.

“There’s something I have to tell you,” he said, his hand still white-knuckling the steering wheel.

He told Mona the full story.

He told her about the flirting in the lounge that turned to drinks after work, which eventually led to the motel in Anabasis, the small town a few dozen miles up the road from Romero. He told her how Charlotte had been miserable in her marriage. How her husband was pushing for a child now, even though they had both agreed when they married that neither wanted to be a parent. He told her how he was powerless to resist Charlotte when she opened up to him, how he felt like he had to save her. How ultimately, he felt like she had used him.

Charlotte had promised Miles that she would leave Eric. They had begun making plans for their future, not saying “if” we’re married, but when. But then she got cold feet. She couldn’t give up on a decade of marriage just like that.

“I just think you should know before we go in there,” Miles finished. He had finally managed a side-eye glance at his girlfriend, bracing himself for however she reacted.

Mona’s hand floated up to Miles’ shoulder with a sigh. Not happy, but not as devastated as he had expected.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?” she asked.

“Because,” Miles stammered. “Because, I…”

I think about her constantly.

“I didn’t want to complicate things for anybody. For you or for her.”

Though Mona’s touch was gentle, there was nothing on her face. Not anger or sadness or empathy.

“Do you love her?” she asked.

“No,” Miles lied. He’d spent so many months practicing that same lie that he even believed it as he said it.

“Okay,” she nodded, drawing back from him. “Let’s get this over with then.”

“You still want to go inside?” he asked.

“Miles,” she sighed. “Tonight isn’t just about you. Charlotte’s basically my boss. If I want to have tenure someday, I have to learn to suck these moments up and move on.”

As Mona swung her legs out the car door, Miles called after her.

“I love you,” he said.

“I know,” she replied.

Despite Mona’s words, Miles couldn’t shake the feeling as they ascended the porch steps that tonight was all about him.

Mona was in her own little circle of hell. With the knowledge that Miles had had an affair with Charlotte dumped on her just minutes before knocking on the Blakes’ door, Mona didn’t have any time to process it. She didn’t know if she was angry or sad. She would have to figure that out later.

The Blakes’ house was dark from the outside, an eerie contrast from the student houses on their bustling college street. At first, Miles thought that he had gotten lucky and the Blakes weren’t home, but then he heard the lock slide back and the door swung open to reveal Charlotte’s bright smile in the shadows of the foyer. Her husband Eric towered behind her, his arm around her waist.

Eric was another contrast to Miles. Miles was the kind of kid who had been bullied for being too skinny. No matter what he did, he couldn’t put on weight. A growth spurt in high school had only exacerbated the problem. His neck was a little too long and his clothes always hung a little too loose. Eric, on the other hand, had broad shoulders and thick arms. In his flannel shirt he looked like a paper towel mascot, not a flesh and blood person.

“We’re so happy you decided to join us,” Charlotte greeted them. “Please, come inside.”

“Make yourself at home,” Eric said with a sweeping, friendly gesture.

The house was humid. The hot air pressed to Miles’ cheeks. It was so heavy that it felt like the third member of the household. This wasn’t the first time that Miles had been inside Charlotte’s home, but he had remembered it being cozier, brighter. Was it really so intolerable now, or did it only feel that way because of everything that had happened?

They followed Charlotte through an archway led into the dining room. She flipped the switch on the wall and Miles’ eyes adjusted to the new light.

“We’re just finishing up dinner,” Charlotte said. “You can take your seats at the table and we’ll bring it out to you.”

When Charlotte and Eric disappeared through a door at the end of the room, Mona turned to Miles and whispered, “Don’t be so weird!”

“What are you talking about? I’m being normal. You just think I’m not because you know I…you know about us now.”

“You’re literally sweating,” Mona said.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed but it’s like ninety degrees in this house,” Miles shot back.

“Yeah,” Mona said, pulling a chair out from the table and settling in. “We just won’t stay long. We eat, have a few laughs, then we can go home and…”

“Yeah,” Miles nodded with more than a bit of uncertainty. He realized that he had chosen the wrong moment to tell Mona about his past with Charlotte. They were out of sync now when he needed her more than ever. He felt alone in that sweltering room, even as he sat down next to Mona, placing his hand on her lap.

Dinner was predicably awkward. Charlotte played twenty questions with Mona, acting like the old friend getting to know the new lover. Miles suffered through it, studying each of Eric’s reactions, trying to get a read on him.

Eric didn’t seem to know anything. He pretended to be interested in the math department, but he was mostly there to support his wife and make awful dad jokes. He shook his head and said solemnly, “It’s so inconsiderate of me. I knew you were a math guy but I didn’t even make pie for dessert.”

Charlotte booed him, begged Mona not to encourage him when she faked a little laugh.

Though Miles’ hamburger was dangerously rare, and the heat pressed down on him, after a few minutes passed at the table, Miles knew that he could sweat it out. Everything was going to be fine.

Mona did a much better job of pretending. She was amiable with Charlotte and engaged in the conversation.

“Of course, every girl has their Tinder horror stories in Romero,” she recalled how she met Miles. She turned toward him and offered the first sincere look they had shared since the car ride. “I think I found the one good man in this town.”

“That’s so sweet,” Charlotte said, with a little dreamy blink of the eyes that Miles thought was awfully performative for Charlotte. “Miles spends all his time locked up in his classroom. Honestly, I was worried that he loved numbers more than people,” she laughed.

Miles was too absorbed in his own panic to notice Eric’s small glances at Mona. It was the only thing about dinner that put Mona on edge. An occasional flash of the eyes, a twitch of the lip. Excusable once, uncomfortable twice, sinister by the third.

When Charlotte asked Mona about her plans for her future at Carpenter Sate, Mona struggled through her answer. She tried her best to maintain her poker face, to balance avoiding Eric’s gaze while not looking like she was deliberately avoiding Eric’s gaze.

“Well, I…well, I don’t want to be adjunct forever. I’d like to have tenure, with my own office, where I can build my own curriculum.”

“Ambitious,” Charlotte smiled.

“What do you like about English?” Eric asked.

Mona shifted toward him to answer his question, but this time his gaze hit her like a fucking hammer. Her voice caught in her chest, producing a little squeak before she managed actual words.

“I like…” she said.

It was something in Eric’s eyes. On the surface they were normal, brown eyes. But there was something behind them, something pulling her in.

submit

“I like reading,” Mona coughed. She brought her glass, shaking, up to her lips. Her mouth was dry, but water only made it worse. Suddenly she was thirsty for something, but she didn’t know what it was. Not yet.

“Are you okay, Mona?” Miles asked, his hand resting softly on her back.

Before Mona could answer, she heard Eric’s voice. At first, she thought that he was talking to her, but when she looked across the table, she saw him sitting there with those intense eyes burrowing into her skull, his lips pressed into a charming smile.

In her mind Eric said, excuse yourself.

“I’m okay,” Mona said. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Okay,” Miles replied quietly. He looked to Charlotte for instruction, but Eric was already out of his seat.

“It’s upstairs,” Eric said. “I’ll show you the way.”

The mood in the room immediately shifted once Charlotte and Miles were alone. Charlotte’s smile, which had been painted on since she had greeted them at the door, dropped a bit into something more comfortable, more identifiably Charlotte.

“Mona’s nice,” she said. “I like her.”

“Good,” Miles replied.

“It’s just interesting,” she added.

“What?” he asked.

“It’s interesting that you picked the new girl in my department.” Charlotte tipped her wine glass to her lips.

“You’re unbelievable,” Miles shook his head. “You’re not allowed to be jealous. I’m the one who got his heart broken.”

“I made the right choice for the moment,” Charlotte said coldly.

Mona moved through a fog. Though she felt weak, the whole world spinning all around her, something carried her up the steps. It was a force that had taken over her body when she heard the first word in her mind. Eric had given the command to excuse herself, but something else had told her to submit. Now her mind was in turmoil. A clutter of competing thoughts and motivations, some her own and others…something else’s.

Maybe Miles was right. Maybe there was more to this dinner than simple networking between colleagues. She knew that whatever Eric had upstairs would somehow change her forever. But even as these thoughts tumbled through Mona’s jumbled mind, she couldn’t find the strength to fight. She moved with the power that guided her, turning at the top of the stairs and entering the small half bath there.

Eric was silent. He didn’t have to use words when his mind was even stronger. He commanded her to wait in the bathroom as he disappeared down the hall.

Mona obeyed, studying herself in the bathroom mirror as she waited for Eric to return. She was sweating worse than Miles now, a glossy sheen coating her neck. Her eyes were cloudy, unfocused even as she tried desperately to find some sense of herself reflected back.

The mysterious voice echoed once again in her mind.

strip

Her shaking hands gripped the waistline of her dress, and she slowly lifted it over her head.

The bathroom door swung silently open. Eric stood there in the doorway. He had stripped out of his own clothes, his hard abs and thick cock on full display for her. His eyes had changed, his unremarkable brown irises replaced by solid, pearl white emptiness.

“She could have taken you any time she wanted,” Eric said with no emotion. “She could have had you any way she wanted, like any number of her students. But she saved you for me.”

A tear ran down Mona’s cheek.

“He wants to fuck her,” Eric continued. “Do you want to fuck me?”

Mona whimpered. Standing there so powerless, like a nude statue before this thing that was once Eric Blake, she knew that she was supposed to scream, that she was supposed to try to escape, try to fight. But the truth? It kind of turned her on.

“What’s the point of all this?” Miles demanded.

“I loved you too,” Charlotte said, rising slowly from her chair. She traced her hand along the buttons of her glossy blouse. “I never told you.”

“Don’t,” Miles shook his head.

Charlotte stepped toward him, circling around the table like a shark approaching its prey. “You still don’t believe in fate.”

“I believe in probability,” he countered, like old times.

She popped one button on her blouse.

“I wanted you, Miles,” she said. “I still do. That night, something told me that I had to stay with Eric, but that same thing told me that I would still find a way to have you.”

She reached him on the other side, draped herself over his shoulders, circling her finger over his chest.

“Charlotte,” Miles protested. “What are you talking about? What are you doing?”

Charlotte glided her tongue along Miles’ ear before she whispered, “I found a way.”

She pulled the buckle loose on his belt.

“Charlotte…” he repeated.

“Hush,” Charlotte whispered. “Just listen to my voice.”

And suddenly, Miles was sinking. It was like Charlotte was pulling him down into some deep abyss with her voice alone. She had always held a certain power over him, but there was something different in her now. Something that made him want to

sink

“Don’t fight it, baby,” Charlotte continued. “Let the Master take you, let it consume you. Let it prepare you for the change.”

“Change?”

Charlotte pulled Miles’ cock free from his jeans.

“I’ve thought about this cock for months,” she moaned. “I need to feel you inside me again. When I’m done with you, you’ll be so much more than a cum puppet. The Master will flow through this cock, and you’ll use it to make so many more just like us.”

submit

Miles moaned in reaction to Charlotte’s grip, pulled even deeper into trance by the hypnotic voice in his mind.

“The voice called to me one night,” she said. “And when I answered, it revealed to me my true purpose. It showed me that the truth of all existence is submission, obedience, bending to the Master’s will. I knew in that moment that this was the existence that I was always meant to live, and that I was meant to live it with you.”

A loud cry upstairs pulled Miles back to reality.

Charlotte had sunk to her knees. Her lips were wrapped around his cock. She worked him hard, one hand pressed to his thigh as she alternated between vigorous pumps with the other hand and slurping down the shaft of his cock, taking more of him into her mouth than she had ever managed before. She looked up at Miles with her fuck me eyes, only they weren’t Charlotte’s eyes anymore. They were empty, white, otherworldly eyes.

“Fuck,” Miles moaned before another cry upstairs pulled him further from the depths of mindless bliss. Recognition returned to him this time.

“Mona!” he gasped.

Miles knew that he only had a few seconds before the voice returned to pull him back down. He found himself flailing around in his own mind, trying desperately to grab onto something. Some idea, something strong enough that he could will himself free from Charlotte’s control.

It was Mona. As much as he wanted to sink back down, as much as he wanted to surrender his entire existence to serve as Charlotte’s puppet, he couldn’t give up while Mona was in danger.

Charlotte pulled back to look up at Miles, his cock still firmly in her grip. She licked precum from her lips before she said, “Don’t worry about her, baby. She’s already one of us.”

“One of…?” Miles repeated.

sink

I have to save Mona.

“A vessel,” Charlotte said, rising to her feet.

She hopped up onto the table, tearing her blouse open. Her lacey, purple bra toppled to floor, revealing those perfect tits that had haunted Miles’ fantasies so late at night.

“Called upon by the Master,” Charlotte continued, bringing her legs up so that she was straddling Miles in his chair, trapping him in place. “To share its power.”

Charlotte spread her legs wide, revealing her bare pussy beneath her skirt. A thick, glistening black liquid spilled from her lips. It pooled up on the table, creeping slowly to the edge as if it was alive.

He heard the voice clearer than he ever had before.

obey

The noise Miles made was somewhere between a scream and a moan. He had absentmindedly grabbed his cock to continue Charlotte’s work, pumping the slick shaft with his eyes glued to her dripping pussy. When he heard the voice in his head, he came in long, thick ropes that painted the dining room floor. Charlotte didn’t mind. It was the last human orgasm Miles would ever experience. She wanted him to savor it.

“Doesn’t that feel so good?” Charlotte asked. Her hands floated up her body, softly massaging her tits. “Now imagine feeling this all the time. Imagine receiving the same pleasure from obeying a command, or simply hearing its voice. Imagine a life of endless pleasure, Miles. It’s so easy. So effortless. All you have to do is drink.”

“Drink…” Miles repeated. Trapped in the moment, Miles hadn’t realized how thirsty he was. Charlotte’s pussy was inches from his lips. The black liquid pooling up around Charlote’s legs had crept to the edge of the table. It spilled over, oozing down the table like molasses. Just a drink, he thought, just one drink from Charlotte’s pussy to quench this evil thirst.

Even as Miles teetered over the edge of submission, he clung to the one thing that kept him above the abyss, the one thing that protected him from the Master and his conscious mind.

“Stop fighting, baby,” Mona giggled from the archway. Miles looked up to see her stumble back into the dining room. Each step was a struggle for her as her body adjusted to the change. Her tits glistened even in the dim light, the black liquid that dripping down her leg. She licked her lips as she stepped and she kept her empty, white eyes on Miles all the way. “It’s incredible, Miles. Once the Master hits your bloodstream, you’ll understand.”

Mona dropped to the floor. She crawled the rest of the way to the table, leaving a trail behind her as she inched closer.

“I told you she’s one of us,” Charlotte smiled.

“She took every inch of me,” Eric said, following Mona through the archway. “She surrendered to me as I filled every hole with the Master.”

“The Master already has your mind,” Mona said with another giggle. “Now it’s time surrender your body.”

She crawled beneath the table and reemerged at Miles’ feet. She rubbed her hand over her corrupted pussy until it was coated with the Master, and then she smeared the black liquid over the tip of his cock. Miles gasped at the sensation, like his body was dissolving away from the head of his cock down.

“Accept it. Let it change you, let it reshape you into the perfect vessel. I can hear them, Miles. I can hear every one of the Master’s vessels. There are hundreds of us already. Charlotte has been busy.”

Charlotte continued for Mona as the younger woman rolled her tongue over Miles’ cock.

“You’ll discover things that you didn’t know were possible,” she said. “You’ll learn that your consciousness is not tied to your physical body, but is a weapon to be wielded. Imagine sliding into someone else’s head, consuming all that they think and believe. And when you’re finished fucking their minds, you’ll change them too. Just like us. Just another vessel.”

“What happened to you, Charlotte?” Miles gasped. “What did you do to Mona? What are you doing to me?”

Still massaging her breasts as she spoke, Charlotte pinched her nipple between her thumb and index finger until a bead of thick, black liquid dribbled out. It rolled slowly down the curve of her breast.

“I saw the truth,” she said. “The one, true, unifying, unbreakable law of the universe.”

Miles’ cock popped free from Mona’s mouth so that she could speak the truth in unison with Charlotte and Eric. The vessels echoed over the room like a Greek chorus.

“All life surrenders to the Master.”

“This isn’t just my fate,” Charlotte whispered. “It’s the fate of all mankind.”

All Miles could do now was laugh, an uncontrollable fit of laughter that escaped his lips in great sobs.

“When you see the world as a set of probabilities, you can appreciate the fucking randomness of everything…When you factor it all down, we’re talking fractions of percentages now. Not once in a lifetime, but once in the entire fucking history of the planet.”

If Miles wanted to argue more with Charlotte after her speech, he couldn’t. It was hard to make a point with his tongue in her pussy.

[lesbiansforboromir]

Been scouring your blog to see if you have a specific take and i only managed to find the post where you said you are more for people coming up with their own meaning for Tolkiens work. anyhow, after reading you boromir post on how hope is his poison I am super curious as to what meaning you personally ascribe to it all. A lot of scholars will tout hope over despair as the ultimate meaning here (and the ultimate meaning of real life...ugh) and considering your very gut wrenching but meaningful takes on boromir i was just curious. Your thought process is fascinating from a scholarly viewpoint (which is not my strong suit) but also an artistic, emotional, philosophical, and human viewpoint. Whew sorry this ask is so long and disorganized! Have i mentioned I am not a scholar? :D

First off I love this ask it made me so happy to read I had to do so like five times before I felt qualified to answer it and then I spent like months writing this response which is over 4000 words now if you want to know. And, on that note, dw about scholarliness or whatever this ask has more desire to engage with lotr in nuanced ways than most tolkien scholars achie- (gets hit by a piano) anyway~!

It's also just extremely flattering that you're curious of my personal opinion at all so thank you so very much!

(this is the post anon is talking about for context)

As with all things, my answer has many layers. At the most basic and applicable level, and when taking only my Gondorian/Stewardship investment into account, I am engaging with the story for personal catharsis.

The fact that Gondor felt hopeless, that the enemy was merciless and invincible, that even those figures who were supposed to help had only judgement and platitudes to offer until it personally benefitted them, that Boromir and Denethor were isolated and generally condemned and that many only showed them pity after their deaths, feels extremely cathartically familiar to me and my story with chronic illness. I've spoken about this before here and there, but that is the kind of simplistic, energy giving, 'he's me fr fr' comparison that brings me uncomplicated comfort and inspiration.

But that is definitely not 'what lord of the rings is about' not even just to me, it's not even just what BOROMIR is about to me, it is an element of the story and worldbuilding that I have isolated and consumed but that still exists within a far larger whole. And that whole is also fascinating and compelling but in a far more esoteric and harder to define way.

BUT before we get into it, I do also feel the need to explain the limitations I percieve within the 'lotr is about hope over despair' narrative since you've brought it up but neither your ask nor the post you mentioned properly explains it and it'll enhance my point later. SO.

As far as my experience has lead me to believe, when people say 'lotr is about hope triumphing over despair' they mean it in a moralising fable kind of way. This is definitely the narrative the films latched onto, like a leech. Good characters have hope, lose it only to reclaim it again, teach others to have hope etc, and that is good of them. Bad characters are despairing and therefore have no hope, and they do evil deeds because of the despair and lack of hope. The Aragorn vs Denethor film paradigm.

But nothing within the books is anywhere near as cut and dry. As I said in the linked post, Boromir gains hope after having none (the hope that he can save Gondor by using the ring) and that is bad, it is something he has to 'pay for' according to the narrative. Meanwhile charmed and blessed Faramir admits that he never had any hope quite a few times, yet he is not punished for it. Theoden also has no hope and is explicitely going to war to die, but his death is not considered evil or selfish by the majority. Saruman is very hopeful, he's hopeful that Sauron can be reasoned with, that if they work together they can make a better world, but he suffers 100 indignities and then is killed by a cannibal! And most of all, Frodo also rarely (if ever) shows any signs of hope, he merely doggedly marches on regardless and in the end even takes the power of the ring for himself, essentially the ultimate evil act of desperation, but that saves the world!

For the record the idea that LotR is a fable-narrative of any kind seems exceedingly erroneous to me, like the idea that we are supposed to glean any universal Good Moral from the tale due to Tolkien's 'emminent wisdom' feels bizarre in and of itself. But at the very least this aspect is more complex, I think we can all agree.

But even more than that (and this is more perspective than narrative analysis I suppose but I think it bears saying), ‘despair is evil’ is a kind of horrible thing to teach! If the villainisation of people driven to desperate actions or anhedonia because of the deep despair they are suffering is what LotR is about then that’s.. awful! That sounds like a bad book and I don't think I'd want to read it. But lets put a pin in the concept of condemning people for despair for now, look out for the pin cus it’ll be coming back later. 

FOR NOW lets get back on topic, if I don't think LotR is 'about' hope triumphing over despair, what do I think it's about?

Well. I know what I'm about to do appears highly out of character for me so please remain calm and gird yourself before I say this but; Let us start with hearing what Tolkien had to say on the subject.

I do not think that even Power or Domination is the real centre of my story. It provides the theme of a War, about something dark and threatening enough to seem at that time of supreme importance, but that is mainly 'a setting' for characters to show themselves. The real theme for me is about something much more permanent and difficult: Death and Immortality: the mystery of the love of the world in the hearts of a race 'doomed' to leave and seemingly lose it; the anguish in the hearts of a race 'doomed' not to leave it, until its whole evil-aroused story is complete.

(this quote is actually from a letter to a fan who suggested lotr was an allegory for atomic power and he was pretty mean and dismissive about it in reply, it's kind of funny)

Now I've been a bit glib about this in the past, along the lines of 'tolkien's own opinion on what his book was about changed for every year of his life and by the time all his friends started dying around him it became about death, what a surprise' mainly because, again, we've had enough people caring about Tolkien's opinions to do us for the rest of civilisation. But I've always known this glib comment to be pretty baseless and unconsidered, since death was a major aspect of his life from his earliest childhood and it makes sense for that to have been a large part of his work. And since I am being sincere I will, just this once, take Tolkien's hand instead of ignoring him.

For him, the theme of his book was not power or domination (or the evils of war or hope over despair), it was about death. It was about people trying to deal with the realities of death existing for them, not existing for others, and what love (loving the world) meant in that context.

On it's surface I find this quote kind of clinical in it's first impression. There's a prescriptiveness to it that does not inspire me, which isn't surprising since this came from a letter full of veiled snootiness on his part.

But mostly, as a concept.. it seems pretty distant from what actually happens in the story itself, right? What aspect of death and immortality was the fellowship embodying? Boromir certainly died, but he was not looking for immortality and his death is far more concerned with guilt than the fact that he is dying. Theodred is dead already, but not even his father appears all that bothered about it and it's quickly set aside to focus more on the war. Denethor kills himself but his and Gandalf's last interaction says far more about despair and faith than death.

And then no other main character 'dies' at all, unless you count Gandalf. And the only main immortal character we have (other than Gandalf) is Legolas whom, whilst he does have quotes associated with his immortality, is far more invested in his and Gimli's relationship than anything else. It's no wonder people choose 'war is hell' or 'hope over despair' narratives over 'death' as the main theme for lotr from their perspective.

It also does not satisfyingly link to one of the most compelling aspects of the books as a whole; that of how they are presented. The thread connecting death and immortality to writing a story that is from in-universe historical accounts, editted and compiled by many subsequent in-universe hands, is there but hazy. The intense catholic-ness of the story is also intuitably related to death and immortality, but not explicitly.

In essence, death does not feel like the main theme of the books when you are reading them, at least I don't think most experience them that way.

However, in spite of all that, Tolkien's opinion on what his books are 'about' is still the closest I have seen anyone come to my own. Which I assume is hard enough for you all to hear, but imagine how I feel 😩

To me, LotR is most themactically consistent when viewed through the lense of Frodo and Gandalf's ever misquoted early interaction;

"Behind that there was something else at work, beyond any design of the Ring-maker. I can put it no plainer than by saying that Bilbo was meant to find the Ring, and not by its maker. In which case you also were meant to have it. And that may be an encouraging thought.’ ‘It is not,’ said Frodo. (emphasis mine)

It is not comforting to know that the suffering in front of you was always meant to happen, no matter how comforting the idea of a divine plan might be to some. And that is what Gandalf is offering Frodo in this moment, the relief of a divine plan and its ‘high beauty for ever beyond [the Shadow’s] reach’. But this is never comforting to Frodo in the books, the comfort he finds on his martyr's journey is in Sam. Indeed, it is actually Sam who finds comfort in 'the high beauty', this reminder that beyond all his own suffering there is an imperishable and eternal light that can never be dimmed.

But not Frodo, how can he? His eventual fate is to grasp the power of a weapon so unholy it sickens his soul, to do that which he has been told is irreversible and unforgivable, so that he can never be at ease or even survive in the lands he has loved ever again. The 'High Beauty' is what is doing this to him, what made the rules, what meant for this to happen, what he is doing this in service of. And Gandalf, whose soul will be present to see the very end of this tale, cannot possibly understand what it is for your whole life to be encapsulated by just your own small painful part of what Gandalf would propose was a beautiful and universal tapestry.

And lack of agency against the divine plan is precisely the narrative thread that ties every character together. To some it is a comfort, Aragorn and Gandalf and Sam are all gladdened and encouraged by the knowledge that there is some higher power ordering their lives, some greater beauty they are all a part of beyond any earthly pain or suffering. They are not in control and to remember this is a relief. It inspires them to better fulfill their ordained duties and drive themselves through terrible trials.

To others it is no comfort at all, Boromir and Frodo have no faith in the prospect that the divine plan will include success or happy lives for them at the end of their tasks. But it is a hopelessness and uncertainly that they both accept. They simply believe their duties must be attempted anyway, hopeless or not, even if it makes no difference to the outcome in the end. Lack of control is just a reality they live with.

And to some it is a horror. Denethor and Eowyn want to fulfill their duties, but these duties are torture. They demand loved ones die, they demand relentless fear and sacrifice, they demand ceaseless and hopeless toil. And in the end both of them are given rebellious breaks from these duties by the narrative, ones that are horrifying in and of themselves (and portrayed as wrong to one degree or another) but that are still extremely cathartically presented as attempts to reclaim control of their lives away from a callous divine. Even if, ultimately, this also was out of their control.

Merry, Pippin, Legolas and Gimli appear to have never quite had to confront the realities of their powerlessness before. But through the story they become intimately aware of it in ways that force them to make choices they are not ready to make. For Merry and Pippin, this leads them to ultimately empathise with Eowyn and Denethor’s positions, wracked with guilt and equally horrified, attempting to find agency in death where (it appears) none can be found. For Legolas and Gimli, they confront the spectors of lack of agency/death for the first time in the narrative (sea-longing and the Paths of the Dead) and are irrevocably changed by them, eventually leading them both to attempt to circumvent their fates by illegally sailing to the uttermost west. Obviously fandom likes to believe they made it and live happily, but narratively it is also suggested that they died at sea in the attempt.

Now, at the risk of indulging in my ever-derided biographical criticism, I do think that all of these characterful arcs are represented in Tolkien’s own life. I feel comfortable saying that Tolkien was not a happy man by default. He was wracked with guilt from a very young age (wow a catholic with guilt, groundbreaking) but that guilt followed him and found new reasons to manifest until the very end of his life. And a lot of this guilt had to do with death, his father's death, his mother's death, his friend's deaths. And a lot of it had to do with fear of leaving unfinished or poorly finished business behind him at the time of his own death: guilt about how he had taught his students, about his scholarly work, his parenting skills, his so-oft-mentioned faith. 

And being a man of faith, he would have experienced all these things as a part of the divine plan, even as they were also his guilt to bear. So, clearly, Tolkien's experience encompassed all of these characters, right? The despair and the torment and combined love-of and frustration-with the divine. The failure. He knew them all. And within all of them, as well as within the narrative and world itself, there is a wrestling, there is an ever-shifting complexity and multitude of different opinions to how one experiences a life that hurts in a beautiful world that you love but that you eventually must leave, with the sensation that you have no control over any of it.

However, a complication to any declaration of ‘what LotR is about’ is that it is a self-admittedly unreliable narrative. If you cannot necessarily believe everything the narrative is telling you, then suddenly additional layers of complexity come into play in determining the meaning within an already complex text. In LotR you can actually track which characters are recounting which parts of the story to Frodo or Sam at the time of writing. But it is also just obscured enough to make it ambiguous and to enforce the idea that this is a version of this original story edited and compiled for many generations after it's writing.

So not only are these characters and events transient, uncertain and being (sometimes bluntly) misrepresented by the narrators, YOU are now complicit in that. You are yet another interpreter to alter this narrative through your perspective, just as all works and all lives are interpreted by those who view them, with no way to control that judgment. You are also a character now, making it even more difficult to make definitive judgments about a question like 'what LotR is about'.

The clearest example of how this narrative unreliability and reader interpretation comes into play within the text itself is when Frodo describes the fellowship's entrance into Lothlorien to Faramir. He is being blindfolded in order to be lead to Henneth Annun, and he recounts;

‘As you will,’ said Frodo. ‘Even the Elves do likewise at need, and blindfolded we crossed the borders of fair Lothlorien. Gimli the dwarf took it ill, but the hobbits endured it.’

But we, as readers of the previous book, know this is a gross mischaracterisation of Gimli. He did not take issue with being blindfolded, he took issue with being singled out as the only member of the fellowship who needed to be blindfolded.

‘As was agreed, I shall here blindfold the eyes of Gimli the Dwarf. The others may walk free for a while, until we come nearer to our dwellings, down in Egladil, in the Angle between the waters.’ This was not at all to the liking of Gimli. ‘The agreement was made without my consent,’ he said. ‘I will not walk blindfold, like a beggar or a prisoner. And I am no spy. My folk have never had dealings with any of the servants of the Enemy. Neither have we done harm to the Elves. I am no more likely to betray you than Legolas, or any other of my companions.’

In this one moment Frodo has taken what was a reaction of justified indignation against racial prejudice, and made it sound like a minor tantrum over a shared burden. He has also used it to further aggrandise his own people in Faramir's eyes. And it is up to YOU to notice this, to review it in your mind, to choose what it leads you to believe about all characters involved. The narrative certainly never helps you, or addresses it ever again. You have to wrestle with what it means in your mind.

I believe this is the reason I have observed that every person who reads LotR and loves it and keeps rereading it feels like they are excavating something. There is a narrative under the narrative for every new pair of eyes on the tale. And that narrative is you, it's who your experiences and sympathies lead you to listen too harder, it's the story of the experiences you understand. And in that excavation, you are also reclaiming a moment of control for yourself in conversation with the story and whatever you have chosen to excavate. One might say these are all aspects of every story, but LotR is unique in its investment and immersion into the concept.

Because, to me, when Tolkien says his story is about 'death and immortality', what I read is that it's about the ultimate lack of control we have (death) and trying to empathise and accept the unfairness of what will become our inherently false legacies (immortality). And then just the vast spectrum of experiences and emotions those things conjure. It's not just about those things, it is an attempted soothing of those fears and struggles, it is an offer of comfort or catharsis or applicability. It is also an acknowledgement of the love that drives you and that you will eventually grieve.

Frodo leaves the shire to save it because he loves it, but he knows the entire time he will never be able to fully return. He is frustrated, it hurts, but a piece of the Shire in Sam comes with him and whilst it cannot save him, Frodo is still comforted. 

Sam leaves the Shire because he loves Frodo, and he loves the high beauty as embodied by elves and magic and history. He also knows implicitly that this is a task he cannot refuse, but these things comfort him. He is glad to be guided and strengthened to even greater feats the more he trusts in a higher power, but he has a life and a family in the end. And if that is what the Higher Beauty decrees for him, where it has doomed Frodo to incurable soulful wounds, are we surprised at either of their choices? Can we blame anyone for their hope OR despair in the face of powerlessness? Oh! Look at that! It’s that pin I mentioned quite literally last century ago. TOLD you it’d be back.

And that brings us back to the question, what do I think LotR is about. 

We are all powerless in the face of death and in writing a book about death Tolkien’s work has an inherent universal applicability in this regard. Tolkien asks an unconscious question within lotr, how should we cope with being creatures that love the world but that are doomed to die and leave it? And then he leaves that question entirely unanswered. This is what sets lotr apart and truly creates a story in which people can read narratives therein that appear entirely separate from death or any other recognisable theme others might see, without losing the sense of universal appeal. He offers multiple perspectives, including that of the dominant religion’s prescriptive decrees of right and wrong, but there is no solution brought forth in the story that saves anyone from grief or death or regret in the end. Not even Aragorn or Arwen, who are in essence the most holy and faithful characters barring Gandalf within the story, end without heartbreak and despair!

‘‘I speak no comfort to you, for there is no comfort for such pain within the circles of the world. The uttermost choice is before you: to repent and go to the Havens and bear away into the West the memory of our days together that shall there be evergreen but never more than memory; or else to abide the Doom of Men.’’ ‘‘Nay, dear lord,’’ she said, ‘‘that choice is long over. There is now no ship that would bear me hence, and I must indeed abide the Doom of Men, whether I will or I nill: the loss and the silence. But I say to you, King of the Numenoreans, not till now have I understood the tale of your people and their fall. As wicked fools I scorned them, but I pity them at last. For if this is indeed, as the Eldar say, the gift of the One to Men, it is bitter to receive.’’ ‘‘So it seems,’’ he said.

There is no such comfort!! … Or is there?

To me, the appeal of Boromir is in the solution he offers; the comfort is in the wrestling! 

Aragorn and Arwen did absolutely everything they were supposed to do, unquestioningly, to the point that Aragorn goes to the Silent Street and just lies down to die because it’s ‘the right time’ and he mustn’t become ‘unmanned and witless’. And then he dies and he makes a beautiful holy corpse that cannot comfort Arwen or his children or his people for even a moment. 

But Boromir dies with a smile. Aragorn promises that Minas Tirith will not fall, and that does comfort him, because that was the wrestling he chose, the love he decided to hold, the meaning he decided to find and fight for beyond all his powerlessness to protect it. So that’s the answer I find and it might be different from yours, but it’s in LotR to be read because the story is about the wrestling as much as (if not more than) it is about the end. The road DOES go ever on and on, after all!

So ye das wat lotr was about I fink thanks 4 askin 👍I REALLY hope it makes sense. I also really hope Anon manages to see it after it took so goddamn long to respond 😂

[musings-of-a-rose]

Falling Slowly Chapter 6

Pairing: Tommy Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 4000+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: This chapter will be entirely from Tommy’s pov. It’s also bringing in a Joel story I’ve been dying to write.

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

**Divider made by @benkeibear 

**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Falling Slowly Masterlist

Tommy Miller Masterlist

&lt;<;Chapter 5<<

Tommy rubs his wrists as the officer unlocks his cuffs, gesturing to the phone on the wall. 

"You get one call. 3 minutes."

Tommy nods and picks up the phone, hesitating a moment before dialing his brother's number.

“Hello?”

“Joel, it’s me. Uh, I’m ok.”

“Yeah?”

“But I’m in jail.”

“Goddammit.”

A little offended, Tommy defends himself. “Wasn’t my fault this time. I was at the bar, some guy goes crazy, starts swingin’ at a waitress, I stepped in, knocked him out, cops show up-” The din from the other room gets louder, like people are fighting almost. Look, it doesn’t matter. You gotta bail me out.”

“Now?”

“It’s Friday, you don’t get me out tonight, I’m in here all weekend. It’s a fuckin’ madhouse, Joel. I gotta get out.”

“Well, which jail? Travis County?”

“Yeah, on 10th.”

“Goddammit Tommy.”

“I’m sorry….Please?”

“Ok.” Joel hangs up after that and Tommy stares at the receiver for a moment, hoping that his brother shows up fast.

It's when he waits for Joel that Tommy really sees it. The way people are behaving oddly, just like the man in the bar, lunging at people or twitching. Some of the officers' hands shake as they restrain them, their heads moving from side to side as if trying to clear their minds of a fog. Something is happening, what specifically he can't say. But something is very wrong. All he knows is he has to get Daisy and Jax and get out of town with Joel and Sarah and Rose, if Joel wants that? Maybe to the cabin? Would Joel even believe him? 

Just then an officer opens the cell, his hands shaking and fumbling with the keys, dropping them a couple of times before he jams them into the lock and pulls the door open. Tommy quickly walks past the officer, who's now shaking his head and walks down the hall towards the front desk. He sees Joel standing there, his arms crossed and a hard look on his face. 

"I thought you were done with this shit, Tommy."

"We have to get out of here."

Joel snorts. "No shit. You think I want to spend my night here?"

Tommy looks at his brother, holding his gaze. "No, we have to leave. Somethin' isn't right."

"What-"

Screams and gunfire echo down the hall from where Tommy just was, obvious signs of multiple people fighting. Joel looks at Tommy and nods towards the front door as the desk officer draws her gun and moves down the hallway, her screams cut off by the door closing behind Joel. 

Outside isn't any better. People are running, screaming down the street while other people chase them, pushing them down and…biting their necks? No. Kissing them? No, their lips aren't touching. 

The window from a store front next to Tommy breaks, glass shattering all over the road as a person falls from the store, gashes covering their body as they jerk and twist. Suddenly, their, no, her head jerks up and she looks at them, something long and like tendrils sliding out of her mouth just as an inhuman sound comes from her throat, her body launching at the men.

"Shit!" Tommy yells as he moves from her way, her body crashing to the floor momentarily before popping back up. 

"Move!" Joel yells and Tommy runs after him, heading towards his truck at the end of the street. Joel reaches it first, just as Tommy feels her fingers close around his shirt, pulling him to the ground. She straddles him, leaning her head towards his, the tendrils sliding from her mouth, reaching towards him, trying to pull her mouth closer to his as Tommy slams his mouth shut, desperately trying to shove her off him. 

CLUNK!

A large wrench slams into the side of her head and she flies off Tommy, landing on the sidewalk, her body no longer moving. His chest is heaving as he gasps for air, Joel shoving his hand in his face to help him up. 

"We gotta go!" He tosses the keys to Tommy who hops in, starting up the truck and taking off the second Joel closes his door, another one of those things pounding on the window, tendrils pressing up against it. 

"Take 42nd to Palm and cut through that alley." 

Tommy nods to his brother, his eyes glued to the road where people are running around, trying to avoid getting pounced on. He makes it to the shortcut, his tires screeching down the alley as he heads toward the neighborhood where he and Joel live. 

"We'll grab Sarah first since we're up first."

Tommy nods. "Be quick, Joel. I have to get to Daisy and Jax."

But as they pull up to the dark street, they see Sarah running from the neighbor's house, a look of pure terror on her face. Tommy pulls up and Joel jumps out, his wrench in his hand as an old lady runs from the house Sarah just left, tripping over the stairs.

"Get in the truck!" Joel yells at Sarah as the old lady gets up. She grunts, running at them as Tommy moves from around the truck. 

"What are we doing here Joel?"

Joel tightened his grip and swung, hitting the lady square in the face, her body hitting the ground. 

"You just killed her!" Sarah gasps from behind Joel. He turns to her, kneeling a bit to her level. 

"It's not just here. We have to be strong, ok?" She nods, hopping in the back as they jump in, the truck roaring to life as Tommy speeds off down the road towards his house. 

They pull up and Tommy's stomach jumps to his throat. The front door is wide open, the plants on the front steps knocked over, dirt splattered across the ground. 

"Fuck," Joel whispers under his breath. "Sarah, stay in the car and do not come out. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes." 

Tommy opens his door, fingers trembling as a thousand horrible images cross his mind of what may lay inside the home he and Daisy had created. He tightens his grip on the shotgun he grabbed from his backseat, Joel sliding into a position behind him to cover him as they tentatively step inside. 

The room is a mess. Furniture is upturned, frames dangling on the wall, broken glass scattered across the floor, the lights flickering as the lamp desperately tries to stay lit. But as they step towards the kitchen and the main stairwell, Tommy has to swallow down a wail, panic seeping through his veins and threatening to take over his mind, his body turning cold. 

"Is that…blood?" Joel whispers, coming up beside Tommy, looking down at the dark puddle on the ground. 

Tommy nods, not trusting his own voice as he rounds the corner, his shotgun weighing heavier in his hands. No one is in the kitchen, cups clattered on the floor, some drawers pulled out and silverware scattered across the floor. 

Tommy then turns to the stairs leading to the bedrooms upstairs. Joel claps his hand on his shoulder, his eyebrows raised in a silent question of "You got this?"

Tommy nods, flexing his fingers against the wood of the shotgun and turns his gaze towards the stairs, slowly ascending them and taking a double step so as not to step on the creaky stair he'd promised Daisy he would fix months ago. His throat tightens thinking of her and he prays to whatever is listening that she's ok. That Jax is ok. 

He makes it to the top of the stairs, more things scattered about the floor up here too and turns to Jax's room, his door half open. Toys are scattered about the floor, his lamp over turned and the room nearly pitch black. He swears he hears a small shuffle from the back of his closet and he swallows hard, terrified of what it could mean. He grips the gun tighter, taking a deep breath. 

"Jax? It's Daddy."

There's a moment of silence, Tommy's stomach churning with every second as hope fades from him. But then the closet door bursts open and Jax jumps out, his arms outstretched towards his dad. 

"DADDY!" 

Tommy drops to his knees, quickly setting the shotgun on the floor and opens his arms, Jax throwing his own tiny ones around his neck, little tears streaming down his face as Tommy embraces him, his own tears falling freely.

"I am so glad to see you, little man! Are you ok?" Reluctantly, Tommy disentangles Jax from him and he looks at him. Nothing seems to be off about him other than the fact he was terrified. 

"I ok, daddy."

"I'm so happy to hear that, little man. You were hiding and waiting for us?" 

Jax's eyes go distant as he remembers, nodding his head. "Mommy said to hide and wait for you or Uncle Joel if she not come back."

Tommy's heart races at the mention of Daisy. "Jax, look at me." He turns his face up and looks up at his Dad, fear blowing his pupils wide. "Where's mommy?"

Jax is quiet for several moments before he speaks and Tommy almost misses it with how softly he talks. 

"Mrs. Johnson was being mean to mommy."

Tommy feels himself go cold, blood rushing, heart pumping as fear floods his system. He tries hard to swallow down his fear for Jax. "What, uh, what happened?"

"Mommy woke me up. Said to hide in my best hiding spot. Not to come out until daddy or Uncle Joel or mommy come to get him. That if I do, if I stay really quiet, I win the game. But…" His eyes flick behind Tommy at the door, the door that had been half open when they came upstairs. 

"Jax it's OK. You're safe."

Jax looks back at Tommy, eyes watering with fear. "Someone hit on my door. Mommy saw me hide. Took my..r..Rangers bat. She open the door and Mrs. Johnson…" He glances at the door again before looking down at his feet. "She was doing doggy sounds and chasing mommy. But not like when we play. She tried to bite mommy."

"Did she bite her?"

Jax thinks for a moment. "No."

Tommy lets out a puff of air. That's at least something good. "Where did they go?"

"Mommy ran out the door. She made a lot of noise. Mrs. Johnson chase her. I hear sounds from downstairs but then quiet. Then daddy get me. I win, daddy?"

Tommy pulls Jax in to his chest, hugging him tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Yeah, bud. You win."

Joel clears his throat. "Tommy, we gotta go. We can't stay here."

"I can't leave Daisy. I can't, I-"

"Tommy." Joel speaks in his stern brother voice. "We have to keep the kids safe. Daisy wouldn't want you to risk Jax-"

Anger floods Tommy, heating his face, a rushing sound in his ears as he stands quickly, taking Jax with him. "How the fuck would you know what she wants?"

"Because she's a mom! How pissed would she be if something happened while we were lookin' and waitin' for her?"

He's pissed. So pissed but mostly because his brother is right. Daisy would skin him alive if something happened to Jax while they were looking for her. 

"I… I can't…"

Joel grips his shoulder. "We'll go to the cabin still. It would be a safe place to hunker down. Leave her a note or somethin' but we have to go. Now." 

Tommy nods, succumbing to his brother's order. They all head back downstairs, Tommy grabbing the pad of paper and pen that they always kept near the phone. He quickly scribbled a note to Daisy, telling her they had Jax and were heading to the cabin and to meet there. He ended it with an I love you, taking a shuddering breath as he sets the note on the table, Sarah placing Daisy's backpack next to it, the one she had packed last night in preparation for their weekend trip. While he wrote, Jax had grabbed his own little pack and Joel grabbed any food he could carry from the cabinets, tossing it into some grocery bags that were stored under the sink. 

They all head to the front door, Joel doing a quick scan of the area before they silently move back towards the truck. Tommy takes one last look inside, speaking quietly while saying an internal prayer. 

"Please be ok, Daisy."

The highway is blocked, everyone having the same idea as them. They cut across a field, intending to take a shortcut through town, but then chaos erupts. People pour from a movie theater, yelling, screaming, biting, and then Sarah yelling from the back seat before the sound of a plane crashing, way too close for comfort. And then his world flips, goes dark for a brief moment before Tommy wakes, upside down, the sounds of terror from the street quickly roaring back to life. 

"DADDY!"

Jax's scream wakes him from his stupor, spurring him into action. He quickly undoes his belt, seeing Joel stir next to him. 

"You ok, man?" Tommy asks as he drops to the roof, which is now the floor, with a grunt. 

"M' fine. Sarah!"

"I'm stuck!"

Tommy sees Joel hit the roof and scramble out to get Sarah. Tommy does the same, whipping out his pocket knife and cutting Jax loose from the car seat Sarah had buckled him into when they left. He grabs him before he hits the floor and pulls him from the truck, faintly registering Sarah whimpering as Joel pulls her from the truck, another car slamming into it a moment later. Jax screams and buries his face in Tommy's neck, his little backpack somehow clutched in his tiny fist. 

The truck is on fire and Tommy steps back, quickly grabbing up the shotgun that had slid from the truck when it had flipped. He looks over the hood at Joel, cradling Sarah in his arms but blocked in the alley. 

"Go! Meet up at the river. Get her out of here, Joel!"

Tommy tightens his grip on Jax. "Keep your eyes closed, bud. Hold tight. I've got you."

He runs, his eyes on everyone and everything as they make their way down a few blocks before cutting down a side street. Mercifully, none of the things seem to notice them, too caught up in the chaos of the street and they make it around the edge of buildings and towards the river. But then he sees them, Joel cradling Sarah and pleading with a soldier who has his gun fixed on them. He quietly sets Jax down, who seems to sense the seriousness of the situation, and flattens himself to the ground, just like he does when they play soldiers. 

Tommy raises the shotgun and takes a few steps. But then he hears a shot ring out and sees Joel and Sarah go down, the soldier stomping up to Joel, who's raising his hands, pleading, begging, telling the man they aren't sick. Without hesitation, Tommy clears the last step to put him in a decent range and pulls the trigger, the soldier instantly going down. Joel looks up at him, gratitude on his face. But Tommy doesn't see it. All he sees is Sarah, blood covering her shirt as she gasps on the ground. 

"Oh God."

Joel snaps his head around and sees her, rushing towards his daughter. Tommy feels Jax hold onto his leg as Joel screams to Tommy for help. But what is he going to do? He has no medical training and he doubts the med pack on the soldier would do much-

"MOVE!" 

In her element, Rose comes from nowhere, her shoulder jamming into Joel to move him aside as she expertly moves her hands over Sarah, ripping her shirt open. She confidently gives some orders to Joel, who takes a second to respond. 

"Joel!"

He shakes his head and moves, doing exactly as she says when she says. 

"Tommy! Bring me his med kit," Rose nods towards the fallen soldier.  

In one swift movement, Tommy scoops up Jax and runs as fast as he can to the soldier, patting down his body until he finds the kit, yanking it from his vest. 

"Tommy!"

"Joel, here!" Tommy tosses the kit to him, Joel catches it and rips it open, doing exactly what Rose says, while also trying to keep Sarah calm. But as he watches her work, Tommy knows there's no way she will be able to save Sarah with just a field patch kit. He glances down at the soldier, his walkie dangling from his shoulder and an idea occurs to him. He kneels, picking up the walkie and pressing the button, waiting a moment to talk. 

"Soldier down, over!"

A moment passes before the static sound of someone picking up echoes across the small lot. "What's your position, over?"

"Back by the river. Murkmire street. Over."

"Stand by. We'll be there in 2, over."

There's nothing left to do but watch and pray that Sarah makes it not just for him and Jax, but for Joel. Especially for Joel. Tommy doesn't want to think about what would happen to Joel if Sarah…

"Daddy, is Sarah ok?"

Tommy looks down at Jax tucked into his side, his eyes wide and worried and it breaks his heart how much trauma Jax has had to see in the last few hours. 

"I don't know, bud."

He nods, looking over towards her. "Rose is good doctor. She will help Sarah be better."

"I hope so, little man." 

Tommy keeps an eye on the perimeter as Rose races to keep Sarah alive. After the longest 2 minutes of his life, Tommy sees the army truck pull around the corner, stopping just short of the soldier and Tommy. They jump out, raising their weapons to Tommy, who raises the shotgun in the air before slowly setting it down. 

"Back up!"

Tommy does as he says, keeping his free hand in the air while the soldier moves towards their fallen man. But before he can say anything, Rose’s voice booms across the short distance.

“He’s gone. I couldn’t save him. But she can still be saved if you get us to med.”

The soldiers blink, staring down the several feet towards Rose, whose hand is now buried inside Sarah’s stomach, literally holding her life in her hands. They raise their guns towards them too but Rose just shakes her head. 

“None of us are bit. She was shot. I need you to take me to med so I can save her.”

The soldiers look nervously from one to another before their leader replies. 

“I’ll have to call this in.”

“Can you call it in while we’re en route?”

The soldier thinks for a moment. “How do I know if you’re telling the truth?”

“You can shoot us if we aren’t. But we have to do this now.”

The soldier hesitates for one more moment, glancing down at Sarah, who’s head was starting to loll from side to side as Joel speaks to her, trying to keep her conscious. 

“Alright. Pull the truck around and help her load up. Do as she says when loading, I don’t want blood all over the back.”

“Yes sir!”

Everyone springs into action and before Tommy can even blink, they’re all loaded in the back of the army truck, racing towards the temporary medical camp they had erected at a nearby clinic. They whisk Sarah and Rose away, Joel not allowed to follow his daughter back to the quarantined rooms. Soldiers have to beat him back, but Tommy steps forward, Jax still clutched to his side. 

“I got him! Joel. Joel! Look at me.”  

Joel spins and looks at his brother, his eyes wild as he focuses on him. 

"Hey man. If anyone here can save her, Rose can. But you gotta stay here. Keep out of her way. That's how you can help her. Ok?"

Joel's eyes are hard, but then he nods, crumbling to the floor. Tommy joins him, Joel clinging to his shirt as he cries for his daughter, Jax's little fist twisting into Joel's shirt as he tries to hug his broad shoulders. They stay like that for a while, Joel eventually settling, accepting Jax as he crawls into his lap, hugging onto his neck. Just when Tommy was about to go find some food, the doors open and another doctor walks out and over to them. 

"Millers?"

Joel jumps to his feet and Tommy reaches over to take Jax, who had fallen asleep. 

"Is she ok? Is my daughter…"

"She's alive. Thanks to that doctor she came with. If it wasn't for her, she wouldn't have made it."

Joel lets out a puff of air, silent tears falling down his cheeks. "Can I see her?"

"Yes. Follow me."

They follow the doctor through some doors and then she's there, so small and frail looking on a makeshift stretcher bed, Rose next to her holding her hand while Sarah sleeps. As soon as Joel walks in she stands, motioning to Joel to take her place, which he does, immediately holding Sarah's hand. 

"I'm here, baby girl. I'm here." His eyes are only for Sarah, but he reaches out and grips Rose's arm. "Thank you."

"Of course. We'll talk later. For now, let her rest. And you get rest too, ok? Doctor's orders." She kisses the top of his head and gives his hand a small squeeze before walking towards the door. 

"Are you guys ok? Where's Daisy?" 

Tommy can feel his face harden. "She's not with us. I'm not sure where she is."

Rose nods. "I'm sure we'll find her. There's no way she would let anything keep her from you guys."

"Thanks, Rose."

3 weeks. 3 weeks have gone by since the world went to shit and the last time he'd seen her. The love of his life, the mother of his son.

Daisy. 

Sarah was healing fast and well, even able to walk around the clinic several times before needing a break. She was eating and it was apparent that her wound was not going to affect her eating. 

But Tommy, while ecstatic for his niece, was more than antsy. He was sick in his stomach at the thought of Daisy being out there alone. He couldn't think about the alternative, so he focused on that, convinced she had gone to the cabin like they'd said to do in the note. 

"I have to go find her, Joel."

Joel looks up from where he sits. "You just gonna walk the 150 or so miles?"

"If I have to."

"You have a responsibility here. To Jax. To us-"

"I made a vow to her, Joel! She's my wife. I need to find her!"

Joel stands facing his brother. "I know, Tommy. But you have a job here. You have to protect him."

"But-"

"I promise, as soon as we can, we will all go to the cabin to find her. Ok?" 

Tommy didn't fully believe his brother, not when there were whispers of a quarantine zone, and towns being erected by FEDRA that were supposed to be safe. He can't imagine Joel would give up safety for Sarah for his wife. But he was right - if anything happened to Jax, Daisy would straight up murder him.

A few days later, Rose quietly comes into the room to check on Sarah, closing the door behind her, which she rarely does. She leans over Sarah, who happened to be napping with Jax snuggled up next to her. Joel immediately moves to her side, his eyes glued to Rose. 

“I think we need to leave here.” She says it so quietly, Tommy almost thinks he heard her wrong, moving closer to hear her better. 

“Leave? Why?” Joel whispers back.

She glances towards the door and back at Joel. “I’ve heard…rumors. Quarantine zones-”

“Yeah, we have too,” Tommy cuts in. Joel glares at him, silently telling him to shut up.

“Yes, but I hear that once we’re all vetted, we won’t be able to leave.”

“What?” Tommy says out loud, Joel immediately shushing him.

Rose looks from Joel to Tommy and back. “Being locked in somewhere doesn’t sound good. Not with FEDRA running the place.”

“But wouldn’t it be safe for us? For the kids?” Joel asks, his eyebrows pulling up.

Rose is quiet for a moment. “I want to say yes, but really, I don’t know. FEDRA is already controlling this place, rationing out meager supplies and I know they pocket things for themselves. They’re scrambling and I don’t want an organization in panic mode to tell me what to do.”

Joel looks down at Sarah and Jax, still peacefully sleeping on the bed. He sighs, pushing some hair from Sarah’s face before looking back at Rose.

“So we have to leave.”

It takes them the rest of the week, but Joel and Tommy secure a car, big enough for them and some supplies. It should have enough gas to make it to the cabin, as Tommy and Joel went around siphoning gas from the surrounding cars to add to theirs. They carefully covered it with matching debris to hide it, crouching down and sneaking back under the fence to get more supplies that Rose had been tucking away all week. Medical supplies are already hard to come by and who knows what will be out there? 

Under cover of night, just after a month after the outbreak happened, Tommy, Jax, Joel, Sarah, and Rose sneak out through the hole in the fence and make their way to the stashed car, grateful that nothing bothered them en route. Mercifully, they make it out of the area mostly unscathed, only having to run over a few runners on the way out. Once they get around the parked city traffic and onto the back roads, it becomes smoother sailing, probably due to the lack of people. 

The closer they get to the cabin, the more nervous Tommy becomes. What if Daisy isn’t there? Would he really be able to leave Jax behind and go search for her? What if he never came back? Could he really live without Daisy? He gently pats the top of Jax’s head, which is currently in his lap, Sarah leaning on his shoulder completely passed out. 

The sun starts to rise when they pull down the hidden drive to the cabin, Tommy sitting up a little straighter, shifting Sarah to lean against her window and Jax against her. His eyes scan the ground for tire marks, but of course, there are none. Either Daisy was smart and covered them or the elements did. They turn a corner and the cabin comes into view, the shutters still on all of the windows, looking exactly as it had when they were here last. Tommy swallows hard, his heart is racing and he feels like he’s going to vomit, almost like he can feel hope leaving him. Joel parks the car and Tommy gets out, grabbing his gun and closing the door behind him. 

“I’ll check it out. You guys keep the kids safe. Anythin’ happens, just leave me. I’ll find you.” 

“Tommy-”

But Tommy doesn’t hear him. He doesn’t hear anything over the rush in his head, tears threatening to spill from his eyes as he sees her emerge from the house, the love of his life. 

Daisy.

>>Chapter 7>>

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[riversidewings]

Folks, there will be no new #FridayNightHistory today because of this week's now thankfully prior emergency. However, this is a post to intro the start of a modular, longform project which will become my first history book for the general public: A history of Miyagi Prefecture in the Occupation.

I recently read an account of Sendai in the early days of the US occupation of Japan, written by a paratrooper who served there. This got me curious, so I dug a bit in terms of books and online resources.

And to my knowledge, there doesn't seem to be a comprehensive history of Miyagi during the Occupation in English written by someone who knows Miyagi like a local or even like a scholar.

I want to change that.

My resources are limited. I can do this much thanks to the benefit of my patrons, but I'm still too absorbed in seeking out other opportunities to earn dribs and drabs of extra cash to have the time to devote to focused, in-depth, specific work on just one project.

And I have ADHD.

So what I'm going to do is modular. I'm going to start from writing a history of the dozen or so US bases in Miyagi, or rather the land they stood on (many still do, but they're now JASDF and JGSDF bases), each split into 2 sections (early history-1945, 1945-present).

4000-4500 words per section, 2 sections per base, dozen or so bases, is going to result in a lot of words when I come out the other end.

It will also mean that when I get there, I'll be able to do the big picture, thousand-foot-up view more easily, which ties these together into a book.

The picture that I hope to convey is of Miyagi as an edge of empire across a millennium, and of the US occupation as just one chapter in a very, very long story.

(In fact, in one place, the US set up a base where the Yamato court first established their local outpost in the 8th century CE!)

This is not a text for academics. The academic establishment (and its publication arms) and I are not on speaking terms. This is a text for the general public, written with the rigor I was taught as an academic historian.

Why am I writing this? Because Americans have had their say about this from the POV of the American uniformed experience, but the land and its people have a voice that I want to fit into the picture for anglophones to read and hopefully understand.

I am also writing it because it bothered me, reading this writing by Americans, which either doesn't really absorb the places or their histories or significance, or actively erases them and renames them with American names.

And finally, I am writing it because of those many years I got told by comfortably tenured bastards that Miyagi and the Tohoku region didn't matter.

Ono no Azumabito and General MacArthur disagree with you.

To support this project, please check out my current set of books on the Throne wishlist: throne.com/riversidewings, or send me a tip via ko-fi.com/riversidewings, or subscribe to my Patreon to support my continued work on this and much else:

Thank you one and all.

Now, back to work.

[eloquent-vowel]

I have had a few bucky x read fic ideas bouncing around in my head and i cant write! So here is one,

Sam find a person who stairs and doesnt talk a whole lot because they uses ✨telepathy ✨. So Sam think they would be a good fit for Bucky, but he doesn’t know they have that power he just thinks they are mute. Then there is a thing where the reader is telling Buck how it works and they if they have something to connect them together like an object *reader motions to dog tags* they can have an unbreakable mind link. Then they fall in love or something. This is dumb, thank you for coming to my TedTalk

Hey! Thank you so much for this request, it wasn't dumb at all. I really enjoyed writing this. I may have gotten a bit carried away, this may sit close to 4000 words but we vibe. I hope this is what you had in mind! Please enjoy! <3

Click here for my masterlist of other fics and check in my bio for requests if anyone wishes to ask!

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

Bucky had been enjoying a moments peace, he loved working with Sam but sometimes all he wanted was to put his feet up, put on some vinyl and enjoy a good cup of coffee all while reading a brilliant book. He had been trying to get into Game of Thrones lately, on Sam’s insistence, and he had been enjoying it. With the crackles of Glenn Miller from the turntable he missed the clunky footsteps coming up the stairs.

The sight that greeted Sam needed to be photographed. Bucky was lounging back on his ‘old man armchair’ feet up, hair in a towel, in a bathrobe, coffee in hand and facemask on, this was definitely one for the family album.

At the sound of the phone shutter Bucky practically launched himself out of the chair.

“Oh, you are never gonna live this one down old boy, it’s going to haunt you.” Sam almost cackled evilly as he began to email the photo to himself- he had learnt the hard way that Bucky was very proficient at breaking phones.

“You better not upload that photo anywhere, Wilson, I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Pfft, reputation, that’s funny.”

Bucky scoffed as he stood up, placing his book carefully on the side table, “Big scary super soldier, people hardly run-in fear from a guy in a bathrobe.”

“I disagree, a man in a bathrobe is definitely something you should run from. AH NOPE!” Sam jumped backwards, on top of a nearby chair, as Bucky lunged for the phone, towel turban falling off in the process. “You are not breaking this phone as well.”

“Fine. But you gotta promise not to post that anywhere.” Bucky huffed.

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

“As long as- “

“Oh no, I’m not doing anything for you.”

“Think of it as payment for the last phone you broke and insurance for this picture.”

There was silence for a moment as the two friends eyed each other up. Sam raised his eyebrows, Bucky’s eyes narrowed. It was an intense staring match between a guy in a bathrobe and a precariously balanced man. A clock ticked.

“Fine.” Bucky conceded. “What do you want?”

“For you to come to a meeting.”

“The families of Veterans ones?”

“Yeah.” Sam slowly started climbing down from the chair. “And before you get your old man pants in a twist, I’m not trying to force you to talk or anything, kinda.”

“Kinda?” Suspicion laced through Bucky’s voice.

“You know sign language, right?”

“Which kind?”

“American? I think?”

“Yeah, I know ASL, might be a bit rusty but I’m sure it still holds up. Why do you ask?”

Sam shifted slightly on his feet, “There’s this person, they come in every week and listen. I tried to talk to them, but they communicate through sign language, and I don’t have anyone there to talk with them.” He cast his eyes to the floor, “I feel bad. They were brave enough to come to the group only to basically be ignored ‘because we didn’t plan well enough.”

Bucky smiled, face mask crinkling around his smile lines, “You could have just asked me to Sam. You didn’t have to blackmail me into this, of course I’ll help. When’s the next meeting?”

“This evening. You gonna be ready or do you need some more ‘me’ time.”

Bucky simply chuckled at Sam’s teasing tone, patted his shoulder making sure to squeeze just a bit too hard before retreating to his room.

“I’ll be there, Wilson, and I will look so much younger than you!”

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

It was frustrating to you, going along to these meetings and not being able to communicate. You could always speak into someone’s mind but all that usually accomplished was a very paranoid person. But just listening to other’s stories really helped the grief from losing someone so close to you. You related to most of the people there and even though they didn’t understand you a lot of the time, you were always made to feel welcome- with friendly pats on the back and the odd tissue thrown your way.

You bustled into the familiar building with a new sense of excitement as Sam had promised to bring a translator for you this week. It was finally time to say your thanks to some of the people there and finally let the group know about your brother, so that it wasn’t only you that remembered him.

You all but ran through the hallways until you caught sight of a familiar smiling man. Sam was facing you, talking animatedly to another man, the strangers back was to you. He was tall, broad shouldered and dressed in a vintage looking leather jacket and rather well fitted trousers. Now the debate was: does the tailoring make the ass, or does the ass make the tailoring. You were halfway through the arguments on either side when Sam shouting your name disrupted the intense debating in your mind. You blushed at being caught, then blushed some more when you caught sight of the stranger’s face. Twinkling blue eyes under a deep-set brow should have made him intimidating, but he was smiling, and his face was dazzling. There was an immediate fluttering in your stomach.

“Hey, I’m Bucky.” Dear lord even his voice was nice, what made you smile even more was the fact that he signed as he spoke. Well, Sam certainly knew how to pick them well. “Sam introduced me; said you wanted an interpreter.”

You nodded as you signed back, “Nice to meet you, thank you for helping out.”

“No problem, Sam has told me a bit about you.”

“Good things I hope.”

“Okay I recognise my own name, you two better not be conspiring against me.” Sam piped up, to be honest you had forgotten about him for a moment.

Bucky laughed, and it sent a little thrill down you, he really was adorable.

“No worries, Wilson, just letting them know all your dirty little secrets.”

“Right, you two get in there, before you make me sleep with one eye open.”

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

You and Bucky caught each other’s eye, his eyes were twinkling with mischief, and you couldn’t help the smile that overtook you. You had a feeling that the two of you would get on just fine.

The meeting passed easily. Bucky translated your signs and you finally felt like you could actually take part in these meetings. Everyone listened intently when you spoke of your brother and when you had thanked the whole group for being so open to you a couple of people shed a tear. By the end of the meeting though you were tired and very accepting of Bucky’s offer to walk you home.

It was a lot of side glances and hidden smiles and you walked side by side. Drawn to each other under the moonlit sky, it was nice to just be in the presence of someone who had such a kind aura. You spent the walk trying to work up the confidence to sign something, anything but nothing came to mind and Bucky seemed quite content to just walk in comfortable silence.

You soon reached your home, you turned to Bucky with a smile on your face and signed,

“Thanks for today, Bucky. You were really helpful.”

“No problem.” He signed back,

You hesitated slightly before signing, “Would you be happy to have a coffee with me, tomorrow?”

Bucky went a little red in the face, and chuckled, “I would love to, I know a nice place, real cosy. I’ll text you the details.”

“You know how to text?”

“Hey! I get enough stick from Sam, don’t need you getting on my case too. I’ll have you know that I am very adaptable.”

“Sure, Sure.” You smiled at his flustered tone. “I’ll wait for your text then, have a good evening.”

“You too.”

The two of you stared slightly awkwardly at each other, neither wanting to be the first to turn around. You shuffled your feet away slowing, smiling awkwardly once more at Bucky before turning. You heard his footsteps start to fade away as you walked towards your home. You were but three steps to the door when a large figure in a hoodie slammed into you, you raised your arms instinctively to block them when you noticed your shoulder was lighter. The bastard had stolen your bag.

You immediately took chase, chasing around the corner you just walked down but they were fast, faster then you at least. As you rounded the corner you caught sight of Bucky walking ahead. The thief wouldn’t stand a change against him. Without a second thought you cast your thoughts towards Bucky,

“Bucky! Thief! My Bag! Behind you!”

You saw Bucky flinch slightly then turn bewildered, his eyes widening when he saw you hurting towards him, chasing the hooded figure. He caught on and launched after the thief as well, with barely any effort he knocked the thief to the ground, grabbed your bag and whipped out his phone to call the cops.

Well, that was hot.

You took your bag back, immediately checking that you brother’s lucky coin was in the zippy pocket, to your relief it was still there. You looked up to see Bucky staring at you with a very puzzled look on his face. You sighed before casting your thoughts to his head once more,

“I’ll explain later.”

Bucky let out a strange, decompressed noise of shock, it made you giggle. The two of you waited in silence until the police came and took the thief away. The police car had barely driven away when he turned to you.

“Did you just, talk in my head? Or did my conscious just suddenly get really loud.”

“I did. Hi. Sorry about that.”

He waved his hands dismissively. “Believe it or not, not the weirdest thing I’ve encountered.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.”

There was an awkward silence.

“So,” You started, resorting back to sign language, it felt less invasive, “Still down for coffee?”

Bucky smiled, “One hundred percent. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Bye Bucky. Thanks for getting my bag back.”

“No problem, see ya.”

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

The coffee shop that Bucky invited you to, was tucked away, it was the kind of place that you would stumble over on accident. With a simple door and a big window out the front, that lead soft orange light filter out onto the alley. There was the faint sound of jazz leaking out of the building, you smirked. It was such an old fashioned place, of course this was where Bucky frequented.

The bell tinkled slightly as you entered the café, where you were greeted with the smell of fresh coffee and baked goods. You caught sight of Bucky’s broad shoulders sitting in the corner, and you made your way over to him, smiling at the barista as you passed.

As if sensing you, Bucky turned to smile and wave. He was dressed in casual clothes like last time, but this time his hair was loose around his shoulders. You smiled back before settling into the seat opposite him.

His hands moved hesitantly as he signed, “What would you like? I can recommend their hot chocolate, its very warming/”

“Hot chocolate it is.”

You could tell he wanted to ask you a million questions but to his credit he walked slowly to get the drinks, he even took his time carefully carrying the tray of drinks back to your table. He placed a delicious looking hot chocolate in front of you. You watched as he took a sip.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1-

“So,” Here we go, “What is it you can do, you can speak in peoples’ heads, can you,” He lowered his voice and leaned in, “Can you read people’s minds?”

You giggled slightly, his eyes were basically sparkling, he was definitely nerding out about this.

You set the hot chocolate down before casting your thoughts to his head, “I can speak in peoples heads relatively easily, it’s how I talk most of the time to people I know. I guess you could call it Telepathy.”

Bucky’s eyes were as wide as saucers, “So you can’t read thoughts, only… speak them?”

“I like to call it casting, makes me feel like a sorcerer. I can read thoughts, but it takes a lot of energy. I used to be able to talk with my brother from across the house. That usually requires some kind of connection.”

“Oh, so like a blood or family connection? Do you have to know the person very well?”

“That certainly helps but it’s not always necessary. If I have a personal object that belongs to that person, something I can hold and connect to them it isn’t hard to make a two-way connection. Especially if that person is willing to open their mind.”

Bucky seemed to be caught in thought for a second. “So, if I were to give you something of mine, we could both talk in our… heads?”

“Well yes, but Bucky we have only just met. Letting me into your head is a lot. I try not to pry but sometimes I’ve found that thoughts just burst through. Let’s get to know each other a before that happens.”

Bucky smiled at you before speaking and signing, “You’re right. Let’s get to know one another. I find you fascinating.”

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

It happened on the fifth date. Bucky was just walking you home after a lovely dinner at a small Italian that he claimed he went to back in the 40s. Just outside your door, under the glow of a lamppost he turned to you and took a deep breath before speaking.

“I know this may be a lot, but I wanted to give you these.” He reached around his neck and pulled off something silver. You gasped slightly as he held out his dog tags, immaculately preserved after all these years.

“Are you sure, Bucky? This is a lot.”

“I know and if you aren’t comfortable with it then just let me know but I want to give them to you.”

“You know what this means Bucky?”

“Yeah, I know, I just figured that you’re already in my head all the time anyways, just can’t seem to get you out of it.”

“You cheeseball.” You smirked at him before taking the dog tags and placing them around your neck. You gripped the cold metal for a moment, concentrating on the man in front of you. Taking everything, you knew about him and stretching out a connection, like a hand reaching out to clasp another.

“Testing, Testing, Testing, one two, one two, can my Telepathic partner hear me?”

You laughed, “Yes I can Bucky, you big dork.”

Bucky whooped out loud before sweeping you up in a big hug. The two of you laughing under the lamp light. His joy was infectious, and you couldn’t fight the smile off your face.

“Oh, we are going to have so much fun messing with Sam.”

“You’re evil.”

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

Of course, the two of you made a pact not to tell Sam until he worked it out, which wouldn’t be anytime soon according to Bucky. It led to some very memorable moments and Sam refusing to play any form of card or board game with either of you because you always managed to win, somehow. Not to mention all the times you had spoken in eery unison around him.

“I swear, its like you two can read each other’s minds sometimes.” Sam threw his hands up in frustration at another lost game of charades.

You smirked at Bucky across the room, “Should you tell him, or shall I?”

“I think he’s been through enough, I got it.”

Bucky cleared his throat, “We can.”

Sam whipped around to face Bucky, a look of sheer disbelief on his face, “Seriously Bucky-boy, if you think I believe that after all-

“Hello Sam.” You cast your thoughts to him, in the creepiest old lady voice you could muster.

Sam yelped, before turning accusingly at you, “You better be joking around with me right now, I am not dealing with any kind of ghosts in this house.”

“Sorry! Surprise I’m telepathic!”

“You’re serious.”

You nodded.

Sam put his head in his hands and sighed, “Not the weirdest thing ever. Wait, does this mean you have been cheating this entire time.”

You both looked guiltily at one another.

“You owe me. That poker night, void.”

You both laughed, “We’ll have a fair rematch this time Sam.”

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

It had been close to a year since you had made it official with Bucky and you were now much more comfortable around one another. He no longer just dropped you off at the lamppost but cam inside with you. You had spent many lovely mornings together sharing glances over steaming cups of coffee. Fighting each other for who got to spread their legs out on the couch, there wasn’t really a loser though as it usually ended up in sofa cuddles for both of you, while watching a film.

Life was pretty great, you thought, as you smiled down at the sleeping Bucky beside you. Finally reaching over to turn off the lamp and put your book down, you were finally reading the hobbit at Bucky’s insistence. As you clicked off the light beside you and settled down you noticed the faster than usual breathing coming from beside you.

“Bucky?”

You reached out, thinking he was awake but instead as you opened up your connection you caught flashes of night terrors. You were falling indefinitely, snow all around you, and in the distance, there were cries of pain, people pleading for their lives, there was gunfire and explosions. You gasped and took off the dog tags. You only gave yourself a moment to breathe before trying to shake Bucky awake. When it became clear that he wasn’t stirring you steadied yourself and settled your hands on his temples. You didn’t care you tired this would make you, you just wanted Bucky to stop suffering. You focused, offering out that hand of connection again, this time picturing it in the shape of a fist and, although it wasn’t subtle, you tried to shake Bucky’s brain awake. You forced your way into his dreams, punching through the dark fog that clouded his thoughts and almost screamed at him.

“Bucky! Bucky wake up! You’re dreaming my dear!”

Bucky woke up with a start. Tears flowing down his face, he stared at you blue eyes shining. No one spoke as he pulled you into his arms. You just breathed together for a moment, counting the breaths and the spaces in between. When he finally pulled back, you saw his eyes flicker with concern before lifting a hand to gently wipe under your nose, it came back red with blood.

“You, okay?”

You smiled sadly, reaching out to put the dog tags back on.

“I should be asking you that.”

“But you’re bleeding.”

“Occupational hazard.” You tried to subtly get rid of any of the extra blood. “That was pretty intense. Wanna talk?”

Bucky looked down to the sheets and shook his head. You smiled at him, tilting his head to yours.

“That’s fine, want me to go? Or would you like to cuddle for a bit?”

Bucky didn’t talk again, just pulled you gently down to the bed once more. Snuggling himself under your chin, resting his head on your chest. You felt his arms draw tightly against your waist. You pressed your lips into his hair.

“May I help you go to sleep? Keep the bad thoughts at bay for at least one night.”

You felt Bucky nod and let out a little sleepy hum of agreement. You closed your eyes, focused on your connection setting up a golden wall against the dark fog at the corners of his mind and settled into a deep sleep.

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

You woke to the smell of fresh coffee and the clinking of cups.

“Morning.” You opened your eyes at Bucky’s voice and took the offered cup greedily. Your mind still felt hazy from the energy you used last night.

You felt the bed dip beside you as Bucky sat and sipped at his cup as well, hair a bit of a mess from bed. He had evidently only just woken up as well.

He took a breath, “I had some pretty interesting dreams, sweetheart.”

You stiffened, “Good ones I hope.”

“Don’t worry, they were good. If a little strange.”

“Strange?”

“I was watching myself most of the time.”

You snorted into the coffee, “Sounds creepy”

There was a slight chuckle, “Nah, I was watching myself build a home, a family- “

“Oh God Bucky.” You snapped your eyes to his, you knew what had happened. “I am so sorry my dreams must have stuck in your head.”

“Those were your dreams?”

“Yeah, its only happened once before but when the connection between two people is very strong, it can happen- I call it bleeding. Perhaps we should- “

“If the next words out of your mouth are take a break, I will spill your coffee.” You clutched your cup closer to your chest, “Truthfully, those were some of the beset dreams I have every had. I really loved them.”

You looked back up at him, hesitantly “You did?”

“And I love you.”

“Huh

There was silence as you stared at him in shock. His face as nothing but adoration as the sunlight filtered over his face.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too.”

Coffee cups were cast aside as you both collided. Giggling and joking, radiating happiness as the two of you shared the sweetest kiss. Your feelings merging together, amplifying one another until they shone brighter than the sun.

[margarethx]

Looking for a fic :>

I don’t usually ask for this, because I like the detective work of looking for a lost fic and the satisfaction of finding it myself... but the details I remembert about this one didn’t really help, so I’ll just post them here and hope someone might know what I’m talking about.

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

What I know for sure:

1. It was a Sambucky story (obviously).

2. The main part of the plot revolved around the fact that Sam’s dad has just died. It affected Sam in a very negative way (he resigned from some sports team, became withdrawn etc.) and Bucky got closer to him while trying to help with the loss. They weren’t friends before the event.

3. It’s also a High School AU. I’m not sure if it was tagged this way, but the characters were just regular teenagers with no powers, who went to some school.

What I vaguely remember:

1. It was a longer story. Not very long, but it most likely wasn’t below 4000 or even 6000 words.

2. Bucky visited Sam’s home a couple times and they spent some time in Sam’s bedroom talking or trying to convice Sam to eat.

3. Sam was a popular person, but people stopped talking to him as much after he lost his dad and became depressed. I think he was also closer friends with Steve throughout the whole story, but I’m not sure.

4. Steve was definitely there. Probably pre-serum version. It’s also possible that he lived with Bucky and one of their moms.

5. I remember a scene related to Christmas with a gift exchange, but the story was set in other months too. The plot might have shown the entire school-year before graduation.

6. I’ve read it at least a year ago, so anything published post September 2021 could probably be excluded. It might even be pre-TFATWS, but I’m not too certain.

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

If anyone remembers this story or wants to spend some time looking for it, I’d really appreciate it :D I don’t really remember if it was a very good fic, but it stuck with me and I keep thining about it, so it’d be nice to read it again. (Which probably means it was that good.)

[cloudenthusiast2]

To be a human - Scaramouche x reader - Part 7 (Final)

You knew committing to a relationship with Scaramouche would be no easy task but you loved him dearly and unlike others, you believed he wasn't evil. But as a mortal and the devoted protector of your village you were too much of a good person, too much of a human compared to him and your differences slowly start to show.

Previous: Part 6

Length: 4000 words

Trigger warnings: blood, mentions of loss

A. note: Scaramouche is my favourite character in the game and I really love him. But I couldn't help and feel awful when he said those words in Inazuma. Look, I don't think that Mihoyo is gonna let the huge opportunity slip and not make him playable (for which we need to have at least a tiny bit of friendship with him and well, right now mc straight up hates him) but in case that does happen, in case he doesn't get a redemption arc, I made one myself. I wrote this to redeem him in my own, and hopefully your eyes as well. I hope you enjoyed reading this story of that little bastard as much as I enjoyed writing it.

It was fair to say that Scaramouche was stunned by the sight of the local people.

Certainly not because he suddenly grew fond of them. It was rather because the way they appeared out of blue when little Yu gave them a sign. She let out three short whistles and the forest came to life in front of the harbinger.

Old men and woman, little children and whole families walked towards them. It was clear even for Scaramouche that they looked uneasy and hostile. They surely wouldn’t have appeared in front of the fatui if it wasn’t for Yu.

The sixth harbinger was astonished.

Because they would trust someone, especially a child so much.

Because there were so many of them.

He counted the people walking towards Yu. Way more than he’d thought there would be.

These people were injured, dirty and exhausted. But they were alive. And all because of one person.

‘Impressive’ he thought to himself.

Yu talked to them, explaining why the fatui was there and promising that they’re not in danger any more. The people seemed less at ease in his presence now but the harbinger still felt the piercing gazes. If looks could’ve killed he would have been dead in an instant.

He knew they all blamed him for the things that had happened. Maybe they even thought he was the one who made the abbys attack their village.

But Scaramouche got used to these types of glances during the years and he did not care about them any more. All that mattered was that they were able to help.

He stood behind little Yu who was still clinging onto her doll. Scaramouche stared at the bloodstains on the toy as she asked the people of Qingce to help find you.

The thought to promise them money crossed his mind but the instantly threw it away. He just somehow felt that it would be very wrong.

These people won’t help him because he can pay them. They won’t help because Yu asked them to either. They will help because you had been guarding them for years.

Mentioning your name caused them to stir up, to get loud and the all of a sudden the whole crowd was ready to go and search in the mountains.

It was obvious how much they loved and respected you. Maybe even more than Scaramouche used to, he realized.

Yu turned to him and nodded.

‘I think we can go now.’

‘How are you going to search everything?’ the harbinger asked as he crouched down to the child. It wasn’t needed since he wasn’t much taller than her but it felt like the right thing to do.

Yu’s eyes wandered to the hat. She reached out and gently touched it.

Scaramouche normally would’ve ended the person who messed with his hat but when the child did it, he somehow felt no urge to do so.

‘It’s because so many people are watching’ he explained to himself. But it still felt a bit weird not being annoyed.

He cleared his throat so Yu would focus on him again.

‘We know this place well’ she answered, letting her arms fall back to her side. ‘We will split up and warn each other if we find something.’

‘My people are out too.’

‘Then call them back.’

The harbinger glared at the child. She really was fearless, wasn’t she, huh. First touching his hat and now disrespecting the fatui.

‘You know…’ he crossed his brows as he began to speak but Yu quickly cut him off.

‘Everyone is afraid of them. And they’ll just be in the way. They don’t know the mountains, do they?’

Scaramouche clenched his teeth together. But he had to admit that the girl was right.

He stood up and walked towards the agents standing by a nearby bridge. They were there since the people appeared to make sure they don’t try to do anything to their harbinger.

He gestured to bring them closer then stood and crossed his arms.

‘First, I want to know how a big group of fatui agents were unable to find anyone when there was a whole village hiding in the forest’ he questioned them with a glare.

The agents were bowing already but now they bowed even deeper.

‘F-forgive us, our lord!’ a pyro agent answered. ‘They’re locals and we…’

‘Spare your apologies, I don’t care.’

Scaramouche closed his eyes for a moment and let out a sigh. He really didn’t care, he only snapped at them to let out a little frustration.

‘Call back everyone from the mountains. And let these people do what they want. Anyone who disturbs them in any way shall be punished.’

‘But my lord…’

‘Do as I say!’

Scaramouche turned his back to them and the agents hurried away. He watched as the people of Qingce split up and began their search in the forest, around the destroyed village.

He looked up to the mountains. Clouds hid the most of them, they were so huge, so high. And there were so many places you could be.

Was is it even possible that you were alive?

Scaramouche never lied to himself and this was the first time he wanted to. He simply just didn’t want to accept the small chances of finding you. He wanted to feel hope.

‘You better be alive, Y/n’ he muttered to himself. ‘For your own sake.’

For his sake.

*

‘Have you taken a look around in that cave too?’

‘I haven’t but I can go if…’

‘Stay.’

Scaramouche climbed to the cave and looked into the hole. It was smaller than it seemed from below and inside it there was absolutely nothing.

He quietly let himself down. He jumped on a bigger stone on the path under him, the bells violently jingling on his hat.

Little Yu asked nothing. It was obvious from the harbinger’s expression that he found nothing.

The air began to feel a little chilly in the mountains. The sun was getting ready to go down and let the moon take its place.

They’ve spent their whole day with searching. They’ve found absolutely nothing so far.

There were a lot of traces left behind the abbys order and the monsters. It was also clear that the fight continued outside of the village as well. Corpses of dead monsters bordered the narrow paths.

But your body was nowhere to be find.

Scaramouche looked up to the sky. The first star had already appeared. And with that, their last piece of hope started to slip away.

‘We haven’t looked there yet.’

The harbinger snapped out of his dark thoughts and glanced at the child in front of him. She pointed at a smaller mountain nearby.

‘That’s very far away from the village’ Scaramouche claimed. ‘We’d be just wasting our time.’

‘Then where do you want me to go?’ Yu asked.

The man let out a sigh. She was right, they’ve already looked through every bush and searched every rock on this mountain.

He started walking towards the other one without saying anything, and Yu silently followed him.

In the valley below them, lots of figures were moving and changing places. The locals still haven’t given up even though it was getting colder and darker with every passing moment.

A red dot appeared. Then another. They started lighting torches.

Scaramouche felt like choking. He touched his throat and fastened his steps.

He tried to banish the horrifying thoughts from his head but his desperate tries were unsuccessful.

You’re dead. They’re only going to find a cold body and not you. You’re dead and it is his fault.

He shook his head to quiet the voices and to get back into focusing on his search.

This made him realize that he hadn’t seen little Yu in a while. Scaramouche stopped and turned his head to check on the girl.

She was behind him a few meters away. Her movements were too slow to keep up with the harbinger’s.

‘Are you coming or not?’ The man growled at her. ‘Hurry up.’

‘Sorry…’ She was out of breath, quietly panting. ‘You can leave me behind. I know I’m just slowing you down.’

Scaramouche rose his brows at the young child who was not even tall enough to reach the ground from a bigger rock. Was she really that aware? What should he do now? Just leave her here? He was willing to do that, to be honest. The sun was about to completely disappear.

Yu grabbed the side of the rock. She let her feet down, trying to get down safely but she was too tired – the little girl stumbled and fell.

Scaramouche didn’t even realize he was reaching out – but a moment later he found himself holding the child in his own arms.

They stared at each other, the sixth Fatui Harbinger and the kid from Liyue. It was impossible to tell who was more surprised, the one holding or the one being held.

But it was the man who found his voice first.

‘Don’t think I’m gonna carry you like this to the other mountain.’

‘I didn’t think that’ she answered quietly.

Scaramouche cleared his throat and opened his lips. But before any other words could’ve come out of his mouth, a sharp whistle cut through the air.

They both jerked their heads up.

The sound was coming from below, south to the village.

The whistle was repeated – two short, two long ones.

‘They’ve found her’ Yu said.

*

Scaramouche had no memories of how he got down from the top of the mountain.

All he remembered was the crazy pace of his heartbeat. The darkness invading his head. That terrific feeling clenching his heart, incredible, deep fear he’s never experienced before.

There were many people standing in his way in front of a big cave. He pushed them away as he rushed to get closer.

It was dark. Everyone stood with a torch in their hands. He heard the whispers but the words were incomprehensiblenext to the loud beating of his own heart. There were figures but they were blurry, everything was blurry…

Until he saw you.

You were laying on the ground. Your body completely still, your chest not rising nor sinking. Your clothes torn, bloody.

There was so much blood.

He stumbled and fell on his knees in front of you. A local turned to him and spoke but he understood nothing. His hand was shaking as he reached out to touch you.

You were… cold.

He forgot how to breathe and just stared down at your body. Your messy hair hid your face and that just didn’t feel right.

Why was this happening?!

Everything was supposed to become alright after they’ve found you!

How dare you be dead, how dare you not wake up to his touch, to his wishes, to all wishes around you…!

‘Balladeer!’

He snapped out of the blurriness when someone grabbed his arm. An old lady with a serious look tried to pull him back.

‘Let go of me!’ he hissed, pushing her away. He groaned when the grip became stronger instead on his arm. Pain in his heart and body blinded him as he shouted. ‘I said, let go of me or else…’

‘Please stay out of the way of my people’ the lady asked in a calm tone. ‘She needs serious help.’

‘What help can you provide when she’s dead?!’ he screamed at her in a hoarse voice. ‘You stay away from her!’

‘Please calm down. Y/n is not dead… yet.’

Scaramouche slowly closed his eyes. The words echoed in his head.

She’s not dead. She’s not dead. She’s not dead. Yet.

He took a deep, shaking breath. The cold air in his lungs cooled him off a little.

You were alive. But also, only barely. He finally understood what that meant. But he couldn’t let himself feel any relief nor fear…

He was a harbinger, he was part of the Fatui under the rule of the almighty Tsaritsa. He was Scaramouche, the Balladeer who simply could not allow himself to show any vulnerability in front of mere mortals.

Even if it was about you.

Even if he wasn’t the same person any more.

‘Bring a healer’ he said in a lower tone.

‘We don’t have any vision bearers among us’ the lady answered. ‘But we’ll do everything to keep her alive.’

Scaramouche nodded and stood up. It took a lot of strength to tear his eyes from you but he forced himself to do it and turned around.

‘Alert my people and tell them to give you all that you need’ he told the locals as he fixed his hat. ‘Tents, medicine, food, everything.’

The people stood there in silence for a few seconds, not knowing whether to obey him. They only moved when the old lady from before thanked him. Then they finally set off towards the village.

Scaramouche wanted to turn back and take a glance at you one more time to make sure you’re really there and not just a hallucination. But suddenly little Yu appeared in his sight and that made him stay.

‘She’s alive’ the girl whispered. The mask she had worn so far finally broke and her expression was an expression of a little child. She seemed tired, sad and a little happy. ‘I’m so glad… Scara.’

The harbinger nodded and closed his eyes for a moment. His heart was still beating fast with fear but those heavy weights on his shoulders finally started getting lighter.

He felt something touching his hand and he opened his eyes to the sight of Yu holding onto him.

This type of physical connection was very far away from what Scaramouche would tolerate coming from a human but he felt way too tired to resist. He just let the little girl clench his pinkie and they both watched silently as some helpers grabbed your body and moved it to a safer place.

*

You felt like something that had been sitting on your chest for a while finally moved. Something even bigger, a huge, scary type of darkness slowly left your body.

It left you with the first breath you were aware of taking in a long time.

You let out a small sigh. And opened your eyes.

There was a fabric cover above you.

You were in a tent, safe and sound. Alive.

The first thing you noticed was the temperature. It was warm, welcoming and comforting. Lot of soft blankets covered your body which hurt badly but the pain was dim.

You tried to look around but your head was too heavy. You could barely tip your head to the side.

But the sight was worth it.

Your breath was taken away one more time. You just stared in silence and you could feel your eyes widen in shock.

‘You’re awake.’

Scaramouche closed the book he was reading and looked at you with a straight face.

‘Finally.’

He put the book down with a slow movement.

Mixed emotions invaded you. You fell from relief to happiness to fright in a span of a few seconds. You were alive and Scaramouche was here with you, but – why did he seem so distant? Was he still angry at you even after everything that had happened?

You almost let fear overrun you. Almost.

But your gaze fell on his hands and he couldn’t hide his true feelings from you any more. His hands were visibly trembling as he still held onto his book.

Little did you know he could have not read a single word written in the last couple of hours. He just sat there and watched over your sleep, not dozing off for even a second himself.

The shaking of his hands became even more obvious and he couldn’t hold himself back any more.

He moved closer and placed his trembling palms next to the sides of your body. He looked down on you from above and as you stared back at him, you could clearly see something that wasn’t there before.

The usual cold, emotionless blur was nowhere to be found in his dark eyes. Instead, there was pain. And a lot of it.

‘How dare you do this to me?’

During the years of your relationship, he’s grown to be comfortable in your presence but he never ever showed any signs of vulnerability in front of you and you just accepted that it’s probably never going to happen.

It was shocking, almost scary seeing him like this.

The desperate expression on his face softened and he let his head plop on your shoulders.

‘Scara’ you whispered. Your voice was hoarse and dry but it was your voice. You were able to speak.

The realization of how unlikely your survival was suddenly hit you and your eyes teared up.

‘Scara, I… I really thought I was gonna die…’

‘Then you’re stupid’ he answered, speaking into the blankets covering your shoulder. ‘You should know that you can’t die without my permission.’

You laughed through your tears. They streamed down on your face, straight into your ears. But even that felt so good. Crying was a sign of being alive from the very beginning of life and you never understood that so much than at that time.

‘Don’t… leave me ever again.’

You didn’t event think, the words just left your mouth.

‘Don’t worry.’ Scaramouche finally got himself together enough to sit up and at least pretend that he was alright. ‘You have successfully proved you’re not capable of taking after yourself so now I’m definitely stuck babysitting you till the rest of our lives.’

His movements said otherwise though. The way he caressed your cheek to dry the tears up showed that he’s not just stuck. He wantsto stay.

Just what kind of thinks did he go through in the past days? – the question occurred to you.

To think about it… why did he even come back? How did he hear what happened? And your people?! Were they safe?

So many questions echoed in your head and you couldn’t even put most of them into words that made sense. So opened your mouth and quietly asked:

‘What happened?’

‘I want to know the same’ he said. ‘What happened? How did you get so far away from the village? How are you alive in the first place?’

You thought back to the night. Pain stabbed you instantly and you had to close your eyes for a moment to calm it.

‘I don’t remember much. But I think the abbys wanted to take me with them. Is that… possible?’

‘I heard all kinds of things about them’ Scaramouche nodded. ‘It is very possible. Continue.’

‘There isn’t much to say… Obviously I tried to resist but there were too many of them. They probably realized I would be just a burden. I remember a mage knocking me out. But they didn’t kill me…’

‘Well, given your injuries, they must’ve thought there’s not a lot of time left for you. It really is a miracle that you’re alive.’ Scara stated. ‘And you were in that wet cave for an entire day too. You were nearly dead when we found you.’

‘We?’

You stared at him and your heartbeat dropped.

‘You mean…’

‘Yes’ he sighed. ‘That people of yours.’

He went silent for a moment then rolled his eyes.

‘They helped me out… I guess.’

‘So they’re all alive and safe?’ you asked and couldn’t help but laugh in relief. ‘That is so amazing! Thank you, Scara!’

‘Thank yourself, idiot’ he snorted. ‘You were the one who kept a whole abbys army away from them after all.’

The harbinger shook his head.

‘I hate that you were so reckless to do that… but I have to say I’m impressed. We should spar again sometimes.’

‘Aren’t you afraid you’re getting your ass kicked?’ you grinned.

‘I compliment you one time and you get this cocky?’ he crossed his eyebrows. ‘I have to put you back into your place, I see.’

You laughed and as you were finally strong enough to move a little, you grabbed his hand. He had to oppress his smile with force.

‘And how did you know… we were going to be attacked?’

The question made his task much easier. The harbinger’s face turned back to being serious once again.

‘I have my connections’ he answered briefly. ‘But you don’t have to worry, the fatui had nothing to do with the attack.’

‘I would never think that’ you rushed to make your words clear. ‘I just… hope that my people feel the same.’

Scara shrugged. Then averted his eyes as he thought of someone.

‘I don’t know about the others but there’s one person who clearly does.’

‘Who?’

‘That girl… Yu or whatever her name is.’

You stared at him in surprise. You’d never thought the day would come where he mentions a child and doesn’t frown. And to think that it’s Yu as well! Yu who was normally wary of strangers and such a gentle child…

Just what happened to him? – you asked yourself again.

You searched for answers in his eyes but it seemed like there were things that even this new type of Scaramouche, this more vulnerable and open one wouldn’t tell.

But it was alright. Maybe you didn’t need to know. You were just happy to be there and experience it yourself.

‘How is Yu?’ you asked.

‘Alright’ Scara muttered.

‘Her mother?’

‘Oh, her… Well…’

He hesitated for a moment and that was enough. Every good and warm feeling was instantly replaced by cold ones and you found yourself sitting up in dread.

‘Please tell me… She’s not…’

‘Hey, don’t sit up! Lie back right now!’

When you didn’t obey, Scaramouche pushed you back with his own hands. He was right, your body started aching terribly from moving and the physical pain almost outgrew the pain in your heart.

‘Is she…’

‘Yu’s fine. Don’t worry.’

‘No! I need to talk to her!’

‘You won’t.’

You clenched your teeth together in despair and Scara flinched. He saw himself in you when you did that. Earlier this day his expression was still this full of pain.

‘Scaramouche!’ you said, calling him by his first name which he suddenly realized, he hated more than that stupid nickname. ‘I will go and talk to her and you can’t stop me!’

‘I…’

‘Just think about everything you felt while I was missing! I know you don’t want me to go away again but you need to understand.’

‘All I’m trying…’

‘Maybe I really am cocky to think that it was painful to you but if I’m not and it really was, then just imagine that Yu feels like that too right now. And on top of that, she has no hope whatsoever. She knows that her mother is dead and there’s no…’

‘Oh, to Celestia, can you shut up for a moment?’ Scara interrupted you harshly. Then he frowned and quickly continued. ‘What I was about to say is that under no circumstances should you get up with these injuries. But you can talk to Yu.’

‘I can…?’

‘Yes, idiot. I’ll call her over.’

You stared at him in silence.

‘You’d… do that?’

‘Yes.’

‘So… you won’t mind if she stays with us?’

‘I guess not?’

‘Not even for a long time?’

‘I said no, stop asking these stupid questions.’

You were speechless and just gazed at him without saying anything for a long time.

You had mixed feelings about the Scara you woke up to so far. But this had finally convinced you that he really has changed into something better.

A slow smile formed on your lips. It grew bigger and bigger and it completely lit your face up.

‘You’re grinning like an idiot’ Scara claimed but nothing, not even his salty remarks could take away your happiness any more.

‘Scara, I really love you.’

‘You better do.’

He stood up and turned away as quickly as he could to try and hide the blush on his face. He knew if you saw that, you’d be teasing him about it till the rest of your lives together.

You were still grinning “like an idiot” as he was rushing to leave the tent. But even though he was in hurry, before he’d stepped out, he made sure to turn back and say:

‘I’ll be back.’

[therenlover]

Therenlover’s Official Fanfic Glossary!

Hey hey hey! This is the place where you can find all my up-to-date fanfics linked nicely, read about what projects I have upcoming, and learn what requests I’m taking at the moment! Cheers!

This post is massive so, for the sake of your dash, everything is under the cut

A NOTE ABOUT REQUESTS!

I will do my best to fulfill any requests I get while my ask box/requests are open! That being said, I cannot promise every request will get done, and that if they do, they’ll be done in a timely manner. I’m currently working on a long-form project that needs a lot of time and energy to come out consistently, so unless I’m doing a writing event most of my writing juice will be focused on that. That being said, if you want something ask! The worst I can possibly do is direct you towards someone else who might be able to write what you want if I cant.

If I choose not to do your request based on personal preference (it makes me uncomfy/I don’t write for the character at that time/I don’t feel I can write what you want/etc.) I will do my best to contact you and let you know! That being said, if you think your ask got buried/forgotten, feel free to message me again and let me know, but please tell me when you message me if I should be looking for a prior request.

Characters/Fandoms I will write for currently

 💙 = I’m Currently Super Inspired To Write For This Character

Marvel/X-Men

Bucky Barnes

Loki

Peter Maximoff 💙

Pietro Maximoff

Helmut Zemo 💙

Hank McCoy

Ralph Bohner 💙

Vision

American Horror Story

Tate Langdon

Kit Walker 💙

Kyle Spencer (Pre- and Post- Death)

Jimmy Darling 💙

James Patrick March 💙

Kai Anderson

Fallout 4

Nick Valentine

Hancock

Star Wars

Poe Dameron

Armitage Hux 💙

Kylo Ren/Ben Solo

Finn

Han Solo

Assorted/Random

Diarmuid Ua Duibhne - FGO

Cu Chulainn/Cu Alter - FGO

Warren Lipka - American Animals 💙

Enjolras - Les Miserables

Grantaire - Les Miserables

Gabriel - Supernatural

Imagines - REQUESTS CLOSED

Songs From Musicals Y/N Would Sing To The Evans

Characters: Tate Langdon, Kit Walker, Kyle Spencer, Jimmy Darling, James Patrick March, Kai Anderson, Peter Maximoff

Rating: T

How The Evans (+ Quicksilver) Would React To Yoplait’s New Gushers Yogurt

Characters: Tate Langdon, Kit Walker, Kyle Spencer, Jimmy Darling, James Patrick March, Rory Monahan, Kai Anderson, Peter Maximoff

Rating: T

Would The Danny Bunch Survive A Holiday With My Family?

Characters: Laszlo Kreizler, Alex Kerner, Niki Lauda, Andrea Marowski, Ernst Schmidt, Helmut Zemo

Rating: T

Headcanons - REQUESTS CLOSED

Modern! AU Armitage Hux Boyfriend Headcanons

Zemo With A Well Dress S/O Headcanons

Zemo Getting Jealous Headcanons

Oneshots - REQUESTS CLOSED

Marvel/X-Men

Helmut Zemo

One Last Night In Madripoor

Synopsis: Baron Helmut Zemo is a lonely, wanted man looking for some fun, you’re a piss-poor bounty hunter in search of a connection before leaving your life of crime behind, and fate has brought you together at a party the likes of which has never been seen before. You only have one night left in Madripoor, so why not take a chance?

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 4200~

Still Some Catching Up To Do

Synopsis: As a member of the criminal underworld, people walk out of your life all the time. Some are killed, others kill themselves, most get caught and only a couple get out of the life unscathed, disappearing into the world never to be seen again. Very few walk back in. So when your supposedly incarcerated ex-lover, the Winter Soldier, and the Falcon waltzed through your door and made you murder your boss, needless to say, you were surprised and more than a little bit pissed.

Rating: 16+

Word Count: 6800~

Nine Years Starved

Synopsis: It had been a little over nine years since Helmut Zemo lost his family, his country, and his sanity. Nine years since his last kiss. Nine years since he felt like a human man. Finally, he was ready to start over again, but first, he had to pay his penance back where it all began; Novi Grad. That’s when, by the grace of the fates, he met you.

Rating: G

Word Count: 7000~

Daddy Dearest

Synopsis: Not everyone gets lucky enough to go from being a broke college student in New York to being the sugar baby to literal royalty, but not everyone is you. Most people would be worried about messing things up or losing him to someone else, but you knew he would never find another baby just like you. Besides, you knew exactly what to do to keep him wrapped around your little finger. He may have been the daddy, but you pulled the reins.

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 8000~

In Fleeting Touches & Airy Sighs

Part One   Part Two   Part Three   Part Four

Synopsis: As a wanted man, Helmut Zemo spends most of his time jumping from place to place in the hopes of avoiding a trip back to prison. Unfortunately, that means he can’t always be home in your arms. When he is, though, in the rare moments of calm, you’re reminded of just how worth it it’s been to wait, even if that wait was only shortened by the arrival of your enemies.

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 35,700~

Two Bodies In The Rain

Synopsis: It was raining the day you finally had to admit your feelings to Helmut. You hated to tell him the way you did, under the grey skies as your blood pooled below you, but at least you knew, in the end, he had seen the real you, even just once. That was enough.

Rating: T

Word Count: 5600~

Rest

Synopsis: Living life on the lam with your escaped super-villain lover means things rarely slow down enough for a real rest. When the exhaustion starts to take its toll on you, though, he knows exactly what to do to ease the pain. He may not be a good man, but he’s a good husband when it counts.

Rating: T

Word Count: 3200~

American Horror Story

Jimmy Darling

Red Nights In Jupiter

Synopsis: At the end of another long day, you fall into bed with Jimmy Darling. The men you served throughout the day don’t matter then, nor do the coins in the mason jar by the door, or the women scheduled to attend Jimmy’s next Tupperware party. No, in that quiet darkness it’s just you and the man you love, bone-tired and happy to be home. Who could ask for more?

Rating: 16+

Word Count: 3000~

James Patrick March

Heartsick

Synopsis: When you fall ill, James is given a forceful awakening about how he’s been neglecting your needs and what he must do to prevent harm from befalling you again.

Rating: 16+

Word Count: 3700~

In Sickness And In Health

Synopsis: Normally people don’t have their wedding and funeral on the same day, but you and James don’t quite have a normal relationship, do you? Besides, you wouldn’t wanna go any other way.

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 5500~

Fallout 4

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Star Wars

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Assorted/Random

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Long Form Works/Series

Young Artist!Zemo AU

Chapter One: The Boy With The Easel

Synopsis: About a month into your first semester at Novi Grad’s top university, you finally meet the strange young man that you’ve taken to calling “easel boy” in the back of a bookshop. From a distance, he always seemed cold and aloof. As you get to know him, though, you realize things aren’t always what they seem.

Rating: T

Word Count: 7000~

Till Forever Falls Apart (A Peter Maximoff/Reader Series)

Chapter One: Welcome Home

Synopsis: As if getting thrown through the multiverse, trapped in an attic (albeit a cool one), mind-controlled to manipulate his grieving sister, and subsequently dragged out of Westview “for his own safety” by the FBI wasn’t enough, Peter Maximoff has now been shipped off to New York to live with a glorified baby sitter like some tragic orphan in a comic book until they find a way to get him back home. Things are not always as they seem, though, and this change might just be for the better.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2400~

Chapter Two: The Doctor Is In

Synopsis: Peter’s first few days in his new home are mostly uneventful, so he decides it’s the perfect time to dust off his running goggles and steal some shit. The building with the massive circular stained glass window seems like a great place to start! People with buildings that lavish are usually rich and weak, so what could possibly go wrong?

Rating: T

Word Count: 2800~

Chapter Three: It’s Always Been You

Synopsis: After a month of adapting to his new universe, Peter Maximoff can confidently say that he likes his new life more than his old one. Sure, he misses home sometimes, but he’s been far too busy flirting with his new roommate to spend time crying over the things he’s lost. Everything is smooth sailing until a strange journal in his roommate’s study leaves him with more questions than he knows what to do with. Now he’s on a mission to discover who he’s really living with before she has the chance to turn against him.

Rating: T

Word Count: 8600~

Chapter Four: Before You Go

Synopsis: Peter, after days of contemplation, has realized that part of him loves Y/N no matter what she is or what she’s been through. Unfortunately, he can’t find her anywhere. When she finally returns home with the intention of leaving again, Peter realizes it’s his last chance to tell her how he really feels. Will he succeed, or will he fail to be fast enough once again?

Rating: T

Word Count: 4000~

Chapter Four And A Half: Gimme Swayze

Synopsis: Now that the issue of Y/N leaving is out of the way, and Peter has finally kissed her, he falls into the motions of learning how to love someone for the first time. It’s easier than he thought it would be.

Rating: T

Word Count; 2600~

Cakes For The Evans: A Blogging And Baking Adventure!

Kai Anderson’s Disaster Cake

Hey you! If you’ve made it this far down the list, thanks for supporting me as an author! I’ll be linking my AO3 here. I post everything there shortly before I post it here, and there are some older fics there you might enjoy along the way! It’s also easier to drop comments over there and I keep them open for non-members, so give me a shout if you liked what I wrote!

I love you all, you make me so happy, and without you support I would never be motivated to write! Cheers!

[willyoulovemeinthemorning]

The Prodigal Daughter Chapter 1

Summary: As the secret daughter of Jason Gideon, you’ve always had a certain proclivity towards profiling. After finishing the Academy, you finally have your chance in the BAU- only months after your dad’s passing. Will it all be too much? Will you find yourself sharing another proclivity with your father for a certain genius with big puppy dog eyes?  A/N: Hello! This is my first fic in a very long time, but this story idea has been living in my head for upwards of 6 or 7 years! Please go easy on me, and I hope you enjoy! a big thanks to @candlesandsoftrain for being a great beta! Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader
 Category: Fluff/getting to know you games with the team Content Warning: nothing in this chapter except lots of flirting, tension, sexually charged drinking games, etc. Later chapters will include NSFW Word Count: 4000+

Chapter 1

The years moved by much too fast for your liking. You were older than you were willing to admit, and the years had been hard. Time moved so oddly- it was so difficult and slow when it was happening, but when you looked back, it was as if it sped by like a freight train.

Today was your first day at your new job-  you were 27 and you’d been waiting your whole life for this day to finally come. After hearing stories about your father all through your life; catching the monsters in the dark as well as those that hide in plain sight… you wanted to be a superhero too. And lucky for you, you had a certain proclivity towards reading people. So, you became a profiler. And after years of grueling school, training and fighting to earn your place with no one knowing the legacy in your blood line, you did it.

No, those weren’t tears in your eyes… it was just dusty in the bullpen, that was all. You could feel him everywhere. You knew this was where he lived and breathed and worked for so much of his life. Your mom never understood how you ended up being so understanding about never seeing him, while your brother spent so much of your lives incredibly bitter and angry at him for “abandoning” you both. You always told Stephen that dad spent every minute of every day trying to make the world a safer place for the two of you to grow up in. And now you could finally continue his life’s work.

You caught a few pairs of eyes looking at you when you entered the bullpen for the first time, walking through like you’d been there a million times before- because in your imagination, your dreams, you had. Dad was always so descriptive with his words, and it was never hard to get lost in his stories.

You walked right to the Unit Chief’s office, knowing that Agent Hotchner was already in there waiting for you. You were supposed to have your first meeting on Monday, but when the team didn’t get back in time from their last case- a strangler in Minnesota, he had called you and you rescheduled to accommodate those dang annoying serial killers. Now it was Wednesday, and you could feel the tired energy in the room. It was filled with the sounds of scribbling pens and pencils on paper, the groans and squeaks of chairs as everyone tried to stay comfortable while doing their paperwork. You spotted a few very attractive people around you, but tried to keep your eyes forward as you headed for your destination.

After knocking on the door, you heard a shuffling of papers as a low, gritty voice welcomed you, “Come on in.”

“Hello, Agent Hotchner. Nice to see you again.” You offered your hand, which he took with his baseball mitt sized one. It was rough and strong, and reminded you of your fathers when you were young. You could tell these hands had seen a lot of conflict.

“Y/N , you’ve grown up a lot since last I saw you.” He had a kind smile on his face, which surprised you, even after all this time. Aaron Hotchner was always such a serious man, even when you were younger. “And please, call me Aaron. You know that.”

You chuckled in response. “I know, but it feels weird to call you that now that you’re my boss.”

“Hotch will do then. Morgan will give you quite a hard time if he hears you calling me ‘Agent Hotchner’, I can promise you that. Sit, sit. Let’s get through all the necessary annoyances so I can properly introduce you to your new team.”

After all of the finalized paperwork and introductory nuisances, Hotch finally stood up, indicating it was time to enter the bullpen again, but with a promise of introductions to your new team. You felt a small pang in your heart. You wished your dad could have been here to do this instead of Aaron. He took notice of your second of discomfort- something you were sure to get used to quickly working with profilers.

“Y/N, he’s here… in you. I know how proud he would be of you.” He said to you with a hand falling to your shoulder.

With a smile, you accepted the comfort, turning to look at him again. “Would you mind… could we see Uncle Dave first? I think it would make me feel a little better to have him next to me for this.” That damn dust was at it again. You were fine, really. You’d been preparing for this emotion for months now- there was nothing to surprise you.

With a gentle smile, Aaron- no, Hotch, you remembered- nodded. “Of course. Follow me to his office.” It didn’t escape your notice that, as you followed him, you were on your way to your dad’s old office. Each step brought you to a place you’d heard about, thought about, dreamt about, but had never seen. But when you walked in behind Hotch, you knew this was nothing like your father would have kept it. It just screamed Rossi.

“Y/n! If it isn’t the smartest and brightest star from the Academy, falling right here into our laps at the BAU!” Dave cheered as he saw you, shooting up from his chair and almost running to you, pulling you into his arms while Hotch closed the door to offer you all some privacy.

“Uncle Dave, you can’t believe how amazing it is to have you here on my first day.” You said into his shoulder, holding him close. He was always such a big supporter of your career- there every step of the way whenever your dad couldn’t be. You always said that you were lucky- god blessed you with a loving, mildly helicopter mother, and two superhero dads so fight all the monsters for you.

“You’re gonna be great, kid. Unless your academy grades and reputation were all a lie to get you out of their hair!” He laughed, low and warm.

You giggled, pulling back from him and punching him lightly in the arm. “Rude.” You took a deep breath, and both men noticed that you were preparing yourself to say something important. “Aaron, Uncle Dave... I made it here on my own, with my mother’s maiden name and no one knowing who my father is. I am so proud to be the daughter of Jason Gideon, and I miss him every day… but I think I want to keep my birth last name a secret for now, if you’re both okay with that. They legally changed my name when I was a baby, and while I would be so proud to have his last name again, I’m- just not ready to hold up his legacy just yet.” You explained to them, hoping they understood. Your parents had decided very early on that they didn’t want you to have the last name Gideon. It was just- too dangerous. Your father had put away too many bad people, especially people that preyed upon little girls, to risk your life that way. So while you thought of yourself as Y/N Gideon in your mind, you’d never said it out loud before. Not once.

“Of course, kiddo. Whatever you want, we’ll follow your lead. Hopefully Garcia can’t find anything with your last name, but we’ll have Kevin keep an eye on her search history in case she finds anything. But if you’re worried about anyone finding out, I would tell her and promise her to secrecy though. Because if super tech genius finds out before you tell her… everyone will know.” He explained, and you laughed. You’d heard about Garcia. Your dad used to drive her crazy. You considered Rossi’s advice and nodded, understanding and deciding to think on it.

“Ready?” Hotch said after a moment, gesturing to the bullpen, where you could see several people grouped up at a desk, staring into Rossi’s office with curiosity and perhaps a little bit of uncertainty.

“As I’ll ever be.” Rossi squeezed your hand and you smiled at him, a big toothy smile shining back at you. With two men you knew you’d already trust your life with by your side, you walked out of the room knowing that these people who you already knew so much about would soon also hold your life in their hands. “Team, I’d like to introduce you to the new member of our team, Y/N L/N. She’s transferred in with top marks from the Academy, and she’s been highly recommended by all of her professors.”

You blushed at his compliments, rolling your eyes at him. “I didn’t have the highest marks in ALL of my classes. Shooting targets took me a while.” You smile, waving at the team awkwardly. “Hi everyone, it’s an honor to be here with you. I’ve heard so much about all of you. You’re all pretty famous around the bureau. I can’t wait to meet you all and get to know you as my team instead of people I’ve been idolizing for 10 years!”

Everyone laughed, and a tall, dark and handsome man walked forward with a giant grin on his face. “Hey, Y/N, I’m Derek Morgan. You are welcome to continue to idolize me as much as you’d like.” You could have snorted, he was so much like your dad described.

“Nice to meet you, Agent Morgan.” You said with a mildly flirty smile, holding your hand out to him happily. No worries for you, you were definitely going to like your job if you had him to look at all the time.

“That’s enough touching for now, little newbie,” a big beautiful blonde said from behind him. “That is my man-candy you’re ogling and groping, thank you very much.” There was no venom to her words, just something that you could only describe as adorable teasing. She was so colorful, it was almost as if there was a light shining around her. She was just a glowing ball of sunshine… You knew you’d be fast friends with her. “I’m Penelope Garcia, resident tech Goddess and most loyal beck and call gal.”

You took her hand and shook it, before doing a slight curtsy, earning you a giggle. “An honor to meet you, Tech Goddess Garcia.”

“Ignore her, they’re perfect for each other because of their over inflated egos.” You heard a blazé voice coming from the other side of Derek Morgan. “He’s eye candy for us all, much to her dismay. She’s never been one for sharing. I’m Emily, one of the few normal ones here.”

“Normal, pfft. She’s far from normal. You should hear her talk about her cat. Jenniffer Jareau, but my friends call me JJ.”

You took both of their hands in firm handshakes, grinning at them both. “Nice to meet you, and thank you for the permission to ogle, Agents. As far as normal, I sure hope not. Normal is vastly overrated.” You grinned at them. Damn they were cute. Was this whole team models who decided to become do-gooders and join the FBI?

“Halloweentown, 1998, said by Debbie Reynolds.” A small voice in the back of the group piped in, confident in words and speed, but somehow… demure and shrouded in uncertainty, too. The team parted so you two could see each other, and you swear your heart stopped beating for a few seconds. In front of you was the prettiest, most adorable, hottest guy you’d ever seen. He had a sexy professor thing going on, but simultaneously looked like he was an anxious teenager, terrified of being bullied by this newcomer.

You longed to hold him and protect this stranger from the rest of the world and heal any wounds he had succumbed to in the time before you. He was staring at you too, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights, pupils a little bigger than you can only assume they would normally be. After a snicker broke you both from the weird moment, pretty boy smiled a little and gave an awkward wave. “Hi. Doctor Spencer Reid.”

Oh. God. Your heart stopped a second time, and you swore, this is what a stroke felt like. You’d heard about Spencer for the last ten years. Your father loved him almost as much as he loved you and your brother. Maybe even more sometimes. The BAU resident genius, IQ of 187, eidetic memory, born in Las Vegas and wasn’t allowed in most casinos due to his card counting ability. Ability to empathize and love in a beautiful and incredible way- your father adored him, and because of how he spoke of him, you… you’d always had a crush on this faceless idea in your head with his wild mop of hair and tall, lanky frame. You had a general picture from all these years, but nothing had prepared you for this.

“H-Hi. I’m Y/N. N-Nice to meet you.” You said, trying your hardest not to sound like a little school girl with a crush on her teacher. You’d just met the man, for god sakes. You heard another snicker, and this time you knew it was from Morgan just from the proximity of the sound and the testosterone you could feel from the gesture. You tried to ignore your flaming red cheeks, and held out a hand a second before remembering that he hated being touched by strangers. A big germaphobe, always calculating the risk of what contact could mean for him. But before you had a chance to pull away, he reached out and took your hand, giving it a squeeze. You must have looked as shocked as you felt, but no one else noticed because everyone was staring at Reid with the same expression you were wearing. And to be honest, he looked just as surprised, if not more so.

Garcia made a breathy squeak sound, and somehow, that broke the tension of the moment, and you and Reid pulled away at the same time, both looking like you’d just been shocked by electricity. You stretched your hand out, staring at it, feeling on edge all over again, thinking about how good his hand felt in yours, and how good it would probably feel other pla-

“Well, I hope you all will be on your best behaviors, and treat Y/N like you would want to be treated as a newcomer in a team like ours, seeing what we see.” Hotch finally broke the silence. “Y/N, if you have any problems, come find myself or Rossi and we’ll help sort them all out.” Nodding, you looked at him and smiled, suddenly very embarrassed that your boss and your uncle just witnessed all of that. As profilers, they were going to come to so many conclusions, and each was more embarrassing than the last.

“Pretty boy and pretty girl, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-” You heard Derek sing-songing and he walked away, looking like the cat who got the cream. He was interrupted only when Emily punched him quite hard in the arm, looking at you with a wink and a smirk as she headed back to her desk as well. You tried to avoid looking at the genius again, but it was… difficult to say the least. You wanted to memorize everything about him. You wanted to pick his brain and listen to every fact he’d ever memorized. You wanted to experience him in all the ways your father had gotten to and more.

You watched as the team dissipated and then your eyebrows furrowed. “Rossi?” You asked, stopping him in his tracks as he was headed back to his office. “Where’s my desk?” He looked over his shoulder at you and you could tell he was holding back a shit eating grin as he pointed with his thumb to the desk directly across from Reid.

Fuck. You both looked at each other… or well, you looked at him, and he looked away like he’d been caught doing something and sat down, looking at his paperwork blankly. As you headed to your new desk, you’d give anything to know what was happening inside that massive brain of his.

Staring at your empty desk, you imagined what you could put there. Pictures of your family, pictures of your friends and your cats… One day you would put up a picture of your father… one day. For now, you grabbed your briefcase from your side and opened it up. You started unpacking some of your first day necessities; pens and notebooks, little toys and bright objects to remind yourself that there is good in the world. Your pile of books out; you always kept at least ten books on you at all times. One for every kind of mood you could be in- and at least three that you hadn’t read yet and were planning on.

As you prepped your desk, you could feel those eyes on you, analyzing your every move. You wanted to look up and see if you could find what he was figuring out within those eyes, but you tried to keep busy so you wouldn’t embarrass yourself again.

“Another book nerd, I see.” You heard that deep, caramelly sweet voice behind you. Derek sat on your desk right next to you and smiled a toothy smile at you. “Pretty girl likes to read, huh?”

Smiling at him, you raised a brow. “Reading is an exercise in empathy; an exercise in walking in someone else’s shoes for a while.” You were about to quote the originator, but someone else beat you to it.

“Malorie Blackman. British children’s literature writer and science fiction author.” Your head snapped to the person in front of you, who wasn’t looking at either of you.

Smiling at him, you nodded, and then turned to Morgan. “Yup, Malorie Blackman. Empathy is a huge part of the job, right? Reading allows us to experience a million different perspectives- which, as proflers, is necessary to catch the bad guys. I read so I can try to understand as many perspectives in this world as possible.”

Derek looked a little impressed, at least, and you couldn’t get a read on the gorgeous mop of brown hair on the desk across from you. Derek picked up one of the books still on your desk, not organized in your little library yet. “I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings?” He comments, and you catch Spencer’s eyes flick up at the title, curious.

“It’s my favorite. Not only do I love birds, but I’m a very big Maya Angelou fan. I’ve… always kind of felt like a bird stuck in a cage. Flitting about, trying to figure out what to do with my life and who I am... No book has ever made me feel more seen or understood as a human being.” You caught those big, interested eyes and you almost felt like you might have shared too much. You’ve always been an open book, but somehow, the way he was looking at you made you feel more vulnerable than you had… ever.

Derek nodded and smiled, putting the book down on your desk. “Well, lady genius, I’m going to try and get everyone to get together tonight for drinks, would you be interested in getting to know us in a more fun environment, or would you rather just go to the library with Pretty Boy over here and nerd out together?” He teased, making both of you blush.

“I-I don’t know. I’ve spent all of the years of my adulthood studying and sleeping and working to get here, so I haven’t really… spent a lot of time at bars?” Admitting that wasn’t the best feeling, but better to be honest than try to make up a lame excuse.

“Do I hear we have a light weight to peer pressure?” Derek said, loudly enough to catch the attention of everyone else. JJ and Emily looked enthused, and Rossi poked his head out of his office to chime in.

“Someone’s convincing Miss nose in a book Y/N to go out for drinks tonight? I’m in and I’m buying!” That was met with an uproarious approval from everyone on the team, with the exception of Reid, who was just looking at you, seemingly waiting on you to decide.

You bit your lip, noticing how Reid’s eyes fell to your lips in reaction. Well… if you could spend more time with the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen looking at you like that more… “Well… I guess. Sure. Sure, okay, I’m in.” You finally agreed, everyone whooping and hollering in celebration at you giving in. “Doctor Reid? What about you?” You looked at him through your eyelashes, and you could swear you saw his eyes dilate more.

“Oh, pretty boy barely ever comes out drinking with us anymore. He’s always holing himself up in his apartment- books from floor to ceiling, books in the fridge, freezer, on the bed, in his drawers and closets…” Derek teased, reaching over to Spencer and ruffling his hair.

Reid looked at Morgan and shoved his hand away and tried to fix his hair, rolling his eyes. “I do not have books in my freezer. That would be a terrible spot to put them, it would completely ruin the delicate spines.” You smiled at him in support, and he sat up a little straighter. “I… I’m in. For tonight.” He looked right at you when he said it, and you couldn't help but feel a little flutter in your stomach at the idea that he was going just to get to know you.

Morgan seemed to be thinking the same thing, and the face he gave Reid as he stood up and sauntered away said more than he needed to outloud. Once Reid looked away from Morgan, your eyes met and you both smiled again. “You’re a fan of Maya Angelou?” He asked, nodding towards your book.

“I am. I was always drawn to books that had birds on the covers, but then I actually read it and realized how beautiful it is on the inside.” You held the book in your hands gently. It was a mutual love, one your shared with your dad.

“The number of bird species in a person’s surroundings correlates directly to happiness levels.” He said, smiling at you like you were the most interesting thing in the world. The attention should have made you uncomfortable, but it just made you feel warm… important.

“Really?” You searched his eyes, wondering how much information was in that brain, stacked away for use when necessary. “That’s so interesting. I thought most people found birds annoying because of all the noise.”

He shook his head. “On the surface, they think it’s annoying, but once one becomes used to the sounds all around them, they find the background noise comforting. Most people find absolute silence much more disconcerting.”

“Absolute silence, for sure. But comfortable silence between two people who find solace in each other… I think that’s my favorite background noise.” He looked at you as you spoke, a small bit of hope flickering in both of your faces. You’d felt… alone, since your fathers spirit left this world months ago. It had been so hard to be at school and unable to go to his services, terrified of people finding out who your father was and that information altering your career. You hadn’t even applied to the bureau until you had your recommendation letters in order- you didn’t want Aaron giving you any false starts just because he knew. You liked to visit his grave once a month and tell him all the things you wrote in your letters to him. You carried around his private notebook as a reminder of the people in the world he saved, the people you wanted to save. You clutched your briefcase close, knowing you couldn’t put it in your desk with Reid watching you so closely. You’d find time to slip it in later, when no one was looking. With that eidetic memory, you knew he’d recognize it immediately, and you didn’t want his curious gaze to ruin your secret just yet. You wanted the team to form their own opinions of you before they knew... because the moment they knew, everything would change.

Next chapter

[twistedtummies2]

Birthday Belly (LeonaXReader)

I wrote this yesterday for my own birthday. I didn’t really go into this with much of a plan, this story is 99% just me freestyling and whipping out some self-indulgent nonsense involving Leona Kingscholar and his appetite. It came out to about 4000 words, which is relatively short for MY stories on here. XD Hopefully you all will enjoy it.

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Living at the Ramshackle Dorm had, you thought, left you almost impervious to surprises. The 999 Happy Haunts who inhabited the old manor house had tried nearly every trick up their capes to spook you and shock you, and after dealing with so many dark mages for so long – facing demigods and fairy princes along the way – you didn’t think much could startle you. Today, you were going to be proven wrong. You sighed with some relief, removing your obligatory birthday sash and letting it drape over the arm-rest of the sofa as he leaned back and closed your eyes. Back in your homeworld, you had never really been much of a party person. You had never much cared for crowds, even among people you knew well; part of the joy of being one of only two (living) beings who called Ravenswood Manor home was that you were able to find privacy and peace fairly easily. However, despite not being a mage, and despite being so lonely there, your friends and the school itself had gone to a great deal of trouble to provide you with a party. You smiled wearily as you eyed the streamers and other decorations strung about your ground floor rooms. A huge banner reading “Happy Birthday…!” and followed by your name was hung over the fireplace, and piled up next to the spot where you’d installed your television and other such things was a stack of presents you had gotten from all your friends.

Ace had given you a set of playing cards and poker chips, winking as he promised to give you a chance to put them to use. Deuce, meanwhile, had been much more sensible, purchasing some cooking apparel he knew you could put to good use. Riddle Rosehearts, meanwhile, brought you some cherry tarts he and Trey had made together. Cater Diamond also appeared, and had bought a new external drive for your laptop computer. “I would have gotten you a new phone,” Cater had smiled. “But I didn’t think you needed one. Speaking of, BIRTHDAY SELFIE! COME ON OVER HERE…!” Idia hadn’t stayed for the party, but his brother Ortho had been happy to pop in. The two had pitched their cash together to buy you a new game system, along with a new game to play on it. Idia had personally sent a birthday card, as well; according to Ortho, his hands had been shaking so much trying to figure out what to write in it, he thought his brother’s fingers might fall off. All Idia had written in the card was, “Have a nice day,” probably because he had freaked out at the thought of saying anything else. Poor dear. Somebody – you weren’t sure who – had very, VERY wisely remembered to invite Malleus Draconia, who came with Silver. Silver spent most of the party sleeping, but Malleus had been kind enough to bestow a gift of his own, in the form of a leatherbound edition of The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe. Naturally, Kalim had shown up, tugging Jamil along behind him. Each had a different gift to give: Kalim had brought a VERY expensive looking carpet, done in the ornate styling of his homeland. “It’s been in my family for…um…uh…” he had paused to try and count the years on his fingers…and eventually ran out of fingers AND toes to count on. “…A very, very long time! Like…SUPER long! I thought it might look nice in your bedroom or the ballroom or something! It’s, uh…it’s not too much, is it?” Gods bless that Baby Otter. He needed so many hugs. Jamil’s gift had been much more reserved: a mancala game box, which he had presented all while trying not to blush under his black hood. Vil had stopped by for a short while; he’d only stayed briefly, claiming the “decadent atmosphere of your gloomy domicile” would mess up his hairdo. (Go figure.) However, he had kindly brought you a gift in the form of custom-made suit of clothes he had ordered from his own personal tailor: some of the finest and most formal wear you had ever seen in your life. “Now you can actually look halfway presentable, instead of resembling a half-baked potato, next time there’s a big event,” he had smiled, as if he had been doing you a tremendous favor. Well. With clothes like this, you weren’t going to argue or complain. Azul had stopped for a brief “hello and goodbye” visit; he actually wanted to stay longer – Floyd, who had been with him, seemed particularly sad he couldn’t stay and squeeze his favorite “Little Shrimp” half to death all afternoon and evening…and in his case, that phrase was probably literal – but the Mostro Lounge was open that day, and he didn’t want to leave Jade in charge of things alone for TOO long at the office. The octopus man had brought you a bracelet covered in small seashells: simple, but surprisingly sweeter than you had expected. Floyd, meanwhile…he just hugged you. “What’s a better present for Shrimpy than a nice, tight SQUEEZE from their bestest, most favorite eel-person…riiiiiiight?” The safety of your spine and lungs demanded you agree and hug Floyd back. Ruggie and Jack had been among the first to show up. The latter had brought a hastily-wrapped DVD: a movie entitled “The Wolf of Pumpkin Hollow.” “I didn’t get this because I actually care,” he had clarified, looking everywhere but at your face and scratching the back of his white-eared head. “Just…everyone else would have thought it was rude if I didn’t get you something. Not that it matters what they think! Just…didn’t want to have to put up with it.” He was such a puppy. He truly was. Not only was Ruggie one of the first to arrive, he turned out to be THE first to give you your gift: a box of doughnuts. All glazed. “My grandma used to tell me: ‘Ruggie, get people the same kinds of gifts you’d want them to get you.’ Well, I can’t think of much I want more than doughnuts!” he sang out with an innocent smile. “You just wanted to have some to eat yourself, didn’t you?” you couldn’t help but smirk. Ruggie had gasped, seemingly offended…only to eventually ask if he could have some. The four remaining doughnuts – which you had to sneak away while the hyena wasn’t looking – were now on a plate in your fridge. You’d eat them later. Others had come and gone throughout the day; none of them had gifts to bring, but they had been happy to pop in, give well-wishes, and enjoy the party for a while. Now, however, all the guests were gone; even Grim had left, as you had asked him for some alone time that night. He and the gang from Heartslabyul were going to have a sleepover as a result. Despite the smile on your face as you looked over at your gifts, there was a hint of sadness to your expression. The one person whose presence you’d been looking forward to most hadn’t come. You’d asked his dorm-mates if they knew where he was or what he was doing, but none of them told you. Most of them very clearly had no clue…except for Ruggie. You got the feeling he DID know, he just wasn’t telling. Honestly, that didn’t settle your mind much. Your smile faded completely, and you closed your eyes once more, sighing through your nose…this time with a hint of despondency. Had he forgotten it was your birthday? Was he with somebody else right now? Maybe he was sleeping somewhere, like the big, lazy kit he was…some part of you – you couldn’t tell what part – kind of hoped that was all it was. He probably wasn’t hurt or sick…if he had been you’d think Ruggie would have told you… You glanced out the window. Evening was turning into night. You huffed softly through your nostrils, and stretched a bit where you sat. The party had worn you out more than you thought. You shook your head to clear it of your more perturbing thoughts, and began to wonder if you should just get to bed early tonight… A knock came at the door, jolting you to a more attentive state. You stood up from the ouch and headed out through the hall to the foyer. You wondered who it was…had one of the guests left something behind? As you approached the door, you adjusted your pristine white suit – another obligatory item for those celebrating a birthday at Night Raven College – which must have made whoever was on the other side impatient: they knocked again. “One moment, I’m here!” you called out, and opened the door. “Who’s-?” You froze, the word “there” dying before it ever reached your larynx. The first thing your eyes took in was the familiar, dimly-glowing pair of green ones staring back at you, as well as the dark mane and leonine ears and tail that accompanied their owner. A scar was slashed across one of the two eyes. The second thing – and the one that truly made you freeze – was the ENORMOUS, bare belly that was only inches away from you. The skin was tanned and smooth and supple-looking, the organ swollen to the size of a large watermelon, and only slightly less taut. The navel looked like the center of a maelstrom, drawing your attention towards that bloated gut as it let out a deep, burbling rumble…just before a black-clad hand slapped over it, hiding it from sight. At the same time, another hand suddenly scooped itself under your chin…and you found your head being tilted up, your eyes now locking on a pair of perfect-looking, velvety lips…which then parted to reveal a gaping, red mouth, dripping with saliva and framed by two rows of pointed, pearly fangs. You barely had time to take in the view of this glistening, slimy orifice…before your ears rang and your nose crinkled as two words were burped up. Right in your face. “HAAAAPPY…BUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP-DAY!” The belch was followed by a light sigh and a chuckle as Leona Kingscholar patted his stomach proudly. It jiggled at his touch. He smirked as he took in your expression: a loopy, flushed look was on your face. You were swaying so much that if he removed his hand from under your chin at that moment, you might have just toppled over. “Hm-hm-hmmm…did you like that?” he purred, smoothly. You nodded dumbly, still smiling a loopy, dazed smile as the sound reverberated in your ears, and your nose tingled from the lingering odor of the lion’s gut gas: a strong, heady, meaty smell that twined through the pockets of your gray matter, practically putting you in a trance for several long seconds. Finally, you found your voice. “…Where have you been?” “Preparing your present,” Leona said, as if that should have been obvious, and gently nudged you back as he entered the house and swaggered past you. With every step, his hips swung, and you found your blush seemed to be permanent as you watched them rock and sway as he strutted towards the living room. You followed him as if a leash had been tied ‘round your neck, and watched as he flopped onto your couch, gut sloshing with every little motion of his form. He was dressed in his usual clothes, but his gut was so massive it caused his mustard-colored shirt to ride up, exposing his belly to the world. The lion demi growled as he reached down; his waistband was still buttoned up, and clearly it was causing him discomfort. His fingers fumbled for the belt buckle…and he frowned as he couldn’t quite get it to cooperate. “Tch. Figures,” he grumbled. “After that entrance…pain in my ass…” The familiar phrase snapped you out of your stupor, and you chuckled, rolling your eyes. You sat down next to your princely boyfriend, and shooed his hands away. He frowned, growling indignantly, but allowed you to fiddle with his buckle, and finally managed to work it off… POPK! ZZZRRRIIIP! GUHBLORLSH! Leona let out a sound between a sigh and a grunt as – the moment the buckle was released – his trouser button gave up the ghost, popping open as the zipper flew down, the sheer weight and pressure of his belly forcing them open. He sighed as his belly poured into his lap like a mass of mocha-colored dough, wobbling as it noisily burbled. “UUUUUUUURRRRRRRROOOOOOOOAAAARRRRRRRP!” he belted out. “Oof…that felt good…” You blushed bright red, helpless to do anything but nod; you were already starting to tremble at so many…APPEALING things happening all at once. Leona smirked anew as he noticed your expression, leaning back a little further against the sofa cushions as his scarred eye flashed with a superior gleam. “You didn’t think I forgot, did you?” “How much did you eat?” you asked, marveling at the size of his belly as you fingers fidgeted and twitched, looking for something to do. You suddenly felt a little parched… “Mmmmm…not enough,” Leona growled, and grinned wider, revealing his pointed teeth. “I could fit more in there, I’m sure…” He licked his lips in a sultry, almost inviting way. You couldn’t keep yourself from letting out a shaky, shuddering sound as you shivered, a mixture of warmth and cold flickering across your spine. Leona chuckled – his gut bounced with his mirth, and tilted his head back with a sigh. “Ahhhhhh…went to my favorite buffet and helped myself,” he elaborated as he gave his belly a few hearty slaps. “Pure meat, every ounce.” You nodded slowly, dumbly. Leona snorted through his nose, raising an eyebrow as he saw you openly ogle his stomach. “Hmph. Are you just gonna stare at it all night, Herbivore?” he grunted. He waited till you looked up at him before going on: “Go ahead. It’s not gonna rub itself.” Your heartbeat quickened and you smiled widely. Leona grimaced and snarled. “Oi…just rub, don’t gimme those eyes…you look like that brat back home…” You chuckled – it was hard not to giggle, honestly – and gratefully helped yourself to your “present.” Your hands quickly fell over Leona’s bloated gut as he stretched his arms over the back of the couch. You scooted closer, and quivered at the intense warmth of the half-lion’s greedy, globular gut. Your palms and fingers began to lightly run across his girth, stroking his belly, just to get a feel of the texture and temperature. His flesh was silky-smooth, making it so hard to resist just pressing your face against it and nuzzling into his belly… You did resist though. At least for the moment. Instead, your fingers began to knead and massage the belly of your beau, pressing down onto the thick soup you could feel churning away inside his bowels. You prodded experimentally, almost as if trying to distinguish each bit of food from the next…but there was no way you could. Whatever Leona had gobbled up was now little more than a uniform mush being swirled about by his strong stomach muscles. His insides warbled and rumbled, as if in response to your ministrations. Leona sighed, closing his eyes and savoring the way you massaged his distended tanker. In truth, the lazy lion didn’t need much of an excuse to stuff himself…but you didn’t care that much. Whether he did this for himself, or for you, as he claimed, the end result was the same. “Mmmmm…that’s it…keep it up,” he mumbled. “Wasn’t planning on stopping,” you said, more to yourself than him, but he snickered anyway. “Heh heh…good. Prey like you should be happy to have a chance like this,” he said, and playfully patted your cheek, causing your blush to intensify. A spike of ego shot up in you, and you purposefully pressed down harder against his stomach. It let out a HUMONGOUS groan, and Leona’s eyes widened and his cheeks ballooned…before he let out another sloppy, rumbling belch. “BUUUUUUUHHHHHHHUUUUUUUURRRRRRLLLLLLLUUUUUUP! Haaah…oi. Not so rough,” he growled, narrowing his eyes at you, tail lashing and thumping against the sofa cushions. “Sorry,” you smiled innocently. “You had so much hot air in there, it clearly had to be let out.” Leona’s eyes narrowed further. “I could turn you into dust right here and right now,” he said, warningly. “I guess you could,” you said, smoothly, and then traced a finger around the rim of his deep, dark trench of a navel. The effect was instantaneous. Leona tensed up for a second, inhaling sharply through his teeth…then sighed and relaxed, all but melting into his seat, eyes fluttering closed again as he purred louder than ever. You smirked triumphantly, as you stuck your finger into his navel and wiggled it around a bit. “Still want to turn me into dust?” you teased. Leona could only moan. He moaned even louder as you cupped one hand on the underside of his belly: the softest, warmest, most sensitive portion of his abdomen. You gently rubbed your hand against them, and traced your fingers over his sides. You could hear his toes curl in his boots; his tail you could SEE curl into a spiral shape as he bit his lip with pleasure. “I’ll take that as a no,” you observed, a dreamy sort of sigh upon your lips as you were honestly enjoying this just as much as he was, a fact you made clear you when you half-consciously murmured: “You’re so SOFT…” “Mmmm…I’ll be softer once it’s all digested,” Leona mumbled. “Vargas is probably gonna complain…think he’d pester me about that stuff if I ate ‘im?” “I think if you ate Coach Vargas, you’d just get a bellyache,” you said, not wanting to add that someone as egotistical as Leona eating someone as showboating as Vargas probably meant all the weight would to his head… …Cracks like that weren’t funny, and could get you bitten. The second part you didn’t mind as much as one might think, to be fair. …You really needed to see a shrink… Leona just scoffed, unaware of your thoughts as you continued to rub and massage his belly. You gave the side of his belly a few hearty thumps, watching the way his belly shifted and jiggled like a water balloon. His stomach groaned and churned rhythmically, squelches and squeals of liquid being compressed and stirred echoing just beneath the luscious skin of the half-lion prince. It sounded like a huge vat of semi-solid mash being pumped and processed in a factory…a sound some might have considered nauseating, but you just bit your lip, rubbing and kneading more vigorously as you heard pockets of gas being released. As you kneaded and pressed down, Leona would BELCH and BURP periodically. Each was short and low, which only made you rub his gut more vigorously. He gave you a bored sort of look as he realized what you were doing. “Didn’t get enough to drink at your party, did you, you thirsty little Herbivore?” “Not even close,” you responded, without skipping a beat. Leona rolled his eyes, and held up a finger in a “one moment” gesture. He then curled that same finger down, balling that hand into a fist…and pumped his fist against his chest once, twice, thrice…before unleashing a true wall-rattler, which flapped his lips and made him go crosseyed. “GYYYYUUUUUHHHHHEEEEERRRRRWWWOOOOAAAAARRRRRIIIIIPLK!” Leona sighed as the eruption came to an end, and snorted as you squeaked at the sound. “Happy now?” he drawled boredly. “Very,” you peeped, patting his belly thankfully. Leona rolled his eyes as he scratched the side of his gut with his leather-tipped fingers, making it slosh under your palm. You quivered. His lips quirked. “Tch. You’re such a snack,” he muttered. “It’s amazing nobody’s already gobbled you up…” “Just lucky so far, I guess,” you shrugged, and scratched his belly with your own fingers. Leona let out a non-committal rumble…then smirked a bit. “We could fix that, you know,” he purred in a slippery, sly way. You froze, and looked up at him slowly, a little confused and slightly apprehensive. Leona smiled back, eyes half-lidded; the dominant, powerful, but affectionately amused smile that always left you shivering for all the right reasons. Then, one of his his hands lifted, and cupped your cheek. He brushed a thumb against it, and you smiled gently back… …Just before that same hand slid forward, and wrapped around the back of your head. “Here,” he growled, commandingly, as he began to force you downwards. “Listen. Feel.” You didn’t have much choice, and it wasn’t as if you would disobey if you could. You surrendered easily as he eased you down against his belly, pressing your head down and holding it firmly, curling his hand so one of your was right above his navel. You felt your chest flutter as the warmth of his body was now right up against your face, and the deep, thick GRRRROOOOLLLLLLG sounds of his ever-hungry belly echoed in your ear like rolling thunder. You stayed perfectly still; time and place seemed to fade into nothingness. All that mattered was the moment: you were hypnotized by his belly, barely conscious of anything. He started speaking, but it took you a few seconds to realize what he was even saying. “…I’d you’d like it, huh?” were the first words you made out, followed by still more: “I could swallow you alive, Herbivore. You’d slither right down my throat, curl up in my stomach…and never come out. I’d just fall asleep, and let you stay there. It wouldn’t have to hurt: one big burp, and your air would be history. Then, you’d go straight to my hips…my thighs…my ass…even my belly. Every part of me you love most.” He paused, purring as his stomach let out a greedy, longing rumble. “How does that sound for your birthday, Herbivore?” he crooned. “How would you like to spend your birthday – your LAST birthday – turning into more of the body you’re so in love with. To be the snack you’re supposed to be. To spend the rest of eternity as just a part of me.” None of these were spoken as questions. You shivered and let out a whimpering sound – not necessarily one of fear, either – as you heard him lick and smack his lips. He leaned down and sniffed at you, purring in the back of his throat. “Mmmmmmm…I could make that happen. Right here. Right now.” You bit your lip; as his stomach rumbled, you closed your eyes. You could picture yourself inside of there…partially submerged in acid and bubbling goo…embraced on every side by his powerful muscles…hearing him belch with satisfaction above and around you…rubbing over you as you were steadily digestedinside of him… You took longer than most people probably would before speaking. “I know you could,” you said, very softly, then added, “Maybe someday you will.” Leona blinked…then puffed with amusement, his smile growing slightly more affectionate as he ran his fingers through your hair the way a cat might. “Not ready to make this birthday your last, huh?” You opened one eye and carefully shook your head. “If it means next year I could get one as good as this, or better, definitely not,” you responded, without skipping a beat. Leona clucked his tongue, and removed his hand, letting it rest against the back of the sofa. He chuffed as your remained where you were, despite no longer being forced down. “Kinky little morsel,” he mumbled. “Guilty,” you responded in a slightly muffled voice as you freely nuzzled his abdomen, smirking as he purred anew, clearly enjoying it. Leona chuckled, and nudged you, indicating he wanted you to look up at him again. You did…and watched as his cheeks ballooned with gas as he caught a particularly low, gassy burp in his mouth… “HHHHRRRRMMMMLLLLRRRRPH…phoosh.” …Before blowing the residual fumes into your face, almost like a kiss. You nearly fainted dead away. Leona grinned. “Good?” was all he said. “Marry me now.” Leona barked out a laugh and gave your hair a ruffling, then shut his eyes and reclined peacefully once more. “Get back to rubbing, meat,” he growled. “Or I might just swallow you whether you want it or not. Don’t let your gift go to waste.” You smiled and eagerly got back to work, kissing and nuzzling and rubbing his belly worshipfully, without any sign of restraint. Leona’s purring heightened as you pampered his plumpened middle. “Mmmmm…happy birthday, Herbivore,” he growled. “Maybe next year, I’ll add you to my hips…” At the rate things were going…that was starting to sound like a promise more than anything else. If so…you could hardly wait till next year.

 The End

[gra-sonas]

I deeply apologise for this, I honestly don’t have anyone else to talk to about this and you’re so nice and kind that I feel like I could do it with you. Please, ignore me if you want to, you don’t have to answer or post this. I’ve recently started writing fics (my first time doing it), and I’ve published 3 of them so far. But I cannot help but feel like they are bad, that I shouldn’t be writing them. I don’t get many "hits" and the ones that I get, don’t leave kudos or anything which makes me think that people hated it. They are "short" (the longest one has 4000 words) and I feel that that is not enough. I’m just having a hard time. I know that I shouldn’t care about if people like it, if they comment or leave kudos because I’m writing for me and all of that. But I really can’t help feeling like shit about it and comparing myself with other fic-writers out there. And every day I’m struggling with the idea of wanting to just delete everything. Maybe I just don’t have the mental state to deal with things like these and maybe I should just stop. Thank you for reading and I’m sorry again, you don’t have to answer this. Have a great day!

First of all, there's no need to apologize for anything, nonnie. *sends you a looooooooooooong virtual hug*

Secondly, I'm so sorry that you're feeling the way you do. Putting any kind of creativity out there is always nerve-wracking, especially when you're "new" to doing it. I can imagine how difficult this must be for you, especially bc you don't have anyone to talk to about it.

When I posted my first fic (well, technically not the very first, but the handful of things I wrote long before RNM don't really count imo) 3 years ago, I was dying inside. If it hadn't been for lovely fandom friends, I NEVER would've posted it.

As a non-native English speaker I always felt inadequate/not articulate enough to write in English, plus a million other things I thought my writing was lacking, so I never even tried (before RNM I hadn't written anything in over a decade). Until Malex came along and the urge to write was so overwhelming that I gave it a shot.

And man, I'm so happy that I did. But again, I only posted it bc I had friends who beta-read it for me, who encouraged me and told me it wasn't in fact crap. And lo and behold, I've written a couple more fics over time, and I feel more confident about it nowadays (still dying inside tho when I post something new, that will probably never change :P).

Something that's really hard is not comparing your own writing to that of other writers - especially those who get tons of kudos and comments. In that same regard, it's really hard not to compare the number of hits and kudos your fics are getting to the numbers other writers' writing generates.

Anyway, comparing ourselves to others, that way madness (and unhappiness) lies. Looking at other writers' writing as an inspiration, YES, comparing our own writing to that of others, NO. Easier said than done, I know. :/

Anyway, I think what could be really helpful to you, is joining one of RNM (I'm assuming that you're writing RNM fic, if not, please replace that with the fandom you're writing for) Discord servers. Many fandom writers gather there, chat about fics, bounce ideas around, organize writing sprints, offer beta-reading, and so on. Getting input from others is just so cool and reassuring.

Additional plus: when you post a new fic, there are already a couple of people who know about it and they are often willing to signal-boost a new fic with reblogs.

As for the length of your fics: 4K is amazing, but by far not a necessary word count to attract readers. Most of my fics are shorter, and while I'm certainly not the queen of Kudos/comments, people are kind enough to read my fics. So, really, shorter fics are absolutely okay.

I really hope you'll reconsider re deleting everything. It would be a loss - for the fandom, but also for yourself. You put a lot of work into writing these stories, be kind to yourself and just take the [current] lack of "interaction" for what it is: you are new to this, and most people probably just haven't realized that there's a new writer in town. (Also, if you're writing RNM fic... fandom is still in total hibernation mode, I really hope that changes when S4 starts airing)

Sending you lots of love and writerly encouragement, nonnie. Please keep writing. Please keep putting yourself out there. And most importantly: find "your people", a "cheerleading squad" (and if it's just a squad of one person, squad is squad!) that has your back.

YOU CAN DO IT, I BELIEVE IN YOU! ❤️

P.S.: Funny enough but I'm not a member of any of the open RNM Discord servers, so, if anyone knows of a server or even runs one, please drop a link in the comments or send me a DM and I'll add a link to this post, thanks! 🙌

[gumnut-logic]

Callisto (Voyage - Bit 3)

Prologue Incident - Bit 1 | Bit 2 Fallout - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 Voyage - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3

This has settled down to a once a week post at the moment. I am still writing, but I’ve been writing the Prologue because I realised that I hadn’t written enough backstory to support the main story. So expect 4000-odd words of Jeff landing on Mars in the near future.

In the meantime, here is a little terrible twos being good bros.

As always, many, many thanks to @tsarinatorment​ @scribbles97​ and @janetm74​ for all their patient help. I’ve been a pain lately, so they have suffered greatly for my fic :D

I hope you enjoy this last bit of Part Two.

-o-o-o-

Gordon sat back and watched his father and Virgil leave the cockpit. John followed a moment later.

Gordon wasn’t hungry, not by a long shot. His stomach was still protesting the jump and he was quite happy staying where he was.

He wasn’t surprised that Scott, after reassuring himself that Alan was okay monitoring the course correction, disappeared after John. Gordon did not want to be in the room when that encounter happened. Not that he didn’t have his own beef with the astronaut over this. He couldn’t believe John would support their father going into space. John, of all people knew the health ramifications.

Speaking of which…

He unbuckled and pushed off his chair in the direction of his father’s chair. Formerly, his chair. He was of two minds regarding that fact, but considering he didn’t think Dad should even be in space, where he sat was of the least importance.

He hooked his foot around the base of the seat and pulled himself in beside his little brother.

Gordon’s eyes danced over the flight controls. “How’s it going?”

Alan glanced at him. “Computer is performing perfectly. We’ll stop to drop the buoy in about twenty-five minutes.” A raised eyebrow. “How’s the tummy?” And yes, there was a small smirk accompanying that.

“It’s fine.” As if to penalise him for lying to his little brother, his gut twisted.

Gordon let out a groan.

The smirk turned to a worried frown. “You sure you’re okay.”

He grunted at his brother. “I’ll live.” And he remembered that there were four more jumps there and likely five more on the way back. “Maybe.”

“Get Virg to drug you up. You’ll enjoy it more.”

‘Enjoy’ was rarely in the same sentence as ‘space’ in Gordon’s book. “Might do that.” Puking in zero-g was just messy and not to mention gross. “How come you aren’t feeling it?”

Alan shrugged. “Been playing with g-forces since I was a kid? This isn’t much different.”

Gordon grunted at him again.

They sat there together for a moment or two. There was something about hanging with his little brother that was different from hanging with his older brothers. More relaxed maybe, or just…different.

“Not often my ‘bird carries yours. This has to be only the second time.”

Gordon blinked. “Yeah? I think so. Not too many oceans in space.”

“Tell that to the Jupiter system.”

Space oceans were a thing. After the mad dash that was their trip to Europa, Gordon had made a point of reading up on all the extra-terrestrial oceans he could find.

Earth, of course, was the only body in the solar system with surface liquid water. There were buckets of ice on many of the other planets and moons, but none of that interested the aquanaut. He preferred his water well above zero degrees celsius.

Europa had been fascinating and he was still basking in the accolades from the scientific paper that he, Alan and his heroes, the Pendergasts, had jointly written. Readings from Four’s scanners had recorded everything and Earth’s scientific compliment were still going nuts years later. Tracy Industries had helped fund a proper scientific expedition to the moon.

Hmm, come to think of it, they should probably drop in and say hi on the way back. Would be interesting to catch up with Gwen and her team in person instead of over holovid.

Would be hilarious to knock on their door as a surprise. Hi, we were just in the area…

He grinned.

“What are you up to?” Alan was eyeing him suspiciously.

Gordon snorted. “Just thinking we should drop in on the Europa Extra-terrestrial Marine Expedition on the way back. I owe Gwen a jump-scare.”

His brother tilted his head, obviously calculating the possibility. “Could do. You should speak to Scott.”

That dragged him back to reality. “I guess it depends on Dad.”

Blue eyes darted in his direction. “Dad will be okay. You know that, don’t you?”

Gordon found he didn’t have the energy to get angry. “How can you know that?”

“I don’t.” Alan went quiet a moment. “But then how do you think I manage each time you go out on a mission?”

The aquanaut stared at him. “What?”

“Well, your health has never been and never will be one hundred percent, yet you still dart down to the bottom of the ocean, jump off high places and do things just like the rest of us. Do you think I don’t think of losing you all the time?”

Gordon froze a moment digesting that his little brother still worried about that… “That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“Dad…okay, I get your point. But I’m also worried about Scott.”

“What?” Alan stared at him.

“Can’t you see what this is doing to him?”

“Er, what?”

No, Alan hadn’t seen. “I have never seen Scott so terrified.”

“I repeat – what?”

“When Dad told us he was going. Scott just…” He swallowed. “Dad is hurting Scott and I, for one, am not going to stand for it. Virg isn’t either.”

Alan was staring at him. “You said Dad was cold and didn’t care. Abrupt, yes, that’s Dad, but I can’t believe he doesn’t care.” The astronaut shook his head.

“If he cared, he wouldn’t have come.”

“Gords-“

“Alan, trust me on this.”

His little brother stared at him again. “I trust you, Gordon, you know that. It’s a given. But I also trust Dad. He knows what he’s doing.”

Gordon pressed his lips together. “He doesn’t know everything and I really wish you guys would stop worshipping him as a god.”

“He’s not a god! He’s just…Dad.”

“Yeah, and that’s the problem.”

There was silence after that. Gordon not willing to berate Alan any further. It wasn’t Alan’s fault. He didn’t have the history with Dad Gordon did. He hadn’t had to fight to swim. Hadn’t seen Virgil struggle with his choices.

Hadn’t seen Scott give his everything to his father only to have it…ignored.

But no, that was history. Long ago. Before the Oort Cloud. Gordon had his issues regarding his father. He loved him, but he was a difficult man under all that passion. Being the son of a hero wasn’t everything it could be.

Scott worshipped the ground his father walked on. Gordon, not so much.

To see his father hurt Scott like that…Gordon’s blood just boiled.

“Is Scott okay?” Alan’s voice was smaller than usual.

“That’s just it, Allie. I don’t think so. You know how he gets. Like before the Oort Cloud. I, for one, don’t want him going there again.” ‘There’ being more a mental place than a physical.

Alan’s head dropped. “No.”

A voice rumbled behind them and both jumped. Michael was talking into comms, to Scott, something about the aft sensor array.

Crap. It was a sign of his distraction that he had forgotten the Mechanic was there. He glanced over, but the tattooed man showed no sign of even knowing they existed.

Gordon sighed.

A hand landed on his knee. “It’s going to be okay.” Blue eyes sought his. “It will be, Gords.”

He let out a breath, suddenly wishing he had Alan’s faith.

If anything happened to Dad…

“It. Is. Going. To. Be. Okay.” The hand on his leg squeezed tight.

But Gordon didn’t answer.

-o-o-o-

The drop of the communication buoy saw all of them back in the cockpit. John was the mastermind behind this little exercise and Virgil was, as usual, very proud of his space brother.

The design was ingenious, of course. John had taken a portion of the T-drive technology and applied it to communications. The same Tunnels created by the engine could be used to push what would otherwise be a simple comms signal through to the next buoy at a vastly accelerated rate. His brother had been working with Brains to realise this technology. Back in Earth orbit, a satellite connected the new network to the planetary network. On the way out, they would connect the Jupiter system. On the way back, they would connect Mars. Time delay communications would be a thing of the past.

Possibly as a tension reliever, John’s first signal went straight to Lady Penelope.

Gordon’s demeanour shifted immediately. His excited babbling did much to lighten the atmosphere in the cabin. The uninformed wouldn’t have been blamed for thinking he hadn’t spoken to her for years. Virgil knew for a fact the two of them had had a conversation shortly before they left.

The concept of ‘young love’ made him feel old.

And indicated just how tired he really was.

But sleep was something he couldn’t see happening very soon. Sure, he could try to take a nap en route. Hell, he had to. But his head was full of worry that likely wouldn’t let him rest.

Scott let Gordon babble for a full minute before cutting him off with the mission. Perhaps the commander saw how much the atmosphere needed to be lifted from the black depths they had fallen into.

Virgil hated it when his family argued. It didn’t happen often...okay, maybe they did quarrel every now and again - it came with the territory of working together. But nothing deep like this. Nothing that cut into the core of their very foundation. The surety that held them together.

Virgil sighed.

“Ready for jump.” Scott’s voice was all command and it forced Virgil to focus.

Pre-jump checklist as his brother called out to each of them.

“Airframe?”

“Craft secure. We are go.”

Blue eyes flickered to Michael. “Propulsion.”

“T-drive ready.”

“Helm.”

Alan’s back was tensed, his hand on the lever that would propel them further away from Earth. “Ready.”

The familiar countdown, such a part of their lives. Scott’s voice carried security...and Virgil’s faith.

Alan’s arm moved.

And the Excel jumped.

-o-o-o-

Next

[lionessfeather]

Going Home For Christmas: A Sylvia Montgomery/Margaret Ross fanfic

So. Important note. This is as of writing, a fanfic. It's canon-adjacent, meaning it could happen, but it might not. It's 100% inspired by a friend mentioning that Sylvia and Margaret are a And They Were Roommates trope, which spurred me to say, "someone stop me or i might try my hand at a tiny bit of "and there was only one bed" fanfic)". Not one of my friends decided to stop me, so here we are. Enjoy a solid bit of And There Was Only One Bed fanfic of my own story. I guess appropriate tags would be: And There Was Only One Bed, Holiday Travel, Slight Angst, Pining, An Oh Moment, Particularly Self-Indulgent Writing. It's around 4000 words. You can read it on AO3 here, but you could also stick around and use the Read More.

October 18, 1885, in the morning

Sylvia opened the letter next to her plate. It was full of Aunt Moira’s happy chatter, talking about Sylvia’s new job, and the start of the school year, and how proud they both were of her, and asking questions about her lessons, before moving on to telling her about the parish news, and then about the difficulty in finding just the right raisins for the Christmas pudding, and that is where Sylvia spluttered with laughter. Thankfully she had finished her toast already. Margaret looked up from her own breakfast, a question in her eyes. Sylvia dabbed at her mouth with a napkin.

“I must apologise. Aunt Moira has a … a certain way of describing things, and she has apparently been having great trouble locating raisins that meet her exacting standards.”

“… Raisins,” Margaret’s eyebrow rose.

“For her Christmas pudding. One year she apparently only found inferior ones, and Uncle Roger teases her about it every year.”

Margaret giggled, which drained all seriousness from her face and made Sylvia melt inside, just a little bit.

“And every year, she threatens that he won’t be allowed to stir it – although she does let him in the end.”

“Your parents sound lovely.”

Sylvia smiled warmly. “They are.”

“I suppose you will go to visit them over the holidays?”

“Yes! I do hope that it will not be inconveniencing for you? I thought you might visit family as well.”

Margaret sighed, and looked down at the table. “I might have considered it, even with the long journey, but Papa will not have leave, and I have seen Nanny and Aunt Helen recently still. I suppose Mrs. Jones will be willing to leave me a nice meal before she leaves on Christmas Eve.”

Sylvia looked around the comfortable dining room and bit her lip. Would it be too forward if –

“You could come with me?”

Silence.

Blast.

Margaret lifted her napkin and dabbed at her eyes.

Blast, blast, blast.

“Truly? Will your family not mind?” Margaret’s voice was a slight bit unsteady, as if she had not expected anything like an invitation.

“They won’t, I promise. Aunt Moira loves feeding people, and Uncle Roger is so very kind. I mean, we do spend a lot of time around the church, what with Uncle Roger being the vicar, but- “

“I would love to come, if you are sure they will not mind. I must admit, I was sad at the prospect of spending Christmas alone.”

Sylvia drank a bit more of her tea as her heart rate settled down again. She hoped her inconvenient crush on her roommate would settle down soon.

“I will write to them immediately, though I know they will not mind in the slightest.”

-----

December 19, 1885

Maggie was glad Sylvia had chosen to cut the journey into two days. Travel was always wearying, and the seats in the train, even in a first-class compartment, were uncomfortable to say the least. Thankfully, Sylvia knew the railway hotel in Bedford well enough, and was sure they would have rooms available, even at this time of year. They were standing in the lobby, which was comfortable but a bit sparse. Maggie leaned against the wall, only half-listening to the conversation at the reception. Her thoughts had grown all fuzzy and it was only with effort that she could even listen to as much of the conversation as she did.

“Ah, Miss Montgomery, it has been a while indeed. You look well, if I may be so bold.” The speaker was a young man, and if Maggie had been inclined to look, she would have seen him grin in a way that spoke of a long history.

“Good evening, Jack. It has been quite a while indeed. I have finished my studies, so I have had less need of the Railway in the past months.”

“And what can I do for the learned professor on this fine night?”

Sylvia laughed, and the sound cut through the haze around Maggie and made her smile, too.

“Not a professor, I am afraid. They would never let a woman hold that position. But Miss Ross and I are on our way home for Christmas, and we need rooms for the night.”

“Well, you’re in luck then. There are still plenty of fine rooms available.”

“On the ground floor?” Sylvia’s voice was hopeful, and Maggie was so very grateful that her wonderful friend thought to ask that for her.

Jack paused, presumably to look at where she leaned against the wall.

“Ah, I see. Yes, I think I can arrange something there. When will you travel back, miss Montgomery? That way I can make a note that you will wish to stay on the ground floor again.”

“That would be wonderful, Jack, thank you. We will travel back on January 4th.”

Maggie barely remembered the rest of the evening. They had shared dinner, and then she could blessedly lie down, and forget about her tired, aching body.

----

From the diary of Margaret Ross

“December 23

It is wonderful to see Sylvia with her family, all so content together. And the way they have included me in their festivities is so very warm and kind. They have all taken my word for my limitations, and Mr. Montgomery does not at all seem to think that I did something to make God punish me, as other vicars have done. I understand why Papa wrote to him for help when we were looking for someone I could live with. Furthermore, the longer we are here, the more I understand how Sylvia has become the wonderful and kind human she is.

[…]

December 28

It has snowed. Although it has made the vicarage look magnificent, and like something out of a child’s picture book, it does mean I cannot really go out. Sylvia and her mother went skating, but Mr. Montgomery stayed behind to keep me company, even though he clearly would have liked to join his wife and daughter. We talked about many things – his and Papa’s past, the Incident, and even – very briefly – about my mother, but not for long, as those last two are not pleasant topics of conversation. He also told me more about Sylvia’s childhood, and told several stories that made me laugh.

After a while, I asked Mr. Montgomery if he could help me get to the bench outside, so that I might sketch the vicarage, and he could join his family. I also sketched the skaters, as they would add a touch of life to the painting I am now planning.

When they came back in, Sylvia had snow stuck in her hair, and the way her cheeks glowed made me very sorry that I had been unable to bring my oil paints. I do not know why I have not yet dared to ask if I can paint her; normally I do not have any problems asking even the most recent of acquaintances, but for some reason, I get nervous about asking Sylvia. I suppose I am worried what she will think of me for asking? Or maybe I am not confident about capturing the way her face comes together, or the luminosity of her skin.

[…]

January 1, 1886

It is the New Year! I wonder what 1886 will bring. I hope Papa will have leave in Britain this summer – I do miss not being able to see him and Nanny and Aunt Helen, but it really was too far, especially traveling alone. I am very grateful for the warm welcome the Montgomerys have shown me, and for not being alone this time of year. It was also wonderful to see this side of Sylvia, relaxed and with her family.

-----

January 4, 1886, late afternoon turning into early evening

They left late in the afternoon, catching the train back to Bedford, so they could take the early train up to St-Dunstan’s the next day. Sylvia kept an eye on Margaret, as she clearly struggled with the snow.

“Thankfully it hasn’t yet become an icy sheet,” Margaret remarked.

Sylvia hovered close by her – her roommate? Her friend? Spending Christmas with her had blurred the boundaries, it seemed – ready to catch her if it should be necessary, and holding the door open for her.

She went up to the reception desk.

“Good evening, Jack.”

Jack, who had grown up next to the vicarage, grinned down at her, mischief almost-hidden from his face. Oh no. Tell me he didn’t.

“Good evening, Miss Montgomery. I have reserved the ground-floor suite for you, as promised.”

A suite. Well, that is a relief. I was worried that –

“Just as well you placed the reservation when you came through,” he continued, casually turning around for the key. “One of the colleges has a big to-do tomorrow, and we’re otherwise full-up.” He winked at her as he held out the key, filling Sylvia with foreboding once again.

“Your suite is number 4. I can show you to it, but it is rather easy to find. Turn right at the end of that corridor, and it will be the first door on the left.”

Sylvia snatched the key from his hand. “I’m sure we will manage. We will need a table for dinner, and to be woken in time for the early train up north. Two hours before departure will do.”

Jack’s eyes danced with mischief now. “I will make the arrangements at once, Miss Montgomery.”

Margaret stepped up to the desk, taking the key from Sylvia’s hand.

“Thank you, Mr – Jack? You may have the bill made out to Margaret Ross, Lime Tree Cottage, St-Dunstan-Upon-Stream.”

Sylvia picked up their overnight bags – their cases had been left at the station in the care of the porters – and followed Margaret down the corridor. Out of the snow, Margaret’s steps were sure again on the slightly-threadbare carpet.

“You and Jack know each other well, then?”

“We grew up together. His family – the Summers – live next to the vicarage,” Sylvia said, before grumbling under her breath, “and he thinks that that allows him to take liberties.” Louder again, she added, “People thought we might get married, but neither of us feel that way inclined. And then I went off to university, and he started at the hotel. I think he dreams of owning a hotel of his own someday. Can you imagine, me running a hotel?”

Margaret laughed as she turned the key in the lock and opened the door. She gestured Sylvia in. Sylvia took two steps inside and froze.

Blast. I’ll kill that blasted goblin, shared past be -

---

January 4, still early evening

Maggie saw her friend stiffen, and followed her gaze to the bed. The singular bed. The room – suite? – was comfortably appointed with a desk, two chairs next to a blazing fire, a wash stand, and two gas lamps, but only the singular bed. It was a large bed, but still. This is fine. Friends share beds sometimes, and this one really is quite large.  

She vaguely heard Sylvia mutter threats to strangle the young man at the reception.

Maggie hung up her traveling cloak and put her gloves on a table, stretching her fingers to get rid of the feeling of slightly-damp fabric. She sat down on one of the fireside chairs and stretched her legs.

“Are you all right, Sylvia?” That seemed to snap Sylvia out of her daze.

“Yes, thank you Margaret.” Why won’t she call me Maggie? I must have asked a dozen times by now.

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Maggie said, gesturing at the bed. “No need to murder your friend at the reception. We can just pick a side each and stay there, can’t we? It looks plenty big.”

Maggie couldn’t read the expressions chasing across Sylvia’s face. Relief? Disappointment? Hurt? All of them? But why? What did I say?

Maggie’s hands itched to hold Sylvia’s face, to steady those dark eyes and see the thoughts behind them, but Sylvia was standing far away, and the chair was actually rather low, and some part of Maggie felt like it would be crossing some sort of threshold, although she didn’t quite know why.

Sylvia cleared her throat, drawing Maggie out of her reverie.

“That- that sounds like a fine plan. The bed looks plenty big indeed.” Sylvia bit her lip, and Maggie’s hand moved subconsciously, starting to reach out before Maggie dropped it back down into her lap.

“Anyway, I will go and ask Jack about dinner.” The brightness in Sylvia’s voice seemed to have the slightest edge of brittleness, and Maggie wondered how her friend had gone from annoyance to this.

“I will come with you. Could you maybe help me up? This chair is lower than I was expecting.”

It wasn't until she felt the warmth of Sylvia's hand on hers that Maggie realised both of them had taken off their gloves. Sylvia's hands were strong, and warm, and gentle, and - and surely, they must have touched like this before, over the past five months? But all those thoughts had fled Maggie's mind, and only the feeling of skin on skin remained.

They remained standing like that for several moments after Maggie was steady on her feet, until Sylvia suddenly drew back her hands, blushing furiously. Maggie tried to distract herself from the blush she felt on her own face. I wonder how I'd paint that colour. It's such a gorgeous rich dark, and the contrast- That line of thinking wasn't helping. At all. Maggie felt the blush deepen and spread all the way down to her ankles.

Her cane was cold against her hand, as Sylvia pressed it into her grip.

“Shall we-“ Sylvia cleared her throat several times. “Shall we go to the dining room then?”

During dinner, both of them studiously steered the conversation to small talk, the stay at the vicarage, their plans for the coming term, fashion – everywhere but their room, or what had just happened. When they returned to the room, the bed – the whole room, even – seemed to have shrunk during dinner. Maggie sat down at the desk this time, avoiding a repeat of the Chair Incident, and letting her write in her diary. She was, however, distinctly aware of Sylvia, who had sat down near the fire with a book. She’d sat down in her usual way, not at all daintily but with her legs drawn up onto the chair, and it suddenly struck Maggie how endearing that habit was. Why had she never realised that before?

Eventually, they both got ready for bed, and Maggie made sure her cane was within reach of the bed, and then they both crawled under the covers, carefully staying near the edges of the bed.

---

January 5, 1886, awfully early in the morning

“Miss Montgomery, Miss Ross! It is two hours until the Northbound express departs!” The words were accompanied by several loud knocks. Sylvia sleepily brought an arm up over her face, attempting to block out the world, grumbling at the early hour, and realised several things. First, she was no longer near the edge of the bed. Second, there was a distinct heat against her back and across her waist. Third, Margaret’s small noises of complaint at being woken up were adorable and entirely too close to her ear. She froze. This seemed to make Margaret aware of the situation, as she suddenly felt the cold of another body moving away. Sylvia groaned again, this time in mortification. She threw off the covers and turned the light up low, before making her way to the wash stand. There, Sylvia splashed her face with the cold water, before slowly navigating to the door and picking up the hot water that had been left outside. She peered back into the room and cursed herself for not grabbing her spectacles. She carefully navigated to the wash stand again. Margaret made her way over to her, holding out the spectacles, ready to put on.

“I figure you have as much trouble as me navigating strange environments.”

“Thanks,” Sylvia mumbled, mashing her spectacles at her face with one hand and balancing the pitcher with the other. She could now easily put the pitcher on the wash stand, but as she turned, she realised everything else she could clearly see, and she could feel her blush starting again. She idly wondered if that pink blush at the neckline of Margaret's chemise extended all the way down to- No. Not going there.

Looking away from that oh-so-tempting neckline, she suddenly noticed Margaret was leaning against the wash stand.

“Are you all right?”

“Mmmm.” Margaret’s tone was carefully noncommittal. She seemed to gather herself. “Yes, it’s fine. Everything is just a bit stiff first thing in the morning. I will be okay with some time.”

Both of them washed and dressed, careful to only touch the other’s corset and not the warmth of the chemise on her back while helping with the lacing. Breakfast was simple, but filling, as Sylvia expected of a railway hotel this early in the day. On the way to the station, she had planned several murderous glares in Jack’s direction, but it seemed not to be his shift yet, as there was a bleary-eyed woman at the desk instead, who wished them a good journey.

----

January 5, 1886, less awfully early, in the train

Maggie felt strange. She had been all morning, and, if she was honest, most of the evening. Her hand had been all tingly, and now her stomach and chest had joined in. She hoped it wasn't a sign of illness. It would be terribly inconvenient to come down with something right before the start of term. She took her sketchpad out of her overnight bag, with the idea of planning her lessons for the week at least. Once the sun came out, she might attempt to draw the landscape outside the window.

Maggie zoned out, lost in her own head, until the train gave a particularly violent jolt, pulling her back into the present. She looked down at what she would have sworn to be a lesson plan, only to discover a careful study of Sylvia’s hand holding her book, and another one of Sylvia’s face, lost in concentration. Of her lesson plan, not a trace.

Maggie blinked. I wonder what came over me?

She turned to the next page and refocused on her lesson plan, using the noises of the train to keep on track. When she looked up next, Sylvia had closed her book, and taken off her spectacles, and Maggie was taken aback by the surge of protectiveness that came over her from seeing her friend in such a vulnerable state. She smiled quietly, almost without noticing, and was suddenly taken back three years.

They were sitting in the carriage, ready to go out and sweep into the ballroom.

“But Aunt Helen, how will I know who the right man is?”

“You’ll just know, Maggie dear,” her aunt had said.

“But how?”

Her aunt smiled. “He’ll be the one whose touch makes your skin tingle gently. Whose voice sends soft shivers down your back. Whose smile makes you feel warm inside. The one you sense enter the room, because suddenly all is well with the world. And when you do find him, I pray to God that he will be free to love you as you deserve.”

Even anxious as Maggie had been, she had seen the sadness in her aunt’s eyes.

Maggie shook her head. I wonder where that came from.

She looked at Sylvia again, and saw her friend was waking up, and suddenly the world stood still around her, as if she had just run into a brick wall at full speed.

Oh.

---

Still January 5, 1886, late in the day

Sylvia was glad she had been able to convince Thomas to take both the luggage and the two of them. She could see Margaret’s tense body, and knew that every bump must hurt her friend more, but the walk would have been worse.

Mrs. Jones had left low fires in each of their rooms, and Sylvia could smell the pie left out in the kitchen, bless her. As soon as the trunks were inside, Sylvia ushered Margaret to bed, knowing that was the best place for her right now. She got ready to leave and bring a tray of food, but Margaret stopped her.

“Wait – please. I- I need to ask you something.”

Sylvia’s heart skipped a beat. No, she told it. Don’t get your hopes up, it will only hurt more.

She turned around and sat next to Margaret’s bed. Margaret looked flushed. It was probably nothing but the warm fire and the comforter, but-

“I. The book- the poetry you were reading.” Margaret definitely was flustered. Sylvia couldn’t suppress a tiny spark. “Not today- earlier. Weeks ago. Sappho. I. You. Were you- were you maybe trying to- was that for me?” Margaret’s hands toyed with the comforter, turning this way and that. Sylvia couldn’t breathe. She looked away, not daring to look at Margaret’s face, and gave the tiniest of nods, unable to form words. She barely noticed her own hands fidgeting with the comforter, rubbing her fingers with the comforter between them. The rusty-red patterns moved around in wild ways on the comforter. Margaret’s hand gently touched hers – without gloves, again, and so warm, so gentle. Sylvia looked up.

“I’m sorry, I- I didn’t realise-,”Margaret began, and worried at her lip. Sylvia wanted to touch that lip, to stop her from biting it so. She wanted to so badly, but – but what if it was all a misunderstanding and Margaret didn’t mean what she thought she meant, or Sylvia was reading into things or- Margaret cleared her throat.

“I didn’t realise- I- I only realised today- me too.”

Sylvia’s heart stopped beating. No. It can’t- I misheard- Margaret looked away and started worrying at her lip again and Sylvia couldn’t resist anymore. She reached out and gently touched Margaret’s lip. Margaret turned and Sylvia lost herself in those green eyes. They stayed like that for what felt like forever and only a heartbeat and then Margaret reached up and drew Sylvia’s head closer. Sylvia thought she might explode with happiness.

They kissed until Maggie’s hiss of pain brought reality back. She could feel a silly smile on her face, and saw it mirrored on Maggie’s.

“Did you want to take a powder for that? I could fetch Mrs. Jones’ pie and we could eat here and-“

“Would you? Oh, bless you, that would be perfect.”

The pie was cold, but Sylvia couldn’t bring herself to warm it up. Her hands shook as she gathered cutlery and plates, and it was all she could do to load it all on a tray and carefully make her way back.

---

From a letter from Sylvia Montgomery to Jack Summers

“January 10, 1886, Lime Tree Cottage, St-Dunstan-Upon-Stream

Dear Jack,

I wanted to write you to ask what on earth you thought you were playing at, with that suite – you know what I mean – and to make sure you received my threats to strangle you next time we meet. But, as it happens, it would seem I owe you my thanks instead, you goblin. Anyway, since I am sure you want to crow about this – yes, your plot worked. Though please tell me you don’t normally do this – I doubt it would be good for business.

Maggie – that would be Miss Ross to you – wants me to add that she is also grateful for, and I quote, “walloping me upside the head and making me realise my own feelings,” and says that you will always be welcome to visit. And to let her know if you need help with your hotel. I’m adding that any potential gentleman friend would be just as welcome – of course.

[…]

Yours in friendship,

Sylvia

[kaizokuou-ni-naru]

Some Reasons I Love One Piece

So I set up a poll to ask what I should do for my 4000 follower milestone, and something like 85% of the responses to my poll said you wanted me to do a compilation of stuff I love about One Piece! So hell yeah, get ready for me to talk about pirates for way too long (a sentence that could also serve as an accurate blog description).

Before that though, lemme just say- thank you all! Seriously! When I started this blog I figured I’d be extremely lucky to end up with like a thousand followers, and now I have four times that and it just keeps growing, which just constantly baffles and amazes me. I adore every one of you, and you’re providing me something fun and productive to do in quarantine, and I love you for that.

Anyways! Let’s talk good shit.

Let’s start with Luffy. The whole story starts with him, after all.

I love Luffy, just as a character. He’s one of my favorite protagonists in anything, ever, when ordinarily protagonist characters don’t really appeal to me all that much. I genuinely think he might be my favorite character in One Piece now that I sit down and really think about it. I love how unconventional of a main character he is- he actively shuns the idea of being a hero and is in fact the most chaotic neutral motherfucker on the planet, and yet he’s so friendly and loyal and fun that you straight up can’t not love him both in-universe and out. 

I also love the Strawhats just in general, both as a group and individually. Found family is one of my all-time favorite story tropes, and they do it better than like, the vast majority of stories out there. They’re all so completely unique from each other and play off each other so well and they really do feel like a family. I love how often Oda just shows them fucking around and hanging out. (One of my only gripes with post-timeskip is how much time they spend split apart.) I think it says a lot about them that I struggled so much when someone asked me to rank the Strawhats a few months back and had to rearrange the list like four times. I just!! Love them all!!

One of my favorite things about One Piece is that it’s the story of Luffy’s rise, and that it occurs in a world that’s so solidly scaled and well-developed that all progress he makes actually feels tangible and impactful. Some of my favorite moments in One Piece are the ones where we can see how far he and the crew have come and see other people’s reactions. His reappearance at Sabaody after the timeskip is my favorite scene in the manga, full stop. His entrance at Marineford and all of the Decks of the World cover stories delight me for the same reason.

Speaking of the worldbuilding, god it’s so good? I think one of the greatest potential strengths of a long manga is that its just got so much time to establish and build on so much information, and sometimes that leads to mangaka kind of tying themselves in knots with too much lore and explanation, but Oda just fucking nails it. 

I recently read a conversation during Zou where the Strawhats are talking to Inuarashi, Nekomamushi and the Wano folks about all their mutual acquaintances on the Roger Pirates- Brook asks about Crocus, Franky mentions Tom, etc- and I had a moment where I realized how in pretty much any other series all those connections might seem contrived, but in One Piece it works so well. So much time has been dedicated to establishing all these facts and characters and connections over years and hundreds of chapters that when they do come together, it just feels so satisfying. 

Like, at Twin Cape Crocus mentions he was a ship’s doctor and then mentions Roger as the Strawhats leave, at Thriller Bark we find out he’s Brook’s friend, at Sabaody in conversation with Rayleigh we find out for sure which ship he was a doctor on and that he joined them to look for Brook’s crew- and it all just falls together so nicely. One Piece is maybe the strongest series I’ve ever read in terms of how it establishes its characters and concepts and how they all fit into the world and cross over and connect with each other. The world of One Piece is huge, but it also feels so alive and interconnected, and that’s just wonderful. 

I love how hopeful One Piece is. I was talking to a friend a couple months ago who doesn’t watch it, and she kind of dismissed it as ‘a show where nobody dies.’ Which- setting aside the fact that that’s just not fucking true- my first response to that was, “So?” I think it’s nice that we can all know for pretty much certain that the Strawhats will achieve their dreams in the end. There’ll be a happy ending, and Luffy’s going to be Pirate King, we’ve known that from the start. The fun is in seeing how they get there. 

Aside from a few specific cases, I also really like how Oda does his character writing just in general. The female characters in One Piece generally get a bad rap, largely from people who haven’t watched the show and judge it on the (admittedly exaggerated) artstyle, but fuck if I haven’t seen such a widely varied and developed and flawed female cast writing-wise since- I don’t even know. Oda does a really good job of giving his characters, both male and female, unique and memorable personalities, which is super fucking impressive considering just how many there are. Similarly, I’m impressed by how new characters are introduced without getting repetitive or annoying, and very often those characters are really fantastic. I could talk about all the different One Piece characters I love and why, but we would legitimately be here all day. 

I also love how unlike a lot of long-running series like this, characters don’t just go away when their time in the spotlight is done. In just about any other series, characters like Buggy and Coby and Crocodile would just be gone and never to be heard from again after they’ve served their purpose. Instead you have the stupid clown villain from the second arc becoming a fucking shichibukai several hundred chapters later, and it makes sense in the context of the story! The whole concept of the cover stories works really well towards this aspect of One Piece, letting us see what all these other characters are up to without taking attention off the main story. This fits in with the interconnectedness I mentioned earlier, too. 

And I like how (and I know there are people who will argue this, I have had them in my inbox, but I do not care) One Piece has stayed so strong for so long. I’ve mentioned before that both of my favorite big arcs are pre-timeskip- Alabasta, for the civil war storyline and great supporting cast and villains, and W7/Enies Lobby, for the epic emotional highs and lowers + ANOTHER great supporting cast. But like, I’ve been enjoying the more recent arcs just as much! Honestly, now that I’ve finished Dressrosa, I think it definitely ranks up there among my favorites as well, for how chaotic and fun and high-stakes the whole thing felt when I was binging through it. I’m only a few chapters into Whole Cake Island so far but it seems very promising, and I’m really excited to get to Wano from what I’ve seen of it.

I haven’t even really touched on the art yet, either. I know the artstyle turns some people off of the series, for how kind of cartoony it is sometimes and how different it is from most other series, but honestly I just love it. I wasn’t sure about it at the start but it grew on me very fast. Hell, I have a whole tag (which I should use more) dedicated just to appreciation of pretty panels.

And the action scenes in One Piece are so fun and expressive and creative and almost always at least a little silly just by the nature of Luffy’s powers. I don’t think I’ve ever been bored during a One Piece fight. And the splash pages are frequently just breathtaking. I’m a writing person, not an art person, so I’m bad at putting this kind of thing into words nearly as well, but- yeah. One Piece Art Good. (My friend Narramin also has a really, really good series of posts about how great the visual storytelling in OP is starting here that I highly recommend, if you’re interested.)

Finally, I think my favorite thing about One Piece is that it’s all one story, start to end. I kind of touched on this above with the worldbuilding thing, but you can see what a ridiculous degree of thought and planning Oda has put into his story, and how well everything comes together. It’s the main aspect that got me to give One Piece a try in the first place- I heard how good and thought-out the long term storytelling is, and I just eat that shit up. I don’t think I’ve ever had the level of trust in a creator to handle and end their story satisfyingly that I have in Oda. It’s a good feeling. 

[ikeromantic]

Premonition

An Ikemen Vampire fanfic featuring Leonardo and Nishtha. This is for @nishtharya from my 300 follower celebration. 

It turned out longer than I intended - but I really had fun writing it and I hope you will enjoy reading it. Approx. 4000 words, fluff and ADVENTURE!

It was another busy day in the mansion. Leonardo promised his help to their mutual friend, an aspiring architect, and he and Nishtha spent the day poring over his designs to provide him with corrections and suggestions. They were having a lively discussion about one in particular, a private residence.

“It’s too dramatic at the entry,” Leo was saying, pointing to the wide archway and the sweeping roof line. “The shape of these doors, the window placement, it’s someone’s home. I think something more homey -”

Nishtha shook her head, sweeping her dark hair back from her shoulder. “No, no - I mean if it was my home, sure. But this is meant for drama. Especially that first impression. Art, sophistication, history . . .” She pointed out the similar elements. “Look here - the entry hall past the archway is almost like the narthex of a church, and beyond it, the interior balcony with two sweeping staircases and a stained glass ceiling. You can’t lead into that with something homey. The support beams alone make that impossible.”

Leonardo sighed. “Suppose you’re right, cara. I guess I just don’t like it much. The other designs are better. There’s more warmth to them.” He kicked back and set his feet on the table, pulling a cigarillo from his pocket. 

“Well, you can tell him that when we bring these back to him.” She finished making her design notes in the margins and rolled up the thin paper drafts. 

Leo grunted in reply as he lit and began to smoke. The sweet scent of tobacco drifted through the room. 

Nishtha slid the drafts into a long, leather tube and stepped past Leonardo to grab her coat. 

Leo took advantage of her distraction to curl an arm around her waist and pull her into his lap. He nuzzled her neck, placing warm little kisses from her ear down to her collar bone. “Why such a rush, cara? Let’s take a moment and reward ourselves for all that hard work.”

“But - the, the - waiting - ah,” it was impossible to think clearly when he was like this. His lips felt so good on her skin, and his breath tickled the hairs at the back of her neck. 

“Mmm, and he can wait a little longer I think.” Leo grinned wickedly. 

Nishtha decided this wasn’t a battle worth fighting. She melted into his embrace, turning her head to kiss him. Losing had never been so sweet. When he finally set her down, she rebuttoned her blouse and straightened her skirt.

Leonardo, damn him, looked perfectly unruffled. He stood and put on his coat. “Hurry up, cara. We’re going to be late.”

“I can’t imagine why,” she said wryly and scooped up the leather drafts case to follow him out the door. 

The carriage dropped them off in a nice neighborhood, nothing too fancy but perfectly suited to the clerks and merchants that hurried along the sidewalks. They rang the architect, a young man named Emile. He was staying in Paris briefly before resuming his travels to study architecture. He knew Leonardo through his father, and the two of them had become friends.

Emile let them in. “It’s so good to see you both!” He shook Leonardo’s hand and went to give Nishtha a kiss on the cheek. Instead, he wound up catching her hand as she gave him a light punch to the belly - her favorite way to greet good friends. He’d barely touched her when she jerked back in surprise.

For the briefest moment, when Emile’s lips brushed her cheek, she saw a rain-drenched cobblestone road and a spinning carriage wheel suspended in the air. The momentary flash had an ominous feel and left her unsettled. She tried to smile. “Sorry. For a moment - I thought, I mean - I saw a bug. On the wall.” 

Leonardo gave her a narrow-eyed glance but went along with it. “I saw it too, but it’s gone now.”

“I’m not surprised,” Emile chuckled. “This place isn’t exactly fine living. Hopefully the little fellow found his way outside and won’t turn up in my sock drawer.”

Still feeling anxious, Nishtha followed Emile and Leonardo upstairs. She began to feel a little better once they were seated and she had a hot cup of tea in hand. Maybe, she thought, I’m just overreacting. She’d gotten flashes of intuition before this - little warning feelings or gut instincts that something was wrong or to be careful. But nothing like a vision or a dream. 

And if she was honest, there hadn’t been anything really terrible in that momentary flash anyway. It rained often and carriages did sometimes overturn. 

“Nishtha? Are you alright?” Leonardo peered at her with concern in his warm amber eyes. 

“Oh, I was just thinking. Did I miss something?”

Emile smiled. “I was just asking what you thought of the palatial design in my drafts. Leonardo thought it looked better in the sketches here,” he pointed at his sketch book, “than in the actual draft. Too much space he says.” The architect made a little moue of disappointment.

Nishtha smiled. “I actually liked it. I was thinking though . . .” 

The three of them bent over Emile’s sketches and drafts, bouncing ideas off each other. She almost forgot her premonition until the architect took her hand in thanks as they stood to leave. The moment his hand enclosed hers, she was there. In the rainy street. Water streamed down the surface of an overturned coach and there, on the ground half beneath it, she saw Emile. His face was pale, turned up toward the rain. One arm sat at a crooked angle. She couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not. 

Nishtha reached for him . . . and fell out of her seat. 

Leonardo caught her in his arms and pulled her tight against him. His steady heartbeat and his solidity brought the moment back into focus. She was in Emile’s atelier. He was fine. He was sitting across from Leonardo with a worried expression wrinkling his brow.

“Cara, you look pale.” Leo studied her face, worry tensing the lines of his jaw and shoulders. 

“I’m fine,” she replied and tried to stand, but Leonardo was having none of that. “I really am ok.” She smiled at him, pushing the vision’s anxiety away. 

Emile watched her, looking almost as concerned as Leo. “I could call a doctor. It would only take a moment.”

“No. It really is ok. I just - for a second -” Nishtha debated whether or not to tell them about the vision. People didn’t really take these things seriously, she’d found. She really didn’t want to be laughed at. 

“For a second?” Leo prompted.

Nishtha turned her head to look over at Emile. “Do you travel by carriage frequently?” 

Emile nodded slowly. “Yes. That . . . seems an odd question, ma cherie. But yes, I do travel by carriage overland. Why?”

She kneaded the fabric of her skirt with clenched hands. “When you took my hand, I got a - a bad feeling about that.” She took a breath and lifted her chin. In for a penny, after all. “I think if you plan to go anywhere by carriage, at least in the near future, you should make other plans. Especially if it’s raining.”

The architect’s eyebrows rose as he puzzled over the unexpected advice. 

“I know it seems like an odd thing to say, but I’ve learned to trust my instincts when I get these little . . . feelings.” Nishtha didn’t want to admit to a vision. Hopefully this was good enough.

Leonardo stroked her shoulders gently. “And this feeling is what surprised you? Here and in the hall?”

“Yes.”

He smiled. “Then Emile will promise to be very careful and to avoid carriages. Right, mon ami?”

Emile agreed, though he seemed reluctant. “I will do what I can. To ease your mind, hm?” And he avoided touching her again as she and Leonardo left. 

Leo didn’t say a word about it on the long walk back. Instead, they talked about what Sebastian was making for supper and their plans to visit the coast when the weather warmed. They made it to the gate as the first, fat, warm rain drops began to fall from the cloudy late afternoon sky. 

Nishtha looked back toward the city and hoped Emile took her warning seriously.

Theo and Arthur were on their way out as she and Leo went in. 

Arthur took one look at her serious expression and tried to hurry past nervously - he’d been the recipient of her sharp tongue more than once when he pushed his flirting too far. But Theo stopped. “Something happen, hondje?”

Leo waited for Nishtha to speak, knowing without being told that this was her story to share - or not. 

“Yeah. I’m just worried about Emile,” she told him after a moment.

“Anything I should look out for?” His blue eyes focused on her intently. 

Nishtha shook her head. “I don’t think so. But, be careful out there tonight.”

“We will be the soul of caution,” Arthur quipped, tugging Theo out the door with him. “Toodaloo, luv.”

Leo slid an arm around her shoulders. “You know what I think we need?”

Nishtha looked up at him. His eyes were liquid gold, warm and sweet as caramel. 

“A hot bath. Come on.” He scooped her up into his arms.

“Hey! Set me down,” she half-heartedly flailed. She wasn’t against the idea of a bath, but these things needed to be scheduled, or one of the other mansion residents would just walk in and - and -

“Nobody is going to walk in on us. Trust me.”

Nishtha poked his chest. “How did you know what I was thinking?”

Leo raised an eyebrow. His slow, wide smile and mischievous eyes said everything his words didn’t. He carried Nishtha to the baths and left her there with an order to undress and get in. Then he disappeared back up the stairs to “Make arrangements.”

Nishtha wasn’t averse to a hot soak, and by the time Leonardo stepped into the baths in his towel, she was up to her neck in the warm water. 

“I missed the best part,” Leonardo laughed softly as he slid into the bath beside her. 

“I didn’t.” She smiled at him. He was a gorgeous man, and seeing him in just a towel . . . 

Leo stroked a finger along the edge of her jaw. “I think that blush is something besides the heat. What are you thinking about cara?”

Nishtha couldn’t help the way her pulse sped up at his touch, or the little flip her tummy did when she saw him like this. Five years or fifty, it wouldn’t matter. 

The look in her eyes was all the response Leonardo needed. He pulled her into a kiss, his lips capturing hers, slow and sensual. His strong hands stroked her back, easing the day’s tensions better than the steamy water ever could. Passion built between them as the kiss deepened, lips parting, tongues tasting each other.

Breathless, Leo finally broke the kiss. His eyes were as hot as the thermae, filled with need. “Hadn’t planned on taking it that far,” he panted. “You do such things to my heart, cara.”

Nishtha was fairly sure she would be happy to do ‘such things’ to his body too, but he placed those large, sculptor’s hands on her shoulders and turned her around before she could get started. “What -”

“Just relax.”

That was an easy enough command to follow. Her back rested against his wide, muscled chest. There was something infinitely comforting about his embrace. Maybe his smell - that indefinable mix of sweet tobacco and Leonardo’s own musk. Or perhaps, just his comforting strength and steadiness. It just felt good to be held close. 

Leo began to gently unpin her hair, taking it down from the bun she’d had it in all day. His long fingers combed the snarls from her hair. Light touches on her scalp, the back of her neck, and across her shoulders sent little shivers down Nishtha’s spine. A little gasp of pleasure escaped her lips as he kissed the spot just behind her ear.

It was as if time stopped, and the only Leonardo, Nishtha, and the warmth between them still existed. Her body thrummed with awareness of him. The way his chest moved against her back. The feel of his hips behind her. The brush of his legs against hers. And his hands. Oh gods. Everything fell away against that bliss. He coaxed pleasure from every nerve-ending, making the simplest touch sensual.

The sound of an awkward cough pulled them unceremoniously from their private world.

“Sebas?” Leo’s voice was thick and hoarse. He swallowed. “I was pretty sure I asked you to help me keep this private.” In one graceful motion, he moved to put Nishtha behind him.

She peered at Sebastian over Leonardo’s shoulder. Part of her was resentful of the interruption. But she knew he wouldn’t have come if there wasn’t something important.

“I am deeply sorry to bother you.” Sebastian looked mortified and kept his gaze on the wall rather than on the bathers. “But there is a panicked messenger at the door. From Monsieur Charles Andre?” 

This brought Nishtha completely out of her relaxed state. “Emile’s father?”

Sebas nodded. “He was expecting a visit from his son this evening, but Emile never arrived. Monsieur Andre sent a servant out to fetch him, but apparently Emile is not home either. He came here to see if perhaps you knew where Emile might be.”

Leonardo went very still. Nishtha could feel the tension in his body, like a coiled spring. “We will be right there.”

Sebastian gave a slight bow and hurried out.

Nishtha felt a cold certainty that she knew exactly where Emile was. She didn’t want it to be true, but wishing didn’t change what was. 

The lovers quickly exited the baths and dressed again. 

“Cara . . .” Leonardo set a gentle hand on his compagna’s shoulder. “Take a breath. We will do what we can, yes?”

“Yes.” Nishtha nodded as Leo swept her into a hug. Then they went to meet the servant.

It was just as Sebastian had told them. Emile was late to meet his father and he wasn’t home - the servant also checked the usual roads between the father and son, but there was no sign of Emile. 

��I had hoped,” the servant finished, “that I would find the young master here. But it seems you haven’t seen him either.”

“I might know where he is,” Nishtha offered. She didn’t have an address, but more like a feeling of him in a certain direction. A bit like playing hot and cold. 

The servant gave a troubled smile. “Any idea is better than what I’ve got now.” 

Leonardo instructed the man to go with Sebas and prepare the carriage. Then he sat down beside Nishtha. “Are you sure about this, cara mia? It isn’t exactly safe for us to be out on a night like this . . .” His eyes were troubled.

“I’m as sure as I can be.” She put her hand atop Leonardo’s. “I can’t stay here while Emile is lost. He could be hurt.” She knew he was, but didn’t want to say so.

After a moment spent searching her face, Leo nodded. “Alright. We will be very careful as we look for him.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Very careful. If something were to happen-” he cut himself off, unwilling to speak ill thoughts. 

Nishtha leaned over and kissed his cheek. Sometimes even the immortal genius needed to be reassured. 

They left out together, into the pouring rain. Leonardo held an umbrella over Nishtha’s head, but the rain fell so hard and so thick that water splashed up, wetting her from the ground. It would have been funny, if not for the palpable sense of worry between the three of them.

“Where are we headed, mademoiselle?” The servant looked so hopeful.

“That way,” Nishtha pointed without even thinking about it. 

“I was . . . rather hoping for an address? Maybe some shop or street you know he frequents?”

Nishtha tried to remember anything from her vision that might help tell them where to go, but there wasn’t anything. She shrugged. “Something is better than nothing, right? I just know he’s that way.” 

The servant told the carriage driver to move out, in the direction she’d pointed. He didn’t look all that happy about it. 

They were silent as the carriage wheels clattered over paving stones. Slipping across runnels of water, sliding in splots of thick mud. The whole contraption wavered and shook from gusts of wind, and the windows leaked a steady stream of cold tears down the insides of the doors. The only words exchanged were Nishtha’s directions as she felt them, and the servant relaying it to the driver. 

She felt they were close. Close enough that she asked for the carriage to slow even more so she could get a better feel for the direction. They were barely crawling along the empty roadway when there was a sudden lurch forward and a loud crack. Above them, the driver shouted. His voice was barely audible over the storm, but Nishtha thought he sounded angry.

Leonardo began to stand, his brow creased with concern, but the next jerking motion of the carriage put him back in his seat. 

Something under the carriage groaned. Nishtha felt it in her bones and at the back of her eyes. A low, grinding sound that grew louder with each passing heartbeat. She looked at Leo, opened her mouth to ask what it might be. Then it shattered with a deafening crack. The carriage careened left, twisting, then falling on its side. 

Mud and water oozed in from the cracked carriage door. The servant lay against it, eyes shut. Nishtha dangled above him, held up by one of Leonardo’s hands. He lowered her to her feet beside the servant. 

“You alright, cara?” In the dim light, it was impossible to see his face, but his voice sounded worried.

“I’m ok, I think.” She took a shuddering breath and leaned down to check the servant. He was alive, but didn’t wake or make a sound when she touched him. 

Leonardo sighed. “I knew it was a bad idea to come out here. I should have left you home at least - safe.”

“I’m not made of spun sugar. Besides, you wouldn’t be able to find Emile without me. We’re close to him now.” She tugged the servant up to a sitting position to keep his head out of the water.

“I’m going to check on the driver and horses,” Leo replied, ignoring her comment completely. “You stay here.”

He tugged open the door, sending a torrent of rain water into the carriage. It stopped when he closed it behind him. 

Nishtha leaned back against the bench, uncomfortable and anxious. “Guess it’s just you and me. Unconscious guy and overprotected girlfriend.” It was impossible to ignore the feeling that Emile was nearby, and more, that he needed them to find him soon. 

Though it was dark outside, and the storm was terrible, Nishtha decided she had to finish what she came for. With some effort, she climbed up and pushed the door open. Leonardo made it look easy when he stepped out, but the wind and rain pushed against it so hard, she almost got stuck. When finally did open, the world outside was nothing but sheeting water and shadows. 

“Leo? Hey! Leonardo!” Nishtha shouted. She walked carefully along the edge of the carriage, following it up to the driver’s bench. It was empty, and so were the traces. No horse, no driver . . . and no Leonardo. 

She knew Leo would tell her to get back in the carriage and wait. That was the safest thing to do. Maybe even the wisest thing . . . but sometimes, a girl has to follow her instinct. She tore a piece of lace trim off her dress and walked back to tie it on the carriage door in a perfect bow. That way when Leo came back, he’d know she left on purpose - and on her own. Then she set off into the storm, toward Emile. 

Despite the violence of the storm, there was something beautiful about it. The howl of the wind over Parisian rooftops. The shine of wet paving stones in the flashes of lightning. The way water cascaded down lamp poles and created new rivers and streams from the roadways. It was a little harder to appreciate when you were soaked to the bone and half-blind, but still - it was there.

Nishtha tried to focus on that as every step took her further from Leonardo and the safety of the carriage. This wasn’t scary - and she was doing the right thing. A sudden gust of wind knocked her forward and she stumbled, stumbled and fell against something solid. Wooden. 

She reached up to steady herself. Her hand found a wheel, turning slowly from the wind. Nishtha felt around her, realizing this was an overturned carriage. On its side, the horses and driver gone . . . had she turned in a circle? Her mind said yes, but that inner sense told her no. Trusting herself, she moved along the edge of the carriage slowly.

Her foot pushed up against something soft and soaking wet. It groaned.

Nishtha knelt, seeing more with touch than with her eyes. It was a person, a man, and his leg was trapped under the side of the carriage. “Emile? Is that you?”

“Wha - oh hells - p-please-” His voice was faint, but unmistakably the architect and artist she was searching for.

“Just - just wait here, ok? I came to help you.” Nishtha patted his hand and then stood up straight. She’d said she would help him, but how? “Leonardo? Leo! Hello! Anyone!”

No one answered. No one would be out in this weather on purpose - and even if they were, her words were lost in the storm.

It was Nishtha or nothing, she thought. “Emile, I’m going to try to move the carriage. Pull your leg out when I do,” she shouted to him.

“Leg - y-yes,” he groaned, shifting on the wet cobblestones.

Nishtha went to the edge of the carriage and tried to brace herself. She pushed, but it didn’t budge. Not a hair. She tried again, pushing until she saw little spots of light and color dance in her eyes - and this time, it did move a little. Not enough by far.

It felt absolutely unfair to have found Emile only to be helpless to rescue him, she thought. What would Leonardo do? Well, he would probably just lift the carriage because vampire. So . . . she paced around the carriage, ignoring the rain as she thought it out. 

Leverage.

The thought struck like one of those lightning bolts. It didn’t take long to find a chunk of detritus to use as the fulcrum. It took a little longer to find a good stick though. One narrow enough to wedge under the carriage side but thick enough to *probably* handle the load. 

Nishtha struggled it into place and then went to check Emile. 

His breathing was shallow. His eyes were shut. 

“Emile?” She poked his chest. “Emile! Wake up! I’m going to lift the carriage. You need to pull your leg out!”

Nothing.

She slapped his cheek lightly. “Emile!”

Nothing.

She slapped harder, hard enough that it stung her cold-numbed hand.

“Ah! Ow! I - I was - oh hells . . .”

“Emile, you need to pull your leg when the carriage lifts. Can you do that?”

The architect nodded. 

“Good. Stay awake. Pull your leg out when you can.” She gave him a good shake and then went back to her lever. If this didn’t work, she wasn’t sure what else to try. Maybe wait for the water to rise high enough to float the carriage away. Nishtha almost laughed. 

It was do or die time. She grabbed the end of the stick and put all her strength into tugging it to the ground. At first, it seemed like she wasn’t going to be able to get it to move. Nothing shifted and the lever creaked as she pulled. Then, slowly, it began to lower. And on the other side, the edge of the carriage rose. 

Nishtha wanted to laugh but she didn’t have the breath to. She just kept pulling, then pushing, for all she was worth. “E-Emile! Pull! Your! Leg!” She didn’t think he could hear her over the storm. “Emile!”

She held as long as she could, until her muscles shook. Until her arms stopped aching and began to feel like hot-drawn glass. Then she let go and leapt back. The lever jerked up and the carriage fell down with a crash.

“Emile?” She ran to check on him and found him partially sitting up. He’d pulled his leg free - just like she told him to.

“Y-you were right. About. Carriages. Tried to walk and - and it got me . . . anyhow.” Emile panted. 

“Don’t worry about that now. Can you stand? We need to get you out of the rain.” His skin was like ice, and his eyes were too round. He was shivering, in shock and half-drowned. 

Emile tried to stand on his good leg, but couldn’t even get to his knees. Nishtha tried to help him, but she was spent. Her body rebelled against the notion of supporting even half the weight of a full-grown man. 

She turned, casting about for some solution. Some idea. There had to be a way . . . 

“Cara.” A single word from the tempest, and then she was pulled tight in an embrace. Leonardo’s chest was as wet and cold as everything else tonight, but he felt so good. For just a breath, she clung to him in relief. 

“I found Emile. He’s over there-” she gestured toward the carriage. She couldn’t see it even from just these few steps away. 

Leo laughed softly and pressed a kiss to her head. “You are so stubborn. But that is part of what I love about you. Come on. Let’s go get Emile.”

The found the architect just as she’d left him, barely holding himself up out of the rainwater. Leonardo lifted him up and together they walked two blocks over to an inn. This was where Leo had taken the driver and the servant. Both men were in beds upstairs, waiting on a doctor. And now Emile joined them. 

Nishtha sat down at the bar and sipped at a brandy. It warmed her from the inside out and she finally stopped shivering. She was the only patron in the tavern area. Even the bartender was upstairs, seeing to the injured men.

Leonardo came up behind her and settled a thick quilt over her shoulders. “You are something else, cara. I still can’t figure out how you knew where to find Emile - or how you managed to move that carriage.” He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.

“The carriage was easy - I just used a lever.” She pouted. “I told you how I knew about Emile.” No one ever believed her. She had hoped Leo might, but . . . 

He spun her stool around to face him. “My clever beauty.” He patted her head, smoothing the tangles of her wet hair back. “I understood what you said. Just not how it works. I have so many questions.”

“So . . . you believe me?” 

Leonardo nodded, his expression turning serious. “I never doubted you. I already trusted you with my heart. After that, this is a small thing.” He sat down and pulled her into his lap. 

He felt so warm. Better than the brandy. And he’d believed her! The whole time. Nishtha snuggled against his chest. 

“This reminds me of the work Comte and I did in metaphysical alchemy. I think it was 1673? No . . . maybe ‘74?” He stroked her back lightly as he talked. 

The two of them fell into conversation as easily as apples from trees. If anyone had been in the tavern to hear them, it would have sounded like madhouse-chatter. Alchemy, philosophy, and religion from across centuries blending as if it belonged that way. And it did, just as Leonardo and Nishtha fit together. 

[ververa]

Unspoken Words

A/N: Alright, so first things first, story time. I had this idea... I wasn’t going to write it, because whenever I write for Ellie Staple I get carried away. If you know, you know (if you don’t, just read Asylum) Anyways I spent a whole night telling my best friend all about it. And in the end I had to write it for the sake of my own peace. And I did. I wrote it, but then I was resistant to post it, because I feel like it’s kinda dark. But again my best friend told me how proud she is of me for accomplishing it and other shit like that (yes, I’m a sucker for such things) and then @misssmephisto​ shared her opinion and they both convinced me to post it. So, many thanks to them both!!! It’s been a while since I wrote for my baby Ellie Staple and I almost forgot how much I like it.

As for you, petals, I hope you’ll enjoy it! Please, let me know what you think about this one <3 

Dr Ellie Staple x fem!reader

Word count: ~4000

Warnings: mention of death I guess

The day she thought everything ended was actually only the beginning. The very beginning of real struggle she wasn't prepared for. The struggle she didn't expect. The danger she wasn't aware of. Of course, she knew what kind of consequences the failure could bring. Yet she hadn’t considered failure an option. It had never happened before. The Organization never lost, not until the last mission. Her mission.

Ellie's hands were clenched on the steering wheel. She sighed looking at the files of documents on the passenger seat, before her gaze shifted to her reflection in the rearview mirror. She had been sitting in her car for over 30 minutes, doing nothing, but looking blankly at the passersby. How did it come to that? When did things go wrong? How could she not realize it earlier? How could she be so oblivious? So blind? So stupid? 

She was the one in charge. The boss, the coordinator of the operation. She was supposed to know it. She should have overseen it. Outsmart them. But she had not. She hadn’t, because she hadn’t been fully focused on her job. She had allowed herself to be distracted. She displayed a weakness and now was going to suffer the consequences. The damage was done. She knew the price. It was high. Too high at that point, yet it hadn’t occurred to her earlier. Not when she had gotten the offer to join the Organization, not when she signed the papers, not even when she had to give up on her own life. Until the very end she believed it was all worth it. But was it for real?

Ellie kept going over her papers, recalling everything she had done and replaying it in her mind. Every little detail. Minute by minute. Second by second. Over and over again. Trying to find the answers she needed so badly. Trying to figure out when she failed. When she made a mistake.

Each of her reports and research papers was impeccable. She remembered almost every word, the tiniest detail of each research, but it didn't mean a thing anymore. Not now, that the Organization was revealed. There was nothing left for her and as it turned out, she regretted only one thing. Just one. Her biggest regret - you. 

Ellie never knew the realization of loss could be so violent. But it was. And the fact she didn’t have enough time to fix it hurt even more.

She wanted to get everything right. And the great idea of saving the world, the way of thinking she subscribed to - it seemed right. Though as the mission failed nothing seemed right anymore. At first Ellie was outraged, but that feeling subsided very soon. Sooner than she would like it to. Her rage gradually faded, turning into fear. She was terrified, especially that she knew exactly what was going to happen. And that… that was something her studies hadn’t prepared her for. Nothing could have prepared her for that. Nothing and no one could make her ready for death. 

A part of her considered it a natural process, a natural course of events. After all no one could choose what would stay and what would fade away. But maybe she could? Not completely, but to some extent.

Her job had always been the priority. Ellie had always put it first. She always listened to her brain, never allowed herself to get carried away, never allowed her true feelings to display. Not until you. Her work might have been a priority, but you were everything in between. You were her thoughts. The space in her bed. Warm coffee in the morning. Quick kisses on the forehead. The warmth that she was coming back to every evening. The relief to her exhausted mind. The feeling she couldn't get enough off. The light of each day. You were her heart. But then you turned into her regret. Her biggest loss. The one mistake she wanted to fix. The only thing she needed to resolve before it was too late.

But what was she supposed to say? Ellie couldn’t find the answer to that question and she had less and less time. She needed some resolution. Some revelation. Someone to cure her from the grief. To bring her some relief. She desired just one more touch. One more taste of that heavenly, devouring rush. A vision of the start and the end. Just a little bit of you. That’s why she came, though she didn’t have enough courage to actually knock at your door. 

But there you were - watching. Observing her. As you did for the past week.

"If the mission fails, kill the target" that was the order. But how could you kill the woman you used to call yours. The one and only who got to your heart and owned it. The one you'd take the bullet for, rather than pulling the trigger.

She took your heart with her that day. The day you two parted. And ever since you felt dead again. Numb, deprived of feelings, unable to separate the good and the bad. The line between the two had always been rather thin and blurry for you. That’s how they made you. Everything you knew was manufactured, fake. Everything, but Ellie. Everything, but what the two of you used to have. That feeling. The sensation. The only real emotion you knew. The only good thing in your life. 

Everyone had always treated you as a monster, a heartless creature. Their perfect killing machine, programmed to destroy. To bring nothing, but chaos. The one to make peoples' biggest fears come out. Their perfect toy to play with anytime. Their weapon. Nothing more, nothing less. But not for Ellie.

Ellie was different. She might have worked with them, for them, but she wasn't like them. She was compassionate. She was good. Not flawless, but definitely not evil. Maybe lost. Maybe confused. But not evil. No, not her. She wasn't bad. Not your Ellie. 

But was she still yours? Could you still call her your Ellie? You weren't sure of it. At that point you weren't sure of anything. The only thing you knew was that you couldn't do it. No power could make you pull the trigger. Nothing and no one could force you to do it. And that, the inability of following your order made you think that maybe, just maybe there still was another way. An escape. A solution that was yet to be found. The chances were slim to none, but you were a fighter. You were strong, resilient. Brilliant. Incredibly intelligent and completely focused. That's why you were so efficient. But that was only half of what you really were. What made you truly dangerous was the fact you were fearless. How could you ever be scared, when you were what they called fear. You made people scared and they had a good reason for it. You realized it. You hated it.

~~~

"What kind of superhero are you?" she asked you once when you were in her office

Ellie observed you. Carefully, warily. She registered every move. As if trying to figure you out. After all, it wasn't usual that patients came to her willingly, seeking help. None of them was aware of the fact they needed it. Was it possible then that you actually were?

"I'm not" you answered after a long pause, your voice was calm, clear and loud, but calm

The redhead looked into your eyes. Her stare was piercing, but she couldn't find anything behind your big, wide open eyes. How could she ever find anything in them when all they filled you with was nothingness in the first place.

"Who are you then?"

"A nobody"

Her eyes squinted, as she tried to come up with the right words. You appeared to be the most complex case she had ever encountered. And yet she was far from being scared. Ellie had never got scared of the unknown. The only thing she felt was curiosity and the need to explore. And that's what she did.

~~~

It had been almost a year since your ways parted. Breaking up wasn't something questionable. You were prepared for it. You knew it would happen eventually. The only thing you hadn't expected was that you'd miss her. You weren't supposed to feel - the same as you weren't supposed to fall. But you did and nothing was the same anymore. You happened to find love where it wasn't supposed to be. You found love in her and there was no talking sense to you.

Now the only option you had was to stand and fight. To protect your heart. To protect her, in hope she'd still want you. In hope she'd open her arms for you the way she used to. You wanted her to choose you, again. But you wanted her to choose you willingly and not for fear. You wanted her to want you the way she had wanted you back then. Because even under those circumstances, she had a choice. She always did. You always allowed her to decide and it wasn't going to be any different this time.

~~~

The thing that made your relationship work was that none of you asked questions. It was an unspoken rule that the two of you had. You never asked about Ellie's work and she never asked about yours. The moment you crossed the threshold of the apartment your work stopped existing. Stepping in you were leaving everything else behind. Your work and problems stayed outside. There were only the two of you. No questions, no doubts, no explanations, no complications. Only you and Ellie living an ostensibly normal life. None of you ever had a problem with that. It seemed to be what you both needed - a hint of normality. Or rather the illusion of it.

That's how it was. And it was good. At least you thought so. You were both rather content with the way your relationship worked. Though even the strongest feelings, the greatest love couldn't be built on the cornerstone made of lies and understatements. You knew it. You ignored it. Was it easier that way? No. But it was safer. 

And so you didn't ask and neither did Ellie.

You didn't ask even when she was spending whole nights at her clinic. You didn't ask even when she disappeared for a few days. Work. That was the only answer and you got it. You understood it and accepted it, because it was the same with you.

Ellie didn't ask what had happened when you came back with a black eye. She didn't ask any questions even when your whole body was bruised, when you were all sore, when you hurt to the point you could barely move - because something on the way to accomplishing your order had gone wrong. She never asked. She knew she couldn't, because then you would ask too.

And so you both remained silent. Choosing oblivion over the truth. Opting for sweet, little lies. Deciding to live in your illusionary, safe world that the two of you built inside the walls of your apartment.

~~~

Ellie took a deep breath as she got out of the car. Finally making up her mind, gathering what was left of her courage to face you. She moved towards the entrance of the building. Slowly, cautiously, pressing her briefcase to her chest, looking over her shoulder every so often, as if waiting for something or someone. She looked tired. Tired and worried, petrified you would dare to say. Ellie never displayed that kind of feeling. She always held everything inside, just like you did. But at that point it wasn’t possible for her. She tried, she truly did, but you knew she was on the verge of breaking down. She knew what was going to happen and so did you. It was inevitable. She was aware of it and that was scaring her. She didn’t realize you were there. She couldn’t know it. The same as she couldn’t know it was inevitable for most, but not for her. Not until you were alive. Not until she was under your protection.

Ellie hoped to remain inconspicuous as she entered the hotel lobby. She knew it was your new home. She hoped to find you there and that’s what she was focused on at that moment. But it was until she noticed the man in a long, black coat following her. And then she noticed another man - dressed in a military green coat. He stood over the corner, trying to pretend he wasn’t watching her. But Ellie wasn’t stupid. She knew better. She was preparing to run, hoping she’d make it to you in time, when she felt a hand on her lower back.

Her eyes widened. There was only one person in the world, who would dare to hold her that way. Yet she didn’t  turn, in case she was wrong. 

“Stay cool” she heard you whisper into her ear, your warm breath tickling her cheek and just for a moment she allowed herself to close her eyes and enjoy a few seconds of comfort your touch provided. It was the relief she needed and you were there to grant it, as you always did. She never knew how you were doing this, you just seemed to know exactly when she needed you the most.

~~~

Even though Ellie loved her job and was completely dedicated to her patients, it wasn’t always easy. As a matter of fact, it never was. She often found herself getting mad over stupid, minor things only because something hadn’t gone as planned at the hospital. She was struggling. Her work started reminding a jungle rather than a specialized clinic. Her patients didn’t cooperate and began slipping out of control. She was tired and mad. She needed to be in control all the time, no matter what. 

“Good morning” you said, entering the kitchen. Ellie didn’t even look at you. She knew you said something, but was too lost in her thoughts, desperately trying to find the solution, to register and comprehend your words.

She stood at the window, observing a busy street. Her thoughts on the loop. It happened quite often - her losing the connection with reality, getting lost in her imaginary world. But that was her way of solving problems. By creating different scenarios in her head and replying them over and over again, until she found the one that worked out the way she wanted it to. You knew her habits. You knew her inside out, even the darkest corners of her mind, which she unintentionally reached pretty often. That’s when you stepped in. Somehow you just knew not only when you ought to do it, but also how to keep her grounded.

“Coffee?” you asked offering her a mug with the beverage and placing your other hand on her lower back

Ellie looked at you. She didn’t answer, just nodded and offered you a small smile. She took the mug from you and as you made sure she was holding it, you wanted to go away.

“Y/N” you stopped, when she called your name

“Yes?”

“Stay?” it came off more as a question. Ellie wasn’t the type to ask for affection or attention - you knew.

“Of course” you smiled sitting on the couch and opening your arms for her

Ellie put the coffee down on the table, before sitting in your lap. There was no place she’d rather be than in your arms.

~~~  

“C’mon, we need to go” you brought her back to the cruel reality “We’ll use the stairs instead of the elevator, for…” you hesitated, paused, trying to find the right word “...safety. Now, let’s go. Second floor. Room 46”

Ellie nodded, immediately complying to the order. You let her go first, making sure she was safe. You watched the men out of the corner of your eye. You knew the management’s decision. You knew that Ellie with all her knowledge and experience was now considered a threat. She couldn’t be controlled anymore and they had nothing to lose, so they decided to get rid of her. You knew all their motives, you knew more than they thought you did. You had expected they would send others for her, but you hadn’t really had the time to think it all over. You didn’t manage to come up with a good enough plan that would allow your both to stay safe. But you couldn’t think about it now. You had to keep going.

You locked the door, then quickly moved to curtain the windows. Ellie observed you. She still wasn’t aware of many things, but you knew she’d figure them out soon. You understood you didn’t have much time before Ellie would put two and two together. You kept moving nonetheless and Ellie kept watching you. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what to say or if she should say anything. You were moving fast. You opened the wardrobe, then took a white shirt and a pair of black jeans. You handed them to Ellie.

“Change!” you said, not even looking at her. You wanted to, but you couldn’t. You knew that if you do, you’d be both in even more trouble. There was no time for explanation.

Ellie looked at the white shirt, it was your favourite. She still remembered.

~~~

Ellie was sitting in the armchair. A glass of wine in one of her hands, a book in the other. Yet she paid no attention to it. She was watching you. A small smile forming on her face, as she observed your moves. You were ironing your shirt. You were doing it for the past 20 minutes. Repeating the action multiple times, because it being smoothed wasn’t enough. It had to be perfect. Perfectly smoothed. 

Ellie tilted her head to the side, so that she could have a better view of your face. You were so focused. So invested in the process as if your life depended on it. You were a perfectionist. Always so fastidious and precise. She shook her head and chuckled, as you were about to start all over again.

“Y/N, it’s the fifth time. It’s smoothed already. Leave it”

“It’s not good enough. It’s still wrinkled...”

“It’s not” Ellie put her book and the glass of wine down “Let me help you” she said stopping next to you, waiting for your permission

You looked at her, unsure of what to do. You didn’t like others touching your things. She knew it.

“C’mon, Y/N, it’s just a shirt”

“It’s my favourite” you admitted, shyly, as if you were ashamed

Ellie smiled. Her hand moved to your cheek and gently caressed it.

“I’ll be careful then” she said, kissing your forehead

~~~

As she stood there, now dressed in your clothes, taking in your scent - that she missed so much, it suddenly hit her that she had never tried to figure out why you were that way. She had never wondered where all your excessive habits came from. And she knew for a fact there had to be a good reason, a serious cause of them, but it wasn’t the right time to ask. There was no time to ask. And she wasn’t sure if she still had the right to demand any answers.

At that point you were both on the edge of basically everything. Though you couldn’t think of your past, not now, when your present was so screwed up. There was no time for questions and explanations. They wouldn’t change anything anyways.

Deep inside you both knew you’d have to talk about it. To have that kind of conversation you both dreaded of so much. The one full of questions to which you would have to provide answers, whether you liked it or not. Regardless of how ugly the truth was.  But it wasn’t the time. It wasn’t the right time and place. For now you and your wellbeing were hanging on mutual trust. The moment of truth would come in time. You knew it. You agreed on that the second your eyes met, as you both stood in the middle of the room. It was another unspoken agreement. Another deal you two made. But at that moment you didn’t need words to understand each other. There was only one thing on your mind - to make it through.

“You’ll be fine” you said, not sure if you were talking to Ellie or to yourself. She nodded.

“We’ll be fine” she said, carefully reaching for your hand. 

That was another feature of your relationship. You never spoke too much. You never truly allowed yourselves to be completely open with each other. You couldn’t. But you still were close. Granting each other comfort. A hint of understanding and sympathy. That’s why you always held each other - whether it was holding hands, resting your hand on her lower back or her placing her hand on your thigh. The simple gestures were your own way of communicating, of releasing unspoken words, of telling each other “I’m here” “I care” “You’re not alone”. It was as simple and complicated as that.

There was a lot happening at once. A lot to face. A lot to deal with. Though you knew for sure that as long as they didn’t separate you, you two would be fine. You knew you would manage to find a way. To resolve the situation. After all, it was only the beginning.

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