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minecraftbookshelf · 4 months

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Gone Fishing

Mr. InTheLittleWood I know you’re in your tags on here, walk away from this one.

(No, this isn't Marriage of State, that is still with my beta, this is something i started writing for Mermay and then semi-abandoned until these past couple of weeks.)

Mildly Dark Comedy Urban Fantasy Adventures featuring Sleep Deprived Martyn, Selkie!Scott, and Swan Maiden!Cleo and Pearl.

AO3

Rating: T on AO3

Wordcount: ~4k

Characters: Martyn InTheLittleWood, Scott Smajor, ZombieCleo, PearlescentMoon, bonus appearances by JoeHills (with accompanying breaking of the fourth wall) and Rendog.

Relationships: Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss + Martyn (its not quite Divorcee Quartet imo) Background Martyn?Ren and Referenced Past Flower Husbands

Warnings: Off-screen murder and on-screen blood spatter, kidnapping, selkie tropes and the adjacent concepts

This is directly inspired by that one tumblr post (I'll link it if i ever successfully find it again) that starts out "swan maidens would be hella built and down for violence, actually" and ends with "a swan maiden and a selkie team up and do violence"

3AM calls directly after the full moon are officially Martyn's nemesis. Nonetheless, he listens to the flustered emergency dispatcher stammer through a semi-explanation of the situation. (Murder. Kidnapped mythicals. The usual. He's not even on call this week; how and why is he the only Hunter in the area?) He hauls himself out of bed, knocks on Ren's door on the way out to let him know he is leaving and grabs his keys. He pauses, halfway out the front door and texts Ren because there is no way he'll remember given that he probably didn't even wake up when Martyn knocked, deep asleep and dead to the world in a way only exhausted werewolves can manage.

It's a bit of a drive; some fancy, palace-like mansion outside town on the far side. About as far away as it can get while still being in Martyn's district.

He gets two more calls on the way over, one from the same dispatcher, one from the police on the scene, practically begging him to hurry up with all the usual frantic desperation of humans who've never encountered magic before.

He stops for coffee.

It's a right mess by the time he does arrive; multiple police complete with flashing lights. The press (complete with their own version of flashing lights) a coroners van, at least five ambulances, and an arch-fey lurking by the tree-sized bush sculpted into a pegasus.

Oh no.

Joe Hills gives a jaunty wave that Martyn returns on autopilot.

There's only one reason Joe Hills ever leaves Tennessee.

One cup of coffee is not enough to deal with Cleo.

Much less what they usually drag with them.

Maybe-if Martyn is really, really lucky-Cleo was flying solo when they got mixed up in whatever the hell this is. (Even if they tend a bit more towards arson than murder.) Maybe its just them and not any of the rest of their crew.

He slips through the frazzled crowd of medical and law enforcement personnel, taking note of the battered and sickly looking people sitting in the backs of the ambulances, all of them visibly Not Exactly Human. He recognizes the vampire in the nearest one. Her missing persons case has been sitting on Jimmy's desk at Guild HQ for almost six months now with no new leads. She's sipping on a blood packet while a nervous paramedic hovers just out of her immediate reach.

Now he just has to find someone who knows what's going on-

"Hiyaa!"

Oh no.

Scott Smajor is sitting in the entryway of the stupidly fancy house, wrapped in a shock blanket, practically beaming at Martyn around the paramedic who is very clearly just trying to do their job and is not being paid enough for this.

Martyn can relate.

Scott's smile is wide and bright, his eyes are glassy and feverish, and he's visibly shaking. There is blood spattered on his clothes. And that is just what Martyn can see around the blanket.

He should revisit that offer from the Syndicate. He's pretty sure their annual salary is double what the Guild pays. More than enough to make up for not being a strictly legal operation. Half the stuff Ren brings into their apartment would get them both imprisoned in a pocket dimension somewhere for centuries anyway, might as well go all in.

With a resigned sigh he sucks it up, sticks his hands in his pockets, and strolls up to the front steps.

"Well if it isn't our favorite friendly neighborhood black widow," he says, dry as summer in purgatory. Already piecing together the picture to form something of a complete answer to the question of 'what happened.' "Fancy meeting you here."

Scott actually has the audacity to look offended. "Excuuse you. Most of my husbands are still alive."

Based off the amount of blood spatter on his clothes and the presence of the coroners van, Martyn is going to assume that the most recent one isn't.

'Clothes' is a bit of a generous term. Scott is wearing what most people would consider appropriate-if a bit risque- for clubbing, and what Martyn recognizes as what Scott wears when he's hunting. Most strongly indicated not by what he is wearing but by one very specific and important thing he isn't. This kind of scenario usually ends in at least a week of headaches and several different levels of bureaucratic hell for Martyn that he has to deal with all on his own because Jimmy and Scott are apparently fighting or something and Jimmy reuses to touch anything to do with this nonsense with a fifty foot pole. That could also just be Jimmy deciding to be smart for once and growing a backbone at a time extremely inconvenient for Martyn in particular.

Every day, Martyn regrets getting mixed up in mythical society. If he'd known it outstripped even the smallest of small towns on the 'everyone knows everyone' front he would have run so fast in the other direction. No matter what Grian had to offer. And now he's stuck here.

"Speaking of husbands," Scott purrs, craning to look around the paramedic, ostensibly at Martyn but he's really not as subtle as he thinks in the way he scans the driveway around Martyn's car. "Where is your partner?" He's hiding it well, but his jaw is tense and his eyes pinched. It's probably been hours since he was Separated.

"So what kind of trouble did you get yourself into this time?" Martyn ignores his question and brushes past it, offering an alternate distraction he is actually willing to play along with. He does not have the energy to deal with the drama surrounding his partner and said partner's ex(?)-husband, especially when Jimmy isn't here to give a hard time over it. It already gets brought up way too much every time Scott pops up yet again, dancing merrily back and forth across the line between victim and perpetrator in yet another one of their cases.

"Are you the Guild agent?" A loud voice demands from behind him.

Martyn whirls on his heel, far more ready to trust Scott at his back than some random police. (Not that he would ever admit it.) "I am!" he responds brightly, deliberately irritating in the way he knows best. "What happened here, Officer?"

The policeman, clearly someone important by the lack of wear and tear on his...everything, pulls himself pompously up to his full, rail-thin height and peers down at Martyn over his nose. "Aren't you lot supposed to keep your rabble in check?"

Oh, its going to be like that, is it?

Martyn fixes a blandly polite smile on his face and slips his voice into something a little bit more professional. "That still doesn't answer my question. What happened here?" Behind the officer he can see Joe Hills, still lingering amongst the topiary, eyes fixed on the officer's back. Suddenly it is a lot more reassuring, knowing there is an exit strategy for the people without the protection of a government employee ID. Even if that exit strategy is one of the most dangerously unpredictable beings Martyn is aware of. Which really is saying something.

"That," The officer (Hughes, his nameplate says) jabs a finger over Martyn's shoulder, presumably at Scott. "Has murdered an upstanding citizen and has the audacity to claim immunity!"

Martyn cocks his head to the side. "From where I'm standing, you're pointing the finger at a selkie missing his skin, so yeah, there is probably immunity involved."

"Well first of all," Cleo announces their presence as they emerge from the depths of the house, trailed by a very nervous looking police officer.

They stop in the doorway to drop a bundle on Scott's head, the dark mass makes contact with his bright blue hair and unfolds to drape over him. By the time Scott has discarded the shock blanket to wrap himself in his pelt instead, Cleo has stepped past him to stand shoulder to shoulder with Martyn. They're taller than Officer Hughes, which a very petty part of Martyn appreciates. The crisp white feathers of their own skin tickle his arms as they cross their arms. There is blood spatter on their feathers.

"He didn't kill the asshole," they continue without so much as looking at Martyn. "He physically couldn't. I did. And I'd do it again."

Cleo is hardly new to scenes like this, neither are they squeamish. The combined records of the entirety of their little squad speak to that. But something about this one clearly has them rattled and angry. At least Officer Hughes is here to take the brunt instead of them turning it on Martyn.

"Chapter four of the Magical Coexistence Treaties, Section B, Paragraph 13; 'Should the autonomy of any selkie, swan maiden, or similar being be violated, any and all members of their pod/flock can take whatever measures they deem necessary to right and/or avenge the wrong and secure the freedom of the violated party or, should the victim have perished, obtain were-guild from the one who harmed them.'" Cleo rattles off the sentences that Martyn knows by heart at this point, from the frequency he's encountered them in more or less this exact context with this exact cast.

They point at Scott. "Selkie." They point to themself. "Swan." They gesture back and forth between the both of them. "Pod, flock, whatever you want to call it. And given I just retrieved his skin from the asshole's locked personal office I think his autonomy was violated enough." Their voice is deeply sarcastic in the way that only Cleo can be. Martyn is half-surprised Officer Hughes isn't on the ground bleeding from it.

"And all that was before we found the dungeon in the basement." They turn to Martyn, brushing Hughes off with as much concern as if he were a fly. "He was a collector, apparently. And he'd been at it awhile."

Martyn looks around the assembled ambulances and their occupants with a new, more critical eye. A starved and weakened vampire, a silver-collared werewolf, two nervous and twitch sirens (wrapped in damp blankets as a paramedic with a lock-picking kit fiddles with the muzzles fitted around their faces. Martyn makes a mental note; someone with flexible skills set like that might work out at the Guild. And they can always use more medical personnel.) an emaciated naga. As he turns back two more paramedics emerge behind them, carefully wheeling out a criminally (literally) small tank containing brackish water and an insensate mer.

Oh this is going to be so much paperwork.

Martyn is very glad the guy is dead. At least that means he won't have to work on a prosecution on top of everything else.

"There's more inside," Scott says behind them. Martyn glances over his shoulder and is glad to see him looking a lot less feverish and pained than before with the return of his pelt. "I got a grand tour. He's got a dragon-hide hanging on the wall in the library and a whole hall of displayed...parts."

So much paperwork.

Jimmy had better enjoy that vacation. They'll still probably be sorting this all out when he gets back.

"He was going to put me in a concrete enclosure, Martyn, he showed me. It's so ugly. Almost as bad as the rest of his house."

Of course that is equally offensive to Scott's sensibilities as his entire free will being stolen. That tracks.

There is still an elephant in the room that Martyn hasn't sen hide nor feather of at all.

"Pearl?" He asks Cleo, almost dreading the answer.

"Left already."

Suspicious, but at least it means he only has to deal with Gaslight and Gatekeep here. Or whatever they call themselves.

This time.

Because this is not the first time The Terrible Honeypot Trio, as they are unofficially referred to at Guild headquarters, have used this exact legal loophole to go after a creep or two. The murder is outside the norm, admittedly. Usually they limit themselves to theft and arson. It's a very lucrative racket for them and they have it down to a science. Dress Scott (its usually Scott; Cleo is scary and Pearl has a stab first ask questions later policy) up, flaunt his selkie status, and dangle him in front of a bunch of rich guys and see who takes the bait.

And every angle of it is legal.

Multiple Guild members are of the opinion that, whatever their (financial) motivations they are also providing a valuable public service. Their trail of victims is also a trail of overall shitty and predatory people that the Guild can make sure get nailed for something else, whether mythical or mundane in nature.

Ultimately, given that all someone has to do to not end up as a target of 'The Three Gs' is, you know, not abduct someone, they've never had a very convincing entrapment case leveled against them. Though a few of their victims have tried.

This one likely won't be, given that his blood is currently smeared all over Scott's clothes and Cleo's face.

Hmmmmm.

Martyn squints thoughtfully at the spatter on Cleo. It's hard to tell, since they've clearly been doing things, he's not going to think too hard about what, and its been smeared quite a bit...but that doesn't look like murder spatter. That looks like adjacent to murder spatter.

Which means, given that Scott couldn't, Pearl was probably the one who actually killed the asshole.

Honestly, that tracks.

Cleo and Hughes are in some kind of stare down now, Martyn would wish the officer luck but honestly, he hopes Cleo eats him alive. He ignores the two of them and turns back to Scott, who's still sitting on the front step, leaning against the door-frame. He looks tired and is shivering a little, but winks at Martyn when he notices his attention. Getting his pelt back has cleared away most of the lingering discomfort or shakiness and as annoying as it is how unruffled he seems after having just witnessed a murder at what was very clearly close proximity, it is reassuring to have him back to his usual demeanor. Despite having made a career out of it, playing the victim really does not suit Scott at all.

"See something you like?"

Martyn snorts a laugh and nudges the discarded shock blanket with the toe of his boot. "You should probably take this back."

"Awww," Scott coos at him, head cocked to the side. "You do care!"

"It's like, 6° out and you're wearing fishnets," Martyn says, somewhat proud of his deadpan and also for resisting making a joke about how fishnets seem a bit on the nose. "It's making me cold just to look at you."

Scott rolls his eyes, but concedes enough to drag the shock blanket over his lap. "You realize I don't really get cold, right? It's like, a whole selkie thing."

"Yeah, when you're in seal form, which you're very clearly not, at the moment."

"It doesn't just go away," Scott grumbles, but tucks the blanket more securely under his knees anyway.

Martyn is going to blame his fussing on still being in post-full moon mode. He'd been throwing blankets and pillows and soup at Ren all afternoon and is going to have to pick right back up where he left off when he gets back home. Ren is notoriously terrible at self-care after a transformation.

"Right," Cleo is suddenly there, looming threateningly over Martyn's shoulder. "Martyn, can you tell this idiot that he's not going to be able to arrest us so we can get on with it all."

God, Martyn hates inter-departmental politics. He leans back to peer around Cleo's shoulder at Hughes. "They're in my custody, you can't have them."

He ignores Hughes' subsequent blustering to give Scott and Cleo his full attention. "Is there anything else either of you needs, or can we get out of here?"

The sun is just starting to peek over the horizon. Martyn has spent the past several days taking care of a worn-out and antsy werewolf he is supposed to be dead asleep right now. He will send a preliminary report into HQ (text his boss a two sentence summary) and then he is done. This can be someone else's problem until he's had a minimum of twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep. The murder part has already been done anyway, what's left sounds like it is much more in Research & Preservation's jurisdiction. And Medical. He'll be sure to add a whole extra sentence to that effect.

Scott and Cleo exchange a glance and shake their heads. "Didn't bring anything," Cleo says with a shrug. "I got what I came for."

Scott kicks at their ankle but also looks kind of touched. For a second and only a second, because those two don't do sappy emotions. He then kicks the shock blanket back off and begins hauling himself to his feet. Cleo gives him a hand up and he wobbles on his high-heeled boots but stays standing. Given how shaky he still looks, Martyn is counting that as a win.

He's starting to think Scott might have been separated from his skin for more than just a few hours this time. He's usually completely shaken off the effects by the time Martyn shows up. He's never seen this level of severity.

The two mythicals wander over, Scott still holding onto Cleo's arm, pacing carefully to try and hide the way he is leaning on them for support. Cleo, being Cleo, blatantly ignores the entire situation but still slows their usually brisk stride to accommodate.

"You'll have to give us a ride."

"What?" Visions of his bed vanish before Martyn's eyes at Cleo's declaration.

"You heard me," Cleo repeats, heading towards the edge of the crime scene, Scott only staggering a little bit as he keeps up. "Now where did you park, I'm ready to be rid of this place."

Martyn opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, "Excuse me?" He looks back at the topiary Joe Hills had been standing by. 'Had been' turns out to be the important part of that sentence. "What happened to-"

"He had to go pick his kid up from school, keep up, Martyn." Cleo yells over their shoulder without looking back. "He has a schedule to keep and you took too long. HE was just here to take down the wards."

"Wards?" Martyn rushes to catch up to them. "This is the first you've said about wards. What kind of wards?"

"The kind that keep people like us out," Cleo snaps back, not slowing down at all. "What kind do you think?"

They beeline directly for Martyn's car, pull open the passenger door, and push Scott into the seat. The entire time Martyn has known Cleo, they have never given up the front seat for anyone.

Martyn wonders just how close their luck came to running out this time.

Cleo closes the back seat door behind themself and then the two of them are looking at Martyn impatiently through the windows, as if he is the one acting weird.

There are not enough braincells in Sleep-Deprived Martyn's head to untangle all of this. He gets in the car.

He gives both Scott and Cleo a onceover while starting it. Now tthat they are out of sight of the masses, Scott is slumped against the door, face pale and eyes closed. Cleo is being very deliberately casual in a very Cleo way, and their face is pinched and the line that shows up on their forehead when they are stressed is definitely line-ing. The hand they have held up, pretending to pick dried blood out from under their nails, is shaking.

"Can we get chicken nuggies?" Pearl asks, her face very suddenly right in Martyn's.

Martyn does not yell or flail. Just for the record. And he certainly doesn't scream or jump.

Pearl just stares at him, eyes eerily blank behind her usual 'thrilled with violence' sparkle. She must have been laying down in his back seat. She's sitting in the middle now, next to Cleo, spattered with even more blood than the other two, in a way that bears out Martyn's theory on who actually killed the homeowner.

Her expression turns wheedling and she leans forward even more, propping her chin on the back of Scott's seat. "Nuggies?"

How is this Martyn's life.

"Fine," he sighs as he pulls out of the fancy big circle drive, leaving the oversized house and all its horrors behind them. "We can get chicken nuggies."

Ren wakes up, for a given definition of "wakes up" at...some point. Checking the clock would require opening his eyes and, between the sandy sensation and general lingering exhaustion, he doesn't really want to do that.

He can feel the sun through the curtains and his window face west. So afternoon sometime.

His stomach rumbles.

Perchance he should investigate the kitchen.

A moment of consideration and he decides it still isn't worth opening his eyes. He wraps his comforter over his head and around his shoulders as if it were a winter cape and stumbles towards the door. It takes a few moments of groping around but he manages to find the doorknob and free himself from his confines.

He can smell coffee.

Coffee and people and fast food and...blood?

Instantly set on edge, the clinging territorial instincts from the moon reaction to unexpected intruders in the home, Ren finally cracks one eye open.

Half of the sofa is taken up by a blurry white mass that, after a few blinks, solidifies into a swan sleeping on a pile of messy blankets, head tucked under one wing. A very familiar swan that is awakened enough by Ren's racket to raise their head and give him a displeased hiss, before going back to sleep, settling deeper into their impromptu nest.

His attention is pulled away from Cleo by a shuffling from the kitchen.

Pearl Moon waves at him from where she is sitting on the floor, leaning up against the partition between kitchen and sitting room, halfway through a tub of Ren's ice cream. Ren blinks back at her.

Major is sitting at the kitchen table across from Martyn, who has his face down on the surface of said table and is giving off the general smell he does anytime his emotions are best summarized as "I don't want to be here anymore."

Major looks back over his shoulder and beams at Ren, "Oh good, you're up! Come take a look at these!"

Ren shuffles closer until he can see what exactly it is the selkie has spread all over the table.

It's quite the variety, all placed carefully on Ren's good tea towels. Several trinkets of questionable origin, a cursed box of some kind that smells of fae magic, some mundane jewelry, and a small collection of potion vials. Major taps one of the un-enchanted necklaces proudly. "How would you price this lot?"

Martyn groans against the table top. "Could you at least not conduct your illegal sales in my kitchen when I'm here?"

Ren pats him on the shoulder and does his best to wake up enough to give the haul a more critical look. "Hard to say without a close examination but at least a couple thousand."

Behind him, Pearl makes a disparaging noise. "Only a couple thousand?" She says around a mouthful of ice cream. "Wow, that's cheap."

She shakes something that makes a jingling sound. "Now come look at mine!"

Martyn groans again and shoves his chair away from the table. "I'm going to go get food, if this is what you are doing now." He heads for the door.

Ren takes his chair as Pearl scrambles to her feet and joins them at the table, pulling things willy-nilly out of the pockets of her bright red jacket. He certainly wasn't planning on business on a day off when he hadn't even opened the shop, but Cleo and friends were always a good source of dubiously obtained items.

Martyn closes the front door behind him and Ren can hear him grumbling his way down the stairwell.

He can smell cheap chicken nuggets and his stomach rumbles. Hopefully Martyn brings some of those back with him.

#rain rambles #trafficblr #selkie au #life series gaslight gatekeep girlboss #inthelittlewood #smajor1995 #zombiecleo #pearlescentmoon #renchanting #rain writes fanfiction #long post is long #rendog

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fanficimagery · 4 years

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Friends in High Places

Summary: When Spencer comes home with files to a case that has his team stumped, he's surprised when you- his neighbor for a couple years now- is the person who gives them a new lead to follow. That and that you're ex-SHIELD.

Words: 8K Warnings: This is what I get for starting a rewatch of Criminal Minds and then watching Marvel movies all in one day. Fml. I've never written for Criminal Minds, so please excuse the mediocre-ness of their characterization. I have no idea what I'm doing; I just knew I wanted a crossover between these two fandoms. Also timeline? What are those? All you gotta know is that this is an AU where Bucky's joined the team and Steve DIDN'T ruin the life Peggy Carter would have had. As for the CM side, this is sometime after Hotch has left and Emily took over. Idk.

Having the night off and wanting nothing more than to just be lazy, you're sitting on your couch in your most comfiest clothes and mindlessly scrolling through Tumblr as your TV plays some program on Animal Planet. You're not even paying attention to the program, but the low sound is perfect for background noise.

You're queuing up some art posts that catch your attention, as well as some gif sets of the TV shows you've become a constant viewer of in the past few years, when there's a knock at your door. But not just any knock. It's a specific knock that you and your neighbor came up with after you got to know each other and became fast friends, and it was to let the other know they were home and wanted company. You mostly worked nights and his work schedule was always all over the place, so it's surprising you're both home at the same time.

Picking up your phone, you shoot him a quick text that you'll be over in five.

Spencer Reid is literally the man of every woman's dream, even if they didn't know it. He's cute and adorable and sometimes dangerously hot all rolled into one, and the best thing about it all is that he doesn't even know it. You had met him on one of your first few days in the apartment complex, but unfortunately it was during one of your slight panic attacks when a thunderstorm had caught you off guard while you were sitting in your car and you didn't have an umbrella.

He had seen and heard you freaking out as he was passing by, and knocked on the passenger window. You had collected yourself just long enough to roll the window down a few inches when he asked if you were okay, then proceeded to answer his own question by stating you obviously weren't. When he realized you lived in the same complex and asked if he could climb inside your car and out of the storm, you had stared at him in confusion until he realized that might have been a bit weird since you were strangers. He stammered his way through his explanation of being an FBI agent and after showing you his badge you had let him in.

You didn't have to tell him what was making you panic and he proceeded to keep your mind occupied. He asked about you and where you had moved in from, and spewed random facts about anything to temporarily make you forget about the storm raging outside. But the torrential rain wasn't letting up and the lightning was only getting closer and closer. He made you realize you had to make a run for it and even offered up his umbrella for you. You had thanked him with tears in your eyes and made a run for it on the count of three when you were settled just enough.

Inside the lobby of your apartment building, you had stood there trembling while Spencer nervously gripped onto the strap of his messenger bag as he stood across from you. When you were shaking the water off his umbrella, you hesitantly told him your reasoning for your freak-out. It wasn't necessarily the thunderstorm, but rather the torrential rain that wasn't letting up. A few years back you had a drowning incident and too much water on your face tended to bring back those memories. He said he understood and then with a sympathy tinged smile he offered to walk you to your apartment. It was a pleasant surprise to learn you had only lived two doors down from him.

Weeks turned into months and months into a couple of years, and you and Spencer were nearly inseparable when you both had the same day/night off.

So after quickly fixing your already messy hair so you don't look like a complete slob, and pulling on a loose hoodie, you grab your phone from the sofa and then head on out. Your socked feet keep your footsteps quiet as you head down to Spencer's door where you knock three times on it before opening it up and stepping inside.

But before you can greet him with a cheesy welcome, he's already calling out, "Hope you haven't had dinner. I picked up some burgers on the way home."

On cue, your stomach grumbles. "God bless you, you beautiful, beautiful man!" You hear him laugh from a room that's not where his kitchen is, so you make a beeline for the kitchen instead of accidentally walking in on him changing. There are two paper bags on the table and you quickly grab plates from his cabinet to separate the food on. Spencer enters the kitchen in a shirt and some gray joggers, and you greet him with a beaming smile. "You're home and in one piece! Yay!" He laughs and you quickly lean in to peck his cheek, not saying a word when you catch sight of his pink tinged cheeks. "You have any beer?"

"Yes. Grab two, please."

"Got it." You hear one of his kitchen chairs creak as you open his refrigerator to grab two beers, you then searching a nearby drawer for the bottle opener. Once you find it, you walk back over to the table and open each beer before handing one over to him.

"Thanks."

"Mhm." Taking a seat, you set your beer down before unwrapping your burger and dumping your fries out onto the plate. "So what's up, doc? You're home surprisingly early."

"We've hit a wall on our latest case," he says, keeping it vague. "There was nothing for us to do while Garcia did her thing, so Emily sent us home for a bit."

"Nice." You take a bite of your burger and your eyes widen when Spencer's eyebrows raise in surprise. When you realize how your words sounded, you're quick to backtrack. "Wait! It's not nice that you hit a wall, but nice that you got sent home! I got free food out of it. That's why it's nice. Not because, you know, you haven't found the-"

"Y/N, you're rambling," Spencer says, lips twitching. "I understood what you meant."

You sigh, shoulders dropping, and grab half a fry to toss at him. "Eat your food, Reid. It's getting cold."

It surprisingly doesn't take long for the two of you to eat your dinner, you both being hungrier than you first thought. After you're done, Spencer turns down a second beer but tells you to help yourself. You do. And on the way into his living room, you bump into one of his chairs and knock his bag over. You gasp and set your beer down on the coffee table, falling to your knees to scoop up his files that had spilled out.

Chuckling, Spencer crouches next to you as you profusely apologize.

"It's okay. It was an accident." A few pictures had slid out of their files and normally you'd just shove them back in because his work wasn't any of your business, but the face staring back up at you makes you pause. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a little heavy on the eyeliner, and a lip piercing. You know her. "Y/N?" You gulp and flip to another picture- brown hair, brown eyes, mole above the right eyebrow. You know her too. "Y/N? Are you okay?"

With trembling hands, you flip back to the first picture and show it to him. "Is Lilian dead?"

Spencer's eyes widen. "You knew her?"

Knew. Past tense. She is dead. Showing him the second picture, you nod sadly. "Kyndall too."

He seems to stop breathing then and from one moment to the next he's opening files and pulling out picture after picture. As you stare at each of them, you grimace and swallow down the bile that's threatening to climb its way up your throat. "Y/N, do you know any of the others?"

Shakily exhaling, you point at each picture. "Desiree, Celeste, Maria. I don't know this one, but I think her last name was Valdez? And then the male is Tim."

Spencer falls on his butt, staring at you in surprise. "That's right. We know their names and their current line of work, but that's about it. Their files only seem to go back a few years. Everything between the end of their high school career and current line of work seems to be scrubbed clean. Do you- do you know of any connection between these people? Any little thing you know can possibly be a big help to my team."

Your gaze darts up to him and your heart sinks. You've managed to keep your past mostly hidden, but now it seems the time has come to tell him what you did before. "They, uh, they're all ex-agents of SHIELD. The real SHIELD, not HYDRA."

"What?"

"If I remember correctly, they were computer analysts or paper pushers. They had gun training as one would think an agent would have, but they were agents who didn't really have to train in hand-to-hand since they never made it out into the field."

"You're positive? How do you know this?"

You gulp. "Because I'm ex-SHIELD too."

Spencer blinks at you, but then in the next moment he's up on his feet and reaching for his phone. He places a quick phone call, stepping into another room and leaving you alone. Your stomach sinks and you have a feeling that this confession might have just put a wedge in your friendship. After all, though ex-agents were being picked up by other different branches of the government, you weren't sure just how exactly trustworthy all ex-agents were being treated.

Spencer reappears, nervously tucking his hair behind his ear. "Do you mind coming with me back to work? My co-workers could really pick your brain about this."

You blink at him. "W-What? You're not mad at me?"

"Mad?" He chuckles. "Why would I be mad? I mean I wish I had known what you did so I didn't have to worry about you being alone when I left for a case, but I can see why you would keep that underwraps. HYDRA made a lot of people paranoid."

"Tell me about it," you mumble. Then after a few seconds, you finally climb up to your own two feet. "Um, just let me go put on some shoes. I'll meet you in the hall."

Spencer's smile and nod eases some of your worries, but you still quickly make an escape to go put on some shoes. Your front door bangs open and you hurry to your hall closet. Yanking open that door, you pull on the first pair of Converse you come across. Then taking a moment to think, you grab a pair of knee high boots that you use every once in a while. Reaching inside, you grab your old badge and a USB stick, sticking your badge in your back pocket and the USB in your front pocket. Then grabbing your keys from the hook by the front door, you shut the door after exiting and lock it. Spencer is waiting down the hall for you and you jog towards him. He tightly smiles and then leads you downstairs, towards his car, and you sit quietly in his passenger seat while he drives.

On the way towards Spencer's place of work, he can't help but ask, "So what exactly did you do with SHIELD if you don't mind me asking."

You shrug. "Cat's out of the bag now, so I don't mind." You chuckle though it kind of falls flat. "I was, uh, a computer analyst for a while. But then I was taken on a field trip with a few agents and we ended up trading bullets with several not so nice guys. The field agents liked the way I handled myself and requested I level up, so to speak."

"And you never thought of trying to get hired on with anyone else? If I recall, the FBI and CIA were picking up ex-SHIELD agents after the fall."

You shake your head. "Remember that drowning incident I mentioned? Or the reason why I can't take baths anymore and have to turn my shower on and off between washing?" Spencer hums, remembering what he thought were odd quirks until he realized it was all because of your fear of certain amounts of water. "That drowning incident was HYDRA's fault. I spent months in rehab and just- well, no one wanted a damaged agent."

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm kind of glad they didn't. I quite like my neighbor who picks up take-out and bakes sweets for me after a rough case."

You try not to think too much about his words and instead choose to smile at him before looking out your window. The drive is only about twenty minutes and fortunately the radio fills in the semi-tense silence.

When you get to the FBI building, Spencer escorts you inside with a hand at the small of your back. You're given a visitor's badge and you quickly clip it onto the hem of your hoodie. The elevator ride up to the BAU's main floor is a short one and it opens up to a wall of glass where you can see several desks behind it.

Spencer opens the door for you and you can't help but make yourself seem as small as possible. You cross your arms over your chest, hugging yourself as you enter the room. There are several people milling about, but no one pays you any attention. Only one female, dark bangs covering her forehead while the rest of her hair falls just passed her shoulders, heads towards you once she spots you and Spencer.

"Y/N," Spencer says, introducing you to the woman as she nears, "this is our Unit Chief Emily Prentiss. Emily, this is my good friend Y/N Y/L/N."

Emily is all smiles as she reaches to shake your hand. "Hi! It's nice to finally meet the girl who takes care of our boy wonder after cases."

Spencer nervously chuckles and you find yourself genuinely grinning. "It's nice to finally meet you too. I've heard some funny stories about all you guys."

"I will neither confirm nor deny any of those."

Emily then leads you towards a room where three others are waiting. "Guys, this is Y/N Y/L/N. Friend of Spence and ex-agent of SHIELD. Y/N, this is Special Agent Derek Morgan and Jennifer Jareau, and our very own technical analyst Penelope Garcia."

Everyone happily greets you and Jennifer even gives you the go ahead to call her JJ. You're offered a seat at their round table and you glance at their board filled with pictures of people you used to work with. Spencer sits next to you and you offer him a feeble smile when he reaches beneath the table to squeeze your knee.

"Alright, guys, I know we're all interested in the girl who lives next to Spence, but we need to get down to business." Spencer groans as his teammates all chuckle. "So Y/N, is there anything else you can give us about the victims? What exactly did they do? Did they all personally know each other or just enough because they were coworkers? Even the smallest bit of info that you think is inconsequential can help us."

"I, uh, I can do you one better," you say. You shift in your seat and reach into your front pocket, pulling out the USB stick. "Since I figure all those NDA's we signed are now null and void thanks to Agent Romanoff's data dump, and because you're Spencer's friend, I feel comfortable handing this over. It kind of made me nervous keeping it in my house anyway."

You slide the USB towards Penelope and she gasps, snatching it up and holding it as if it were the holy grail. "Is this- are these files? Because let me tell you, I tried to download those files as soon as they hit the net but there were just so many and not even our WiFi could download it fast enough before they were scrubbed clean."

You grin and nod, chuckling at Penelope's squeal. "I started collecting everyone's files that I could get my hands on. I started with the baby agents- agents whose files wouldn't toss up red flags when their files were opened. The more clearance I was granted, the more files I was able to download."

"Oh my god. Yes! You are my new favorite person." Penelope rushes around the table, bending down to kiss your cheek with a loud mwah! "Reid, keep this one. I'll be in my lair."

The group all chuckle as you blush, but then Agent Morgan is clearing his throat. "Not that I'm not grateful about what you're giving up, but isn't what you were doing illegal?"

You shrug. "It possibly was, but then Director Fury realized I was memorizing it all and didn't have a problem with it so long as those files didn't leave my office."

"But you have them on you now," Morgan says.

"Yeah. The USB was hidden within my belongings in my office. My office surprisingly survived unscathed after Captain Rogers crashed the helicarriers into the Potomac, and my stuff was packed up and shipped to me while I was in rehab."

"If you don't mind me asking," JJ wonders, "but were you at the Triskelion when HYDRA came out or..?"

"I don't mind the questions at all," you say. "It's actually quite nice to talk about it with people who aren't eyeing me suspiciously." The group flashes you small smiles. "I was actually on a consulting job with a recently formed SHIELD team whose base was a humongous plane that was constantly on the move. Anyway, one of those trusted team members ended up being HYDRA. He led a group of his men onto the plane, killed half of us to get control of it, and then locked me and two scientists into a holding pod before dropping us into the middle of the ocean."

"The drowning incident," Spencer suddenly realizes.

You smile sadly at him, nodding. "We sank to the bottom of the ocean floor. There were three of us and only one little oxygen tank." Spencer grabs your hand beneath the table and you're grateful for the grounding pressure. "We gave it to Jemma. Fitz and I were going to attempt to swim, but we didn't make it. Fitz blacked out first, then me, and then- then nothing. We woke up in a trusted SHIELD facility, and Fitz and I couldn't operate like we used to. With our brains having been deprived of oxygen, it messed us up for a while."

"Wow," Emily says. "I am so sorry."

You shrug at her with a small smile. "It was all part of the job."

"What do you do now?" Morgan asks. "I hate to say it, but with all our victims being ex-SHIELD, and you as well, we have to rule you out as-"

"I get it." You smile in reassurance at him since it kind of pained him to admit that you could be a suspect and have Spencer glare at him for even thinking it. "I'm a bouncer at a bar most nights."

Morgan chuckles. "A bouncer? You!?"

"Hey! I might not look like much, but I did train with Avengers. I could probably give you a run for your money, agent Morgan."

"Okay, okay," he muses.

"I also work as private security for Stark Industries when they throw galas. If you need the exact dates I've been working, I can get that for you."

"Please," JJ says. "Spencer's already vouched for you, but protocol and all that. You understand."

"I do. I'll just- I'll text my bosses to email my clock-ins and clock-outs."

Pulling out your phone, you immediately text your boss at the bar and Pepper Potts. You keep the explanation vague as to why you need it, but assure them it's very much needed for a case the FBI is working on. They completely understand and you even have to make Pepper swear not to get Tony involved.

The emails come in not even ten minutes later and JJ happily takes your phone to run the dates with Penelope, promising to be quick about it. You remain in your seat, watching as Morgan and Emily walk towards the board and start tossing their thoughts back and forth over what they've learned so far.

Your hands are atop the table, thumbs chipping away the already chipped nail polish you have on. The second you raise your hand with the intent of chewing on your thumb nail, Spencer catches your hand. "You okay?" He quietly asks and you stare at him. He then lets your hand go as you pull them back into your lap.

"Yeah. Just getting kind of tired. And a bit anxious. Someone's targeting ex-SHIELD agents and I- well I'm one of those people."

"No one is going to hurt you, Y/N. I promise."

You feebly smile, not taking his words to heart because you know he can't actually keep that promise. He might want to, but you know better than to take these types of promises seriously in situations such as this.

JJ reappears, a bright smile in place as she hands you your phone. "I'm pretty sure Penelope programmed her number in there."

"That's fine." You chuckle. You lay your phone on the table, giving your attention back to Emily and Morgan who's now being joined by JJ.

"Guys, Garcia is having a ball right now. There's so much information she wasn't privy to before, but I'm not sure how any of it is going to help more than Y/N already has." Emily and Morgan look at JJ, waiting for her to explain. "We already know victims weren't the best at hand-to-hand, which the unsub clearly took advantage of. But we need to know what they were presently doing and if they were checking in with anyone because there are a lot of dead ex-agents. That's not a coincidence. Either someone who's ex-SHIELD or HYDRA is picking off ex-agents one by one, or someone who has a grudge against SHIELD found a list of ex-agents and is working their way down the list."

"Where do we even start?" Morgan asks, incredulous. "SHIELD technically doesn't exist anymore and those who are operating in the shadows are nearly impossible to track down thanks to the Avengers. None of them are exactly easy to get a hold of after General Ross made it his personal mission to bring in James Buchanan Barnes for crimes HYDRA made him commit. They like working on their own."

"We'd have to jump through a bunch of hoops just to get a face to face," Emily says, sighing. "If we're lucky they'll want in on the case since it's related to SHIELD."

"Um, actually.." You nervously raise your hand, calling all attention on you. "You can bypass all those hoops."

Emily stares at you, sitting on the edge of the table as she crosses her arms over her chest. "You still have connections, don't you?" At your sheepish grin, she huffs in amusement. Every other team member straightens with hope in their expressions.

"Agent Prentiss, I am the connection." As you pick up your phone once more, JJ and Morgan step closer to the table. You scroll through your contacts, finding the one you need and tapping on it. Then putting it on speaker, you try to soothe your nerves as the ringing through the speaker seems to make the atmosphere of the room become tense.

The ringing stops as the connection is made and then, "Well, well, well. If it isn't my second favorite human on God's green Earth." You roll your eyes at the charm oozing from him. "What kind of trouble are you in now, doll?"

Emily and JJ's eyes widen, and you shake your head in amusement. "Put your boyfriend on the line, Barnes. I'm calling in a favor."

"Are you calling to finally take us up on that offer of joining us for a night?"

Everyone in the room seems to freeze, although Morgan is highly enjoying where this seems to be going. You close your eyes, scrunching up your nose. You can't believe they just heard that. "Steve really needs to put a muzzle on you."

"Well if you're into that-"

"Bucky!" You bark. "You're on speaker." Morgan finally loses the battle with his laughter and you wish you can sink into your chair. Instead you have to settle for just insanely blushing and covering your face with one hand. "I'm currently with the BAU of the FBI. They have a case that they could use some help on."

"Oh." There's a beat of silence. "Christ, Y/N. You should have stopped me sooner. Stevie's gonna lecture me again. Hold on. I'll go get him."

The line goes silent and you nervously meet Spencer's gaze. He's the only one who doesn't seem as amused which is why you don't find Bucky's greeting as funny as you normally would. Something about his expression actually makes you wish Bucky hadn't said anything.

"Y/N?"

You sit a little straighter in your seat. "Hey, Cap."

"What's going on? Buck mentioned the FBI."

"Uh yeah. I'm with Agents Prentiss, Morgan, Jareau, and Doctor Reid," you tell him. "They've been dealing with a case that had gone cold and well I kind of made a connection they hadn't seen before because they couldn't, and uh I'm sure they could use your help."

"What was the connection?"

You look at Emily and she nods, letting you tell him. "Steve, all the victims are ex-SHIELD. Specifically agents who wouldn't have had too much training; who couldn't hold their own without a gun in hand."

There's a sharp inhale. "What do they need?"

Emily's eyes close in relief and she holds her hand out for your phone. You happily oblige her and hand it over. "Captain Rogers, this is Special Agent Emily Prentiss. I'm the one in charge of my team here."

"Hello, Agent Prentiss. How can my team and I be of help?"

"Well we mainly need to pick your brains and ask some questions. We're aware that SHIELD is still operating to an extent, even if it is in the shadows, so we'd like to know if the victims were still affiliated with you. If we're dealing with someone who is or was from SHIELD or HYDRA, we'd like to have you involved since you have more experience with how they operate."

"That's fine. I'll gather my team and set up a room. Are you okay to set up base here in the Compound?"

"Yes!" JJ says, starting everyone. She clears her throat and calms herself. "Yes."

Steve chuckles. "Very well. Gather everything you need. I'll be sending a quinjet for you all since it'll be faster. Y/N knows the pick-up location."

"Thank you so much, Captain Rogers."

Emily hands you the phone and seeing that the call is still connected, you say, "Hey, Steve? Thanks for this."

"It's not a problem, sweetheart. Are you okay though? You're an ex-shield agent yourself."

"I know, but nothing has been out of the ordinary. I'm okay."

"Good. You coming too?"

"I was actually planning on going home after driving the agents to the location. I'm not an active agent anymore, bub."

"I know you're not, but with that agent neighbor of yours coming here I rather have you here as well so we can keep an eye on you." You sigh at his protectiveness. "Bring a change of clothes for a week. I'll have Nat get a hold of your boss and let him know some of what's going on so you'll have a job to go back to once all of this is over."

"You're a pain in the ass, Rogers."

Steve laughs. "See you soon, Y/L/N."

The call ends and you set your phone down. Glancing up, you smile sheepishly at the team staring at you. "So, uh, I guess I'm tagging along. Sorry about that."

Emily opens her mouth, her words getting stuck as she shakes her head in amusement. "Don't be. You got us working with the Avengers within minutes as opposed to taking hours, possibly even a day if I had to put in a request."

Morgan whistles appreciatively. "This is insane. I'm gonna give Garcia a heads up about our field trip. Expect another tag a long. I don't think she'll pass up this opportunity."

You chuckle as JJ says, "Rossi is going to be so pissed he took a vacation and missed out on working with the Avengers." Then looking at you, she adds, "Do you think Spider-Man will be there? My son absolutely loves him and I would be the coolest mom ever if I got a picture or video with him."

"I'm sure Pe- uh, I'm sure Spider-Man will make an appearance," you say. "He's always hanging around after his classes are done for the day."

JJ's eyes widen. "You totally know who he is."

"I do. And let me tell you, he absolutely adores kids. Ask and he'll happily oblige."

"Guys. Guys!" Emily says. "Case first, fangirl later."

Spencer snorts and you elbow him on reflex. He grumbles, Emily and JJ grin, and you innocently smile at Emily. "Sorry, Agent Prentiss. I'll just- I'll go sit on that couch over there so I'm not in the way."

Emily starts telling her team what needs to be done, repeating herself again when Morgan returns with a clearly excited Garcia. Morgan informs everyone he'll go gather the boxes of files while Spencer immediately sets out to disassemble the board of pictures and post-its. Garcia excitedly rushes back to her own office to pack up a few things, while Emily and JJ figure out what all they'll need to be taking with them.

To keep yourself occupied, you waste a few minutes by playing a game on your phone.

You're not sure how much time has passed, but someone hesitantly sitting next to you takes your attention off your phone. Glancing up, you see Spencer sitting there and realize everyone else has cleared out of the room. "We should be ready to head out in about ten minutes."

"Oh. Okay."

There's a moment of silence and then, "Soo.. Bucky Barnes." He chuckles, running a hand through his hair, and you can tell his amusement isn't exactly genuine. "He's- he's not the type of person I pictured you with if I'm being honest."

"Barnes?" You snort. "Ew. No." Spencer seems surprised by your reply. "Bucky likes to flirt with me because he knows it won't go anywhere. He's well aware of the actual person I have a crush on and he respects that. Mostly."

"O-Oh? So there is someone in the picture then?"

"Well, not really," you say. Squirming in your seat, you're not totally comfortable with the direction this talk has taken until you see you're not the only one squirming. Spencer is avoiding eye contact, but he's also clearly awaiting your answer. There's also a telltale flush up the side of his neck to the tips of his ears, and- oh. Oh. Seeing how nervous Spencer suddenly is makes you feel better. So better, in fact, that you feel you should speak up about something that you've kept secret for a while. "Well I mean I'd like there to be," you say, grinning when he freezes. "The thing is, he actually lives down the hall from me." Cue him holding his breath. "He's totally adorable, but also secretly hot which is so unfair, and he works for the FBI." Spencer's head snaps in your direction, eyes wide. You smile sheepishly and shrug. "The only downfall is that he's way too good for someone like me, so I settled for friendship."

Your heart is beating terribly fast and the only thing keeping you glued to your seat is Spencer grinning bashfully, cheeks pink. "If you ask me, I don't think he's too good at all. I-If anything, he probably thinks you were too good for him which is why he never made his own feelings known."

Relief washes over you and you laugh. "We're idiots, huh?"

Lips pressed together, he smiles wide. Then, "A little."

"Rain check on this discussion? We've got Avengers to greet and you have a case to solve."

"Of course!" Spencer hastily stands, offering you a hand up. Grinning, you take it and let him pull you to your feet while shoving your phone into your back pocket. "Wherever we're going, is it okay to leave our vehicles there?"

"Yeah. It's private property and pretty secluded. No one gets in without codes."

"Okay then. We'll swing by our building for your bag and then you can direct one of the drivers while the other follows."

"Sure. Sounds like a plan."

Because of the connection between the list of victims, you have an escort up to your apartment while you pack a bag. Emily and JJ happily accompany you, leaving Spencer to fend for himself with Morgan and Garcia.

In your apartment, the two female agents waste no time in subtly trying to figure out your exact feelings for their dear friend and you take great amusement in skirting around the answer they so desperately try to pry out of you. And it's only after your duffel is packed do you tell them you and Spencer had admitted some things to each other, but you are planning to talk about it further after their case is closed. JJ seems oddly giddy and Emily coos about their boy genius growing up. You blush, relieved that they've taken a to liking to you. Then when you get back to the vehicles, you know Spencer has been questioned as well given the smirks being sent your way.

The drive to the field isn't long and the team is impressed by the level of security for a seemingly abandoned airfield. There's an unmanned gate which you get off at to speak for voice recognition, punch in a specific code, give a hand print, and then secretly have your forefinger pricked for a blood sample. Then when the gate swings open, you quickly climb back into the car and instruct Emily towards the second gate where a guard sits. The guard greets you warmly and, after you introduce those in the vehicle with you, he assures you he knows all about the impending pick-up.

"So what exactly are we in for?" Morgan asks. You're all waiting in an opened hangar, the boxes they'd packed sitting on the ground.

"Your perceptions about them are about to be changed," you admit. "I'm sure you've all told yourselves that the Avengers are just like you and I, but you have no idea how true that it is until you meet them."

"Who is the nicest?" JJ wonders.

You take a moment to think about. "Honestly? They're all nice, but if I had to choose I'd choose Spider-Man. It's hard not to like him. The kid's a puppy."

"Who gives the best hugs?" Garcia quickly adds.

Everyone chuckles at her eagerness. "That's a tough one," you say. You ponder on it for a moment. "I say it's a tie between Steve and Thor. They hug full on, chest to chest. None of that half-assed, one arm hug nonsense."

Garcia practically swoons. "Oh to be wrapped up in those beefy Asgardian arms." You snort and shake your head in amusement.

Another twenty minutes pass and you regale Spencer and his friends about some of your work with SHIELD. But all too soon the telltale sound of a quinjet reaches your ears and when you look up you see one incoming.

"Well that was hella fast," Garcia muses when she spots the quinjet herself.

JJ grins. "Stark technology. Gotta love it."

Emily nods in agreement. "We definitely need an upgrade."

Whoever is flying the quinjet lands it with ease, and Spencer, Morgan, and JJ immediately pick up their boxes. Shouldering the strap of your duffel bag, you start heading towards the quinjet when the ramp is being lowered and the team follows a few steps behind.

Clint Barton walks off the ramp and you chuckle, hurrying your steps. Both your arms go around his neck and one of his arms wraps low around your waist. "Short stack," he says. "What trouble did you get into now?"

"Why does everyone assume I'm in trouble?" You pout as you pull back, pinching his cheek and cooing before stepping back out of range. "And what are you even doing here? Shouldn't you be on the farm with those precious little heathens?"

"I was, but Laura had leftovers for Nat and Wanda. I was just dropping them off when Steve rounded up the team."

"Oh nice." Then turning around, you gesture to the BAU team. "Clint, meet Special Agents Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan, Jennifer Jareau, Doctor Spencer Reid, and the brains of the beauty of the team Miss Penelope Garcia. Guys, meet Clint Barton formerly known as Hawkeye."

Everyone shakes hands, with the exception of Garcia who slaps his hand away and pulls him into a hug.

"Baby girl," Morgan laughs, "what are you doing?"

She squeezes a chuckling Clint before letting go, she then whirling on her own friend. "This is my first time meeting the Avengers. Do not take this from me!" Morgan's eyebrows raise in amusement, the whole team and Clint chuckling.

Then not wasting anymore time, Clint ushers everyone on board. He shows them where the boxes and your bag can be stowed before taking the pilot's seat up front, only to be joined by Morgan moments later in the co-pilot seat. You show Emily and Garcia how to buckle in, and then take your own seat between JJ and Spencer.

Clint counts down for lift off and you grip your harness as you feel the quinjet take flight. Spencer nudges you with his elbow and you glance at him, grinning to assure him you're okay. But when you can feel the quinjet picking up speed thanks to the feeling in your gut, you close your eyes and are thankful that no one brings up the fact that you're actually really nervous right now.

Your left hand is grabbed and gently pried from your grip on the harness, and your eyes fly open in surprise. You look towards your left and JJ smiles at you reassuringly as she squeezes your hand in comfort. Then when your right hand is grabbed and given the same treatment, you glance over at Spencer and can't help but blurt, "I-I've never been nervous about flying before."

"It's perfectly normal to subconsciously be nervous or anxious after we trudged up your past earlier," he says. "Just close your eyes and relax. We won't let anything happen to you."

You nod, smiling shakily and turn your head to rest it against the headrest of your seat. Then closing your eyes, you're grateful for the team not asking you anything for the duration of the ride. Instead, they save their questions for Clint who's all too happy to answer what he can.

You know the Compound's come into view when Morgan whistles in appreciation. Clint lands to quinjet with ease and then everyone's unbuckling themselves when he gives the go ahead. Before you can grab your bag, however, Spencer is grabbing it and beaming at you when you sigh with mock annoyance.

One by one the BAU team disembarks after Clint, leaving you and Spencer to bring up the rear. You hear Clint introducing everyone and notice everyone's congregated around in a circle. Then just as you and Spencer join, you notice that Garcia is petting Bucky's vibranium arm. You snort, catching an amused Steve's attention.

"Y/N," he greets.

"Steve." You step forward, briefly hugging him and then Bucky. As you step back in line, you gesture towards Spencer to introduce him. "This is Doctor Spencer Reid. Spence, this is Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes."

Steve leans in for a handshake, but then pauses mid-shake. "Wait. Spencer Reid? The Spencer Reid?" He grins. "Are you- are you and the agent neighbor one in the same?"

You sharply inhale, eyes widening when everyone turns to stare at your rapidly blushing face. Steve's grin turns rather teasing and your eyes narrow at him. "Two words; octopus dick." Steve's amusement vanishes, and everyone turns towards a now blushing Steve as Bucky guffaws. You turn your gaze on him next. "I don't know why you're laughing, dolphin boy."

Bucky immediately shuts up and Steve shakily grins before addressing the team. "Okay! Now that we've all been introduced, lets get inside before Y/N starts a war she can't finish."

Morgan and JJ are the only two to follow after Steve, Bucky, and Clint. Emily and Garcia remain with you and Spencer, and both females look to you with pleading eyes.

"Please tell me how four innocuous words got two supersoldiers to blush like that?" Garcia asks, Emily nodding along with her. "I need to know!"

"Sorry, girls," you tell them. "Those stories get out and I'm dead meat."

The both of them grumble about not getting answers, but move on without fuss. Before you can follow, however, Spencer steps closer to you. "You won't even tell me?" He asks, voice quiet.

You huff. "You already know."

Spencer's answering smile is enough to make you roll your eyes and he's quick to keep pace with you as you enter the building. There are numerous people milling about, but since it's late most of the trainees are in bed. Every piece of furniture and fixture still seems brand spanking new, so you don't blame the BAU team looking around in awe.

Heading into the chosen office, you lead Spencer inside before catching Steve's attention. "I'm gonna let you guys get to work. I'll be setting up in my room if anyone needs me."

No one objects, so after taking your bag from Spencer you take your leave. You leisurely make your way towards the living quarters of the compound and find your room with ease. Opening the door, the familiarity of it brings a tired smile to your face. The lamps have been turned on, awaiting your arrival, and even the TV has been turned on with its volume on low. The walls and bedding is the same as everyone else has, but you know it's your room because of the personal pictures on the dresser and bedside tables.

Since you're going to be staying until the case is over and then probably a couple days more after, you decide to put your clothes in the dresser rather than leave it in your bag for the entire time. After that's done and you've switched your TV to a movie you like, you pick out a standard set of black sleep pants and a blue/gray shirt that every trainee at the compound wears to bed so you can shower before crawling into bed yourself.

You're grateful for the private bathroom and even more grateful to see the products you use already waiting for you. You turn on the water to the shower, grab a towel from the bathroom closet and set it on the counter along with your change of clothes before you start to strip.

You keep your hair in a topknot as you shower since you had washed it earlier that morning, so your shower is over within ten minutes. Then by the time you're dried off and dressed in fresh clothes, and your teeth are brushed, you exit the bathroom.

Stepping into your room, you startle at the sight of Spencer sitting on the small cushioned bench at the foot of your bed. He's staring up at the moving playing, the corner of his lips quirked up in amusement. But at your small gasp, he looks towards you, lips spreading into a fond smile.

"Captain Rogers said it was okay that I wait for you. I don't mean to intrude."

"Spence," you huff a laugh and then continue on towards your bed, "we have keys to each other's apartments and sometimes barge in without warning. I think you waiting in here is more than okay."

"Just needed to make sure," he says, "what with this being a new place and all."

"Mhmm." You sit on the edge of the bed that's right behind the bench, putting your feet on the cushion beside Spencer and practically hug your knees as you stare at him. "How did everyone settle in?"

"E-Everyone's good." Spencer turns sideways, grinning up at you. "We got our own rooms here so we don't have to be back and forth from a hotel. When we left, Garcia was being introduced to the holographic tables and now I don't think she's going to sleep tonight."

You chuckle. "I knew she'd fall prey to all the pretty tech here." He chuckles along with you. "And how did everyone take the news to hearing the details about the case?"

"They're taking it very personally," Spencer tells you. "Mr. Barton even asked to stay on as a consultant. He and agent Romanoff are not very happy."

"Well they might not be as smart as you, Doc, but I think they're going to be a big help. You guys will be out of here in no time with the bad guy in cuffs."

"Is that so?" He muses. You grin and nod. "And if we're out of here in no time, are we still waiting until you go home for that discussion we still need to have?"

"We can table the discussion," you say, "but I really need to do this before I chicken out."

"Do what?"

Without thinking too much more about it, you reach out to cradle Spencer's jaw in the palms of your hands. You bring his face closer to yours, pausing with barely an inch between your lips. It seems he's held his breath in surprise, but when he notices you're waiting for some sort of unspoken permission it's him who closes the gap.

There's nothing heated or rushed about the kiss- it merely being a chaste kiss of several little pecks before he catches your bottom lip between his teeth. You smile, your lip popping free from where it stretches, and you giggle as he leans up to chase your lips.

"Ahem." The interruption causes you to jerk back from Spencer, eyes wide when you catch sight of Bucky leaning against your door jamb and looking quite smug. "Hope I'm not interrupting." You groan, laying your forehead on Spencer's shoulder while he quietly snorts. "So with this new development, does this mean our threesome will now be a foursome?"

You can't help but laugh and sit straight once more so you can see your friend. Unfortunately, the question actually gives you pause and there's a split second where you actually give it thought. But in the next moment your nose wrinkles and you shake your head. "What? No!"

He points at you, eyes gleaming. "You paused! You paused which means that no just turned into a maybe. I'm gonna go tell Stevie we're back in the game!"

"James!" Spencer finally laughs and you groan again when Bucky pushes off the door jamb, whistling as he walks away. "I hate my friends."

"Just wait until Morgan finds out. It'll be worse." Spencer chuckles as you sigh, and he gets up before walking around to the side of your bed. He places his palms down on the mattress, leaning over you to kiss you once more. "I'm gonna go to my room before Sergeant Barnes brings back reinforcements."

"Okay. I'll probably see you around the compound, but I'll do my best to stay out of your hair while you're looking for your unsub."

"Are we still talking after?"

"Of course. Well we can either talk or order in some Chinese and hole up in one of our apartments for a weekend. Your call."

"I like the second option," he says.

"I figured you would." You kiss him one last time and then push against his chest. "Now go. We'll figure things out soon."

#spencer reid x reader #marvel gen fic x reader #avengers imagine #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid imagine #marvel imagine #spencer reid #steve rogers #bucky barnes #clint barton #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia #derek morgan #fanficimagery

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engaged19times · 3 years

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RHONJ Recrap - season 11, ep 1 - C U Next Tuesday!

Greetings fellow prostitution whores and welcome to my new weekly recrap of American institution The Real Housewives of New Jersey! Before I jump in I’ll introduce myself by saying that I’m a housewives super fan (I even watched DC, an experience I wouldn’t wish on my worst sister-in-law), an underemployed comedy writer (I can’t define “napalm” either, Lauren Manzo), and nothing makes me happier than to watch 6 bedazzled hypocrites in Cheesecake Factory mansions argue etiquette and loyalty between physical altercations in the world renowned cultural hub of Paterson, New Jersey. I know essay recaps are a bit of a relic but I am fond of ye olde written word so please enjoy this blast from the past, you scumbags!

We open without fanfare mid-scene to red-eyed Jackie and dead-eyed Teresa sitting in Margaret’s partially finished, wallpaper smothered home. We get the Bad Girls Club black-and-white flashes but unlike in Beverly Hills we’re not flashing to “three months earlier” but instead to “three days earlier.” It might take women of less gumption precious time to build to a production-halting confrontation but it only takes these agents of chaos half a week to get the meatball rolling.

Let’s back up a little to the ominous “three days prior” and catch up with our hot girls. It’s Jackie’s giant hot husband’s 46th birthday so she’s throwing him a party under a tent in the parking lot of a Greek restaurant. We learn that Teresa and Joe’s father has sadly passed in the offseason and Dolores Thee Stallion and Margaret have both had full cosmetic overhauls - Dolores with a second butt enhancement that left her with a giant hip scar rivaled only by Sally from Nightmare before Christmas and Margaret with a boob lift and apparent nipple sharpening (is that a procedure?) that she advertises in a blush silk top with no bra. Never one to be outdone at a parking lot birthday party, Joe Gorga arrives with his storyline - I mean wife, Melissa - also smuggling raisins under a skin tight children’s white T-shirt. Nipples are trending, ladies!

The Nightmare Before Christmas.

A beautiful boob lift.

Tarzan’s headlights.

Margaret’s hot employee Lexi and Teresa’s hot realtor Michelle (both of whom are official friends-of this year), as well as iconic social wrecking ball and Aydin Center for Plastic Surgery mascot Jennifer all saunter in for car park cocktails at this 3D nipple fashion show and as the night devolves we see the cast getting truly shit-housed on shots when out of nowhere storyline sniper Teresa drops the bomb that she heard sexy birthday Bigfoot Evan is cheating on Jackie... more specifically, that he “does stuff” at the gym but mysteriously can’t remember any details or where she heard this head-scratching accusation that draws as many gasps as it does “huhs?” Honest straight people question: do y’all hook up at gyms? And if so, where? Are there co-ed saunas now? Also can one of you explain the allure of Mike and Molly to me? Moving on. Most shocking was that the Perez Hilton of North Jersey doesn’t just drop this wild accusation once, she gleefully skips through this asphalt soiree like a goddamn town crier, addressing everyone she passes like Belle through the town square.

The next day the hard partying crew of Jersey Shore: All Grown Up recovers from their throbbing hangovers and we see cool mom Melissa traipsing through her particle board mausoleum in see-through sweatpants with a visible thong in front of her kids’ friends (you girls keep me young!), Marge Sr. driving a blue Mini Cooper with eyelashes on the headlights (which I assume are like the spinning rims of the Jersey Grandma community), and a flashback of Margaret’s Joe puking next to a tree (relatable, my dude).

Marge Sr.: Fully Loaded.

You girls keep me young!

Over at Jennifer’s palatial child farm we learn that her parents fight so much these days that she moved her father (Carl from Up!) to her multi-generational compound which has only angered her mother more.

Jennifer’s sweet dad.

We then find out Dolores’s dry boyfriend David with whom she shares the burning passion of a melting ice sculpture now lives with her bulging slab of a son Frankie Jr. in the house he and Delores built together but Dolores curiously still lives with her also bulging but slightly slimey ex Frank Sr. in her original house, a near Braunwyn-level web of over-explained but still vague relationship fuckery of which none of them seem on the same page. Dolores hid her surgery from David until the day before, David still works constantly so she hangs out with her ex all the time, and I can’t help but think that we aren’t getting the full story on whatever the fuck is happening under these two roofs. Are they brother-husbands? Is Frank Sr. piping both of them? Can Frankie Jr. DM me his nudes please? The only one being straight-forward in these duel households of confusion is Dolores’s dog who is simply named Dog and I honestly appreciate his refreshing transparency.

Dog Catania, king of transparency.

Finally, Jackie calls Teresa to organize an infamous Jersey sit-down because she somehow got wind of the out-of-thin-air accusations that Teresa all but presented with a bull horn and a PowerPoint at Evan’s parking lot social. They decide to meet at Margaret’s partially constructed house/ wallpaper showroom because it’s neutral territory to hash things out in a relaxing landscape of ladders and contrasting patterns and the tension is so thick you could cut it with one of Margaret’s newly renovated nipples.

Jackie pleads with Tre to clear her husband’s good name and Tre enters a baffling Kelly-Anne Conway bullshit loop which includes such hits as “woman to woman, if I heard this you wouldn’t want me to tell you?” (a reasonable point which is actually working against Teresa because it’s the opposite of what she did), then explaining to Margaret the immediately contradictory “I didn’t tell her and it’s not like I told Evan, I told my friends” (which is an explanation of what she obviously did wrong but said in the tone of a defense), the wacky last ditch nonsense deflection “Alright let me tell you the reason why I did it. This year, now, you know I’m single now. I’ve been approached by a lot of married men that think that it’s OK to have affairs,” and finally just saying fuck it and rewriting history “I did not spread a rumor, I heard a rumor.”

The truth is that Teresa was retaliating for a cheating rumor Jackie entertained about her last year but neither can be held to such unreasonable expectations like addressing reality or admitting fault which is actually ideal because if I cared to see emotionally mature community leaders converse thoughtfully I’d watch Oprah’s Super Soul Sunday not this unhinged turnpike circus.

Jackie’s rival won’t budge so she chooses the nuclear option, looks the reigning matriarch of Paterson in her vacant eyes, and declares confidently “I heard Gia snorts coke in the bathroom at parties” which stopped time on Earth as far as I’m concerned. Is this wild accusation true? Probably not. Was this retaliatory tit equal to the offending tat? Debatable. Do I blame Teresa for immediately whipping into a tailspin and storming out screaming the C-word (no Kathy Wakile, not “canoli kit”) at Jackie no less than 80 times? Girl, no I do not. Jackie has since clarified (backtracked?) that this was an analogy not a rumor she heard which... OK, and whether or not either of the atomic bombs dropped in this breakneck premiere were true, I’m excited to watch our Paterson superstars battle it out for another batshit season!

Esteemed poet laureat of Paterson, NJ.

Join me and my own rock hard nipples next week to recrap a girls trip to Lake George, more developments in the case of Jackie vs Teresa: Jersey Crime Story, and hopefully another cameo by breakout superstar Dog Catania! Please share this recrap with the prostitution whores in your life if you enjoy and follow me on Tumblr (engaged19times), Insta (@engagednineteentimes), and Twitter (@_engaged19times)! I’m recrapping weekly but I don’t get screeners (yet) and it takes me a few days to catch up so please be patient!

XO engaged19times

#rhonj #real housewives #teresa giudice #margaret josephs #jennifer aydin #jackie goldschneider #Dolores Catania #melissa gorga #bravo #bravotv #real housewives of New Jersey #recrap #engaged19times

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arabhamlet · 4 years

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why you should read the heartless divine

hello guys! i haven’t used tumblr in a while, so i hope i tag this correctly, but i really needed to write this post to promote a book i think many, many people will enjoy reading for a number of reasons, and i figured i should give it a shot.

the heartless divine is varsha ravi’s debut novel, self-published last november through amazon. it is a ya fantasy romance inspired by mythology and sangam era india, and you can purchase it as an ebook or as a physical copy on amazon.

i 100% recommend it to anyone who enjoys mythology, reincarnation/soulmates, tragic but tender star-crossed romance (and not in a generic ya way either), or just anything with complex plot, character, and relationships—which, i realize, basically means everyone, but in my defence it is really good and worth a read no matter who you are.

what’s it about?

the heartless divine follows two paralleling narratives. the first is set in the distant past, and follows suri, a princess forced into being an assassin by her warlike family, as she is betrothed to the boy king of a neighbouring land after being assigned the task to kill him once the wedding is complete, only to find her plans going off-kilter when she encounters kiran, a strange prophet who predicts his own incoming death and the catastrophe soon to occur. the second is set in modern-day, and follows a reincarnated suri, with no memories of her past life, who finds her life inexplicably tied to a changed kiran, who she does not remember but who remembers her.

the plot is a bit more complex than this, and this is really just a quick summary, but more than that it’s a story about humans and our relationships to each other, to mortality, and to fate.

i highly recommend it - it can be a little slow to start off with, but once the historical plot starts going i found it pretty much impossible to put down. even though it’s been a few months since i read it, i find myself going back to it pretty much constantly. it’s fantastic both as a ya novel to read for fun, and as something far more complex with so many themes, characters, and dynamics to unpack.

but if you need a bit more encouragement:

why should i read it?

as i mentioned, the plot is incredibly engaging. unlike a lot of ya, as well, the heartless divine is super character-based and has incredibly strong characters in its protagonists. the past storyline also has a running mystery - and the reveal at the end as to who is the real villain definitely caught me off-guard on my first read. the past storyline is also deeply tragic in many ways, hitting you emotionally to great effect, and the climax is absolutely one of the most impactful climaxes of any ya book i’ve ever read—i’m making an effort not to spoil anything while writing this, because the pure emotional punch of the climax should be read completely blind.

ravi’s writing is absolutely gorgeous. she has an incredible command over the written word and wrote some incredibly amazing prose in this book. her writing is at once poetic and also incredibly versatile, fitting into beautiful romantic declarations and sharp dialogue and tense scenes of conflict. i won’t include any massive chunks, but here are some of my favourite lines:

Where does the divinity go, then? he had asked her. She had shrugged. To the sky. That is where all divinity goes after it is dead. But the sky was too far away, and there was not enough left of him, divine or not, to guarantee safe passage on a trip so long.

She had always been afraid of hope, in the same way she figured most people were afraid of black holes. Desire was something that consumed, she knew, and to desire impossibility was to let it consume you entirely. hearts splintered with love and splintered with loss, and to fear one was to fear both—it was safer to resist them both, to draw thick, black demarcations in shining permanent marker, explicit, clear lines that gently reminded her of what could and could not be desired.

“You live as though you are already dead,” she whispered. each word sunk into him, cut through his heart with clean, sharp blades. “You live as though your life is nothing but a prerequisite for death, for true purpose. Have you ever fought to stay alive? Have you ever allowed yourself to think of life as something to love?”

They had the same fine boned face, hollow-cheeked and haunted, the same air of a saint that had burnt away to nothing and held the ashes himself. And yet, they were not the same. It was a twisted, imperfect projection—it was him, but not all of him. This was his savage divinity laid bare.

What were love stories but dreams of worlds where the sun and moon could linger beside one another long enough to learn the language of the other’s heart?

ravi also has an incredible grasp on the themes that she’s writing with. above all, the heartless divine is about humanity and what makes people human—our relationships with each other and with our own place in the world. and in my opinion, she expresses these ideas with great maturity and wisdom.

however, for the most part, the heartless divine’s greatest strength is its characters. kiran is a deeply complex character, a prophet caught between his duty to die as a martyr and his desire to make his own choices and follow what he truly loves. he has a complicated relationship to humanity, but no human more than himself, as he struggles to understand the parameters of his own humanity—the place where his mortality ends and his divinity begins. at first, the kiran of the past and the kiran of the present seem deeply separated from each other, but as the story progresses you begin to understand the tragedy of how kiran became who he is in the modern-day.

at first, suri seems like a typical ya female protagonist, but as the story progresses and she begins to let her guard down a bit more, you really start to see how interesting and complicated she is as a character. she doesn’t believe in gods or fate at the beginning of either storyline, but by the end she slowly starts to accept hope into her heart—ending in two very different ways—and advocates for ignoring fate and following the life you want, desperately searching for the happy ending that you deserve. she also has a deeply captivating character voice, and was, certainly at the beginning, my favourite of the three pov characters.

but my personal favourite character is viro, the primary antagonist of the past plotline (though—no major spoilers—he finally makes an appearance in the modern plotline very close to the end). most people i know who have read the heartless divine feel similarly about viro. ravi makes him a deeply compelling character, fleshing out his motivations and reasoning and in turn writing one of my favourite relationships in the book in his complex brotherly relationship with kiran. i don’t want to spoil much about him, but he is a really interesting character and, though technically the antagonist, is just as compelling as the protagonists.

on the same note, before i talk about the romance in the book, i have to mention viro and kiran’s dynamic, as i feel it drives the past plot in many ways and is deeply interesting. the two are adoptive brothers, and find themselves butting heads almost constantly over their different ideological stances; and though it’s clear they love each other, soon enough you start to worry if love is enough.

onto the romance, and of course i have to talk about suri and kiran, because—how could i not. they’re literal soulmates! two souls who find each other in every lifetime! they’re kindred spirits no matter what, in both past and present, two people who understand each other deeply on a metaphysical level, and no matter what their scenes together were a great joy. they’re a romance where both of them help each other grow, even when surrounded by chaos and catastrophe. here’s one of my favourite lines in the book in case you need some more explanation. this is romance.

“‘Love is dangerous, blinding,’” he quoted, voice soft against her cheeks in an empty semblance of amusement. He pulled back slightly, just enough that she could see the gentleness, the raw warmth in his gaze. The clean lack of regret. “And yet, I see you so clearly.”

it’s perhaps less explicit—but bear in mind this is the first book in a series—but ravi also sets up the dynamic between viro and his guard, companion, and best friend tarak in a way that...is practically impossible not to read as romantic. i won’t spoil it because it is something you have to see in person, but some of the most emotionally charged scenes in the novel deal with their dynamic. here’s another line for good measure. they really said we do it for the girls and the tenderyearning gays that’s it.

Tarak let out a ragged sigh, lost and despairing. Viro reached up and put a hand on his, traced the lines of his fingers. he watched him do it, entranced by the movement and saddened by it as well. Finally, he asked, “If I begged, would you stay?” Viro’s fingers stilled in their movement, suddenly hyper-aware of the way Tarak’s hands shook upon the embroidered fabric of his tunic. as if he couldn’t bear to hold him tighter, as if the mere action would wrench him away.

the world building is also incredibly well done, as is the mythology ravi sets up and the folk stories she tells. also, for good measure, ravi is an indian writer and her story is, as aforementioned, deeply inspired by sangam india. i don’t necessarily have the cultural context to interact with the worldbuilding completely, but from where i stand it’s immensely well done.

the second book in the series is currently being written, and i recommend picking up your copy of the heartless divine soon before the series continues. once again, it’s available on amazon, and here is its page on goodreads and thestorygraph in case you want to add it to your tbr!

also, for good measure, shoot me a message here or on twitter (where i normally am) if you do decide to read it and want to discuss it! for good measure, here’s one of my favourite lines from the book—just as a closing statement.

“I want to hear all of your stories,” she said, fierce as fire. “Every single one. I don’t care whether they have happy endings or not.”

#bookblr #book recommendations #book recs #yalit #ya lit #diverse ya #diverse fantasy #ya recs #booklr #ya recommendations #books #the heartless divine

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 years

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I know this is very broad but what are your favorite “love confessions” fics? No established relationship. I’ve read so many slow burn fics that are a million chapters but I really want to find some relatively shorter ones :) Specifically ones that are in a “normal” universe(no fantasy, sci-fi, historical, etc.). Can be post S4 or anywhere in the timeline!

Hi Nonny!

Ahhh, I have a tonne of Love Confession fics, and I’m gonna use this opportunity to make the Part 4 list <3 I tag and word count all my fic recs, so you can file through them and hopefully you’ll find stuff you enjoy! <3 Most of all of my Love Confession fics are non-Established Relationship fics, so you’re all good!!

Love you Nonny, and as usually, Lovelies, add your own fics if you have any! <3

LOVE CONFESSIONS PT. 4

See also:

Love Confessions / Slow Burn / Dev. Rel. (Fluff Version)

Platonics & Domestics Pt 2 / Hugs, Cuddles & Kisses Pt. 3 / Tooth-Rotting Fluff Pt. 5 / Love Confessions, Slow Burn & Dev. Rel. Pt. 2 / Established Relationship Pt. 3

Love Confessions Pt. 3

Promise of Sussex by LittleLongHairedOutlaw (T, 705 w., 1 Ch. || First Person POV Sherlock, Sherlock Whump, Angst, Pining, Ambiguous Ending) – John tries to keep Sherlock conscious after he's been shot on a case.

I Knew You Loved Me by inevitably_johnlocked (T, 743 w., 1 Ch. || Morning Cuddles, Fluff, Clingy Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Slice of Life, Morning After, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Declarations of Love, Pet Name, Bed Sharing, Snuggles) – John and Sherlock share a lie-in the morning after their first time. So fluffy and gross your teeth will fall out. Part 4 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection

Loved. by inevitably_johnlocked (G, 1,231 w., 1 Ch. || First Sherlock POV, Slice of Life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Nose Kisses, Morning After, Love Confessions, Morning Cuddles, Emotional Sherlock, Sentiment, Bed Sharing) – Sherlock reflects on his relationship with John. Part 5 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection

Santa Knows by Itsallfine (T, 1,719 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas Party, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff, Matchmaking, POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock) – Sherlock and John both get exactly what they want from the Yard's secret Santa exchange. Pure holiday fluff.

Like Euphoria and Scotch by FinAmour (M, 1,856 w., 1 Ch. || Five and One, Alchohol / Drinking, POV Second Person Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock’s Imagination, Armchair Sex, Fluff, Happy Ending) – 5 different ways it all could have gone + the one way it actually works itself out.

Stay by sussexbound (M, 2,067 w. 1 Ch. || Post TAB, Suicidal Ideation Mention, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Kissing, Love Confessions, Frottage, Coming in Pants) – “Why? Why did you do it? Hmm…?” He takes a deep breath, waits, lets it out again. “Look at me.” There’s no denying him when he takes this tone. “Why did you kill him? Hmm…? For her? After…” A muscle twitches in the corner of John’s eye, and he clamps his jaw down tightly, swallows and sniffs a little before continuing. “For her? After everything she’s done?” “For you.” Before he can even stop himself. Just like that.

Love Hurts by Grac3 (T, 2,215 w., 1 Ch. || Magical Realism, Pining Sherlock, One-Sided Pining / URT, Sherlock / John Whump, Angst, Ambiguous Ending) – In a world where someone's physical injuries manifest themselves on the person who is in love with them, John didn't think that there would ever be anyone who was willing to risk falling in love with him - until he got shot on a case, and it didn't hurt. Unrequited Johnlock.

Hell or High water by bluefire301175 (E, 2,250 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Frottage, Alley Sex, First Person POV John, Case-ish Fic, Mutual Pining, Bed Sharing) – John wants. Sherlock wants. Plain and simple.

The Healing Touch by inevitably_johnlocked (G, 2,307 w., 1 Ch. || Caretaking, Domestic Fluff, Stroppy Sherlock, John Loves Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sofa Cuddles, Insecure Sherlock) – Sherlock's broken his foot and he's becoming unbearably stroppy. Good thing John has the healer's touch... ;) Part 3 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection

Closeted by Sexxica (E, 2,762 w., 1 Ch. || Trapped in a Closet, Panicking Sherlock, Hand Jobs, Coming in Pants, Awkward Conversations, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Fluffy Ending) – An improvised hiding spot and a bit of accidental voyeurism leave John and Sherlock in an awkward position.

Better Late Than Never by sussexbound (NR (T), 3,021 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4 / TFP Doesn’t Exist, Sherlock POV, Love Confessions, Drunk Sherlock / Sober John, John Takes Care of Sherlock, First Kiss, Jealous Sherlock, Emotional Turmoil) – He suddenly wants John Watson out of his bedroom, out of his flat, out of his life, because he has been lying to himself these last few months, he realises. He doesn’t want John here, not with the way things are. He doesn’t want 221b Baker Street to be nothing more than rest stop John returns to on his journeys between women. He doesn’t want to play co-parent if Rosie is going to be snatched away from him and placed in the arms of whatever nameless woman du jour John lands on next. He doesn’t want to keep being so careful, so generous, so, so…

The General Idea by agirlsname (T, 3,022 w., 1 Ch. || Retirement, Promise of Forever / Proposal, POV John, First Kiss, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Soft Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Crying / Emotional Sherlock, Love Confessions) – After twenty years of friendship, John is used to Sherlock acting weirdly. But the news Sherlock finally brings himself to deliver change the carefully built dynamics between them, and John realises it's time to act.

Wish I Was In Heaven Sitting Down by standbygo (M, 3,282 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4, Five Plus One, Missing Scenes, Parenthood, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt/Comfort, Declarations of Love, Fluff, Food, John Whump) – Five times when Sherlock and John ate together, and one time they didn't. A history of the boys, in food.

Coldness/Heat by agirlsname (E, 3,790 w., 1 Ch. || Cuddling & Snuggling, Body Heat, New Year’s Eve, PWP, Bed Sharing, Frottage) – The inn is booked up on New Year's Eve. The train home is cancelled because of the snow. The only option is to sleep in the non-heated guest room of a client, and John and Sherlock are freezing.You know where this is going. Part 1 of New Year's Kiss

Obsession, Appassionato by shinychimera, Yeomanrand (E, 4,249 w., 1 Ch. || Possessive Sherlock, First Time, Jealous Sherlock, Music / Sherlock’s Violin, Present Tense, Frottage) – John is late, and he hasn’t called, and Sherlock works himself into a state. Part 1 of Love and Ysaye

Overture by Kate_Lear (M, 4,435 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss / Time, Friends to Lovers, Angry John, Introspection, Dev. Rel., Embarrassed / Insecure Sherlock, Morning After, Bed Sharing, Cuddles / Limpet Sherlock) – A short snippet on how John and Sherlock might have got together.

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

Pillow Talk by scullyseviltwin (M, 5,183 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3, Angsty Fluff, PIllow Talk, Bed Sharing, Worried John, First Time Morning After, Soft Sherlock, Sexuality Discussion, Love Confessions, Kisses and Cuddles) – John has been looking at Sherlock for ages, it feels like.

Welcome Home, John by slashscribe (G, 5,504 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Awkwardness, Stabbed Sherlock, Protective Sherlock, Panic Attack (Sherlock), Self Esteem Issues, Love Confessions, First Kiss) – When John moves back to 221B, he thinks he’s the broken one, but after a while, it becomes clear that he might not be correct.

Captain John Watson, Genetics, and Other Crazy Things by cyerus (M, 5,581 w., 1 Ch. || Torchwood Crossover || Humour / Crack, Jealous Sherlock, Sexual Magnet John, Captain John, UST / RST, Three Continents Watson) – The explanation for John "Three Continents" Watson? Jack Harkness is his father. Sherlock doesn't know whether he's going to die from jealousy or sexual frustration first.

My First, My Only, and My Forever by vintagelilacs (E, 6,220 w., 1 Ch. || Post-ASiB, Virgin Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock’s Bum, John’s Scar, Sherlock POV, Body Worship, Fingering, Bottomlock, Promise of Forever / Proposals, Misunderstanding, First Kiss/Time, Loss of Virginity, Virginity Kink, Seduction) – Sherlock narrowed his eyes. He was missing a vital piece of data, he was sure. John had been looking at him oddly ever since they left Buckingham Palace, and the ensuing incident with Irene Adler had only exacerbated his erratic behaviour. What was it? Why would he care that Sherlock was a virgin? There was nothing reminiscent of mockery or pity in his gaze. And then it hit him. John Watson was aroused.

Bridges by sussexbound (M, 6,602 w., 1 Ch || Post-TLD / S4 Fix It, Love Confessions, Mending Relationships, Moving Back In, Pining Sherlock, POV Sherlock, Past Abuse, Shaving) – The silence between them is deafening, interrupted only by the hum of the traffic outside, and the soft click-clunk of the plastic cups Rosie is playing with on the floor beside them. It is the first time they have been alone together, since Sherlock’s birthday. It’s only been two days, but it feels huge, important, like there is a precarious bridge stretched out before them both that they need to at least attempt to traverse.

An Interpretation of Viewing Habits by akitsuko (E, 6,653 w., 1 Ch. || Porn Watching, Masturbation, Anal, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Declarations of Love, Jealous Sherlock, Fantasizing, John in Denial / Internalized Homophobia, Bottomlock, Pining Idiots, Sherlock Has No Boundaries, Cockblocking Sherlock) – John watches porn. It's a perfectly normal thing to do.If every video he watches happens to feature actors with remarkable physical similarities to his flatmate, well, that's no one's business but his own. Or: John is in denial, until his infatuation with Sherlock is impossible to deny anymore.

where the good things grow by anchors (M, 7,066 w., 1 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, Magical Realism, Gardens, Tea, Friends to Lovers) – "I have a magic garden." As come-ons go, John's heard worse.

Stranded by BeautifulFiction (T, 5,798 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, Communication / Relationship Discussion, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, BAMF John, Doctor John, Case Fic, Drinking, Huddling For Warmth, Friends to More) – When stranded on a derelict barge at high tide, John and Sherlock reconsider their friendship.

Sometimes When We Touch by kedgeree (M, 7,755 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, First Kiss/Time, Inappropriate Giggling, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Virgin Sherlock, John Whump, Touching) – John might be touching Sherlock a little more often than is strictly necessary. Sherlock probably hasn't even noticed. Right...?

Just Like That by sussexbound (E, 8,442 w., 1 Ch. || First Time/Kiss, Frottage, Virgin Sherlock, French Kissing, Anal, Emotional Lovemaking, Enthusiastic Consent, Tenderness, Crying John, Bathing/Washing, Insecure John, Toplock) – John doesn’t want to talk anymore. He wants. Oh dear god, how he wants. For the first time in what feels like years he WANTS.

My Life for His by QuinnAnderson (E, 8,816 w., 1 Ch. || Guardian/Protector, Greek Mythology || Growing Up, Sex, Religious Themes, Suicide, Minor Character Death) – It began when Sherlock was eight, and he attempted to climb all the way up to the highest branch in the old willow tree in his back garden. He'd thought he was still small enough that it could support him, but the second he'd grabbed hold of it to pull himself up, the branch snapped, and down he went, plummeting a solid twenty metres.The odd thing was, he never actually hit the ground.

The Very Unlikely Existence of a Flightless Bird in a Tuxedo by cwb (E, 8,829 w., 1 Ch. || Poetry, Penguins / Animals / Zoos, First Kiss / Time, Blow / Hand Jobs, Sleepy Cuddles, Endearments, Friendship / Love, Adorable / Sleepy Sherlock, Case Fic, Sherlock Can’t Say Penguin) – A case at the zoo reveals something John finds cute about Sherlock. A conversation ensues, and so does happy endings.

Unwasted by patternofdefiance (E, 8,966 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3 / S3 Fix-It, Developing Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Angelo’s, Fluff, First Time, Anal, Cum Play, Flashbacks to ASiB, Mutual Pining, Love Confessions, Bottomlock, Cuddles, Multiple Orgasms, BJ’s, Bed Sharing) – John finds it three months after he's moved back. He's on the hunt for something to make for dinner, is scrounging through the cupboards, when he happens upon the graveyard of pasta boxes Sherlock still seems to create when left to his own devices. Behind seven boxes of pasta, all almost completely empty, is a dark-glassed bottle, with a paler coat of dust.It's unopened. John's face falls slack when he sees it, instantly recognises it, and for a long moment he just stands and looks at it.

Inked in Memory by 221b_hound (E, 9,716 w., 2 Ch. || Post-HLV, Tattoos, First Kiss / Time, Anal, Cuddling, Scars, Captain John, Kissing, Switchlock) – John has been back at Baker Street for a year, following the debacle that ended in Mary's death. Things are good. Back almost to what they used to be. Sherlock might wish they were something else, now, but he only has himself to blame, he thinks. It's too late, now, for the things he first denied before he'd ruined any chances he might have had. Sherlock also thinks that people who get tattoos are idiots. But perhaps he's about to learn a thing or two, not least of which might be it's not as late as he thinks it is. Part 1 of Lock and Key

The Haunting of 221B Baker Street by earlgreytea68 (M, 10,388 w., 2 Ch. || Post TRF, Halloween / Ghosts, Pining Sherlock, Ghost Sherlock, Stroppy Sherlock, Sherlock POV, First Kiss/Time, Angry Sex, Ghost Sex, Love Confessions, Open / Ambiguous Ending) – In which Sherlock Holmes is a ghost.

The Burning of the Leaves by blueink3 (M, 15,915 w., 3 Ch. || Post S4, Angst, Reichenbach, Parentlock, Past Jolto, Idiot John, Sherlock’s a Mess, Puppies, Fluff, Possessive / Jealous Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, Matchmaker Sholto, Melancholic Feelings, Emotional Sherlock, Domesticity, Love Confessions in the Rain, Kissing in the Rain, Pet Names, Panic Attack) – After the events of series 4, Major Sholto invites John and Sherlock to lunch one day. It nearly proves to be too much for their tenuous relationship as the past haunts the present, putting the future that Sherlock so desperately wants at risk.

A Silver Sixpence by _doodle (NC-17, 16,400 w., 2 Ch. || LJ Fic || For a Case / Case Fic, Fake Relationship, Humour, Romance, Marriage Proposal, Awkward Idiots, Cuddling, Touching, Kissing, Love Confessions, Bed Sharing, Friends to Lovers, Fake Until It’s Not, Schmoop and Fluff, Bottomlock) – “John, we need to get married. It’s for a case, not any romantic notions on my part pertaining to our partnership,” Sherlock said, with brutal honesty, and without even looking up.

The Palmyra Atoll by elwinglyre (E, 16,609 w., 3 Ch. || TSo3 Divergence / Episode Fix-It, Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapped John Watson, John Whump, Evil Mary, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Toplock, Limited 3rd John POV) – As John's preparing for the wedding, Sherlock is preparing to have his heart broken, and Mary is prepared to do the unthinkable. Intervention required. Enter Sherlock. Set before Sign of Three with a far different outcome. John is drugged, kidnapped, and left on an island, but not just any old island.

Wonderful, Etcetera. by VictoryCandescence (T, 16,955 w., 3 Ch. || Wonderful Life AU || Alternate Timelines, Brotherhood, Homophobia, Suicidal Ideations, Mentions of Drug Use, Friendship, Different TRF, Sherlock’s Past, Victor Trevor is Past Boyfriend, Depression, Hallucination?, Love Confessions, Christmas, First Kiss) – Sherlock thinks everyone would be better off if he had never existed, including and especially himself. When he finds himself in a world in which his wish has been granted, he begins to think perhaps even he could be wrong – but it takes an unlikely chaperone to make him not only observe, but understand.

Let's Make a Bed Out in the Rain by theimprobable1 (M, 17,664 w., 11 Ch. || Pining Sherlock, Angst & Fluff, First Kiss, Unrequited, Jealous Sherlock, Protective Sherlock) – John is devastated after his long-term girlfriend leaves him. Sherlock helps him through it.

Between Friends by SilentAuror (E, 18,036 w., 1 Ch. || Post S3, Alternating POV, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Abduction, Awkward Situations / Miscommunications, Porn With Feels, Blowjobs, Pining, Unrequited, Angst With Happy Ending) – Sherlock gets abducted. As John discovers him tied up naked in an empty storage facility and comes to rescue him, Sherlock's body has an unfortunate reaction which triggers a series of events. John is convinced that everything will be fine as long as they never discuss it. Sherlock isn't as sure...

I Think I've Come A Long Long Way To Sit Before You Here Today by ArwenKenobi (T, 18,251 w., 3 Ch. || Grief/Mourning, Passage of Time, Major Character Death, Alternating POV, Sherlock Whump, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Coma, Revenge Murders, Hallucinations, Love Confessions, Brutal Accident, Mystrade, Ghost John) – One year after John is killed Sherlock starts to wonder whether John has actually gone anywhere.

Through the Clouds by Mazarin221b (E, 20,004 w., 6 Ch. || Retirement, Sussex, Bees, Romance, First Time) – Sherlock takes a remarkably early retirement at 47, and convinces John that a change of pace would do them both good. They buy an old cottage on the South Downs, and exchange their nonstop life in Baker Street for quiet contemplation, bee studies, and book writing. They might go completely insane, but sometimes it takes stepping outside of the life you're living to find the life you want. Part 1 of Through The Clouds

You're On the Air by prettysailorsoldier (M, 20,616 w., 1 Ch. || Unilock, Matchmaking, Radio, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Flirting, Bisexual John) – The Consulting Detective and The Woman dominate the airwaves of their university radio station, doling out advice on everything from meeting the parents to sexual positions. When their ratings start to dip before the holidays, however, manager Mike thinks it's time for some fresh blood, and who better to fill in the gaps than rugby captain--and notorious flirt--John Watson? Part 1 of 25 Days of Johnlock

Out of the Woods by SilentAuror (E, 20,471 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Romance, Slow Burn, Flirting, Drunk Sex, Practical Jokes, POV Sherlock, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Pining Sherlock, Frustrated Wanking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Love Confessions, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Bum Appreciation, Hanging out with the Yard) – Sherlock is fairly certain that John has taken to flirting with him of late, but can't be entirely certain of it. At least, not until a case takes them into a forest, along with Lestrade's team and something happens that will change everything about their lives...

whiskies neat by Ellipsical (E, 20,660 w., 15 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, POV Second Person Sherlock, Slow Burn, One Night Stand, Rimming, Blow Jobs, Anal, Soldier John, Crying, Emotional Lovemaking, Switchlock) – Home and hearth and whiskies neat, or, alternatively, Sherlock Holmes falls in love.

5 Times John Got the Girl (and lost her) and 1 Time John Got the Guy (and kept him) by LiviKate (M, 21,695 w., 6 Ch. || 5 and Ones, Kissing, Oblivious / Awkward Sherlock, BAMF / Sexy / Stud John, Embarassed John, John’s Scar, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Sherlock) – John has always had good luck with the ladies. He's charming, friendly and funny, not to mention great in bed. However, his usual skill with the opposite sex is constantly being thwarted by Sherlock and his outbursts. How will John ever get a leg over when Sherlock is always cockblocking him?

A Home for Us by sussexbound (M, 30,581 w., 12 Ch. || Scars, Bedsharing, Grief, Doctor John, Hurt/Comfort, Post-TRF, Implied/Referenced Torture, Sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation, Heavy Emotions, Clingy Sherlock, Hallucinations, Disassociation, Emotional Turmoil) – He has been on the road for two years, and he is exhausted. He’s almost accepted that he will never see London (John) again—almost. But then there are nights like tonight, where he is weak, and all he can think of is the warmth of the flat they once shared, the crackle of the fire in the hearth, the teasing smile playing at the corner of John’s lips, the boxes of half-eaten Chinese takeaway balanced precariously in their laps. He aches at the memory of it, at the realisation that it is something he may never experience again.

The Winter Garden by Callie4180 (T, 31,213 w., 13 Ch. || Post-S4, Retirement, Christmas, Slow Burn, Grown-Up Rosie, Parenthood, Rosie’s Cat, Angst with Happy Ending, Holidays, Beekeeping, Magical Realism, Sherlock POV, Sherlock’s Violin, Future Fic, Sussex, Honey, Magical Healing Honey, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Scar, First Kiss, Touching) – As Sherlock nears the end of his career, he's given the gift of a cottage in Sussex. The honey from the beehives out back is amazing.Almost...magical.

The Whore of Babylon Was a Perfectly Nice Girl by out_there (E, 32,897 w., 1 Ch. || Past Drug Use, Blowjobs, Toplock, Mentions of Switching, Rough Sex, Background Cases, Sherlock’s Past, Sherlock’s Sexual History, Experienced Sherlock, Past One Night Stands, Fingering, Cuddling, Possessive Sherlock, Paris Holiday, Bed Sharing, Naked Lie-Ins, Bathing Together, Confessions, Worried Sherlock, Laying in Bed All Day, Meddling Mycroft, Naked Lazy Day) – Sherlock walks into a room and takes all the space right out of it. He does the same inside John's head.

Chaperones by MissDavis (T, 34,114 w., 7 Ch. || 11 Years Post-S4, Fake Relationship, Parentlock, Disney World, Bed / Room Sharing, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, First Kiss, Obsessive Sherlock, Insecure John) – Right. Of course. Everyone assumed they were a couple and no one would question it. John put his elbows up on the table so he could rest his head in his hands. "You want to pretend to be a couple so we can chaperone a trip to Disney World with Rosie's class and you won't have to share a room with a stranger?" "Exactly." Sherlock beamed at him. "Don't worry about the cost. The Birmingham case last month paid more than enough to cover expenses for all three of us."

carrying up his morning tea by darcylindbergh (E, 34,504 w., 5 Ch. || Post S3, Minor Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Wakes/Funerals, Estranged John, Pining Sherlock, Depression/Insecurity, Slow Burn, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Chronic Pain/Injury, Reconciliation, Awkwardness, Loneliness, Scars, Angst With Happy Ending) – His fingers tremble as he dials and he can’t force them steady. Familiar number, even though he hasn’t used it in two years. He isn’t even sure he should be calling it now, but she’d asked. She’d made him promise.

Nothing to Make a Song About by emmagrant01 (E, 36,833 w., 10 Ch. || Post-TRF, First Time, Reunion, Jealous John, Pining Sherlock, Romance, Angst with Happy Ending) – When Sherlock returned from his faked death, John could not forgive him for the deception and broke off their friendship. Ten years later, John returns to London in search of yet another new beginning. Sherlock, not surprisingly, is waiting.

The Unfinished Letters by SilentAuror (E, 37,391 w., 1 Ch. || Post S3 / S3 / HLV Fix it, Angst with Happy Ending, Romance, Infidelity, Depression, Case Fic, POV Third Person Sherlock, Love Confessions, Pining Sherlock, Letters) – A fire at Baker Street leads John to read something he was never intended to see: a notebook of half-written, unfinished letters Sherlock wrote during his time away...

Turn Left at the Park by Glenmore (NR (E), 37,409 w., 28 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting / ASiP Divergence, Case Fic, Depression, Suicidal Ideation, Loneliness, No Mary, Possessive Sherlock, Fluff & Angst, Nightmares/PTSD, Sherlock Saves John, Sherlock Whump-ish, Doctor John) – So what would have happened if John hadn't walked through the park and met Stamford?What if, instead, he walked around the park and just went home?

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

In the Still of the Night by SilentAuror (E, 42,234 w., 1 Ch. || S4 Fix It / Post-S4, Sherlock POV, Angst, Drama, Romance, Virgin Sherlock, Awkwardness, Misunderstandings / Miscommunications, Case Fic, Travelling, Pining) – As locals on the Northeastern coast begin to report UFO sightings, life at Baker Street becomes significantly awkward as John brings up his desire for more than friendship and Sherlock refuses him. They embark on the investigation from the confines of the tiny cottage Mycroft has rented for them, attempting to navigate both the clues of the case as well as their own inability to communicate...

Guidelines by WithLoweredVoices (M, 43,018 w., 15 Ch. || Winglock || Angels, Fantasy, Angst, BAMF! John, War, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Jealous John, Falling in Various Ways, Needy Sherlock, Wings) – The Good Soldier, one of the oldest and strongest of the fallen, is offered a bargain: to live as John Watson and to Guide a fledgling archangel so that he will stay on the path of good. Of course, Sherlock Holmes has different ideas about his destiny. Fantasy AU. Warnings for violence, occasional gore, and a whole load of hurt and angst.

Sentenced by SarahKnight (T, 44,777 w., 30 Ch. || Dev. Rel., Alternate S4 Canon, Drama, Angst, Pining, Feelings are Hard) – Virtual series 4 opener. Sherlock's in prison being targeted by a murderer, John's married to a pregnant assassin and Moriarty's back.

The Real Great Perfumers by shelleysprometheus (E, 45,355 w., 68 Ch. || Case Fic, Alternating POV, Gay Sherlock / Bi John, Canon Compliant with Divergence at TRF, Friends to Lovers, Oral / Anal, Pining, First Kiss / Time, Dev. Rel., Drugging, Body Worship, Bathing, Love Confessions, Travelling, Bottomlock, Cranky Sherlock, BJ’s, Alternating POV, Jealous John) – The case, this case. This extraordinary, fascinating, scintillating case. A house. Designed entirely by its eccentric owner, built by no less than five hundred expert tradesmen in the heart of Marrakesh. A house that had, seemingly not only driven its owner out, but also to his quite unpleasant death. And a perfumer, a chemist no less, the very thought of the secrets that house could reveal, would reveal was irresistible. Sherlock had to have this case ... and it seems, he also had to have John! Part 1 of the Forethought and Fire series

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

Anchor Point by trickybonmot (E, 49,856 w., 80 Ch. || Truman Show AU || Psychological Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Dark Characters / Fic, Alternating First/Third Person, Protective John, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Tender Moments, Love Confessions, Hand/Blow Jobs, Cuddling, Jealous John, First Kiss/Time) – The world tunes in nightly for Sherlock, the ultimate in reality TV: Sherlock Holmes, a real person with a legendary name, unknowingly lives out his life in a staged setting contrived by his brother. Things get complicated when a retired army doctor joins the show to play the part of Sherlock's closest friend. This fic borrows its concept from the 1998 film, the Truman Show. However, you don't need to have any knowledge of the movie to enjoy this story.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by SilentAuror (E, 50,635 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4/S4 Divergence, Case Fic, For a Case / Reverse Fake-Relationship, Conferences, Marriage Equality, Travelling / New York, Pride, Homophobia, Bottomlock, Marriage Proposal, John POV, Sexuality, Love Confessions, Emotional Love Making, Public Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Passionate Kissing, Needy/Clingy Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Touching / Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Little Spoon Sherlock, Intense Orgasms) – John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock...

Points by lifeonmars (E, 53,791 w., 42 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || HLV Rewrite / Canon Divergence, Married Life, Pregnancy / Baby Watson, Drinking to Cope, Boxing / Fisticuffs, Clueless John, Angst, Minor Medical Drama, Tattoos, Christmas, First Kiss/Time, Eventual Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Doctor John, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Case Fic, Drugging, Blow/Hand Job, Emotional Love Making, Parenthood, Passage of Time) – What if His Last Vow never happened? This fic picks up a few months after John and Mary's wedding, in an alternate universe where Magnussen doesn't exist, but Mary is still pregnant. Life continues -- just in a different direction. And slowly, Sherlock and John find their way to each other.

A Hundred Crimson Sols by elldotsee (E, 55,536 w., 16 Ch. || Astronauts AU || Mars Exploration / Space Travel, Slow Burn, Shy Sherlock, Scientist Sherlock / Biomed Engineer John, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, UST, Angst with Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Suicidal Ideation, Zero-G Sex) – Will Holmes is a chemical researcher recognized widely for his contributions to the new Mars exploration program. Thanks to his ground-breaking developments, the IMMC (International Mars Mission Corporation) is one step closer to Martian colonization. Will and his team of scientists are headed out on the first of three manned missions before the first group of settlers arrive. Three days before launch, one of the crew has to be replaced. Will panics because...new people. The replacement is of course one John Watson, biomedical engineer and space hottie who was pretty sure he had retired from actual space exploration and was now content to work in the nice, quiet research lab. Can the crew survive this TOTALLY ROUTINE trip? Will they be able to endure each other for the looooooong trip in close quarters? Gonna be a wild ride... prepare for blast off. Part 1 of the SpaceBois go to Space series

One Little Change by jadztone (E, 58,312 w., 12 Ch. || ASiB Divergence, Fake Relationship, Bed Sharing, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bi John / Gay Demisexual Sherlock, Switchlock, Alternating POV, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Case Fic, Angst with Happy Ending, Emotional Love Making, Butt Plugs, Cuddles) – Our story begins right after John and Sherlock's first meeting with Irene Adler in September. It splits off into an AU that imagines them taking a case where they act as bait to hook a killer targeting closeted gays in secret relationships. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, many things happen that have our boys wondering if maybe they have a chance with each other. Then Irene fakes her death on Christmas Eve, and things get a lot more complicated - especially since they still have a killer to catch.

The Bells of King's College by SilentAuror (E, 64,019 w., 5 Ch. || Post-S4, Missed Opportunities, Angst with Happy Ending, Fake Relationship, Case Fic, John POV, Jealous John, John in Denial, Travelling / Holidays, Virgin Sherlock, Wedding Proposals) – It's only been two weeks since Eurus Holmes disrupted their lives when Mycroft sends John and Sherlock to Cambridge to pose as an engaged couple at a wedding show in the hopes of solving six unsolved deaths...

Hell Sent, Heaven Bound by ConsultingHound (M, 64,381 w, 16 Ch. || Angels / Demons AU || Fallen Angel Sherlock / Angel Cop John, Alternate First Meeting, Slow Burn, Case Fic, John & Lestrade are Friends Before Sherlock, BAMF John, Mind Palace John, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Sherlock Picks Out John’s Clothing, Clubbing / Dancing, Mildly Jealous John, Awkwardness, Kidnapping, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Sacrifice, Worried / Anxious Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Immortal to Mortal) – Ex-War healer and current angelic guard John Watson is not having the best day. He overslept, he’s underpaid, and now there’s someone tagging the Council’s building walls. However things may be about to get interesting: there’s an unusual stranger hanging around (the definition of tall, dark, and handsome), a literal underground cult is brewing, and rumblings are coming from hell. Can he keep his neighbourhood safe, how and why is he being connected to all this, and who the hell is Sherlock Holmes?

White Knight by DiscordantWords (M, 69,840 w., 13 Ch. || S4 Compliant/Post S4, Marriage For a Case, Jealous John, Pining John, Janine / Sherlock Fake Relationship, Serial Killers, Case Fic, Undercover as a Couple, Weddings, John is a Mess, Misunderstandings, Wedding Planning, Jealousy, Drunkenness, Non-Verbal Confessions Become Verbal, Love Confessions, Angst with Happy Ending) – Green. The word green was used to convey a great many things. Illness. Envy. Inexperience. Standing there amidst Janine's chattering bridesmaids, watching Sherlock furrow his brow and study fabric swatches, watching him smile and simper and flirt, John thought it a remarkably apt colour choice. Because he felt quite sick to his stomach, he feared the source of said sickness might very well be jealousy, and he had absolutely no idea at all what to do about it. Or: Sherlock needs to fake a relationship for a case. He doesn't ask John.

Being John Watson-ish by elwinglyre (E, 69,902 w., 17 Ch. || Bodysnatcher AU || Author John, Cranky Sherlock, Angst, Sexual Tension, First Kiss / Time, Falling in Love, BAMF John, Past Soldier John, Feelings, Inside Someone’s Brain, Shy Sherlock, Sherlock Loves John, POV Sherlock, Switchlock, Slow Burn, Internal Dialogue, Mental Turmoil) – When consulting detective Sherlock Holmes steps on one toe too many at a crime scene, he's consigned to a desk job in an archaic office on the seventh-and-a-half floor of the New Scotland Yard. It’s in this bleak office that Sherlock discovers a portal into the mind of renowned author John Watson. Grander than his mind palace, this new wonderland affords Sherlock new vistas of experimentation. To learn more about the mystery behind the portal, Sherlock seeks out and befriends Watson. But then it all goes wrong when others find the secret portal door—including the man whose brain he visits.

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings (M, 75,252 w., 15 Ch. || S4 Compliant, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Hospitals, Big Brother Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Realizations, John Whump, Pneumonia, Medical Procedures, Bed Sharing, First Time, Healing, Happy Ending) – "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

The Summer Boy by khorazir (T, 94,706 w., 6 Ch. || Post S3/Post TAB/Alternate S4, Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Sussex, Bullying, 1980′s Kid Sherlock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Inexperienced Sherlock, Grief/Mourning, Pining Sherlock, Background Case Fic) – About half a year after the fateful events at Appledore, Sherlock and John embark on a private case in Sussex. For Sherlock, it’s a journey into his past, bringing up memories both happy and sad that he has locked away for almost thirty years. For John, it means coming to terms with the present – and a potential future with Sherlock. Part 1 of the The Summer Boy series

The Wedding Garments by cwb (E, 105,390 w., 36 Ch. || Alternate Future AU || , Alternate First Meeting, Dating / Arranged Marriages, Romance, First Kiss/Time, Heavy Petting, Cuddles, POV Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn / Falling in Love / Dev. Rel., Nervous/Anxious Sherlock, Jealous/Cranky, Hiking, Vacation Homes / Honeymoon, Sherlock’s Family, Horny John/Sherlock, Patient John, Massages, Hand Jobs, Assassination Plots, Hand Jobs / Oral Sex) – This is the story of a young consulting detective who wants nothing to do with marriage and an army doctor who wants to find true love. It's 2020 post-Brexit England and the British government is encouraging arranged marriages. Candidates meet through state-run agencies and date in hopes of finding love (and tax benefits). Sherlock doesn't need or want a spouse, at least not until John Watson shows up. Hesitant to give in to his more carnal urges because of the way they derail his mind, how will Sherlock progress toward the more intimate aspects of a relationship? The answer lies in a very special wedding gift.

A Study in Winning by Jupiter_Ash (E, 106,658 w., 11 Ch. || Tennis AU || John POV, Dirty Talk, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Happy Ending, Sherlock Speaks French, Switchlock, Wimbledon) – John and Sherlock are professional tennis players and it’s Wimbledon. One is a broken almost was at the end of his career, the other an arrogant rising star tipped for greatness. It should have been a straightforward tournament. It really should have been. How were they to know that a chance encounter would change everything? Part 1 of Tennis

Two Two One Bravo Baker by abundantlyqueer (E, 114,574 w., 27 Ch. || Military AU || Afghanistan, War Story, Thriller) – Captain John Watson of 40 Commando, the Royal Marines, is assigned to protect and assist Sherlock Holmes as he investigates what appears to be a simple war atrocity in Afghanistan. An intense attraction ignites between the two men as they uncover a conspiracy that threatens everything they’ve ever known, but Sherlock is as much hunted as hunter, and everyone close to him is in deadly danger. Can he solve the case in time to save himself and John? Part 1 of Two Two One Bravo Baker Universe

The Bang and the Clatter by earlgreytea68 (M, 137,049 w., 37 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Baseball AU || Slow Burn / Dev. Rel., Possessive/Obsessive Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Body Appreciation, Depression, Closeted Sexuality, Family, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Ogling Each Other, Anxious Sherlock, Panic Attack, Drunkenness, Talk of Forever, Big Feelings™) – Sherlock Holmes is a pitcher and John Watson is a catcher. No, no, no, it's a baseball AU. Part 1 of Baseball

How to Build a Heart out of Ashes by Teumessian (E, 144,931 w., 31 Ch. || Changling AU || Slow Burn, Drug Use, Mentions of Child Abuse / Bullying, Mentions of Student/Teacher Relations, Uni-Age) – In an AU where a small number of the population become Changelings at a young age, at 17 John Watson believes he's destined for Normal life but then the Change takes him and he is sent to the Baker Institute. There he meets Sherlock Holmes.

Mise en Place by azriona (M, 161,004 w., 28 Ch. || Restaurant (Kitchen Nightmares) AU || Sherlock is Gordon Ramsay / Celebrity Sherlock, Restauranteur John, Harry Plays Prominent Role, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, Cranky Sherlock, Bed Sharing, Slow Burn) – John Watson had no intentions of taking over the family business, but when he returns from Afghanistan, battered and bruised, and discovers that his sister Harry has run their restaurant into the ground, he doesn't have much choice. There's only one thing that can save the Empire from closing for good – the celebrity star of the BBC series Restaurant Reconstructed, Chef Sherlock Holmes. Part 1 of Mise en Place

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #love confessions #Anonymous #long post

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cavalierious-whim · 3 years

Text

Pawfully Yours (FE3H)

FE3H | Sylvix | General | Complete

Sylvain finds a cat and falls in love.

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A/N: I’m finally reposting some older stuff from my last tumblr blog. Read here on AO3 for better formatting!

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Sylvain has always been a dog person. There’s nothing quite like cuddling with a soft and warm ball of fluff or the heavy weight that sinks into the mattress on top of the blanket as you sleep, or inevitably getting drool in your mouth when you pull them close, crying into their fur as you vent your frustrations about your shitty life into the scruff of their neck.

Sylvain has no idea what that’s like. Not one bit.

When he moved to the city, he had to leave Daisy behind. Ingrid on the surface had made it seem that she was more than aggravated to have the Golden Retriever unloaded onto her. Sylvain knows better. Ingrid’s always had a soft spot for Daisy. She’d let the girl sleep in her bed on the occasional platonic sleepover. Dorothea didn’t even have that pleasure half of the time and she was the girlfriend.

It’s led to a rather quiet life and Sylvain is still adjusting to an empty apartment in the not-so-great-but-you-might-not-get-murdered side of town.

Three months into his new home is when he notices the cat. It’s a small thing with sleek black fur. It looks too healthy to be a stray, but judging on how the creature responds to those getting close, Sylvain doesn’t think that it has an owner either. It seems too proud to slum it as a pet, walking along the dingy alleyway that Sylvain cuts through as a shortcut to work, tail swishing and held high. Proud, even.

But then again, maybe that’s just a cat thing. Sylvain doesn’t know, he’s never really given a cat much thought. He doesn’t know why he decides to pity it.

One day, Sylvain brings a can of tuna and popping the top off, he sets it down on the ground. The cat watches him carefully from ten feet away, sitting on his haunches haughtily. Warily. Carefully composed.

“For you,” says Sylvain, not sure why he even bothers to speak to it. It’s a cat. Cats don’t understand humans. Even Daisy had never understood him, tongue lolling out of her mouth as she responded to just the sound of his voice, and not the content of his words.

Still, the cat seems unimpressed, large amber eyes half-lidded as it looks from the can of fish to Sylvain. And if Sylvain doesn’t know any better, that’s what he would think a frown looks like when spread across a feline face.

Sylvain frowns right back. “Well then,” he says. “I see that I’ve wasted my time. Never again.”

He’s wrong through. Sylvain cuts through the alley every single day, a soiled apron slung over his shoulder and a takeaway cup of coffee in his hand. And sometimes, he brings the dumb little cat an old and stale pastry from the shop, because there’s no harm if they’re just going to toss the old food, right?

Sylvain doesn’t stick around to see if the cat actually eats them or enjoys it, or if it just bats the food away with a hiss. He kinda wants to pet the thing though, because it’s fur looks soft and Sylvain’s feeling lonelier and lonelier as the weeks pass by.

Eventually, he has the crazy idea of maybe adopting the pitiful thing. It’s like any other day that he’s posted up an offering. He breaks an old cheese pastry into several pieces and tosses them onto the ground. And this time, he waits, crouched down, elbows resting on his knees.

The cat comes closer, but it seems pissed off, body stiff and tail twitching angrily. Amber eyes narrowed in suspicion. He sniffs at the pastry and then snags a small bite. Then it spits out the food, clearly not a fan.

Sylvain swallows thickly. “So like, if you want a roof over your head or something, I can bring you home.”

The cat pauses like it understands him. It’d been pawing at the pastry, playing with it when it stops, head snapping up as it looks to Sylvain. Then the cat’s mouth opens, fangs long and sharp, and it says with surprising clarity, “Fuck off.”

Sylvain had imagined it, that was the only explanation. It makes more sense than a cat had opened his mouth and spoke to me. Anything makes more sense than that, so Sylvain chalks it up to too many shifts at the cafe, too many hours of schoolwork, and maybe a smidge of not eating enough.

He keeps cutting through the alleyway because it’s the fastest way to work. Sylvain’s a perpetual oversleeper, the kind that sets five alarms and sleeps through all of them, only to roll out of bed with five minutes to spare.

And he can spare that five minutes if he takes the back way, no matter how dark and creepy it seems at three in the morning and on the way to his early shift.

The cat’s made himself scarce. Sylvain now knows that it’s male because of the shockingly handsome voice it carries. More proof that he’d absolutely made the entire thing up in his lonely misery.

Sylvain doesn’t expect to feel sad about the disappearance of the cat, but it’d sunk in deeper than expected. Even if the cat had seemed eternally annoyed-- as far as a cat could seem at least-- he’d been cute, and Sylvain liked bringing it treats. There’s not a lot left that makes him feel good about himself.

That morning, Sylvain pauses because he’s got a moment. The alley is dark and there’s no sign of the cat. Sylvain sighs softly and says, “I’m sorry if I offended you or something. I just thought that maybe a home would be better than an old alley.”

It seems silly to talk to a cat, but he feels a little bit better and he continues to work with a little bit more pep in his step. And later that night he leaves a pastry behind, just in case.

The cat slinks out from under the dumpster once Sylvain’s out of sight. In his wake is a tuna roll, a fluffy pastry filled with tangy fish salad. The cat likes this one, not that he’d ever admit it.

Sylvain rarely works the night shift, mostly because he’d rather wake up at the butt crack of dawn and get his day over with. But sometimes it’s inevitable. Sometimes a coworker just needs a shift covered and Sylvain’s a nice enough guy to agree.

And he doesn’t want to risk getting fired, even if he doesn’t think Byleth is a vindictive manager.

It’s probably a bad idea to cut through the alley at ten at night, but Sylvain’s tired and weary, and he just wants to get home. Not to mention he’s got a container of day-old tuna salad in his hand that he needs to leave the cat, otherwise it’ll just wind up rotting away in his fridge.

He opens the container and places it on the asphalt near the dumpster, waiting for just a moment as he crouches down. Just in case the cat decides to show his face. He doesn’t. Sylvain frowns and with a sigh, pulls himself back up.

There’s a shuffling behind him and he turns to look, only to be slammed against the dumpster, head cracking against the hard metal. Sylvain’s vision swims as he tries to push against his attacker, but then he stops dead. There’s a knife held close to his neck. Sylvain can feel the soft scrape of it as he swallows.

“Wallet,” the man behind him says, a hand gripped tightly around Sylvain’s arm that’s wrenched behind him. He’s stockier in his build, pinning Sylvain against the dumpster easily.

“Hey look man--” The knife digs deeper into his skin, cutting just barely. Sylvain’s not dumb enough to push the situation further. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “Back pocket. My phone’s there too, opposite side.” A pause. “You know, just in case you want that as well.”

He can’t help the cheeky reply, but his assailant doesn’t seem to hear him as he rifles through his pockets. The man pulls the wallet from Sylvain’s pocket, flipping through it.

And then there’s a shout as the man is wrestled to the ground by someone else that Sylvain can’t see. There’s a scuffle, some odd yowling, and then the distinct sound of a punch, bones crunching sickly under the hit.

Sylvain stands stock still, still pressed against the dumpster, not moving. Just in case.

“Useless, aren’t you?” Sylvain freezes at the voice, taking in the acerbic tone. “It’s bad enough that you waltz through here every morning, but you should know better than to do it at this time of night.”

Sylvain turns but he doesn’t find the cat, he finds a man standing there instead, finely boned face tugged into a snarl. He shakes out his hand, knuckles already bruising from the solid hit that he’d gotten in. Sylvain blinks. He’s handsome in a feline sort of way, hard edges to his jaw and circles cut deeply underneath his eyes. His black hair is tied into a ponytail high on the crown of his head.

The man toes at the assailant who’s out cold on the ground. “I’d get out of here,” he says. Then he looks to Sylvain again, unimpressed. He stalks over to the container of tuna salad and toes at that too, lips pulled into a grimace of disgust. “Really, now. If you won’t eat it, what makes you think that I will?”

“Um--”

The man blinks slowly, catlike, and with subtle grace. “Do I need to explain it to you?”

“No,” says Sylvain quickly. “No, I just--” A pause as he rubs at his head. “The cat?”

“It’s not the cat ,” says the man with a snarl. “It’s Felix.”

“Felix,” Sylvain repeats.

“I won’t repeat myself.”

“Thanks,” Sylvain blurts. “For, you know.” He gestures to the man on the ground.

“It’s a one-time thing. I don’t reward stupidity,” says Felix as he picks up the container and tosses it into the dumpster. Then he looks to Sylvain again, shoving his hands into the pockets of his navy blue hoodie. “I like the baked ones with the fish and cheese. They aren’t so bad a day past.”

Felix doesn’t meet Sylvain’s face, instead, stalking off without another word.

Sylvain smiles.

Sylvain leaves a pastry that he pilfers from the bin after every shift. It’s not always Felix’s favorite, but he doesn’t complain. Either way, they disappear into his belly, leaving Felix to lick his paws clean after a tasty meal.

He doesn’t turn into a man again, but he does walk Sylvain through the alley. And then sometimes further. If Felix follows him to the coffee shop, he knows that he’ll get a small lid of cream.

It’s a strange routine that concerns an even stranger man. What is Felix, Sylvain wonders? A cat? A man? Both? Neither? He’s real and solid as the day though, and Sylvain knows that he hadn’t hallucinated anything that’d happened.

When winter comes, Sylvain worries. It’s cold and crisp outside, not preferable for a street cat. He wonders if Felix has somewhere warm to sleep, which is why he eventually asks.

“Surely you can’t stay out here all season,” says Sylvain one night, as he watches Felix pull apart half a savory ham and cheese tart. He’s not sure if cats should eat one of those, but maybe with Felix, it’s different. The cat never complains.

Felix pauses mid-bite to look at Sylvain. Then he drops the tart, hisses lightly, and runs off. Sylvain blinks. An answer is an answer at least, and Sylvain stops asking.

One day, it snows. Gautier is a cold and dismal place in the winter, but the snow comes later that year than anyone expects. Sylvain’s wrapped head-to-toe in a heavy jacket, a scarf, and thermals.

Felix follows him to the coffee shop that morning and against Sylvain’s better judgment, he opens the door to the storage shed out behind the shop. “It’s not much,” says Sylvain, “but it’s not in the snow.”

Felix gives him a long look before bolting inside.

Later that day, Felix strolls into the shop as a man, walks up to the counter, and slaps five gold coins onto the counter. Sylvain stares at them and then back to Felix, who immediately bristles.

“I didn’t fucking steal them,” says Felix. “I have a job.”

That’s news to Sylvain and he can’t quite picture it. This is only the second time they’ve met face-to-face, but he has a distinct feeling that Felix isn’t a people person.

Felix points to the fish and cheese pastry in the case. “It’s my favorite.” There’s an awkward pause as he closes his eyes in a near wince and continues with, “Look, I need to talk with you about something, alright?”

Sylvain rings him up, throws in a free cup of coffee, and fifteen minutes later they’re settled into the soft armchairs near the back of the cafe. It’s cold and bitter out, so they’re alone.

“You once offered a home,” says Felix, his hands wrapped around a warm ceramic mug. Sylvain’s coworker Annette paints them and they never get used. Felix huddles closer to it though like he’s trying to leech the warmth from it. “Does that offer still stand?”

Sylvain’s mouth parts in surprise and Felix turns bright red, looking anywhere but his face. “Look, it doesn’t mean anything,” says Felix. “But it’s getting cold out and it’s hard to find somewhere to bed down for the night where I won’t freeze to death.”

“So, my apartment,” says Sylvain.

“I’d be a cat,” says Felix. “I’d stay out of your way. It’d be like I’m not even there.”

Sylvain frowns. “I offered because I wanted a pet.”

Felix bristles. “I’m not a--”

“I know,” says Sylvain quietly. “I wouldn’t ask you to be since you’re… well, you know.” But Sylvain doesn’t know, so he gestures to Felix vaguely. He’s still trying to figure Felix out.

Felix sighs. “It’s only for the winter,” he says. “You won’t see me like this much. It’s not easy to… well, it’s not preferable.” He leaves it at that, which piques Sylvain’s curiosity.

“You can have the entire couch to yourself,” says Sylvain, half in jest.

Felix finishes his coffee quietly and then stands. “I’ll think about it.”

And he must, because when Sylvain leaves his shift in the late afternoon, Felix follows him all the way home.

Felix is never a man, he’s always a cat. Sylvain thinks that he prefers being a feline, though he’s not sure why. When he comes home from work, Felix is often curled up next to the warm glow of the fireplace. He leaves it lit because Felix can handle whatever might happen if something bad does.

As winter passes, Felix moves closer. He’s less annoyed. He sits on the couch next to Sylvain, his tail twitching softly against Sylvain’s thigh. Sylvain talks to him about any and everything, and he knows that it’s probably annoying, but Felix hasn’t yet told him to stop. So he doesn’t.

Sylvain gifts him a collar on Yuletide as a joke. Felix stubbornly wears it, because he’s testy about the weirdest of things.

When the New Year comes, he’s a man again. They’re nestled into the couch, Felix having shoved his feet across Sylvain’s lap with a cursory glance. Sylvain immediately pulled them closer, kneading at his arches.

Neither of them thinks more of it. Or maybe they both think of everything about it. Felix is impossible to read, but Sylvain thinks that he’s starting to recognize his moods. Even the most ornery of cats can’t turn down softly placed affection.

Sylvain wonders if it’s weird to fall in love with a cat. It’s a momentary thought because then he remembers that Felix isn’t just a cat and that there’s probably weirder things out there than Sylvain’s love, or the cat that’s also a man.

They watch New Year’s festivities on the television.

“I hate the noise,” says Felix when the fireworks start. “Too loud.”

“It’s not so bad in the city,” says Sylvain, hands still wrapped around Felix’s cold feet.

“It’s the worst day of the year,” says Felix. “Everyone’s drunk beyond reason and they roam the streets doing shitty things. Like kicking cats.”

There’s a lot to unpack there and Sylvain looks at him. “I’m sorry,” he says, and it’s an earnest apology.

Felix huffs, lips curling into a sneer. But then it’s gone as he relaxes into the couch. “No, it’s--” A pause, the air pregnant between them. “I’m not out there tonight, so it’s okay.”

It’s not, because Felix isn’t the only street cat to ghost the streets of the city. Still. “You’re welcome,” says Sylvain, squeezing his feet lightly. Felix kicks at him just because he can.

Winter ends sooner than Sylvain likes, but Felix doesn’t leave. He seems intent on staying and neither of them says anything, even if he’s a man more than a cat nowadays. Felix disappears during the day for his proclaimed job. He even cooks dinner sometimes and those are the kind of nights that Sylvain likes to cherish because Felix gets weirdly soft.

There’s a weird morning as Sylvain’s about to shuffle out the front door and Felix stops him.

“Is there something wrong?” asks Sylvain.

Felix doesn’t immediately answer and when he does, he says, “Have a good day.”

Sylvain assumes the worst because it’s an old habit that he can’t quite break. “Oh shit, you’re leaving aren’t you? Felix, you should know by now that you’re welcome to stay--”

Felix grabs Sylvain by the lapels of his jacket and pulls him forward, pressing a kiss against his lips. It’s short. It’s a little bit sweet. Felix seems to have no idea what he’s doing. Sylvain loves it, hand reaching out to grasp at Felix’s elbow.

When Sylvain pulls back, he asks, “What was that for?”

Felix’s hackles raise, immediately on the defensive. “Whatever, it was--”

“It’s not a complaint,” says Sylvain simply. “I liked it. It also sends some confusing signals.”

“What could be confusing about a kiss?” asks Felix.

“You don’t seem the type to do that,” says Sylvain.

“I’m not.” Felix pulls away, brushing at Sylvain’s shoulder to distract himself.

Suddenly, Sylvain gets it. Felix isn’t good with feelings and he’s not sure if it’s because he’s really a cat-- or maybe it’s not that at all. Sylvain still hasn’t figured out the details of all that nonsense, nor has he asked Felix outright. But Felix seems the kind of person who’s a doer, not a thinker, so he did the only thing that he thought would send a clear message.

Or maybe Sylvain’s overthinking something that’s really quite simple in the end.

“I love you too,” says Sylvain quietly.

Felix’s hand pauses and Sylvain watches him swallow. “Fool,” says Felix, but it’s more affectionate than angry, his voice cracking sweetly as he tries to find his words.

Sylvain smiles, pulling him back for another kiss. It’s longer this time, but just as awkward. Felix sinks into it, fingers curling tightly into Sylvain’s jacket as they hover in the doorway. When they part again, Felix says, “What an absolute fool.”

“The most foolish,” says Sylvain.

There’s a beat as Felix stares back at him like he’s looking, really looking at Sylvain. Felix sees him. And for once, Sylvain doesn’t mind. He’s never liked people seeing him for who he is, but Felix is different. He’s wormed his way into his heart and Sylvain doesn’t want to let go.

“But I wonder,” asks Sylvain, “what’s that say about you?”

Felix could have reacted a hundred different ways. What he does is pull Sylvain closer again, pressing their foreheads together. “Obviously I’m an even bigger idiot.”

Sylvain laughs, before swooping in once more.

#fire emblem three houses #fe3h #sylvix #sylvain/felix #felix x sylvain #sylvain jose gautier #felix hugo fraldarius #fanfiction #fire emblem fanfiction

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tangledstarlight · 4 years

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it’s me, here again. with another jatp 5+1 this time it’s for flynn tho! this one comes with a special shout out to @nerdyleafeon and insteadofjust_invisible (on ao3, if you have a tumblr hmu and i’ll link it!!) for their suggestions for flynn and her putting other people first and her watching julie struggle to pick up music. i kinda tried to incorporate both?

(as a wee disclaimer: i don't think flynn has depression, i think she just pushes all her own feelings aside so often in favour of someone elses that they're bound to all come bursting out at some point. (and this is totally me projecting because i too burst into tears on my friends once because i'm terrible at expressing my own emotions) BUT if you read it as her having depression that is fine too!!and if anyone ever wants to talk because they're sad/lonely/lost/whatever, my inbox on here or discord is always open if people want to talk. bottling things up is never good, especially given the current global situation. don't be afraid to talk to someone 💕)

ANYWAY!!! it’s 5+1 flynn centric and hope people like it!!!

also on ao3 (link in replies)

trigger warnings! death mentions (because they’re ghosts (also her mother is yknow. dead)), mild swearing, references to depression.

one.

It had been an accident.

The two of them had been playing, running around the house and jumping on the sofas - even though they knew they weren’t allowed to - and throwing pillows at each other and giggling loudly. Flynn had ducked down, holding her middle as she laughed when a pillow had sailed past her left shoulder. Going off course and knocking a vase of flowers off the windowsill and smashing on the floor.

Tears had immediately started gathering in her little sister's eyes and Flynn jumped straight into action. She’d never been able to stand when someone started crying.

“It’s okay! Don’t worry, you just stay on that side of the room. I’ll get the broom,” she jumped off the sofa, biting her lip as she inspected the mess and mentally adding paper towels to her list of things to get, before turning to run out of the room.

Only to skid to a stop, eyes wide as she found her mom stood in the doorway. Arms crossed over her chest, glasses pushed up into her hair, single eyebrow raised and head tilted in the way that Flynn knew meant big trouble.

Like, no ice cream trouble.

“What’s going on here? And why is Bailey standing on the table?” Her eyes go from looking at Bailey directly to the flowers on the floor, a pool of water slowly making its way towards the rug through the obstacle course of vase shards.

Flynn knows that there’s no way to avoid or get out of this, someone is getting in trouble and getting no ice cream after dinner, and she can still see Bailey’s big scared eyes in her head. So she shifts from foot to foot and makes a split second decision without thinking about it.

“It’s my fault! We were playing and I accidentally hit the vase and I told Bailey to get on the table so she wouldn’t get hurt or her socks wet and I’m sorry! I was going to clean it up,” the words rush out of her in almost one breath and she’s panting a little at the end.

For a moment her mom just looks at her, a look that says she knows that’s not the whole truth, but Flynn doesn’t back down. She stands a little bit taller, tries to make herself seem more grown up, but being eight years old and wearing mismatched socks with a green tutu, it's hard to be taken seriously.

“It wasn’t Bailey's fault mom,” she stands by her story and, seeming to realise it, her mom just sighs, uncrossing her arms and running one over her face.

“Okay. Okay, go get the broom. And some paper towels.” She calls after her, because Flynn had heard the first ‘okay’ and started moving again, heading to the kitchen in search of tools.

When she got back to the living room her mom was kneeling next to the broken vase, carefully picking up the bigger pieces and putting them on an old magazine she’d pulled off the table while Bailey hovered on the other side of the room, her eyes still wide.

Flynn shot her a smile, hoped it was reassuring and went to help her mom. Handing paper towels over when asked and carefully picking up the flowers, one by one.

“You know this means no ice cream, don’t you?” Her mom said eventually, when the broken vase was cleared away and all that was left was a very shiny spot of wood.

Flynn looked up at her and found her mom already looking back, giving her one final chance to come clean about her sister's part in the accident, she thinks. But Flynn just nods her head, shrugging both shoulders as she holds damp tissues in both hands. Missing out on ice cream for one night is worth it if Bailey doesn’t get in trouble or start crying.

“I know. Sorry, again.” She adds, tugging her lips into a small apologetic smile. For the mess, maybe a little for lying too. Her mom just sighs, but she smiles too, brushes some of Flynn’s hair out of her face and starts to stand up.

“Go put that in the bin. And no more jumping on the sofa!”

two.

Some days, and she couldn’t explain why, were just bad days.

There wasn’t really any explanation for it, Flynn just got kind of sad.

Kind of lonely.

Kind of quiet.

It felt like her head was too loud and her heart was too empty. And there was a gaping hole in her gut and that the world was spinning on a slightly different axis to her.

Everything was just a little off balance and she needed to hold on to something to steady herself.

It was a strange feeling. Like there was too much of her and too little all at the same time.

That she wanted to curl up in her bed and cry, but that she also wanted to sit with her friends and laugh because there wasn’t really anything wrong with her.

It was the kind of day that she just couldn’t explain to anyone without sounding weird. Or like she was asking for attention. Which she wasn’t. She didn’t want people’s sympathy or attention or special treatment. She just– she was sad .

And it made no sense because she didn’t have anything to be sad about.

Her family was still whole and together, unlike Carrie’s. She knew her mom loved her, knew that her dad would be picking her up after school, knew that her sister would watch all the music videos she wanted with her. She knew that when she got home all her family would be there.

Her family weren’t scheduling their lives around doctors appointments like Julie’s. They weren’t worrying about test results or medical bills or how much time there might be for them to do all the things they wanted to do. There was no dark cloud hanging over their lives.

So how could Flynn be sad when her life wasn’t all that bad?

There was no darkness lurking in the corners of her house or quite over the breakfast table. Things were fine. Her life was happy .

And yet. It was a bad day.

It was a bad day, but Julie and Carrie were having worse days. So Flynn did what she always did. She pushed down her feelings of being too lonely, too quiet, too loud, too much. She put a smile on her face, wrapped an arm around both of the girls and made a fool proof plan of fun for the afternoon.

Her bad day would pass. It always did. And until it did she could pretend everything was fine. That she was happy. That there wasn’t anything wrong. Because there wasn’t. Not really.

three.

Flynn had never been to a funeral until the day she’d gone to Mrs Molina’s. Anytime she’d worn an all black outfit before it had been a fashion choice. Or for Halloween. Or a performance for school.

There’s a black dress that hangs in the back of her wardrobe now, and everytime she sees it, Flynn feels a little sick.

She gets the same sort of sick feeling every time she sees Julie sitting in the back of the music classroom. Eyes down, hair in front of her face, notebook unopened. The first few weeks Flynn hadn’t been too worried.

No one had really been too worried.

Because everything was still fresh and real and new. No one had pushed her. No one had thought she wouldn’t come back to music eventually.

Because she was Julie and it was music.

But then it’s been five months and Flynn is still looking at Julie, eyes on the ground, hair hiding her face, notebook in her bag. She comes into the classroom, sits in the back, shakes her head when Miss Harrison asks if she’s ready.

Flynn knows that she’s still not been in the studio garage, because she is still watering the plants, and the piano has a fine layer of dust and there’s a song still unsung on top.

Julie hasn’t played or sang or hummed a note in six months. She’s falling apart a little bit at a time.

And Flynn doesn’t know how to help.

Doesn’t know what to say or to do or how hard to push. It’s a fine line, she knows, between forcing her before she’s ready and letting the silence drag on too long. Flynn just doesn’t know where the line is.

(A part of her worries, a small part in the back of her mind that’s always ready to pop in unasked, that maybe Carrie would know what to do. Maybe Carrie, who had known Julie, had known Mrs Molina, all her life, would have been able to help in a way that Flynn isn’t.)

She’s walking into the music room one day at lunch, looking for her hat that she’s 73% sure she left on her chair when she comes to a stop in the doorway. Because Julie is sitting at the piano, the lid up and her fingers hovering over the keys. There’s a furrow between the other girls eyes and even from this distance Flynn can see there are tears running down her cheeks.

Flynn bites her lip and backs out of the room. Her hat will still be there later and this isn’t a time to push Julie.

By month seven when even Miss Harrisons patients is starting to wear a little thin, Flynn starts to make plans. Ways to help Julie play again. Or even listen to music again.

She decides to start small.

A walk along the beach where she knew that busker Julie liked always played.

Maybe they’d stop by that little music shop on the way home because Flynn needed to pick up some new strings.

Maybe drop some hints about a band they both liked going on tour.

Without even realising it Julie will be surrounded by music again and realise how much she misses it.

“Come to the beach with me on Saturday?” It’s the first thing she says when she sits down at lunch. Julie looks up from her sandwich, brows drawn together but there’s a hint of a smile.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Nope!” Flynn pops the ‘p’ and smiles wide (she’s making up for all the half smiles and no smiles that Julie gives out these days, she makes hers bigger, wider, gives them out more often. She knows when things get better Julie will repay the favour), stealing a few grapes from the plate in front of Julie and popping them in her mouth.

“Guess I’ll see you at the beach on Saturday then.”

The day starts out good.

They lounge round the beach, build terrible sandcastles and laugh at the tourists trying to take artistic shots in front of the sea. Then, at exactly 12:15 the busker arrives and sets up, starts playing his usual list of classic 80’s and early 2000’s bops. Flynn nods her head along with one of her favourites and watches from the corner of her eye as Julie gets a far away look in her eyes, fingers stilling where they’d been running through the sand.

They stay for a little longer, the busker playing through three songs before Julie lets out a shaky breath and turns to look at her, eyes a little watery but smiling that half smile she’s gotten so good at.

“Lunch?” She asks, head tilting and pointing over her shoulder in the vague direction of their favourite lunch spot.

“Sure. Oh! Hey, I need to stop by a store on the way, is that okay?”

“That’s fine,” and Julie is already stuffing her towel in her bag and dusting sand off her shorts.

They’re half a block away from the store when Julie seems to realise just where they’re headed, and Flynn can tell because her steps seem to get a little slower and her fingers clutch at her bag a little tighter. By the time they’re stood outside the little second hand music shop – Ron’s Relic Records, they’d never met Ron himself, but his record collection was definitely full of relic’s as far as Flynn could tell – Julie’s fingers have grown pale from where she’s holding her bag strap and her lip is clamped between her teeth.

“I’m– I’ll wait out here. Don’t want to drag sand through Ron’s,” Julie bites her lip, eyes looking up at the worn sign of the store and avoiding the old posters and ticket stubs displayed on the windows. Flynn swallows the sigh she wants to let out, and stops herself from commenting how there’s already sand covering the carpet. Instead she nods and gives her friend a thumbs up.

“Sure! I’ll be quick!”

Ten minutes later and Flynn is exiting the shop to find Julie leaning against the wall with her eyes staring straight ahead.

So maybe the music store hadn’t gone exactly as planned, but that was okay, Flynn had more plans, more tricks, more ideas. Shouldering her bag and plastering a smile on her face she comes to a stop next to Julie.

“Okay, lunch now!” And they start walking, idly small talk that feels awkward and Flynn doesn’t know how to fix that either. “You’ll never guess what I saw in the shop, you remember th–” but Julie cuts her off before she can even finish her sentence or her master plans can be put into action.

“Flynn I think I’m gonna head home. Not feeling too great.”

Flynn knows she’s lying, can see it in her eyes. Julie has always been a terrible liar, her face gives everything away, and normally Flynn is always glad to see her try, unless she’s lying to her. Then she just finds it rude.

“Are–” Flynn starts, but cuts herself off when she looks at Julie properly. At the red eyes, the chapped lips, the death like grip she has on her bag.

It’s possible, Flynn rationalises, that she’s pushed too hard today. She wants Julie to find joy in music again, but she doesn’t want to force it. So she takes a deep breath and links their arms together, squeezing her forearm.

“Okay. Hey, do you think your dad will make us pancakes, since we’ve not had lunch?”

“Probably,” Julie nods, her voice a little quiet but Flynn’s pretty sure she can hear the relief in it too. Relief that Flynn isn’t going to make her talk, relief that she can go home and that Flynn is coming too, relief that for now, the subject of music is being paused.

It’s only been seven months after all, Flynn doesn’t think you can put a timetable on something like this. So she’ll keep trying and supporting and holding her hand.

One day, Julie Molina will play again, and Flynn is going to be there to see it.

four.

The thing is, after seeing Julie and her ghosts perform, Flynn realises that there’s something special about them.

And it’s more than just the fact that they got her to sing again after a whole year of silence. It's more than the chemistry that is undeniable between Julie and Luke. It’s more than the way people have flocked to support them.

They’ve made her smile again. Really, truly, fully smile. Wide and happy and full of light in a way that Flynn hasn’t seen her smile in well over a year.

(They’ve got her to sing and play and smile in less than a month when Flynn hadn’t even managed to get a hum in a year. She’s trying not to think about that.)

So yeah, they might be ghosts.

And they can’t be seen without Julie or playing music.

And sure there’s the whole ‘can’t touch anyone’ thing.

And being in their band means Julie is off the market, music wise.

But Julie is smiling and singing and writing songs and playing again. And if the price of that is Double Trouble being left behind, well, Flynn supposes she can deal with that.

Even if it sucks.

Because Double Trouble, it was going to be their thing . They were going to be amazing and spectacular and way better than Dirty Candi. They were going to write awesome songs and produce the coolest music videos and tour all around the world.

Double Trouble had been the dream since they were six years old.

A part of her, a small yet loud part of her, was shouting about how unfair it all was. That Carrie could be a bitch to them but still have a kickass group. That Julie could not play for a year but somehow stumble into a ready made band with ready made chemistry.

And what did Flynn get? Nothing.

The leftover scraps of a childhood dream.

She’s not sure what to do with the scraps either. Does she put them together and hope there’s enough left for a solo act? Hope she can take the concept and find her own band? Hope that maybe one day the ghosts will pass on and Double Trouble can raise from the ashes?

Okay, so that last hope was mean and maybe a little dark. She didn’t want to get her band with Julie just because she’d lost three people important to her.

The thoughts nag at her for days, though. The what if’s and the hopes and the mean thoughts. She’s outside the garage, trying to push them into the back of her mind and put on a smile for when she walks in there. She can already hear the faint sounds of instruments tuning and then the low murmur of voices joining.

“Is Flynn coming today? She was going to show me how that Ticking Tok thing worked.'' That was Reggie’s voice, she could tell (when had she learnt to tell their voices apart anyway?). And there, faintly but becoming stronger she could hear Luke replying.

“She said she was, right? Because I’ve got this cool new song idea I want her to look at, there’s this part in the chorus that I think she’d be perfect for.”

Flynn thinks he says something else, she can hear Julie replying, Alex laughing. But she can’t make out any of the words because she’s so caught up on the idea that they were waiting for her.

That they wanted her help with something, had plans that involved her.

And she remembers then, that there’s something magical about Julie and her boys. And that maybe Double Trouble wasn’t meant to be, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t part of the band.

In fact it made her a pretty important part of the band, given that she was one of two people who could actually be seen by people all the time. Plus, she was the only one with any kind of social media following, so really, they would be lost without her.

This time, when she puts a smile on her face it doesn’t feel forced and she suddenly feels more relaxed then she has in weeks.

Pushing open the doors Flynn is greeted by Alex sitting at his drums as Luke waves a notebook at him while he plucks idly at the strings of his guitar and Julie has her phone out, trying to explain something to Reggie that just has him looking confused.

“I’m here, the party can begin!” She declares, grinning at them even as she flips her hair over one shoulder. And they grin at her, all four of them and Flynn feels bad for ever hoping for a day that the three ghosts would pass over.

five.

Flynn isn’t trusting by nature. She’s careful with who she loves and lets into her heart. Not out of any real past hurt or trauma, she’s just cautious.

She has to be cautious, because Julie opens her heart – and home, apparently – to anyone. She’s trusting and forgiving and so damn kind that Flynn, well, Flynn has to keep her guard up in case it all falls apart.

It’s why she’s always got an eye on the way Luke looks at Julie when he thinks no one is watching – and it’s awfully handy that they’re becoming visible and tangible randomly now, because she can keep an even better eye on things – and it’s not because Flynn thinks he has bad intentions.

But he’s a ghost and Julie isn’t, and if someone is getting hurt badly in this scenario it’s going to be Julie.

And Flynn made a promise a long time ago that she’d not let Julie get hurt if she can help it. She couldn’t stop the pain when her mom died and she couldn’t help when music seemed to leave her and she couldn’t halt any of the tears when Carrie said what she said.

But maybe she could stop an impending heartbreak before it got too bad. And then they played The Orpheum and could be touched and sometimes seen and Flynn really got to know them and realised that a heartbreak was coming one way or another. She couldn't protect Julie from that.

She could, however, protect her from Carrie.

Julie might have been able to take Carrie’s apology, her peace offering, her attempts at making amends and forgive. But Flynn still remembers crawling under the covers with Julie, the two of them crying and holding hands and whispering all their worries. Mrs Molina had been there to help pick up the pieces, to hug them and make them laugh and blow off steam with loud music.

There’s no Mrs Molina now, and Mr Molina has always tried to find the middle ground in their fights, even when they were kids and now Carrie is sitting across from her at the dining room table while they wait for the others.

They look at each other, neither wanting to be the first to look away, to break eye contact. It’s awkward in a way that Flynn rarely feels awkward.

Because she doesn’t know what to say.

Because she doesn’t know how to act.

Because she doesn’t know how Julie can let go of the past so easily despite knowing everything that she does.

Carrie spent two and half years being a total bitch to them both. Rude and obnoxious and unhelpful at every turn. Like they hadn’t been friends for nearly ten years when she’d brought it crashing down around them.

“You’re staying for the rehearsal?” Flynn forces the question past her lips, tries for civil and polite and making an effort. Because Julie has tried to forgive her and they were friends once, best friends, and maybe there’s a chance they can be something like that again.

“Julie said it was okay. There was a song they wanted to show me? I think Luke said it one my dad stole, but they perform it better.” And she says it so casually ‘one my dad stole’, like it’s no big deal that he profited off of stolen work, that Flynn has to clench her jaw to keep from saying something mean.

She’s glad she does, because then she notices the way Carrie is fiddling with the edge of the table cloth, the way she’s lowered her gaze and, when she replays the words, the way she stuttered, just a little on the word ‘dad’ .

So maybe Carrie has changed, Flynn decides. Or maybe change is the wrong way to put it, maybe she’s just reverted back.

Back to when they were thirteen and over excited and jumping around her living room until Flynn’s mom had come in to tell them off, Carrie had dropped immediately, eyes down cast and biting her lip.

Back to when they were ten and Julie’s mom had dropped them both off at school and Carrie had been sad and she’d told her hesitantly about how her mom had left .

Back to when they were six and the first thing anyone said to her on her first day of school was that ‘I like your bag! Do you want to be friends?’ and Carrie has pulled her over to where Julie was colouring on the floor.

“It’s probably because they have so much time to practice. They’re so lucky, not having to go to school,” it’s an attempt at a joke, small and only half true. But it’s an offering.

Flynn’s eyes are still on Carrie so she notices the moment the other girl looks up, the slight sparkle in her gaze and the way her lips twitch, just a little. Accepting the offering.

“I mean, they are dead, I’m not sure that’s considered lucky.”

And then they’re talking, bantering, laughing. The conversation is a little stiled sometimes, a little awkward in the words unsaid. But it’s a conversation.

Flynn hasn’t forgiven her, not the way Julie has, not the way the boys seem to have. Because Flynn can still remember all the pain that Carrie had caused and she’s not ready to forgive her of that just yet. But she’s willing to try. For Julie. For Carrie. Even a little for herself.

So she pushes all her anger down and talks to her ex-best friend. But she keeps her guard up, because she let Carrie in once and it ended in ruin and she’s not about to be the fool who let it happen twice.

+one.

She’s not sure what happens. One minute she’s going about her day, school and homework and deciding if posting the new Julie and the Phantoms youtube video should be now or at the weekend, and yeah she’s not having a good day, but she doesn’t think it’s a bad day either. Nothing strange or unexpected happens. It’s just– it’s a day.

And yet. One second she’s fine, the next she’s crying.

She’s sitting on the sofa in the studio garage, waiting for Julie to finish with her own homework, idly scrolling through her phone when Alex poofs in with Luke hot on his heels.

He’s smiling, happy and excited after a date with Willie from what she can gather. He’s talking so fast and hands waving in the air and Luke is watching it all with an easy smile and occasional nod. Luke sits himself down next to her (bumping his shoulder against hers because they can do that now apparently at will and it’s only a little strange, knowing she’s sitting so close to a ghost she can feel the heat coming from him, and how is this boy always so warm when he’s dead ?), shooting her a wink as he turns his attention back to Alex and Flynn can’t help but smile, eyebrows raising as she too watches the blonde.

Flynn doesn’t know if she’s ever seen him so excited. So at ease.

“–and he just, he jumped right over this bench! It was so cool Luke, he’s so cool! He tried to show me how to– Oh! Hey Flynn,” Alex cuts himself off, finally seeming to notice that she’s sat there and gives her an awkward wave with his hand that’s still half up in the air.

“Hey Alex, good date, huh?” She can’t help but tease him a little, wagging her eyebrows and pulling her lips into a sly smile. And then Alex is blushing, scratching at the back of his neck and avoiding her eyes, making noncommittal sounds. She would be worried she’d said something wrong but she can feel Luke laughing next to her.

“It was uh– yeah, yeah a good date,” he’s biting his lip and still not looking at her, but Flynn can see a small smile trying to tug at his lips as he turns away, pretending to find something in the jumble of clothes piled next to the piano.

“It was their first ‘official’ date,” Luke whispers next to her, his eyes still trained on Alex’s back and there’s such joy in his words that Flynn can feel herself tearing up.

And she doesn’t know why this sets her off.

Why seeing Alex, coming back from his first official date with another ghost, so happy and full of excitement, and seeing the way Luke is just radiating joy for his friends happiness.

Why this sets her off crying.

One second she’s fine, the next she’s sobbing and Alex is spinning around so fast his hat falls off and Luke is gaping at her in a kind of horror that might be funny any other time.

“I– I–” She tries to say something, but she can’t get the words past her lips. They keep getting stuck in her throat as another sob tears through her and her eyes are blurred by tears and her hands are shaking, she knows that because her phone slips from between her fingers, making a soft thud on the rug.

“Go get Julie,” she thinks that’s Alex, she can’t quite tell. But she can hear the tell tale sign of a ghost poofing out and then a pair of arms and carefully wrapping around her shoulders and she’s crying into a denim jacket. So, Alex then, definitely Alex.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. Shush, it’s okay,” he keeps saying it over and over, his voice gentle and calm and Flynn lets herself cry. She hears the door open, hears feet rushing in, hears someone let out a soft gasp.

“What happened?” And that’s Julie, Flynn would know Julie’s voice anywhere. It’s a bit like a beacon, a light source in the dark, she could hear Julie’s voice and follow it home. Lifting her head up from where it’s been resting on Alex’s shoulder she tries to spot her friend and doesn't have to look far because Julie is crouching in front of her, concern all over her face and wide eyes.

It just makes Flynn cry harder.

Because she doesn’t want to upset her friend. She doesn’t want her to worry or panic or think that there’s something wrong. Because there’s not. Nothing is wrong. Her life is perfectly fine. And yet she’s crying uncontrollably on a sofa into a ghosts shoulder.

There’s an awkward moment where Alex gets up and she’s left alone on the sofa and her head feels like it’s going to fall and then Julie is there, and her arms are around her and she’s letting Flynn collapse on her.

Holding her up and together. Just the way Flynn has always tried to hold her up and together.

She doesn’t know how long she cries for.

When she finally gets some control over her own emotions, her eyes, her breathing, Flynn lets out a long and shaky breath. There’s a wet patch on Julie’s jumper, and she knows her face must be a mess of mascara and eyeliner.

Julie passes her a tissue, waits until she’s wiped her face as best she can, and then exchanges it for a bottle of water. Flynn drinks and keeps her eyes closed the whole time.

“Where–” She croaks out, throat still sore from crying and she swallows, opens her mouth to try again but Julie seems to know what she’s trying to ask.

“I sent them inside to help Carlos with his maths homework. Reggie is surprisingly good with numbers,” there’s a teasing tone in her voice and Flynn doesn’t have to be looking at her to know there’s a smile on her face too.

They sit in silence for a while, Flynn drinking her water, Julie passing her tissues, a question hanging in the air.

“I just–” Flynn starts, takes a deep breath and squeezes her eyes shut. She’s not sure how to even explain any of this. She doesn’t even really know why she started crying. When she opens her eyes again and blows out a breath, she shuffles back a little from Julie so she can pull her legs up onto the sofa and cross them under her. Through it all Julie sits patiently and waits. Flynn almost wants to cry again.

“Sometimes, and I mean, like rarely. It’s not a big deal or anything. And mom took me to the doctors and they said it wasn’t a big deal either so, it’s just. Y’know. It’s just that– that sometimes I get sad. That the world gets too much and I’m just– I’m not enough. For the world. Or you,” she shrugs, fingers pulling apart the tissue in her hands and looking somewhere over Julie’s left shoulder. “And it makes no sense really, because nothing all that bad has happened to me, y’know? There’s nothing really for me to be sad about.”

She can see Julie opening her mouth, her eyes widening and getting ready to say something but Flynn stops her, finally making eye contact again and shaking her head quickly.

“No, no don’t. It’s true. Because I haven’t lost my mom and my family is happy and Bailey always covers for me if I spill soda all over the floor and I’m not dead unlike three people we know. My life is fine . But sometimes I just– I just get sad, Jules. And normally it’s fine, it passes and every things fine. And then today, Alex was just, he was so happy y’know? And so was Luke. And they’re dead, but they’re out there, being happy ! And I’m alive and I just felt so sad today and it’s stupid because there’s nothing to be sad about .”

Flynn doesn’t think anything she just said made sense, but it’s too late to take any of it back now. The words are out in the world and Julie heard them all. Dropping her head into her hands Flynn lets out a groan, her fingers gripping on to her braids and pulling lightly. And then Julie’s hands are on top of hers and gently detangling her fingers until she’s holding her hands.

“Flynn, look at me,” her voice is gentle, holding the tone that she usually reserves for when Carlos comes home sad about losing a baseball game. It’s also the tone that she knows no one can say no to. So Flynn lifts her head, shaking it a little as she looks at her best friend.

“Your feelings are a big deal Flynn. And it’s not stupid. You can’t help the way you feel, it’s okay to feel sad,” Julie squeezes her hand slightly, lets one go so she can wipe at tears Flynn hadn’t even noticed were falling again. “Just because you haven’t– you don’t have to have some big tragic event in your life to deserve to be sad. You’re allowed to just...be.”

“But–” Flynn starts, though she’s not sure what she wants to say, which is maybe for the best because Julie cuts her off by grabbing her other hand again and pulling both up to place a kiss on her knuckles.

“No buts. If you want to be sad, you can be sad. But you have to tell us, otherwise– we can’t help if we don’t know Flynn. And as funny as Luke’s reactions are when he sees a girl crying, I’d rather it just be when our favourite character dies on a tv show, not because you’ve burst into tears out here.”

And that startles a laugh out of her, a little watery and raspy, but it’s a laugh and she smiles at Julie, this time squeezing her hands.

“He really doesn’t know how to handle a crying girl does he?”

“No! He’s so dramatic about it too–” If Julie was going to say anything else it was cut off by the sound of someone letting out an indigent ‘hey!’ and then three ghosts were standing in front of the sofa, Alex and Reggie holding back laughter while Luke was wearing his frowny-pouty face, arms crossed.

“We weren’t listening, but that’s just rude! I so do know how to handle it when people cry!”

It starts an argument, about twenty-five years without a hug and sneaking into rooms when they were teenagers and how he’d been the first to hug Julie after The Orpheum. But Flynn is only half listening, because Julie is still holding her hands, and Alex has nudged her out of the way so he can sit down on her other side and Luke and Reggie have brought their little discussion closer.

She’s surrounded by them all, and yeah it’s still a bad day but maybe she doesn’t have to handle them alone anymore.

#julie and the phantoms #flynn jatp #julie molina #carrie wilson #luke patterson #alex jatp #reggie jatp #jatp #rosie vs writing #*#*fics

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steve0discusses · 3 years

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The Full Metal Alchemist Live Action Movie Part 8: Watch This Episode Covered in Butts be the Only One Not Flagged by Tumblr

Gonna be risky business and not only upload all of these caps the way I screenshot them--which has just SO MANY poorly CGI’d butts but also gonna do it on the Tumblr Drafts folder, which I have been assured works now.

I’m so worried about so many things, but considering all the fears I have about like...everything else in the world right now...I guess I’ll take a risk on tumblr.

Edit: I cannot believe that I had 8ish episodes of Kaiba’s tall dueling tower get flagged but not this movie. I just....wow I cannot.

So anyway, last we left off, General Hakuro stepped in and was like “Hi guys, you like my wily plans that no one in their right mind would have ever guessed???”

Yo remember this part of the anime? Where the bodies drop from the ceiling and it’s a hunk out of the final arc--it’s here. In this movie. This movie that can’t possibly afford to do that. Lets get some CGI animated bodies in here ASAP.

(see some texture regrets under the cut)

It’s like a Monet, as the Mean Girls say, because far away and shrinked to 500 pixels this looks kinda neat. They sort of look more like those slime ball that grow in the back of your throat rather than human bodies, but they still look pretty gross hanging up there.

But then.....we zoom in. Remember again that this was full screen on my computer, and at one point was on a freakin movie screen. This level of 3d...was on a movie theater screen.

The mind boggles. The mind boggles!

Like as you know, I am an artist, and I’ve dabbled in...basically everything in my pursuit to make a dollar...and I have taken about 2 years of classes in 3D art with Maya and all those. I’m not thaaat great at it--I’m much more an illustrator/painter--but I feel like I have that reference point. Can I just say--the model is...fine...you can do a lot with layers of bump maps so you don’t need a truly detailed model (not like they did that, because they didn’t do that, but I can figure that maybe they had an intention to do that and forgot?)

But, there’s no connection of the wires to bodies. They just kinda float? The bodies are also all the same shiny-ness? To the point that it looks like a copy paste? (I don’t think it is, the wires are slightly different on a few of them) There’s just not much in the way of a texture map or a bump map. It just...there’s also something missing from the skin.

Skin is actually kind of rough to render, so when I did it back in the day, I followed like a checklist to make sure I had all the layers and steps to make someone look...clammy. Some things are kinda translucent, they reflect light a different way...especially white skin like this wouldn’t be just...white like putty. Dunno if you ever saw a white person, but we got so many veins...there was so much potential to make something really gross and fleshy.

Instead we got silly putty. It’s fine. I’m fine.

So General Hakuro decides to just...kill everyone right now.

This makes no sense to me.

That means that the whole thing of Lust killing Hughes was completely unrelated to General Hakuro. All Hakuro needed was Shou Tucker, who has been in prison for...I assume months since Ed shipped him off. And Shou was only released today? Just now? Just now when Hughes was shot?

So this all just happened at the same time by accident?

I mean the General sent us to the wrong lab initially, so he didn’t actually want us to be here, and now that we are here, he’s going to set off an entire army as a reaction to three people walking in and going “oops”?

So, lets get a look at our army.

Oh it was so disappointing, this reveal. Not just the eyeball that has a bounce light coming from below the top lip there (how did that even happen???) but also when it opened it’s mouth, it had a flat animation of skin breaking--it wasn’t actually rendered 3d skin, it was like a jpg wrapped around it or something (or at least that was the illusion I got. That is fine for a video game or a TV show, but this is a movie. This is shot so that it can be displayed in a size bigger than your own house.

What happened to the animation team on this one? Not saying I can do better, cuz no, I can’t, that 3d chapter in my life was a while back, but I’m just one guy. This was an entire animation studio and they just...didn’t render 3d face ripping (which is their entire job, to work in 3d) and then they kinda just turned on the stock physics dynamics and dropped em instead of animating them.

The way they fell was like fish from a bucket--the same amount of speed, too. they all ragdolled like a 3D shooter, their rigs just hanging on for dear life (and yes, you could see the deforming happen on the joints of these models.) I’m fine with having a computer program render something out with a physics engine...but there is a balance.

You do have to still go in there and finangle it back because...real life is hella stupid. Real physics? So stupid. It was hilarious how nonthreatening it was, too because they’re like...the size of shrimps in that zoom out image. The scale is just so wild!

It was like one bored guy in a sound booth and they multiplied his voice three times. Golden. Absolutely golden.

So these guys stride over, all of them with the same amount of speed (leading me to think it was probably a recorded walk cycle they all share with slight alterations between all of em) and they kinda just...pile on eachother in a weird way.

I will give them this: I was happy to see something that wasn’t physics or procedural. They mo-capped and animated that part for sure. It had the touch of an artist’s hand. It was also a very funny way for Hakuro to die because this guy was on screen for like 5 minutes, and maybe 7 minutes of this whole movie.

Youknow...I think it really says a lot about your nude 3d models if they’re not disturbingly human enough to trigger the tumblr filter, youknow?

Anyway, Envy looks on.

And then Gluttony saves the city.

Meanwhile, they decide to bust out the fire effects and Mustang becomes the most useful person in this entire movie. Like honestly this movie was poorly named, because it should have just been “Mustang saves the FullMetal Alchemist’s Entire Ass.”

The next part seems like I forgot a cap, or maybe missed something. I swear to you, I did not.

First off, Al becomes fullmetal and makes this happen without an alchemy circle. The show doesn’t really care to talk about that though, it’s just a thing he can do now, and you’d only notice it if you were writing a Tumblr post about it.

I swear to you, Winry is just inside of Al and there is no explanation.

There is no explanation for this.

She was on the couch...why is she not on the couch? What?

And then when you think they might have a moment, Ed’s like.

Damn.

For reals what the hell was that entire scene except for a way for Ed to get his arm stitched back on in like 2 minutes?

Outside, Envy and Lust are just strolling around the back-alley of this red brick building we have seen used for this entire movie.

And like...it’s so funny to me because they weren’t trying to run or hide. It makes complete sense why they got shot. This is what happens when you just...walk away when the whole military guard wants to kill you.

Now lets go see how Hawkeye is faring.

Luckily, all of the ambling bodies have decided to walk slowly through this one weird grass section between extremely long buildings.

And Hawkeye tells everyone “You have to shoot their heads off” and I want you to look at that scene and tell me how many of those bodies still have heads.

Oh, all of them. Don’t worry about it.

Kinda hard to see, but Ed shows up to give Mustang a hand, which was fully unnecessary but we’ll get to that in a bit.

This movie is such a gem.

Ed goes big brain and realizes that Envy is still burned up, and thus is about to pass on.

And whatever, I’ll take it. It’s not like the movie has told us that they are made out of 1000000 lives, for all we know, in the movie universe, they really are only 4 lives. Like half a cat. Maybe Father only killed half a cat instead of an entire city.

Yugi Muto would be so freakin proud of Envy for how often this guy gets hit square in the chest with fire balls. It’s basically every scene where Envy and Mustang share screen time.

And don’t worry, I don’t think Envy died? But they sure made it look like he did, which I’m sure everyone everywhere was really happy to see, since Envy’s death was one of the climaxes of the whole series. Like people used to make these lists of “top 10 saddest anime deaths” and how many people had Envy on there? Like everyone? People freakin love Envy and they did him so much dirty in this movie.

Again I have no explanation for Winry.

So Mustang is like, Ed, you make sure Winry doesn’t biff it in that corner, and I’ll do my actual job over here on this side. And yo, he did.

And so then that’s it, Lust is dead, and now we have a Sorcerer’s stone.

Man it looks delicious, right?

I’d eat the hell out of that.

Anyway, we only have one more update and we’re done with this movie!

I know!

I know! They only have 10-15 minutes to resolve pretty much everything, and that’s assuming that the credits don’t take up a heap of that. Hell, I might only have 3 caps next episode if that’s all credits. I honestly don’t remember.

Anyway, hope y’all take it easy this February, here is a link for people who just got here to read these FMA recaps in Chrono order.

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/fma/chrono

#FMA #Fullmetal Alchemist #Fullmetal Alchemist Movie #recap #photo recap #ed elric #colonel mustang #hawkeye #al elric #Winry Rockbell #so much fire #so much almost there CG

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persephonescat · 5 years

Text

Birds and other supernatural phenomenons

Okay, so I have no control over my life. Fine.

The characters are so out of character it’s funny. I’ve little to no idea about Batman, so I should apologize but I won’t, because I just lost all my remaining brain cells and I blame Tumblr.

Big thanks for LucyyJ26 on AO3 for fixing the Lucky Charm-problem, you should read her work too, its grammar is probably better than mine will ever be, and her stories are amazing. A little explanation: she took the Lucky Charm out of the story and instead, Ladybug’s power is the Miraculous Cure, which can re-do the destruction done during an Akuma-attack and can bring back the ones fallen by the villain’s actions. She’s changed other things in the Miraculous-world too, but this is the only one I’m going to use, except that in this story, it’s called Lucky Cure (don’t ask). For further explanation, visit her story: Miraculous: Darker Origins. The Daminette AU.

This is also posted on my AO3 account, under the same name.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21187025/chapters/50433170

Follow #Birds and Other Supernatural Phenomenons if you don’t want to miss any of the new chapters. ;)

Anyway, enjoy, I guess.

Next Masterpost AO3

————————————————

Ch. 1: The Inevitable Doom

Field trips should be fun.

Except if you’re Marinette Dupain-Cheng, of course.

The Dupon was the best high school in Paris, so the fact that they managed to plan a school trip to freaking Gotham out of all of America had to say a lot about Parisian schools. Or so Marinette thought. (Apparently, she was the only one.)

The best of all? Her classmates didn’t even notice the irony of it all. Well, Adrien did, but she was way more bitter than to give him that.

“Kids, I have great news!” - clapped Mrs. Bustier (happily married since last summer) cheerfully. “We’ve won the competition! We’re going to Gotham!”

The whole class broke out into excited chattering as Marinette glanced at Adrien sitting next to her. He was the only one besides from Marinette who didn’t seem very happy from the news. They locked eyes, and the girl could see the worry and exhaustion on his face.

***

/Two months, seventeen days and nine hours earlier/

With every day passing, the weather in Paris got colder. The Ladybug suit provided enough warmth even on the most algid nights but walking to school in the mornings or going home in the afternoons was getting more and more difficult for Marinette. She really didn’t understand why out of all things a ladybug could do, the only thing she got was the urge to hibernate. She didn’t have wings. No antennas. No four extra legs. Even Tikki wasn’t anywhere near similar to a ladybug. Basically, other than her name and the colors, Marinette was just as far from resembling a ladybug as one could be.

But no, she had to get ill and tired every time the weather was cool. Fantastic.

“Ladybug?”

Chat’s voice brought her back to reality. She was sitting on the roof of Adrien’s house, at one in the morning, with the stars shining at them brightly from the sky’s soft black. The stars always calmed Marinette. They reminded her that there was a whole universe out there, that she was small and didn’t matter compared to the real world. These kinds of thoughts usually terrified people, but not her. If nothing really matters then the best you can do is making sure you’re happy, right?

She turned towards her partner’s shadowy figure standing on the other side of the roof.

“Hi,” she started with a barely visible smile. “Is everything okay? You weren’t there yesterday when Glassterix attacked and it’s okay, but you missed school too and we were getting a little worried.” Well, it wasn’t entirely ‘okay’. It took her over two hours to defeat the Akuma and her Lucky Cure had to bring back twenty-three people from the dead, but she wasn’t mad at him. It wasn’t the first time one of them couldn’t show up, they learned to be patient with each other a long time ago. After all, they were best friends, especially since they knew each other’s identity.

About that: yeah, it was a wild ride. It happened the month before, and it still caused her nightmares sometimes. The way Ryuko was crying as a group of civilians fell from the Eiffel tower right before her eyes (she couldn’t save them) and Carapace’s screams when the Champs Elysées’ asphalt shattered into pieces sending flying cars all over the place was haunting her every time she closed her eyes. At some point, Rena Rouge’s costume was splattered with someone else’s blood and she freaked out so bad, she took a wrong step off the roof, dislocated her ankle and fell five stories before Ladybug could catch her. Marinette swore she was never going to ask for the other heroes’ help again unless it was absolutely necessary. When Chat’s ring started ticking in the middle of the fight and she saw the fear creeping to his face, making all his anger disappear, she grabbed his arm and took him to a relatively safe alley. For a moment, the green light made the shadows look like long, faceless opponents, but is passed just as fast as it came and Adrien was left standing there, panicking. Marinette wasn’t too surprised, she’s suspected it for a while and judging from Adrien’s face after she transformed back to her plain old self, he did too. She succeeded in calming him down enough so his breathing was mostly even and she told him to get Plagg something to eat (that seemed to clear his mind a little), but then she had to go back to fight. Half an hour later Chat was once again helping Viperion evacuate the civilians.

She stood up and took a step towards Chat Noir, who for some reason seemed to stop far away from her.

“There’s something I have to talk to you about,” he said, and Marinette once again felt the smell of inevitable doom lingering around them, but she stayed calm.

“Okay,” she told him carefully.

He stepped out of the shadows and now she could see he wasn’t wearing his costume. She felt a little panic in her throat, but he seemed fine, just… hesitant, maybe.

“I was thinking about… everything, really, and the thing is, I want to go to college. I would like to go to Cambridge, or maybe Yale, I haven’t actually decided yet, but the point is, that wherever I go, it won’t be in Paris. It won’t be in France.”

Marinette’s heart sunk and for the first time in months, her eyes started stinging a little. She hated to cry, but she didn’t want him to leave. All year, she kept telling herself that they were just in eleventh grade, that college was far, but she knew it wasn’t entirely true. Almost everyone in her class has already decided where they were going to go. The United Kingdom? America? No, these places were too far, too big, too scary to think about. Why would he want to go there?

“I know it sounds a bit overconfident, but I think I can make it. However, I’ve to learn. A lot. And I’ve to make sure I do enough work outside of school that I can put in my applications and I have to do a lot of things, I still don’t exactly know everything about it but the point is…” he stopped speaking and took a few steps towards her, so now the distance between them was normal but he was still avoiding her gaze.

“The point is,” he continued cautiously, “-that I thought long and hard about it, and I can’t be Chat Noir anymore.” He looked her in the eyes for a moment, but seeing her expression, he turned his gaze to the ground.

For a second that seemed like a lifetime, Marinette was just staring at him. She thought it was a joke, or a dream, or a fucked-up prank because it couldn’t have been real. It wasn’t possible, right?

Then she slowly opened her mouth to protest, to do anything, but Adrien was quicker.

“And it isn’t just that. I mean, the college.” He shook his head and sighed, annoyed at himself. In different circumstances, it would’ve been satisfying to see him not finding the right words for once. “It isn’t just about college. Marinette, I would like to live an actual life. It’s selfish, I know, but if I don’t quit now, I’m never going to be able to. I won’t be able to have a family, a job I like, I’m never going to have a dog because there’s always going to be something that keeps me from being home. I love being Chat Noir, but during the past two years, I learned, that the main reason that I like it is that it helps people. But it’s not the life I want to live in. I’m going to find another way to help, one that lets me be happy.”

It was a promise, and they both knew it. 'I’m going to be a good person. I’m going to help. I’m going to be happy. I promise.’

Marinette saw the world shatter all around them as he spoke. Her world. She knew that at the same time, he saw it grow and evolve, and the irony didn’t go over her head.

“I’m not going to leave you alone,” he told her, looking into her eyes. “In fact, I’m happy to help you or Ladybug anytime you want, but only as Adrien.” He grabbed her hand softly and dropped the Black Cat ring into her palm. “I’m sorry.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Marinette standing on his roof at one in the morning under the black blanket of the night. She wiped the tears that never fell out of her eyes and welcomed the numbness in her soul. She looked up to the sky one last time before swinging around the city until dawn. The stars no longer seemed so bright.

Later that night, wandering back and forth in his room, Adrien wondered if Marinette picked up everything he meant, but left unsaid.

'I’m going to be a good person. I’m going to help. I’m going to be happy. I’m here for you. I want you to be happy. I promise.’

He decided, that probably not.

_________________

Next Masterpost AO3

#marinette x damian #maribat #damiette #daminette #AU #mcb #miraculous ladybug #batman #dcu #damian wayne #marinette dupain-cheng #Birds and Other Supernatural Phenomenons #damian x marinette #The Inevitable Doom

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dogcopter · 4 years

Note

[novantinuum tumblr com post 611767607081713664/][novantinuum tumblr com post 611764379084636160/]

first link has: “she was on the road to redemption in my mind. I believe redemption is a journey with no endpoint. There’s no day where you wake up and are 100% redeemed. It’s something you work at every day, trying your hardest to be the best possible version of yourself you can be at every moment you exist. She cannot continue that journey now, because of her choice to make Steven- and in many ways, that’s pretty tragic.”

second link is that fanart w has a tag: “ i don't believe rose as a character is incapable of redemption theoretically but as she is DEAD- yeah she's unable to be redeemed. unable to continue that redemption i mean”

Ok this will be MUCH MUCH longer than you likely want but let’s take a minute to talk about this. Because this aspect of Rose meta is a huge part of the conclusion of Steven Universe, and the other half of Steven’s story I’m most excited for.

Responding to this question of Rose being unable to change is implicit to the Rose is Lion theory and it’s really at the heart of the story. I genuinely don’t read a better or more consistent explanation for the pieces right now, so I operate under the assumption Rose is Lion and we are headed for the legendary impossible Rose redemption arc - the conversation changes if she’s really gone, so we’ll get there if that’s the case, but I also think that tragedy was honored quite beautifully in Steven Universe. I think the note Future will end on is instead, it’s never too late to change (Rose), it’s ok to not be sure what’s next (Steven), but you will be ok if you have love in your life and work towards the future. Unfridging the absent mom character is a big cartoon trope flip too.

I agree with the OP regarding SU’s idea of redemption. An SU “redemption arc” means the character reaching some kind of catalyst to choosing a change. They change some behavior that has caused them and/or others pain. They want to more fully express themselves and to be connected to those around them, and through some process or journey have understood no one is all-bad or all-good, but each action is a choice and each of us has impact on others.

This is what my url and the “Rosedemption” 2020 tag refers to as I anticipate it - not “redemption” in the sense that she’s bad and becomes good or that her mistakes are overwritten or we get a perfect everything’s OK happy ending. SU does hope and does cartoon anime fanservice and the power of love, but it doesn’t do that. Agree or disagree with whichever individual story choices and character decisions you feel a way about, but I think we can all acknowledge that SU doesn’t try to simplify interpersonal relationships to black-and-white.

So rosedemption is redemption only in the sense that she is understood and chooses to take a step forward. Like how “Peridemption” describes the process of Peridot trying to learn, coming to love the Earth and embrace her personality. At the end of Steven’s story, Rose, like the others in the cast who have a place in his life, will join them in having the potential to be herself, have her innate capacity to be good recognized like everyone else, and have the chance to break a pattern of behavior she has become trapped in as well. She won’t be absolved of all her mistakes.

When pursuing the theory it was like a daisy chain of if-then. The explanation for Lion’s behavior and knowledge that makes the most sense is Lion being Rose. Fact. The next question is then: -> Is that possible given the mechanics of the universe? Yes - Steven demonstrates every power necessary, including going into other people’s bodies. Next question. -> If Rose is in fact astral projecting into Lion’s body, it’s possible she’s also responsible for the dream weirdness, is it also possible she’s in other bodies (melons)? Yes - all still in Steven’s moveset. (The thing that turned me on to the idea was that scene in Escapism, so I worked backwards a bit - but it makes sense, because we only get certain information later that illuminates pieces from earlier) -> But if Rose isn’t dead, where is the story going?

IMO this is why people don’t entertain the idea so much, things have changed a lot, and it upends things we thought were settled. In theory terms I expect her to come forward because it’s the logical conclusion to her arc - she gets to choose to stop running and hiding, which was borne of her past, and if she’s back she can lift responsibility for her legacy from Steven’s shoulders.

It doesn’t erase what happened, though; Steven and Rose may be able to say they love each other, but maybe he’s not ready for a relationship after this void in the shape of her characterized his upbringing. Having her today doesn’t change the childhood he spent without her, and often, very lonely. Knowing she was looking over him in the way she thought would hurt him the least, doesn’t make finding out she was by his side caring for him as Lion & co. any less painful a truth to learn after childhood has already ended. Those feelings are going to come out on Steven’s end, but all they have to reach by the end of the series is a hopeful starting point that maybe someday they’ll both be in a better place. And maybe some things will never heal, you know - that’s OK - and not all of this will necessarily be explicit onscreen, we will have fanwork and meta to cover many of those infinite possibilities.

The whole first series was devoted to the CGs dealing with her death and growing after the loss of her. Does Rose coming back cheapen that? I don’t think so - what happened happened. Those things the first series went through were real. In fact, giving up her physical form and then being Lion are additional decisions made with best of intentions but enormous fallout for others, the crux of Rose’s struggle to be better when continuously she hurt people too. SU is always committed to showing how people are people and in part respond to their circumstances and the systems of society and family they were born into. As far as condemning or glorifying her actions, I don’t think SU asks either of us because of this very framing, but of course any viewer has the right to. Will I ever forgive her for what she did to Bismuth? I don’t have to - Bismuth doesn’t have to - Steven doesn’t have to. All we’ll be asked is to understand her, which is all we’ve been asked all along. Each character has this aspect to them.

That’s not to say any story is perfect, it’s told by people as imperfect as the characters they create. And different perspectives are not only valid but expected. Some folks will always hate Rose, or Lapis, or Pearl, or the Diamonds, some will love all of the above. Sometimes your favorite character is your favorite because something they felt spoke to something you’ve felt, sometimes you hate a character because of their actions or just because you wouldn’t get along with them socially. The people who respond to things that they think SU fell short on, will make more art and cartoons that continue that conversation. Can you weigh the good influences she had on Steven’s life against the bad and come out with a mathematical judgment of binary goodness/badness, or is it more like real life where they have to accept what’s happened and move forward from there? Do you reject that and write the fic of the story you prefer?

So to me the Rose redemption arc raises all the hard questions Steven Universe has been porting over. Who are you to others and yourself? How do you know? Where do you go after you aren’t playing a role to someone else? When do you take responsibility for your actions? What’s the point at which you’re too late? Is there? How do you face the family who harmed you, when you’re so frightened you’d rather stop existing to escape them? How do you face the people you’ve harmed, even after they understand you? When you didn’t intend to? When you did? How do you move forward when a paradigm shift upends the narrative of your life, as Steven has been forced to do wrt Rose repeatedly? Does everyone get a chance to change? And why do you do what you do? Why fear? How to face it? Can you love yourself and love others? Does love win?

That’s something I find so exciting about this possibility. It changes the entire conversation, because both those who adore Rose and those who despise her have their reasoning, but the conversation is so oriented around her inability to change like everyone else. The conversation I’m most looking forward to goes past that stopgap. When it’s not the case that she can’t change, how do we see her now? After living through the consequences of her choices and coming to understand her better alongside Steven and the family, the thought is very personal, as it will be for Steven. That’s what enchants me about the signs pointing to Rose’s return. It’s complicated and messy, but ultimately hopeful!

If the signs were not pointing to that but something else, I’m excited for that meta too, but we’ll talk as the month unfolds and destroys us.

#rosedemption 2020 #rose is lion 2020 #i KNOW how few people really believe this theory but #between the big ideas and the little details i really don't commit to it out of nowhere. Itis a very SU conclusion to SU #and to the intertwined character arcs of rose and steven that we have journeyed with for all this time.#imho feel free to disagree

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imaginekpoplikethis · 5 years

Text

Misunderstood - Yoongi X Reader AU

Prompt scenario 5: “There is no us. There never was.”

It’s been a while hasn’t it? But the way I had to sift through all my posts and sort out tumblr labelling them as violating guidelines was too much.

This is definitely shorter than what I’m used to writing but I felt that it couldn’t be dragged on too long. I had to rewrite quite a bit since it didn’t feel or sound right so I hope you can forgive me. T T

Maybe you had jumped to conclusions. It wouldn’t be the first time you had. Many friends had warned you of your seemingly illogical thought track that, most of the time, ended up hurting you. This particular case was no exception.

Maybe you were being dramatic? Wouldn’t that be the easy explanation to such a situation. No, you knew better. You had every reason to be feeling hurt over what he had said to you in utter confidence.

You had believed that you were in a budding relationship for the past three months but apparently it was one sided. The sweet talk and promises were all fake. The dates and late nights together were mere games it seemed. In the end you caught Yoongi talking to another person. Flirting. The exact same way he had caught you in his trap.

When confronted about it:

“There is no us. There never was.”

You could’ve sworn your heart had shattered from the way you suddenly found it hard to function. Had your blood run cold? What was this cold sweat you had broken into?

“What...” You swallowed, hoping it would somehow help reduce the pathetic whimper that accompanied your words.

“What are you talking about? I-“

A small frown graced his handsome features and he cut you off before you had a chance to finish your words. Not that you could have, he had all but knocked all your thoughts out with his curt response.

“Don’t tell me you thought we were serious? I thought we were on the same page about this...”

He lifted his hand to scratch at his neck, awkwardly glancing about the room.

The telltale burning at the back of your eyes hinted of what was to come next and you quickly blinked back the tears threatening to develop. You wouldn’t allow yourself to be humiliated any more than you already had been.

“Listen... I don’t want to upset you-“

“A bit late for that isn’t it?”

He flinched at your harsh words before subtly lowering his head in what appeared to be shame.

“I genuinely thought you understood that this was inevitable. I mean we didn’t really discuss feelings or anything.”

Gosh, you really wanted to punch him. Preferably in the face. His sad expression didn’t do much in taming your anger or sadness.

“Understood what!? What is there to understand, enlighten me please!”

His scowl returned and it seemed you had ignited his annoyance with your own.

“Understood you were a rebound! I thought I made that clear! I was lonely after my breakup and needed someone to comfort me. You were the kindest person I could think of and just fell into it.”

Fell into it? What the heck was that supposed to mean!?

“I... I thought you-“

You choked on your words and a stray tear slipped down your burning cheeks, embarrassment and mortification evident on your face. Guilt spread across his own at your obvious discomfort and he reached a hand out, possibly to comfort you.

“Leave me alone.”

Those three words stopped him dead in his tracks and you pushed past him, leaving him alone in the room.

“Wait-!”

You hadn’t slowed down and instead went straight home to sob into your pillow. You were too heartbroken to care about how pathetic you seemed.

That was a month ago. Slowly but surely you were recovering from that embarrassing ‘breakup’. You personally thought you were doing a good job with putting it all behind you, friends helping along the way.

That was until you found him waiting outside your final class one Friday afternoon. He was looking as apathetic as he usually did in public however, once he caught sight of you, straightened his posture and shifted with nerves.

You had already decided that you would forgive Yoongi for what he had put you through since you had come to terms with the fact that you probably would have done the same thing too. He was just unlucky enough to pick an emotionally vulnerable person.

“Hey.”

He was very clearly talking to you yet you still felt the urge to pretend to not hear him. However, you had chose to be mature and instead turned in his direction offering a small smile.

“Hi. How have you been?”

Quite frankly, you could already tell how he had been if the dark circles and somewhat rushed attire was anything to go by. You chose to keep that to yourself.

What surprised you was the chuckle that escaped him.

“I feel like crap. I haven’t been able to sleep properly since that day.”

Sudden realization seemed to hit him and he glanced about the corridor, aware of all the curious eyes landing upon you both.

“Can we maybe, I dunno, talk somewhere alone?”

You took pity on him and agreed to go to a quiet coffee shop, mainly because he looked like he needed some caffeine in his system.

Once seated with your hot drinks, he looked up at you through his lashes and then glanced to the side, biting the inside of his lip.

“Yoongi, what’s wrong? You’re worrying me now.”

His brows furrowed and he took a sip of his coffee, quickly setting it down again.

“Even after what I done you still care...”

He had mumbled his response so you failed to register what was said.

“What?”

He finally looked back towards you and shook his head, dismissing his words.

“Nothing.”

A small silence soon followed before he released a sigh and opened his mouth to speak again.

“I just... like I said before I’ve been struggling to sleep. I mean sleep didn’t really come easy to me before but now I’d be lucky if I got at least ten hours a week.”

He then noticed his own rambling and quickly got back on track.

“Anyway, I thought maybe it was because of the look you had on your face when you left that night. I thought it was guilt eating away at me. It took me a while to realize that it wasn’t guilt but the fact that I missed you.”

All you could do was scoff at the somewhat pathetic look he had plastered on his face at the memory of your emotional breakup.

“Why did it take you a month to realise this?”

He looked up at you with tired eyes, his mouth set in a small frown and rubbed his face in exhaustion.

“I thought maybe I could wait it out. You know... the guilt. Two weeks has done nothing but make it worse and I spent the next week figuring out what my problem was. Then another figuring out how to approach you without having you punch me in the face because honestly that’s what I was expecting.”

“For the record, I wanted to.”

Surprisingly enough, a chuckle was your response. Yoongi looked at you with an emotion you couldn’t quite place but somehow made you feel warm inside.

“And yet you didn’t... why?”

You didn’t have to think twice about your response and so the words all just flowed out.

“Because as much as I hate to admit it, I understand why you did what you did. I can’t hold it against you because you’re a genuinely nice person underneath the cold exterior.”

The pure astonishment on his face was expected and you took a quick sip of your drink, throat suddenly dry.

“See, you’re too nice for your own good.”

You believed this was a compliment but the tone he delivered it in suggested otherwise.

“It’s why guys like me will take advantage of you. Well, I won’t anymore but there’s plenty who will.”

‘I won’t anymore’

He seemed to realise what his words implied and backtracked, a nervous expression crossing his face.

“I don’t mean- I-“

His words died on his tongue before a new resolve ignited within his eyes.

“I didn’t want to ask like this but now that I ruined it...”

His hands slowly reached for your own and he grasped one of your hands in his. You took in his furrowed eyebrows and set look of determination, your heart thumping hard in your chest and cheeks burning for some inexplicable reason.

“I need to make things right. I need-“

He visibly gulped and stared at you with a fierce look in his eyes, no signs of backing down evident.

“I can’t let it end like this. I want to make you happy.”

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sapphiclecterarchive · 5 years

Text

the babysitter - fic

Fandom: MCU, Spiderman

Character(s): Peter Parker

Desc.: In which Peter is trusted with a child.

A/N: i’ve never posted any fics on tumblr so i thought i’d give it a shot! this will also be on my ao3 if you fancy sending it some love over there. SORRY if this is indecipherable, it was written in 3 days in amongst a mad panic to finish art coursework

WARNING FOR ENDGAME SPOILERS. SO MANY SPOILERS. OH MY GOD THERE ARE SO MANY SPOILERS IN THIS

Peter really isn’t expecting the call.

May is working a late night at the shelter, which she’d explained with a concise note left in the middle of the kitchen counter, underneath a twenty dollar bill for takeout. The takeout guy is the only person he’s expecting to encounter this evening, besides the Instagram group chat which buzzes every two minutes and John Mulaney on Netflix. That’s until his phone rings.

The number isn’t saved on his phone, so he almost doesn’t answer it. It’s only when he realises that it could be May calling in an emergency, or Ned or MJ or anyone else, that anxiety forces him to pick the phone up. The line between his Spidey senses and generalised anxiety disorder is a thin one that he treads very carefully.

“Hello?”

The woman on the other end of the line sighs in relief, “Peter, thank God you picked up.”

He recognises her voice instantly - from the news, from the battle, from the funeral. He scrambles to find the remote and pause the TV.

“Mrs Potts? Why are you — what is — uh — how are you?”

They haven’t spoken since the wake, when she’d hugged him and let him cry into her shoulder. His heart seizes at the memory of her calm composure, supporting a boy she barely knew while he fell apart over the death of the man she loved.

“I’m doing alright, thank you,” she answers. “I have a favor to ask.”

“Okay.”

“Would you be able to babysit Morgan for a few hours?” Peter’s hand freezes on it’s way to the bag of Cheetos next to him on the couch. “I wouldn’t normally ask with such little notice, but I have to do some stuff for the Foundation launch, and our regular sitter fell through.”

“That’s no problem at all,” Peter says, without even thinking about it. “I didn’t have plans, anyway.”

Pepper exhales with relief, “That’s amazing. I’ve sent Happy to pick you up, he should be there soon. Thank you so much, this is such a big help.”

As soon as he places his phone down, Peter realises that he knows absolutely nothing about taking care of a kid, and that he’s currently in nothing but ratty sweatpants and an old sports jersey.

He practically launches himself over the back of the couch, abandoning his show and his takeout to race into his bedroom. His pyjamas are replaced with black jeans and a thick wool sweater over a tshirt, and he just manages to comb through his hair and spray himself with deodorant before his phone chimes from the couch and he races to check it.

Unknown Number: Outside. – Happy

He texts May to let her know where he’s going while he bounds down the stairs. Sure enough, Happy is waiting on the sidewalk, leaning up against a black car.

To Peter’s surprise, Happy ignores his offered handshake and instead pulls him in for a hug. The embrace lasts a long few seconds before Happy pulls back, his hand lingering on Peter’s shoulder. “How you holding up, kid?”

“Okay,” Peter says. Happy opens the passenger side door for Peter and rounds the car to get in behind the wheel. The doors slam, and Peter talks over the starting of the engine. “School’s getting intense, and — uh — everyone’s getting excited for prom. But, uh… Yeah, that’s sort of it.”

Happy glances at him out of the corner of his eye as he pulls the car out into the road. “Prom, huh? You got your eye on anyone? Planning a…. what do you call it? A promposal?”

Peter thinks about MJ, about Ned, about Betty, about the guy in his physics class who always lets him share his textbook when Peter forgets… “I haven’t really thought about it, uh, with everything going on.”

“I getcha, kid.” They come to a slow stop at a red light. “These past months have been pretty intense… I haven’t really known what to do with myself, to be honest.”

His voice has grown quiet, and the last word of the sentence almost dies completely. Peter looks over at him as he scrubs a hand over his face. Is he crying?

Happy is covering his face with one of his hands, now, shoulders shaking minutely. Peter has no idea what to do. What are you supposed to do when your dead mentor’s assistant who hated you not that long ago is suddenly crying in front of you?

“Uh… Happy?” He gets no reply. “Happy?”

“Yeah, kid?” Happy looks up at him, his eyes tear-filled and puffy but a supportive smile on his face all the same.

“The light’s green.”

As if on cue, the car behind them beeps it’s horn, spurring Happy into moving the car forward.

Pepper Potts is waiting for them when they arrive at the house. It looks no different to how it did at the funeral, and it upsets him a little to look at the front porch and the small dock where they’d stood to say their final goodbye. She gives him a very brief tour of the house, and an explanation of Morgan’s bedtime routine. Apparently, she has already had her bath and her dinner, so the only thing Peter has to do is put her to bed by eight.

“There’s enough food in the refrigerator and the pantry for you to make yourself something to eat, feel free to watch whatever you want on the TV, and I should be home by eleven, but if you’re tired by then you’re welcome to sleep in the guest room.” She pauses, taps her fingertips together as if checking off a list, and then drops her hands and smiles warmly at him. “I really can’t thank you enough for doing this.”

How could he have said no? He understands more than anyone what grief feels like, and if the obvious exhaustion underlying her composed expression is anything to go by, being suddenly thrust into single parenthood has taken its toll on her. He remembers May wearing the same expression after his Uncle Ben died, and he knows now how much she’d needed an extra pair of hands.

“It’s really no problem, Mrs Potts.”

Her petite hand brushes his elbow, “Please, call me Pepper.”

She then crouches down to say goodbye to Morgan, and he politely looks away, for some reason he feels like that moment deserves privacy.

“You’ve got my number, so if there’s anything you need you can either call me or Happy, okay?” she assures him.

“Okay, Mrs — Pepper.”

She smiles, nods, and gives Morgan one last kiss on the cheek before leaving.

“We’ve got about forty minutes to kill before bedtime.” He looks down at the young girl. “What do you want to do?”

“Cartoons!” she exclaims, a gleeful grin on her pudgy face.

“Cartoons?” He turns toward the couch, expecting her to follow him. She grabs three of his fingers with her small hand and walks ahead of him, as if guiding him to the couch. He doesn’t have to wonder where she gets that from.

“Cartoons,” she clarifies, jumping up onto the couch with a huff.

He sits next to her and picks up the remote to start looking for the kids’ channels. “What’s your favorite cartoon?”

“Spongebob!” she says around her thumb.

It takes him all of five minutes to scroll through the entire TV guide and finally assess that there isn’t one channel currently playing an episode of Spongebob. Or any cartoons, it seems. He’s about to give up, when she holds out her hand.

“Remote.” The ‘R’ is more of a ‘W’, and she makes a grabby hand toward the remote until he passes it to her.

“There are no channels playing cartoons…” he begins to explain, bracing himself for a five-year-old temper tantrum. Instead of screaming or crying, however, he’s greeted with the familiar opening note of the Spongebob theme tune.

When he looks at her, she’s looking back at him with a cheeky grin. “How did you figure that out?”

“Mummy got it on the TV for me.” Her speech is pretty advanced for a five year old, but it’s obvious how hard she’s working to get her words right. “She said so I can watch it when I’m sad.”

His eyebrows knit together, and he fears sounding like a counsellor - or a parent - but he can’t help but ask, “Are you sad a lot?”

She shrugs, jams her thumb in her mouth and talks around it, “I watch Spongebob a lot.”

He ends up watching her more than he watches the cartoon, mesmerised by her starry-eyed expression as she watches the bright colours flash across the screen. They reflect in her big brown eyes, which he knows that she inherited from her dad. She also inherited her stubbornness, apparently, because even when her eyelids begin to droop and she can hardly sit upright for sleepiness, she doesn’t give in. She refuses to doze off until the end credits of the episode are rolling, and then she almost instantly collapses, snoring lightly, onto the couch cushions.

Careful not to wake her, he slips his arms underneath her armpits and lifts her. Her arms and legs wrap around him sleepily, making it much easier for him to carry her upstairs without fear of dropping her. He pushes the door open with the heel of his shoe, uses his right hand to continue supporting Morgan’s weight while his left pulls back the covers on her small bed. Once he’s placed her down and tucked the blanket up to her chin, he follows Pepper’s instructions of shutting the blind, turning on the nightlight next to her bed, and leaving the door slightly ajar when he eventually steps back out into the hall.

The TV is still displaying the paused credits of Spongebob when he sits back down on the couch. He wants to go onto Netflix and carry on with what he was watching earlier, but he feels like it might be a bit of an intrusion to use Pepper’s personal Netflix account, so he settles on a channel that seems to be only playing reruns of Family Guy.

His phone buzzes, and he glances at where it sits next to him on the couch.

Ned: Deathmatch?

Peter can’t help his smile. After Thanos, and everything else that’s followed, the simple things like playing Overwatch with Ned - even if he loses every time - make him so much happier than they would have before.

Peter: can’t tonight, am babysitting.

The next message from Ned comes through almost immediately.

Ned: Who tf trusted U with their kid?

Peter: ikr

Peter: pepper needed an extra hand w morgan

Ned doesn’t reply, so he assumes that the match has started and settles down onto the plush couch cushions. He scrolls through his Instagram feed, through photos posted by people from school and the odd celebrity. Until, eventually, he dozes off with his phone still in his hand.

A loud bang makes him start awake what feels like five minutes later. His phone slips out of his hand and onto the floor, the bang it creates making him startle again. He sits up blearily and stretches until his back pops. Through the windows, he can see nothing but black. His phone screen, when he picks it up to check, tells him that it’s just past nine-thirty. He hadn’t planned to sleep at all, let alone for an hour and a half.

Everything in the house still seems intact, and it doesn’t seem like Pepper is home, so he assumes that the bang was caused by the dog door, or something similar. Nevertheless, a residual anxiety forces him to his feet. He rubs the sleep from his eyes as he trudges up the stairs toward Morgan’s room.

The door is still slightly ajar, and the light from the hallway illuminates a strip of her polka dot duvet cover. He pushes the door open more, expecting to see her still tucked up tight and fast asleep.

She isn’t in her bed.

Peter’s stomach flips.

“Morgan?” he calls, hoping that she’s just hidden somewhere and will pop out giggling.

She doesn’t. He flicks the light on.

“Morgan?” He rounds the bed to check the other side, which is also empty.

She’s not hiding underneath the bed or in the wardrobe, and he checks every single room upstairs for her. But, she’s not in Pepper’s room, the guest room or the bathroom.

“Morgan!” he calls again as he races down the stairs. The downstairs bathroom is also empty, and she isn’t in the living room or the kitchen.

As he races back into the living room, his eyes lock on the front door. He can’t remember locking it behind Pepper, and he’d been woken up with a loud slam…

He throws open the front door, looking out onto the lake and the front garden, until there’s a small cough to his right.

There she is, her small form curled up on the rocking chair, thumb in her mouth and eyelids heavy with

He softens his voice to try and mask his panic. “What are you doing out here?”

“I can’t sleep,” she explains quietly. Her body seems to betray her there, though, because she lets out a yawn almost immediately.

He really doesn’t know how to get a stubborn kid to go back to sleep. He thinks back to when he was a kid, and how May would convince him to go to bed.

“You can have milk and cookies if you come back inside.”

She shakes her head.

“Juice pops?”

He remembers seeing them in the freezer earlier, and he assumes that she’ll be moved by the offer. She isn’t, and shakes her head again.

“I want to talk to daddy,” she says.

Peter’s brain takes a second too long to reboot, because she rolls her eyes and continues like he’s missed a very obvious point. “Mummy says that daddy can hear me if I sit here and talk to him.”

This is the first time this whole evening that Peter realises how much she must miss her dad. For the past few weeks, he’s felt like he’s been on autopilot, like there’s a vital part of him missing. So he can hardly imagine how she feels; she probably doesn’t even understand that he’s never coming back.

He doesn’t remember when his parents died, but he remembers asking May about them. He remembers the frown that would tug on her mouth every time he did. He remembers how much that frown would confuse him. They’re in a better place, she would say, so why would she look so sad?

He understands the questions she probably has, he understands how overwhelmed she must feel, surrounded by sadness and falseness and feelings that she doesn’t yet understand. All she needs is some normality.

“I think daddy would want you to wear a jacket outside.”

She pouts indignantly and crosses her arms to let him know she isn’t going anywhere.

Knowing now that she isn’t being moved, he grabs the hem of his sweater and tugs it over his head. The hair on his arms immediately bristles against the cold, his t-shirt doing nothing to keep him warm.

He crouches in front of the chair so that he’s level with her, sweater held between them.

“This sweater belonged to my uncle Ben. He’s in the same place as your dad, but before he went, he gave me this sweater. Do you know what he told me when he gave it to me?” She shakes her head. “He told me that it would protect me against anything, and it can protect you, too.”

He remembers Ben passing it to him while they were queueing for the Haunted Mansion at Disney World. Peter had forced him and May to queue for almost two hours, only to get too scared and start sobbing as soon as they got closer to the ride. The sweater was supposed to be a mode of persuasion for a then nine year old Peter, but it’s his most treasured item, and memory.

After Ben had died, the only thing Peter wanted to keep was the sweater, and ever since, he has worn it whenever he needs extra comfort.

He’s been wearing it a lot recently.

“Anything?” Morgan repeats, eyes wide. “Even monsters?”

He laughs, “Even monsters. Do you want to put it on?”

She nods enthusiastically, and he silently praises himself for his quick thinking as he helps her pull it over her head. It’s too big for him, so it covers almost her whole body, and the sleeves are about twice the length of her arms. She looks a lot warmer and happier, though.

She reaches out to him, and he doesn’t understand what she wants until her hands pop out of the sleeves and open and close sporadically in a move which he reads as “pick me up”.

He picks her up around her waist, her arms wrapping around his neck, and then turns to sit on the chair. She shifts around until she’s sideways on his lap, facing the lake, her head cushioned on his shoulder and her hands pulled up under her chin. The sweater cocoons her like a swaddle.

“Can you tell me a story?”

He doesn’t know any stories for kids, unless the classic, Disney movie fairy tales count.

“Do you want a story about your dad?”

She nods, the movement clear against his shoulder.

“Okay.” He wills himself not to cry immediately at the memory of his mentor, not wanting to freak the kid out or undo the hard work Pepper has undoubtedly done on making this whole situation seem lighter for her. “When I met your dad, I’d just gone through a big change…”

He recites the story of Germany, and then, when she asks for another, the stories of the boat and of Titan. They’re shortened, censored, and the latter is missing the part where he turned to dust for five years, but they’re true. Calmed by the stories, and smiling at the talk of her dad, she eventually falls asleep soundly against his shoulder. He looks down at her serene face, and he hopes that she remembers the good things about Tony, he hopes that she’s dreaming about him. He hopes that she dreams about building pillow forts with him, about him carrying her on his hip while doing important research, about him tucking her into bed and kissing her forehead.

Pepper gets home not long after Peter has tucked her back into bed.

“Was she okay?” she asks in a whisper, although the house is definitely big enough to talk at full volume and not wake the sleeping girl.

“She was a dream.”

A small, relieved sigh stirs her fringe. “Good. I really can’t thank you enough.”

“It’s honestly fine,” he says. “I had fun.”

When he unlocks and pushes open the door of the apartment, May is in her pajamas on the couch, watching some reality TV show. She looks over the back of the couch when she hears the door close, and smiles. She seems tired, as she always does after working overtime, but she’s wearing her fluffy pink socks, which means that she’s happy.

“Good night?”

He sits next to her, slowly tipping sideways until his head lands on her bent knee. Her hand automatically goes to his hair, stroking the top of it like she used to when he was small and would sit on the floor between her knees while her and Ben watched TV. Then, she moves her hand to his upper arm, and her palm feels boiling hot against his skin. “You’re freezing.”

As she tugs the throw blanket over him and pulls him closer to her side, he realises that he didn’t take his sweater back.

#endgame spoilers #endgame fic #peter parker #morgan stark #peter parker and morgan stark #peter parker fic #mcu #mcu fic #may parker #bc i love her #i'll definitely write more ft these two soon bc i love these siblings #tom holland #tom holland gif #spiderman #pepper potts #happy hogan

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snarky-badger · 6 years

Note

Prompt: Reader has a shitty relationship with reality. Weird crap happens to them and things that shouldn’t happen do. Sometimes they will go missing out of the blue do it it and just show up a couple weeks later. They usually carry around a recorder with them so they can show people they aren’t insane but they forget it and go missing for a bit before coming back. Eddie/Venom FREAK the fuck out.

This is my second attempt at this, as tumblr deleted the first draft I wrote! Grr. Still, it was fun to write! Kinda more Eddie and less Venom.

Your life was weird. Which was to say, you and reality had apparently met and broken up with no chance at reconciliation.

It had started when you were eight. Now, keep in mind, you’d been born in the eighties, so it was high weirdness to suddenly be in possession of a computer the size of your hand.

You’d been playing when something had just popped out of nowhere, bouncing off your head before clattering to the ground. A little dazed, you’d picked it up and discovered that it was something called an iPhone 8. You’d played with it for hours before it had simply vanished out of your hands, leaving an odd chill and a very baffled you behind.

Things had only gotten more complicated from there.

More things appeared and vanished around you, sometimes little things, like keys or books, sometimes big things, like your parent’s minivan.

When you were twelve, you’d vanished from school. Literally. Your parents had gone insane. Search parties were sent out, Amber Alert’s announced, police canvased the entire neighbourhood. When you’d reappeared a week later, your parents had ignored your tale of meeting Robin Hood and grounded you for running away and making up stories.

Your childhood and adolescence was peppered with disappearances, your parents believing that you were a liar and a runaway, and you had suffered through numerous trips to various hospitals because of the ‘tales’ you told.

You’d started bringing a tape recorder with you to film your adventures when you were fourteen. Over time, you upgraded to camcorder, then your smartphone, and finally a hidden camera that you could bring wherever you ended up. You had images and videos saved that surpassed any CG movie out there.

It was odd, you realized, that when you ‘popped’ into new worlds, that no one there thought twice of your sudden appearance. You just blended in with whatever timeline or universe you’d slid into, as if you were supposed to be there in the first place. You’d seen dinosaurs, broke bread with dragon-slayers, saved dragons from dragon-slayers, visited far off worlds and even alternate universes just a smidgen different from your own.

It continued on until you were old enough to move out. Sure, you still vanished from time to time, visiting odd and strange places, but it was fun for you. New experiences and new adventures. The hell with your doubting parents. This was your life and you embraced it.

You’d been chased by a feathered T-Rex, nearly gotten run over by a horse drawn carriage that belonged to Sherlock Holmes - the older one not the hot one - shared mead with Hobbits, gunned down zombies, met aliens - not the probing kind - gotten bitten by a chupacabra, encountered a rather irritated Dalek that had also popped out of his universe, hell, you’d even met Captian Picard of the USS Enterprise!

Things became more complicated when you started dating.You’d originally sworn off dating because of the trouble presented when you slipped out of your universe, but Eddie Brock had been sweet and handsome and with a sparkling wit and down to earth charm that had made turning him down impossible.

You imagined he’d expected you to freak out when, a month into dating, he’d confided in you that he was bonded to an alien symbiote and that he moonlighted as Venom most nights.

You’d seen a lot of weird shit by then, so you’d merely shrugged, shaken Venom’s hand and asked him what he preferred white or dark chocolate cake.

When Eddie had moved in, things got decidedly complicated. You managed to explain your disappearances by saying it was work related, that you had to run off at any time to catch a plane or a train. Thanks to being a veteran of falling out of your dimension into another, you could usually ‘feel’ a slip before it happened.

He’d accepted it with grace - after all, he was Venom. He thought he knew strange.

You were waffling over whether to tell him what was really going on. Had practiced the conversation. Were even willing to let him see what was in the mystically locked chest at the foot of your bed.

It was filled with keepsakes from your journeys: A sword made of enchanted glass from Skyrim, a computer pad you’d stolen from the Enterprise, bits of shells from a dinosaur egg, the Hope Diamond, a Venom comic-book - that was going to take some explanation - an ‘Arum’ from the Elite home world from the Halo universe, a pile of gems and coins from Smaug himself - you’d popped out of that world before getting charbroiled - a feather as long as your arm from a Roc, a working phaser, three seashells, several sets of armor and ancient clothing, a Lightsaber you’d stolen from one baffled Anakin Skywalker before he’d gone batty, and an emerald the size of your fist - you hoped Sonic had made due without it.

You’d actually been trying to work up the nerve to talk to Eddie after a date, on the walk home, when you’d literally popped out of existence.

Shit.

You reappeared in the middle of a fight between a rag tag group of people and something called a ‘dracolich’. Which was a fancy word for ‘skeleton dragon’.

By then, you were rather used to appearing in the middle of a crisis, so you’d taken up a sword and joined the fight. By the time the undead dragon was properly dead - thanks to one of the group that had turned out to be a necromancer - you’d pretty much ingratiated yourself to the group, and no one questioned where you’d appeared from.

You spent a month with them, fulfilling quests, getting drunk at taverns, and being rewarded by kings and peasants both. You had enough gold coins to pay for your apartment for the next fifty years. Your new friends, the necromancer, a draconian, an archer and a sorceress made you the honorary ‘knight’ of the group, even chipping in to buy you a set of armor tailored to you.

It was while your friends were at a brothel - you may have been in a different universe but you did have a boyfriend back home, hence the ‘no brothel’ rule for you - that things went sideways again. You popped, appearing in the middle of a conference at the UN where there were lizards instead of people, waved, then popped again, reappearing in San Francisco.

This wouldn’t have been such a bad thing had you not been decked out in full armor, armed with numerous knives and a broadsword. The fact that you’d appeared in the middle of a wedding just made things more complicated.

You managed to weave a spiel about trying out your ‘costume’ for the next Comic Con before making a run for it.

Hoping that Eddie was still around somewhere, you trudged home, incurring various stunned looks as you went. Ignored them with long practice, even when you got on the elevator and had to ride to the top floor next to a women with two children.

Lacking a key, you merely kicked your front door in, freezing in the doorway when you spotted a very confused Eddie on your couch. He was obviously in the middle of working on a new article - papers and notebooks were scattered around him haphazardly.

“Um…. hi?” You even wiggled your fingers at him in a little wave, armor glinting in the light from the windows.

Everything went flying - laptop included, ouch - when he realized who you were. He crossed the apartment in a run before wrapping you up in a crushing embrace.

“You’re alive!”

The stark relief in his voice made you wither a little, and you lamely stayed silent, blinking up at him when he pushed you back and held you at arms length.

“Where have you been?! We searched the entire City for you! Twice! Thought you’d been kidnapped or worse–”

You rose a hand to place your fingers against his mouth when his voice cracked, the tears in his eyes making a pit open up in your stomach. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should have told you. This just…. happens, sometimes. Well, a lot of the time. I can’t control it. Usually I can feel it before it happens, but this time I didn’t have any warning and–”

“This has happened before?”

You winced a little and pulled away, walking past him and into the apartment. Waited until he’d closed the door before speaking again. “Weird things have been happening to me since I was eight. Things would pop in and out of existence around me, things that we’re from my time or our world. They’d always vanish again eventually…. When I was twelve I vanished for a week, met Robin Hood, he taught me how to shoot a bow–”

The look of disbelief on Eddie’s face made you growl. “See that? That right there. That’s why I don’t tell people. My parents had me admitted to psych wards because I trusted them. You know what electro-shock therapy is? It ain’t fun! But this shit happens to me, all the time. And you, Venom, are not the poster child for normality, so quit lookin’ at me like that!”

He winced at bit at that, then sighed and walked over to you. “Okay. Okay, we’re sorry, this just sounds….”

“Insane. I’m aware. I’m also aware that since aliens exist and that there are mutants running around and a guy in New York called ‘Spider-Man’, that this isn’t the weirdest thing in this reality.”

“Point.”

“Damn right ‘point’,” you muttered angrily, huffing as you headed for your bedroom. “There’s also the fact that I’m not stupid enough to say these things without some goddamn proof. So, c’mere.”

Grumbling a little, you stomped over to the locked chest at the foot of your bed, shoving clothes off of it before raising your thumb to your mouth and biting into the meat of it. Eddie made a noise of complaint at the sight, and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Needs blood given without duress to open,” you explained as you pressed your thumb to the lock, grinning at his look of shock when the combination lock spun crazily, five numbers clicking into place before the three heavy latches popped open. “Got this thing from a wizard when I turned twenty. Best security I ever invested in.”

The flabbergasted look on Eddie’s face was almost worth it when you started pulling things out and laying them on the bed, explaining what each and every one of them were and where you’d gotten them from. His eyes got bigger and bigger with every keepsake you pulled out, right up until you pulled out the Venom comic and thrust it into his face.

“Bet you were wondering why I was so chill when you told me about the symbiote, huh? I already knew about it.”

“This can’t be real,” left him in a whisper as he took the comic and flipped through it. The symbiote that was masquerading as his shirt visibly undulated, a tendril extending to poke at the comic, as if to make sure it wasn’t a hallucination.

“Oh, it is real buster. There’s a reality where practically every weird ass thing in this world is just a bunch of stories. Spider-Man, Magneto, Wolverine, fuck, the entire X-Men School - comic-books. Every single one. There’s a universe where Batman is real, another where the galaxy nearly got it’s metaphorical balls handed to it by monstrosities called ‘Reapers’, another where crab-people try to overthrow governments. Trust me, I have seen some weird shit.“

“You never told anyone?”

“The people I did tell had me committed,” you reminded him. “I learned to keep this kinda shit to myself. I wanted to tell you. I did. But…. Well, the amount of people who have flipped out on me and left is kinda a hundred percent. I have videos, and they still didn’t believe me.”

Eddie shook his head a little, still looking stunned. “We believe you. It’s impossible not to. We’re holding the story of our own history in our hands.”

“Sorry about that. Kinda had to go for the shock value.” You paused, hesitant. “You really believe me?”

The wary hope in your voice made him walk over to you and wrap you up in a hug, leaning his forehead against yours. “You’re very convincing.”

“And the symbiote?”

“Glad to have our morsel back.” Eddie blinked a little, then cleared his throat as the symbiote released control of his voice. “We’re relieved you’re alright. We mourned you. We’ve spent the past month trying to find you.”

“This’ll happen again,” you warned him softly. “I can’t control it. I wish I could, but I can’t. And I don’t have control about how long I stay away. Could be a week, could be a month….”

“But you’ll come back? Eventually?”

“Always do.”

“Promise to come home to us?”

You smiled. “Hun, if you can put up with the insanity that is my life, you’re practically stuck with me.”

“Good,” he murmured before kissing you, and you shivered happily as you kissed him back. “Now, show us how that Lightsaber works.”

#snarky is writing #filled prompt #venom x reader #reader x venom #venom #eddie brock x reader #reader x eddie brock

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darnedchild · 6 years

Text

Self-Rescuing Princess

Also on FFdotNet and Ao3

Originally posted on Tumblr in response to @mizjoely mentioning in her list of fandom things she’ll never get tired off - “Molly being a damsel in distress. And Molly being BAMF and rescuing herself and/or Sherlock. Really I just love Molly being put in harm’s way and making it out safely at the end. Hell, I’d read a fic where Jim Moriarty is really alive and only reveals himself because Molly is missing/in danger and he decides to team up with Sherlock to save her. Why has no one written this yet”

So here’s my short little Crack!fic.

Self-Rescuing Princess

“Molly, do you have a—What the hell are you doing here?” Sherlock went from cheerfully expectant to ready to murder the man perched atop one of the autopsy tables, idly playing with a bone saw.

“Waiting for you, obviously.” Jim Moriarty set the bone saw to the side and hopped of the table. He straightened his suit jacket. “I expected you earlier. You’re lucky I found something to entertain myself with, or I would have left without you.”

Sherlock took in the empty morgue. The tray of instruments set out in preparation for an autopsy but no body on the table Jim had recently vacated. The discarded lab coat half hidden under another table. An abandoned coffee cup from the little place on the corner that Molly favoured. He narrowed his eyes and glared at Jim. “What did you do to Molly?”

“Nothing since we ‘broke up’ all those years ago. Which, in retrospect, was a little disappointing. I liked her cat.” Jim shrugged.

“Is that-Is that a euphemism?” Sherlock asked, even though he was almost positive he didn’t want to know.

“No.” Jim tilted his head and scrunched his nose. “Well, possibly yes if we’d made it that far. But in this case, I meant Toby. I thought about taking him with me when I left for North Africa, but Molly would have been heartbroken and she was already losing you. Or she would have if you hadn’t been so annoying.”

“Pardon me for being prepared.” Sherlock shook his head, unwilling to be drawn into another pointless argument when he still didn’t know where Molly was. Establish that Molly was okay first, destroy Jim Moriarty second. “If you haven’t done anything to her, then where is she?”

“Your sister took her.”

Sherlock scoffed. “No, she didn’t. She’s safely locked away in Sherrinford.”

“Is she though?” Jim picked a piece of lint of his trouser leg. “Have you been to visit recently? Seen her with your own eyes in the last day or two? Because a little birdie informed me that your dear sister has flown the coop again. And this time she’s in no mood to play games.”

Sherlock thought back to the last time he’d flown out to Sherrinford. It had been . . . weeks? He’d meant to go back sooner, but there had been an eight followed immediately by a nine and both had taken ages to solve.

He pulled out his phone to notify Mycroft, and Jim reached out to pluck it from his hand. “No, no. Can’t have you telling big brother that I’m in town. You only know I’m here because I don’t particularly like the thought of Molly in Eurus’ clutches. Have you had her double chocolate torte? Sublime. It would be a shame to let Molly’s recipe go to the grave with her.”

Sherlock’s efforts to get his phone back were half-arsed at best, he was too busy trying to comprehend that Jim had come back to London simply because he liked Molly’s baking (and cat, apparently).

Jim smiled. “I can almost see the little hamster spinning out of control on his wheel in there.” He pointed at Sherlock’s head. “Now is not the time, Junior. We can compare notes on our favourite pathologist later.”

“Fine.” Sherlock crossed the room to pick up Molly’s lab coat. Perhaps there was something on it that would give them a clue as to where she’d been taken. “Where would you suggest we begin?”

“There’s a warehouse I used to use as front for one of my less legitimate business ventures.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and Jim smirked in response. “My former right hand left my organization rather suddenly a month ago, he went underground and only resurfaced within the last week. I believe he’s been operating out of my old warehouse.”

“Why would Sebastian Moran do anything for my sister?”

If Jim was surprised that Sherlock knew who Moran was, he didn’t show it. “You know how delightful your sister can be. Poor Seb was always drawn to shiny things; I’m sure it wouldn’t have taken much for her to lure him over.”

“Give me my phone. I won’t contact Mycroft. Yet.” Sherlock held out his hand. Jim grinned as he dropped it into Sherlock’s palm. “I still don’t understand why you waited for me.”

Jim’s grin dropped in an instant. His voice turned deep and menacing. “People don’t leave without my permission. And they especially don’t hurt someone they have very clearly been ordered to stay away from. You get Molly; I get Seb.”

“And Eurus?” Sherlock asked.

“She’s your problem.”

இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—

The warehouse was dark when they approached. Two men in outrageously expensive suits, stealthily creeping through shadows and hiding behind boxes like something out of a Bond film.

They silently approached the warehouse office, a little room in the back corner with slivers of light coming through the drawn blinds. In the end, it didn’t matter how quietly they moved because the raised voices coming from the office only grew louder with each passing second.

“Hey. Hey, lady! You put that chair down, right now,” came a desperate male voice.

Jim whispered, “Sebastian.”

Sherlock nodded in response. If Eurus had already escalated to the point where she was attacking her own henchman with a piece of furniture, that didn’t bode well for Molly’s safety.

They heard Sebastian yelp and the thud of something solid hitting the ground.

“That’s for shoving me in the trunk.” Sherlock and Jim exchanged a look. The voice was feminine and out of breath, and very clearly did not belong to Eurus.

“Molly.” Sherlock mouthed. Jim nodded, appearing just as bewildered as Sherlock.

Another yelp from Sebastian. “And that’s for making me spill my coffee. I was really looking forward to that.”

A third yelp. “Damn it, woman! Stop kicking me. I’ll buy you a damn cup of coffee, just let me up.”

Molly huffed. “Do I look stupid?”

“I am not answering that,” Sebastian quickly replied.

Jim hung his head. “What an idiot.” Sherlock nodded in agreement.

‘Black Magic Woman’ began to play from inside the room. The two men froze next to the office door, waiting to hear what was going to happen next. The song played a few more bars before it went silent.

“Oh my God! Not only are you a shitty kidnapper, you have crap taste in ring tones. That wasn’t even Santana!”

“Screw you, lady. That was Fleetwood Mac. That is a classic. God damn it, stop throwing things at me!”

Sherlock decided enough was enough, they rushed into the room to find Sebastian Moran on his arse, backed into a corner. Molly stood over him, chest heaving with deep, angry breaths. She had a pencil cup in her hand, arm drawn back in preparation to fling it at Sebastian. Jim bent down and picked up the gun that must have been dropped during the scuffle.

“Molly?” Sherlock called her name as he tried to approach her with both hands up in the universal sign for ‘I come in peace, please don’t thrown anything at my head’.

“Sherlock? Jim? Jim!” Molly gasped. “But, you’re dead!”

“Consider me a ghost, luv.” He pointed the gun in Sebastian’s direction. “I’ll just get what I came for, and be out of your way. Always nice to see you again, Molly. Perhaps I’ll stop by for another one of your tortes someday. I was telling Sherlock they are to die for. Maybe you should bake one for Eurus, butter up the future sister-in-law a bit.”

“Uh. I, uh, what?” Molly looked to Sherlock for an explanation.

Sebastian’s mobile started to vibrate on the desk, then ‘Black Magic Woman’ began to play once more.

“Speak of the psychopath.” Jim nodded toward the phone. “That is my cue to leave.” He wiggled the gun in Sebastian’s direction. Sebastian got up, and glared at Molly as he pushed past her. She tossed the pencil cup at his head, and it bounced of with a metallic ping.

Sebastian stomped toward the door, hand held up to the tender spot on his forehead. “She’s as nuts as the other one. Bunch of crazies. You’re all a bunch of crazy people!” Molly reached for the stapler on the desk and he squeaked as he darted out of the room.

Jim hung back just long enough to say, “Give Eurus my love. Ta.”

Sherlock picked up the phone and answered it. “Hello, sis. I’m afraid you caught us at a bad time. We were just on our way out.”

He heard Eurus laugh. “I saw. Wave for the camera, Sherlock. Tell your Molly I think I’m beginning to like her. She’s fun to play with.”

And then the call disconnected.

#darnedchild writes #sherlolly

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iwatchedyougoinghomeeveryday · 3 years

Text

Gonna make good use of Tumblr and write a post about my trauma!!!

tw: death, depression

It’s 3:00 am and I’m just gonna dive in... there’s no denying that everyone has had a difficult year and in a way that makes me feel better and worse? Even though I wish I could take away everyone’s pain... better because I know people can relate. Worse because I feel guilty when I go on and on in my head about the unfairness of it all when I know others are dealing with things far more overwhelming and traumatic. Still... these past two years have made me feel numb in a way I could not have predicted.

I never, ever wanted time to move forward. As a child I questioned why everyone wanted to grow up and resisted the changes in my life. I felt wiser and also lonelier with the perspective that time passing meant taking steps closer to an inevitable end. I never thought about myself - I was fortunate enough to not have to question my own mortality - but I worried endlessly about my loved ones. I felt like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop - everyone around me was well and I had never experienced major loss before. Things had to end. So while everyone was actually healthy and present, I was spending time panicking about the future. Worrying that it would be the last time I saw somebody or picturing the day when I got that big, bad news. Sometimes it was too painful to even imagine - I simply couldn’t picture it - but I’d torment myself with the thought anyway.

All of this to say... I’ve been so nihilistic. That might be dramatic, but it’s how I’ve felt, especially since I entered this depression episode seven years ago. I don’t think it was a coincidence that my depression got bad my junior year in high school when everyone was excitedly planning for the future. I didn’t care about school or jobs or anything superficial - I just cared about my family being alive. And couldn’t everyone see how pointless the other stuff was? It was a distraction, or worse, an endless routine with a predictable end. I hated it.

I haven’t done any of that stuff - there’s nothing I want from the future. I think if I had a dream or passion, I would accept it as a distraction, a goal to alleviate some of that darkness. But I genuinely don’t want anything. And that’s a whole other story, but it’s where I’ve been stuck these past five years - telling myself that if my family was secure and my mental health was better, then the rest would fall into place. That never happened - the other shoe dropped.

Here was my family: my mother, my sister, my grandmother and grandfather, my aunt, my four cats. Those were my people - my tiny circle of people that I held closely. A few months out of school... I found out one of my cats had cancer. I got him when I was seven. (I pretty much got all my cats when I was seven/eight.) He was my best friend and, after eight months, I lost him. And that broke me a bit. I drove myself crazy that year (2016) with worry and my OCD - that was my worst year with anxiety. I spent so much energy caring for him then suddenly... nothing. I feel like I can’t properly express how much my cats meant to me. They were all my best friends, really. They were always there and I understood them so deeply and I felt so responsible for them - it was unwavering. When I was ten, and dealing with my aforementioned fear of death, I remember thinking that they were “it” for me - they would be gone one day but I vowed they were the only pets I was ever going to have. It was the only thing that was right and fair.

Flashforward a year and half from my cat dying... my aunt’s boyfriend died from a heart attack. Sudden, no warning - just get the call that he’s gone. And even though it wasn’t official, he was like an uncle to my sister and I. He’d been in our lives for over ten years. It was difficult to categorize or even comprehend this loss. But I consider this the start of everything going to heck. Something happened at the end of 2018 that I can’t even talk about because it’s too painful and sensitive, but it was one more major trauma.

Early 2019... another one of my cats died from a random attack. We let him onto our back porch for the morning - we have a fenced backyard and he just liked to sit on the porch - and there was a stray cat that had gotten inside and attacked him. Just like that, two days later, he was gone. Once again having to accept a sudden and senseless death. Leading to August 2019, two days after my birthday, my grandfather fell from his porch steps, hit his head, and died. Just like that. Nobody got to even say goodbye or see him because my grandmother was visiting my mother, sister, and I for my birthday. Only took us two hours to drive there and in that time he was gone. Two hours to worry about my grandfather, who was in great health, then just accepting that he was dead. This was the biggest, most awful thing to happen to my family. I still haven’t coped with it.

Didn’t even mention that in 2018 I found out that another one of my cats had kidney disease. He was second closest to me when my other cat was alive, but in his absence, my bond with him was stronger than I had with any of my cats. Stronger than I had with most people, tbh. He was needy and around me 24/7 - he really only loved me. And I couldn’t fathom losing him. There were ups-and-downs, but he was doing good with his fluid treatments. Then November 2019, because I was so intuitive with him, I got the feeling that he was getting sick and for real this time. He was only eating just a little bit less than usual, but I knew. Just a look in his eye... I knew. And this really sent me on the deep end. November 2019 my depression deepened when I realized that a year from that date, I might not have my two cats, or my grandmother, or who knows who else. This was not some faraway fear - this was real. I was actually living in the time that I feared. I was there. So badly I wished 2020 didn’t have to exist. (God, if I only knew what was to come.)

I was a basket case November and December as I watched my cat slowly get worse. On top of this, my mom was feeling ill and she went to the doctor several times with no explanation for her pain. That sickened me - I had pictured losing so many people, but I couldn’t picture losing my mom. It was too big, too life-shattering. She was superwoman, invincible. And now I had to consider that, too. She thankfully started feeling better, but my cat got worse. I was lucky if I got any sleep or ate anything during last January. At the end of the month he passed away and, out of everything I have experienced, that destroyed me the most. He was like my child - I was supposed to protect him. And instead I watched him suffer. I’ve now lost people close to me and I know it sounds bad, but losing my cat was the worst.

But guess what - trauma is not over! Exactly one month from my cat dying... I witnessed a fatal car accident. Directly in front of me. Never even seen an accident before - not even a fender bender - and this one was fatal. It was unnerving because the actual collision didn’t seem that bad, but suddenly there was an unconscious old woman laying in the road. I didn’t see it happen - thank God - but I’m assuming she was ejected from her car because she was not wearing a seatbelt. I called 911 - first time doing that, too - and watched as she lay there and all I could think was that I was on the opposite side of what happened with my grandfather, six months ago. He had a fatal head injury and we got the call and got to the hospital to get the news that he died. Some family was going to have that same experience. That messed me up. In so many ways. I don’t have my license because I am scared of driving - now I’m scared to ride in cars. I had nightmares for months. This accident never made the news, which actually made me angry because it felt like something that happened and was immediately forgotten about. I obsessively wondered about the family and victim. The accident happened at the entrance to the library - my one safe place. I volunteered there every week before covid. I only got the chance to go two times before everything shut down in March, but I had to drive by the place where it happened and when I was in the library I tensed and panicked every time I heard an ambulance. It was awful.

July 2020 - I lost the last of my kitties. Fifteen years of taking care of them, loving them... I really didn’t know how to exist without them. We didn’t have any closure on this cat’s death, either. Never knew exactly what was wrong. But I was so numb at this point - my whole view shifted. I just didn’t want anyone to suffer anymore. So losing her was numbing - she was gone, but she didn’t suffer like my last kitty. Numb numb numb numb numb.

Then Thanksgiving... this news would’ve absolutely destroyed me a few years ago. Right now I can’t comprehend it. I’ve been expecting the worst anyway. We found out my grandmother has cancer and is already in the final stages. That damn theme again... no warning. She went into the hospital for another reason, leaves learning that she has three cancerous areas. And I see her at Thanksgiving and all hope is gone... I see the effect on her. Because I’m robotically dealing with grief now, I tell myself that I don’t expect her to live to 2021. I saw her end of October - she seemed fine. If she can go from fine to awful in three weeks, then I expect the same for her passing. And it is so selfish, but I do not want to see it. I do not want her to get any worse. She had a biopsy and she gets results tomorrow. I already know it will be the worst case scenario. Everyone, especially now, says to appreciate the small things, make the moments matter because you don’t know how many you have left. BS. I just want it to be over. I don’t want the in-between - there’s nothing to appreciate. Losing my grandmother... that’s unfathomable. I love everyone in my family, but it’s always been me, my mom, my sister, and my grandmother who has been the closest. My family couldn’t function without my grandfather. I don’t know how we go on without my grandmother. It doesn’t matter what news she gets from the doctor tomorrow. One month is the timeframe I am giving myself. It is cold and calculating to think, but that’s what I expect. And I’m so used to people dying suddenly... there’s nothing romantic about last moments and words. I don’t want them. Maybe I’d regret that in the future, but right now, it’s how I cope.

This is not even mentioning that my mother has always had SO much stress and trauma in her own life and this past year I have noticed it take a huge toll on her. I’m worried about her health - physically and mentally. She’s seemed different this year - I can’t blame her, but I don’t know what to do. And my sister’s mental health is always so fragile, and her relationship with my mother is awful - I feel like I’ve lost them, too. It’s not hopeless, but I’ve been trying to fix things and they don’t improve. And I know my grandmother’s passing will affect them most of all - she’s my mother’s mother, after all, and my sister has always loved my grandmother the most. She has unconditional love for her, a love I wish she extended to us but I was always glad she had that relationship with my grandmother. We’re going to be completely broken.

So now I’m submerged in that future - I’ve lost all four of my cats, my grandfather, my grandmother soon. My mom and sister are all I’ve got, and that would be reassurance if I wasn’t so worried about them, too. If sixteen-year-old me couldn’t see a favorable future... you can imagine how helpless I feel now.

#ma post #life #my cats #i don't even want to tag my old tags i remember using because it will hurt to go back and see the posts #this was a really long depressing post but i just wanted to write everything out #since tomorrow is going to hurt like hell #i don't even want to go to sleep because that means i will have to wake up #that's emo but true #well #i'm glad i'm allowing myself to be truly depressing on my blog #back in high school i just masqueraded it as smaller problems #like school stuff getting me down #no savanah you are depressed!!

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