#also my apologies to the agent still waiting on this full

[themswritinwords]

Currently doing a final proofread, and by "doing a final proofread" I mean I'm 200 pages deep in an unsearchable PDF of an owners manual for a car from the 90s that I've never owned, desperately trying to verify how one would open the little door that leads to the gas cap.

Is it relevant to the plot? Nope. Is it even relevant to the action happening in the scene? Nope. It's exactly one line that serves as a transition. But I know-- I just know-- that if it's wrong, the Car People will find it and they will eat me alive for it.

I also know I'm not the only one. So lay em on me, fellow writeblrs: What bizarre, weirdly specific, ultra-niche research are we doing for our WIPs?

[di-42]

Well, what a good month for reading August has been! A few days off can make such a difference!

As always I'll try and tag the writers whose Tumblr username I know, so they know they are loved!

If your fiction is on this recommendation list and you'd rather I take it off the list, or if you know a writer who's on this list would rather not be, please let me know and I'll remove their fiction immediately.

I have really enjoyed these fictions, including not one but two Christmas stories. In August. Because, why not? i hope you'll love them too!

August's Awesome Fictions

WIPs:

Wavelengths & Frequencies by imposterssyndrome @maaikeatthefullmoon and shades_of_eccles_cakes @shadesofecclescakes (rated E, chapters 5/?)

I'm absolutely loving this enemies-to-lovers human AU where Crowley and Aziraphale are radio DJs. They loathe each other. They also can't stop thinking about each other! Of course they end up working for the same media corporation. The humour in this story is sharp and clever, and the characterisation is excellent! It's updated every Monday and honestly the only problem I have with this story is that I receive the notification email on a Monday morning and need to wait until at least the end of the working day to dive in!

You're The Bad Guys by Nebz_AlphaCentauri @alphacentaurinebula(rated E, chapters 8/?)

Human AU set in the Cold War. Aziraphale is an MI6 agent, Crowley is a KGB agent. They're assigned to the same mission in Berlin by their respective head offices. This story is full of suspense! I love the characterisation of our heroes and each chapter leaves me wanting for more! Updated every Friday.

My own WIP And I Did (rated E, chapters 6/13)

A post season 2 fiction where Aziraphale is Supreme Archangel and Crowley is Grand Duke Of Hell.

In my not-a-summary I say that this is a story about faith, about love, and about choices. Which is true. But I have come to think of it also as my apology dance to Crowley. My headcanon about Aziraphale has always been clear and my first fiction was me sharing that headcanon basically. I wasn't as sure about what Crowley would do after the final 15 as I was about what Aziraphale’s motives were. I didn't see Crowley drinking himself oblivious or taking a road of self destruction. But I didn't know what he would do. So I skipped that part and started that fiction from after the failed second coming, but still I didn't think I did Crowley justice. Then it hit me, and that was when I started writing And I Did. I knew what Crowley would do. Crowley would do what Crowley does. And what does Crowley do best? This is a story about faith, about love, and about choices. I try to update every weekend, but I might not be as reliable as I’d like!

Complete stories:

The Truth About Plants & Queen by ShortInsomniac98 (rated E, 11353 words)

Human AU where Crowley hosts a night radio program and Aziraphale calls in. I love how their relationship develops in this story and I loved to see a friendly side of Gabriel! (And I mean Gabriel!)

The Anon Before Christmas by @foolishlovers (rated E, 66732 words)

Ah. Where to begin. Every now and then, you read a fiction that just makes you feel at home. Makes you feel like you’re in safe hands. Like you’re in for a real treat. This absolute gem has very quickly become my favourite human AU. For several reasons.  The characterisation of the two main characters is absolutely spot on. I could hear Crowley talking in DT’s Crowley voice and see him moving in DT’s Crowley way, and I could hear Aziraphale talking in MS’s Aziraphale voice and see him moving in MS’s Aziraphale way. The pace of the development of their relationship from enemies to lovers is just perfect. It’s told from Crowley’s POV and you can see how his perspective changes as the story progresses, but the writer is so good that Aziraphale’s change of perspective shows perfectly through Crowley’s POV too. The array of side characters is so good that it actually pains me to call them side characters. I wrote in one of my comments to the fiction that I will forever adore this story’s Bee, and I meant it, but Newt and Ana are equally fantastic (and I loved the other cameos too!). Also, and this is especially important to me, this story is as much a love story between Crowley and Aziraphale as it is a story of true friendship among all the characters. They look after each other, they have each other’s back, they support each other. I am so lucky and privileged to be able to see myself represented in that aspect of the story. Last but not least, this fiction doesn't overstay its welcome one bit. You are happy about how everyone ended up, but still could read more. It’s like you are part of the gang and want to know what your friends are up to. Everything in this story was perfect. I realise I haven’t mentioned what the plot is about, but hopefully by now you might want to find out for yourself!

Planes, Trains & The Apocalypse by walking_contradiction42 (rated teen, 32382 words)

Human AU where Crowley and Aziraphale meet on a plane on their way to Tadfield (via London) for Christmas. Crowley can't stand Aziraphale and only wants as uneventful a journey home as possible. Ha! 

I understand there’s a film with a similar title, you definitely don't need to have watched the film in order to enjoy this lovely fiction. 

The Bookseller And The Garden by oceantears (rated teen, 13668 words)

Fluff, fluff, fluff! Canon divergent fiction where Crowley is a demon stationed on earth, Aziraphale is an angel stationed on earth, but they have never met until present day. There's no end of the world in sight, only an angel and a demon falling in love and not knowing how to break it to the other that they're not human. I laughed all the way through.

After The End (part one of Nice And Ominous: A Reluctant Eschatology Of The Second Attempt) by beardo @e-rated-beardo (rated teen, 26086 words)

Crowley learns to cope after Aziraphale goes to heaven, with a little help.from his friends. And from the Bentley. I love the writer’s humour and the conversations between Crowley and the Bentley are hilarious.

Series:

Aziraphale’s Diaries by azzfell, @fellshish

This series is hilarious, warm and fluffy. So far there are four stories, all consisting in, yes you guessed it, Aziraphale’s diary entries. In the first story, Empirical study on the principles of snake care (rated teen, 2048 words), Aziraphale suddenly realises he hasn’t paid enough attention to Crowley snake-y needs. He decides he wants to make up for it. Hilarity ensues. Put your cup of tea down before day 6, trust me. In Experiments of an angel who has read entirely too much fanfic (rated teen, 3064 words), Aziraphale discovers fanfiction shipping him and Crowley and decides he wants to test some of the tropes on the demon. Reading Crowley’s reactions through Aziraphale’s POV lens will make you feel warm inside. Drink down at day 10. In How to be a demon: a brief history of the Arrangement (rated teen, 2663 words), Aziraphale recounts some of the temptations he’d had to do during the years, to honour the arrangement with Crowley. The last entry will make you melt. In Adventures of a mystery shopper in the bookshop (rated teen, 3090 words), Aziraphale is worried that Crowley is getting bored, so he wants to help by giving him something to do. Peeps, for this one don’t even pick your drink up. You’ll end up spitting it all over your laptop/phone/tablet.

One shots:

Keep Digging by Appleseeds (rated teen7068 words)

Human AU. Crowley and Aziraphale work in the same office and Crowley is trying to gather the courage to ask Aziraphale out, only to get cold feet at the last moment. In order to try and save his face, he needs to do what the title says. I howled with laughter. Just put down whatever you’re doing and go read this right now. It’s unbelievably hilarious.

But It’s Pretty by Supergeek21 (rated E, 2544 words)

Aziraphale and Crowley have a conversation on why the Bentley is yellow and why the walls are yellow. Things get deliciously spicy.

You've Got Kudos by curtaincall (rated M, 4128 words)

Aziraphale and Crowley both write Good Omens fanfiction on Ao3. Crowley’s stories are sweet and romantic. Aziraphale’s stories are smutty and spicy. They love each other's stories without knowing who the writer is. This fiction was a treat!

The Corset by smitten_obviously @sabine-smitten-obviously (rated G, 1248 words)

A funny and sweet account of that time in the 17th century when Aziraphale decided to wear a corset. I really loved how sweet Crowley is here, without overdoing it a bit! A little gem.

My own little one shot, Angel! Angel! They're At It Again! (rated M, 5566 words)

It's the year 2030. The world never ended. Aziraphale and Crowley are living happily and safely together as a married couple. Everything would be well, if it wasn't that lately Aziraphale has been a bit busy. A bit distracted. Now, Crowley can't have that, can he? He seeks the advice of his girlfriends, who unwittingly give him an idea on how to liven up his marriage. A fluffy and hopefully funny way to the South Downs cottage.

Poems:

To Wish To Fall by ArchangelRemiel @sassysnakedemon

A lovely and sweet poem that explores different ways of falling.

The Devil's Red Hair by lickthecowhappy

I really loved this very emotional poem! Aziraphale has a little souvenir helping him cope in heaven.

[factual-fantasy]

28 asks! Thanks yall! :)) 🦶

My last doctors appointment came up with nothing. Onto the next one in a few weeks...

Oh good idea-- :00

Dink already has a friend! His name is Doink! :)

@stupid-thatsme

I usually watch YouTube or listen to music while I draw. I feel like it helps me draw faster and keeps me focused somehow.. XDD And no one wants to be alone with their thoughts lets be real-

@coolguyinternet

<XD I'll have to think about that one-

1: I knew what was coming for me in Tales from Ba Sing Se. But it still hurt. :(((

1: At first I don't think I liked Mei very much <XDD But after seeing her turn around at the end of the show?? I really like her :))

There's a lot of moments that were sweet and sad. But Zuko's apology to Iroh, and Toph and Sokka's talk about Katara's motherly nature were amongst the sweetest. And Aang going avatar mode when loosing Appa and being comforted by Katara has to be the saddest I can remember.. 🥺🥺🥺

The ending overall just felt like it came too soon, I wish the show was longer..

@mrplants-world

You're gonna have to be a liiiitle more specific- 😅

(Aang holding Appa art in question)

Do people really ask that?? Man.. smh.. smh.. 😔😔

That sounds like something they'd do! :DD

:DDD Thank you! I'm glad you like my artwork!! :))))

@the-woomyverse

XDDD Oh man that's some fantastic angst potential

(Evil Grim and V post in question)

An asker in this post described what I imagine they'd be like really well! :00

And yes! The evil versions are all shiny but evil Anastasia (Kricketot) is normal colors XD

I didn't intend to have Miraidon around, no.. 😅

And I don't have the DLC, so I am unfamiliar with Ogerpon.. <:0

@necromicon42

The boo mushroom isn't intended to be in my AU.. but the boomerang and cloud flower could be included :00 I imagine they'd be/look a lot different though..

The boomerang flower might not be a full on powerup.. I might make it this big flower that once it grows its oddly shaped petals fall off and harden like wood. Leaving behind these perfect flat boomerangs. I can imagine Mario and Luigi just learning how to throw the boomerangs instead of absorbing a powerup. This would also explain how boomerang bros got their boomerangs. They throw the same dried up petals that the bros throw-

The cloud flower might just be changed into some king of... wispy thing and the bros can collect. Instead of a flower. Maybe a literal cloud? I'm not sure.. but I can see it existing :00

@spinelfan11

I believe so! XD Thank you! :)

(Refencing this post and this post)

<XD No one is safe from the bootleg curse!

<XD No no, my AU was made before the movie came out. Nothing from the movie applies to my AU- including the Vanessa daughter thing <XDD

Well lets see,

1: I think Gravity Falls and Pixars cars was very inspirational to me! :0

2: My favorite song changes from day to day,, but currently I really like Lights by Ellie Goulding! :))

3: When I understood it, I think I liked math! :))

4: And sorry! But drawing suggestions are now closed 😅

@anikakitty11

Shroomie!! :DDD

@untitled-7613

I wouldn't trust them personally- 😅😅

@khoiazo

XDD The only appropriate response to evil Grim and V honestly-

@xxanxious-anxietyxx

:000 WAIT REALLY??? THANKO YOU!! :DDD

@hope0koi

They doin good! I've been meaning to draw them more often <XDD

@minophlia

Ah man.. this is very bitter sweet. I'm glad you found me here and that you like what I make. But its also horrible to hear that you found me through stolen artwork that I worked so hard on..

@katpotato55 (In response to this post)

:DD THANK YOU SO MUCH!! :)))

@im-nice-but-i-dont-like-you

XDD Well hey it made me laugh too! Also thank you! :))

@ink-machine-kidd

I'm afraid I wouldn't know what to do for that..😅I'm not familiar with Digimon.. 🥺 Thank you for the suggestion though! :00

@agent-cakeshroom

XDD Thank you!! And yes! I DO love sky! :DD Been playing ever since season of dreams back in 2021 💪💪💪

[betterbooktitles]

I had placed a stack of albums on the counter of a tiny strip mall record shop when my smartest writer friend called me out of the blue to tell me I should “always have a mistress.”

Relax. She meant a metaphorical mistress. That is, a writing project on the side. You have your main squeeze (a novel or a script) but then you flirt with the idea of writing a YA Romance or a Thriller or (god forbid) poetry. You need something to write that feels like a break from your “Big Project.”

I was staring at the cover of Tears for Fears’ Songs From The Big Chair, imagining the person I would be once I heard “Head Over Heels” on vinyl when my phone rang. I only had the ringer on because I was waiting for a potential call from a casting director. A certain late-night show sent out a casting notice for “shirtless man” and I, without any shame, turned on the lights in my wife’s office and had her take a few shots with my phone. I had the ringer on in case a stranger got my (half) nudes in an email, and said “That’s it! Get me that torso!” I’m sorry to say, enough time has passed without a call that you will not be seeing my chest on TV any time soon. Usually, my phone remains on silent when I’m out in the world. It also remains on silent when I’m at home because I’m staring at it all day anyway. Who needs to bring noise into that equation? If you call, I’ll see it.

Between the tone of her voice and the occasional swoosh of a car going by, I could tell my friend was driving and had me on speakerphone. She was on her way to lunch with someone on the business/agency side of Entertainment, heading to a mix of pleasurable banter over food with a friend but also a business-minded networking session with someone she hadn’t seen in 6 months. This call, pleasurable to me but in retrospect a bit of business since we talked instantly and almost entirely about work for 20 minutes, was eerily fortuitous. It was like she knew I was writing this week about work and relationships.

“You have the mistress project because it makes you feel young,” she said, telling me about her decision to write 50 pages of a Romance novel. “The problem is that you think ‘Maybe I should leave my wife for this younger project.’” She had submitted the first chunk of her frivolous manuscript to an agent, and, to her horror, the agent loved it. Now she has to live with it for a while. She has to explain to her previous project that they are either in a polyamorous marriage now or about to enter a trial separation. Plus, she had to see if the mistress project was wife material or if she’d fall into the same patterns as her previous relationship. OK. We get the metaphor.

“I’m afraid my new mistress is buying dollar records,” I said, watching the traffic go by, sipping from a lid-off paper cup full of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee that, between the time I’d spent looking at records and chatting in the parking lot, had turned cold. I felt the urge to rush back into the store and apologize to Timmy the manager for stepping out. I worried he’d already re-shelved my copy of The Go-Go’s Beauty And The Beat or that someone had seen the Tears For Fears on the top of “my” unpurchased heap and bought it for himself. This shopping trip was supposed to be an Artist Date (I guess the metaphor is still going), a weekly outing you do solo to engage with your Muse before journalling about it because a book called The Artist’s Way says it’s the only way to remain creative. You woo the Muse by engaging with art alone. Typically, I’d go to a museum or a movie by myself for my Artist Date but I’d had a record player for over 2 months and had only amassed a measly hundred-plus albums in my house so far. My next Artist Date will be a trip to IKEA to buy a shelf to hold more.

“No, Dan.” My brilliant friend said, “Replacing your main project with records or books is like saying you’re not going to have a mistress and instead get into sex dolls. You need a creative project.”

Read the rest of the essay here.

[l0velyrand0m]

Old Soul - The First Avenger

This is the second chapter for my captain america/bucky barnes fic (full story on wattpad, l0velyrand0m). Posting the second chapter to see if i get any interest, if so i'll continue posting, but the main story is linked below.

The first chapter is also pinned at the top of my blog <3

"Hey there, grumpy," Bucky said, finally catching up to Eliza as she strided confidently down the street. "Mind if I walk with you?"

"Screw you, Bucky," she retorted in reference to the "grumpy" comment. She wasn't grumpy, she was pissed off. And she had every right to be.

"Maybe later," he replied, making her scoff. "Look, remember earlier when I said you were twenty-four? So he couldn't control you? Same goes for him."

"But I'm protecting him, Bucky," she strained, tears threatening her eyes. She sucked in a deep breath. Elizabeth Rogers didn't cry. "There's a difference. He's gonna get himself killed."

And then it hit him. Why Eliza had been so adamant about Steve's enlisting. About his lies. About his sacrifice. She was scared to lose him like she'd lost the rest of her family. And to an understandable extent - she would be alone.

"Lizzy, look," Bucky said softly, taking her hand in his. "It's gonna be okay. I swear to you. They're not gonna take him. He's not physically capable of doing that. But if you don't take this position. You're gonna regret it."

"I know," she sighed. "He'd be mad-"

"No, Liz," Bucky stopped her. "He's gonna be so proud of you."

Eliza raised her head and looked at Bucky in the eyes. Her own brimmed with hot tears that threatened to spill. Her lip trembled.

Bucky took her in his arms as she let out a small sob. "I can't lose him too. I can't lose either of you."

"Neither of us are going anywhere, doll. You gotta believe in us."

•••

"Welcome to camp, Miss Rogers. I'm Chester Phillips," the colonel said as he took Eliza's hand, and shook it firmly.

"It's an honor, Colonel," she replied.

"This is Agent Peggy Carter, she's here to supervise the division."

"Basically, I'm your boss," she said with a genuine smile. Her accent caught Eliza off guard at first, but it was certainly nice for the ears. "But somehow I think you'll be the only other competent person in this camp."

The Colonel walked away, leaving Peggy and Eliza to walk to the different tents.

"As the division's mobile nurse, you'll hang around me and take care of the boys as you see fit," Peggy explained, handing Eliza a clipboard with some personal files on all the soldiers.

The two girls came up on a line of soldiers waiting for their orders.

"Recruits, attention!" Peggy yelled, grabbing everyone's attention. "Gentlemen, I'm Peggy Carter. I supervise all operations for this division."

"What's with the accent, Queen Victoria?" one of the men shouted, a sly smirk on his mouth. "I thought I was signing up for the U.S. Army."

"What's your name, soldier?" Peggy requested, calling out the special soul in the crowd, this made Eliza snicker quietly. She'd gathered enough information on Peggy in the few minutes she'd been talking with her to know what was going to happen to the guy.

"Gilmore Hodge, your majesty," he said sarcastically.

"Step forward, Hodge," Peggy instructed. And he did so, smirking. "Put your right foot forward."

"Hmm," he hummed. "We gonna wrassle? 'Cause I got a few moves I know you'll like."

Peggy punches Hodge hard in the face, causing him to physically inch back a couple paces, clutching his nose.

"Agent Carter," Colonel Phillips says as he drives up.

"Colonel Phillips," she greeted.

"I see you're breaking in the candidates. That's good!" he turned to Hodge, who was still very much in shock from Peggy's surprise introduction. "Get your ass up out of that dirt and stand in that line at attention 'til somebody comes tells you what to do."

"Yes sir," Hodge apologizes quickly, running back into line.

Phillips now turned his attention to the recruits in line. "General Patton has said that wars are fought with weapons, but they are won by men. We are going to win this war because we have the best men..." Phillips trailed off as he noticed one of the men were shorter, much more frail looking than the rest. Eliza felt a pit grow in her stomach as she looked down at her clipboard and sifted through the pages.

Steven Grant Rogers

Brooklyn, New York

07/04/1918

Her head shot back up as she scowled at her brother, making dead eye contact as Phillips spoke. He finally took notice, cringing as she burned a hole in his head with her angry gaze.

"But every army starts with one man," Phillips says, catching Eliza's attention again. "By the end of the week, we will choose that man. He will be the first in a new breed of Super Soldiers."

•••

"Are you crazy?!" Eliza reprimands as she follows Steve to his barracks. "What the- What did I tell you? Did that whole angry outburst mean nothing to you Steve?"

"It meant you don't believe in me."

"Oh for Christ's sake, stop doing this. Stop putting words in my mouth. You're being very unreasonable right now."

"Sometimes I wish you would swear, so I could tell how you really felt."

"Oh trust me, I'd get us both kicked out of this camp if I was swearing right now. I can't believe you!"

"I don't wanna hear this."

"Well you're gonna!"

"Rogers!"

"What?" the twins said in unison as they turned to look at Peggy Carter.

"Agent Carter, I apologize," Eliza spoke quickly.

"Me too," Steve added.

"Okay.. Elizabeth, come with me. You.. off to wherever you need to be. Bye now," Peggy waved him off. "What was that?"

"Nothing. Unreasonable patient," she shrugged.

"I can tell the Colonel to have him sent-"

"No! Well..." Eliza had to think about her next words very carefully. Or there was a good chance she wouldn't be speaking to her brother any time soon, and not just because he was now in the military. "No. It's fine. I'll speak with Erskine about it later. What did you need?"

"Hodge is in the infirmary and requests that you look at his nose," Peggy said with a roll of her eyes. "He's fine, I didn't punch him that hard."

Eliza chuckled, "Yeah, I'm sure. I'll be over there as soon as I can. Thank you."

"No problem," she replied. "We leave in about fifteen for a bit of running practice for the men. You have to come to make sure none of them keel over and die."

"One of em might," Eliza muttered bitterly.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing. Gotta go attend to the crybaby, I'll see you in ten."

Eliza rushed to the infirmary tent, ducking through the opening to see Hodge complaining to one of her assistant nurses about his nose and the tiny trickle of blood that trailed down his upper lip.

"Gilmore Hodge, my pleasure," Eliza strained. Ever since his little theatrical performance, she decided she didn't much care for Hodge.

"How-do-ya-do, doll?"

The term felt weird hearing it from his mouth. The last person to call her that was Bucky. Whom she was beginning to miss ever since he left after their walk only just about a week ago.

"It's Nurse Rogers, for you, Hodge. Please," she told him.

"How about Lizzy? Liz?"

"Absolutely not. We're done here. Shut your mouth before I get Phillips to send you home. Got it?"

"Spunky. I love it. We'll talk soon, Liz," he says as he got up and walked out.

She was livid with the man. The audacity to take her name. Her nickname from Bucky, and drag it around so carelessly. Somehow, it hurt much more than she expected it to. Bucky was her best friend, and basically an older brother to the two. When he told her not to let anyone call her any derivative of "Liz" or "Lizzy" back when he coined the nickname in the first place... it made her want to punch Hodge. Right where Peggy had before.

But she didn't have time to chase him down just to scold him. He'd enjoy that. And she wasn't going to give him the time of day.

She took in a deep breath, packed her kit, and headed towards Peggy in the jeep next to the starting point of the recruit's run.

"So how was Hodge?" Peggy asked. "Dream man?"

"I'll kill him myself if he doesn't do so in the trench," Eliza chided.

"Oh damn," Peggy smiled. "I love your attitude. I can tell how well working with you is gonna go."

Eliza smiled at Peggy with a feeling of worth.

This was the start of a wonderful friendship.

•••

"That flag means we're only at the halfway point," Sergeant Duffy explained, his voice extremely loud. Eliza wondered how his vocal cords still worked at this rate. "First man to bring it to me gets a ride back with Agent Carter. Move, move!"

Eliza sighed. "Don't worry," Peggy said, leaning over so she was heard. "No one's come close to getting that flag in 17 years I've heard. No one's getting a ride back with us."

"Rogers! I said fall in!" Sergeant Duffy yelled. Eliza whipped her head around to see her brother pull a pin at the bottom of the pole. The pole toppled over, the flag brushing against the ground about seven feet from him.

He strolled over, unhooked the flag, and handed it to Sergeant Duffy (who looked as if he'd seen a ghost) with a small "Thank you, sir". He climbed in the car and sat on the other side of Peggy, who was grinning uncontrollably and watching the Sergeant's reaction with glee.

The others continued running off, and the car drove away.

"Smartass," Eliza mumbled. Steve caught her word however, and his face dropped. He leaned back in the seat and let his hands fall in his lap.

"Don't let her get to you. She doesn't like anyone in this division," Peggy told him. "That was rather clever of you."

"Thank you, ma'am, but I don't think that's why she's upset with me."

[xoxolaw]

frostbite, 008

- - - -

THE PREPARATION FOR THE BANQUET 

was going on at full speed, everyone made sure that every single thing was perfect and who did this everyone contain? The fatui... the people who take up most of Snezhnaya's population and also the only people who actually have love and respect for their dear archon because unlike them... the normal citizens couldn't care less about the Tsaritsa. 

Their feeling for their archon was the same as what their archon felt for them. Even little kids who looked up to her were shut down by their parents. "The Tsaritsa's banquet is going to be so huge!!" One of the kids exclaimed and jumped with excitement. "What all things do you think they will have? Will we have a nice time?!" One of the other kids asked only to be faced with the harsh reality by his older sibling who glared at the palace from a distance "We by no means can even step foot there unless you become one of their agents and get ready to give up on your life for her. You will never even see her face so kill that excitement of yours. It's useless." 

The other two kids showed their sadness and glanced one last time at the palace before turning around and bumping into someone with a larger frame than them. "AH- Sorry!" They apologized and looked at the person they bumped into unknowingly and the person's attire was enough for them to step back and look at each other with fear. 

The oldest of the three stepped forward while the other two hid behind him and peeked from the sides. "They- They didn't bump into you on purpose! Don't harm them! Lady Harbinger." 

"Yes! We are sorry!" The other two joined in. 

The harbinger standing in front of them extended her arm making the boy shut his eyes in fear and wait for what came next but to his surprise her hand rested on his head, gently ruffling his hair which made him warm up and let go of whatever fear he had. He slowly opened his eyes and looked at her smiling at him warmly. "You don't need to be scared. I won't harm you." 

"Are... you new?" One of the younger ones asked and she nodded "Yes! My name's Y/N." 

The younger kids slowly stepped forward but the older one was still skeptical about Y/N because her behaviour wasn't matching his perspective of the harbingers. "Why... are you on this side of the nation?" He asked and she looked around herself and wondered. It was the side that was still underdeveloped and nothing from that region would benefit the fatui unless they were looking for some bait that could be killed off without remorse. 

The fatui's activity was comparatively less on that side so it was majorly unnoticed by everyone. No one cared for the people living there and since it was useless in the eyes of the Tsaritsa... she never batted an eye at them. 

"I just wanted to see what life was like here at Roshi."

"So, have you seen it now?" 

"Well, yeah I have... It's pretty dreadful. I could never imagine living here. So, you have my respect for living a life with such struggles." 

The kids were confused at her words. They didn't sense any fear from her but it was obvious that she was mocking them. "Isn't that because of you?" The older kid asked and glared at her. "You guys don't find this place beneficial so you ignore it and refuse to do anything for the betterment of the citizens living here. Many people die of starvation and we don't even have proper doctors here. The ones in the capital charge the amount that we can't pay even if we work our whole lives. You are the one causing struggles and yet we are not exempted from the taxes. Why are we paying taxes when we aren't even getting any benefits?! You are just ripping us off of our money and then you have the audacity to say that you have 'respect' for us living a life with struggles?!" 

"Alex..." The younger ones mumbled and held his hand in an attempt to calm him down. 

Y/N squatted down to meet his eye level "So your name is Alex... I have to say, you are quite daring."

Alex gulped with fear as the sight of blood splatter from his memory entered his mind. "What was her name again..." Y/N mumbled. "Anna." She said and Alex's eyes widened at the familiar name. Many scenes entered his mind as he trembled with fear. The memory of Anna dying in front of him haunted him. 

"Anna was killed by a harbinger right?"

"S- stop! don't remind me of that time!! JUST GO AWAY!!" 

"Do you remember the face of the harbinger that killed her?" She asked and held his hand while looking straight into his eyes. 

"Why- why are you asking me? I don't want to remember! Anna died for nothing!! She just saw the harbinger killing a man... and she was killed because she witnessed it! It wasn't her fault!"

"Oh yeah? but I didn't ask you for the details... I just asked you what the harbinger looked like." Y/N reminded which left Alex speechless because even he didn't know why he gave her the answer to something she didn't ask. Y/N sighed and stood upright "The Tsaritsa's banquet... You want to attend it right?" She asked while looking at the little ones and they slowly nodded. "I will make sure you attend it." She said and walked away. 

Was awakening a kid's trauma a nice thing to do? Morally, no, that was the worst thing someone could have done to a child and Y/N was well aware of it but did it bother her? Absolutely not. Not even the slightest. 

She walked through the streets of Roshi with the citizens peeking at her from their doors and windows as she kept her eyes straight ahead at the palace far away in the distance. Her attention stayed undiverted until she heard the sound of an eagle. She stopped on her path and looked at the sky, where she spotted a majestic eagle soaring above. Its wings spread wide, casting a shadow on the ground below. Y/N's gaze followed the eagle's flight, and a faint smile curved her lips.

As the eagle descended gracefully, it landed on Y/N's outstretched arm. She stroked its feathers gently, a sense of connection between them. "It's time," she whispered softly to the eagle as if sharing a secret. With a swift motion, she took out the letter from its leg and raised her arm, as the eagle took flight once again.

---

The harbingers were once again present in their meeting area. All out of the region activities were put on halt until the Tsaritsa's birthday banquet but Y/N put forward the letter she had received. 

She gently slid the letter on the table in front of Pierro who took it in his hands and read the contents of the letter. Taking in all the information before looking at Y/N as he raised an eyebrow. "So, you need to go to Fontaine?" He asked and Y/N gave him a nod "That's right. It's the court's notice. Someone filed a case against House of the Hearth. I'm pretty sure it was Baruch but that doesn't matter right now. This was inevitable. House of the Hearth... is basically the fatui agent factory. We have been accused of exploiting the orphans."

"Fatui agent factory, my foot!" Arlecchino screeched. "Only the capable children are given ranks amongst the fatui and on their own free will." 

Y/N looked at Arlecchino and smiled as a question slipped out "And... what about the non-capable ones?" 

"Well Well, since it's a matter of importance. You should get going then." Pulcinella stated. "I would also like Arlecchino to accompany me. While we are there, I might as well complete the rest of the process of documentation with her. And... I also plan on taking the hydro gnosis."

Pantalone chuckled "Can you bring it before the banquet starts?"

"Mr Ninth, don't worry, I'll give the Tsaritsa a present like never before~"

I hope you enjoyed it <3 009 coming soon -> <- 007

[thefisherqueen]

Sherlock Holmes' The Hound of the Baskervilles, chaper XIIII

One of Sherlock Holmes's defects—if, indeed, one may call it a defect—was that he was exceedingly loath to communicate his full plans to any other person until the instant of their fulfilment. Partly it came no doubt from his own masterful nature, which loved to dominate and surprise those who were around him. Partly also from his professional caution, which urged him never to take any chances. The result, however, was very trying for those who were acting as his agents and assistants. I had often suffered under it, but never more so than during that long drive in the darkness. Watson being refreshingly honest here. I can only imagine what Holmes' reaction on reading this was

“You're mighty close about this affair, Mr. Holmes. What's the game now?” “A waiting game.” Yes thanks you Holmes, that tells us exactly nothing

“Very serious, indeed—the one thing upon earth which could have disarranged my plans. He can't be very long, now. It is already ten o'clock. Our success and even his life may depend upon his coming out before the fog is over the path.” Then maybe you shouldn't have used him as live bait, Holmes. Also, how can an Englishman not have expected fog?

I was at Holmes's elbow, and I glanced for an instant at his face. It was pale and exultant, his eyes shining brightly in the moonlight. But suddenly they started forward in a rigid, fixed stare, and his lips parted in amazement. At the same instant Lestrade gave a yell of terror and threw himself face downward upon the ground. I sprang to my feet, my inert hand grasping my pistol, my mind paralyzed by the dreadful shape which had sprung out upon us from the shadows of the fog. A hound it was, an enormous coal-black hound, but not such a hound as mortal eyes have ever seen. Fire burst from its open mouth, its eyes glowed with a smouldering glare, its muzzle and hackles and dewlap were outlined in flickering flame.  There he is, the Hound! Looking... on fire?? I'm suddenly more conviced by one man dying from sheer terror, and the other tumbling down a cliff trying to escape from it. How did Stapleton archieve that look? Or did he found a real hellhound upon that Grimpen mire of his after all? (still more believable than swamps that suck up and kill entire ponies)

“Phosphorus,” I said. “A cunning preparation of it,” said Holmes, sniffing at the dead animal. “There is no smell which might have interfered with his power of scent.  Chemical warfare then, used for murder. Impressive We owe you a deep apology, Sir Henry, for having exposed you to this fright. I was prepared for a hound, but not for such a creature as this. And the fog gave us little time to receive him.”“You have saved my life.” “Having first endangered it. Holmes will gleefully expose people to the greatest danger... but at least he can apologise very pretty, so I guess it's fine? Sir Henry made a near escape of death two nights in a row, the second one very very near... the man must be a wreck

In the centre of this room there was an upright beam, which had been placed at some period as a support for the old worm-eaten baulk of timber which spanned the roof. To this post a figure was tied, so swathed and muffled in the sheets which had been used to secure it that one could not for the moment tell whether it was that of a man or a woman. One towel passed round the throat and was secured at the back of the pillar. Another covered the lower part of the face, and over it two dark eyes—eyes full of grief and shame and a dreadful questioning—stared back at us. In a minute we had torn off the gag, unswathed the bonds, and Mrs. Stapleton sank upon the floor in front of us I was scared that Stapleton would have done something to his wife, when they couldn't see her. At least she's alive

“There is but one place where he can have fled,” she answered. “There is an old tin mine on an island in the heart of the mire. It was there that he kept his hound and there also he had made preparations so that he might have a refuge. That is where he would fly.” Yes, into the Grimpen mire they go! I'll try to not laugh at deadly sucking swamps too much

The fog-bank lay like white wool against the window. Holmes held the lamp towards it. “See,” said he. “No one could find his way into the Grimpen Mire to-night.” She laughed and clapped her hands. Her eyes and teeth gleamed with fierce merriment. “He may find his way in, but never out,” she cried. “How can he see the guiding wands to-night?  I really love the fierce, spiteful women in this book So - no mire tonight? Might want to check up on Henry Baskerville, then, you lot. Leaving him alone out there in that state was a more than a little mean

The story of the Stapletons could no longer be withheld from him, but he took the blow bravely when he learned the truth about the woman whom he had loved. But the shock of the night's adventures had shattered his nerves, and before morning he lay delirious in a high fever, under the care of Dr. Mortimer. The two of them were destined to travel together round the world before Sir Henry had become once more the hale, hearty man that he had been before he became master of that ill-omened estate. Another victim of the victorian brain fever, I see. Highly doubt travelling around the world is a sound cure for that, but oh well, victorians

Rank reeds and lush, slimy water-plants sent an odour of decay and a heavy miasmatic vapour onto our faces, while a false step plunged us more than once thigh-deep into the dark, quivering mire, which shook for yards in soft undulations around our feet. Its tenacious grip plucked at our heels as we walked, and when we sank into it it was as if some malignant hand was tugging us down into those obscene depths, so grim and purposeful was the clutch in which it held us.  Ok I laughed. This is just too funny not to. For reference, I'm only just a week back from an off-trail hiking trip in northern scandinavia, and with this novel in the back of my mind I deliberately tested out all kinds of swamps. The one that I sank deepest in looked something like this:

And it barely went above my ankles. It's not mud either you're walking on, it's moss, mainly spanghum moss I think, which can absorb 25x times its own weight in water. These mosses are not only essential for creating wildlife habitats and holding onto water, they also store vast amounts of CO2. They don't stink either - they only smell a bit peaty I guess, which is a bit like dirt with a hint of dampness and greenery and accidity. Really nothing bad

 If the earth told a true story, then Stapleton never reached that island of refuge towards which he struggled through the fog upon that last night. Somewhere in the heart of the great Grimpen Mire, down in the foul slime of the huge morass which had sucked him in, this cold and cruel-hearted man is forever buried. Guess I should have anticipated this end to Stapleton. I confess I'm a bit dissapointed - I had rather hoped for a final confrontation, and killing the villain in this offhand way feels a little too convient. Also kind of offended for the sake of bogs, lol. Don't believe Grimpen mire propaganda! Bogs are important and diverse and beautiful and would never murder a naturalist :) They are just wet! as we all are sometimes

I did it! Three chapters in one day. Time for a quick dive into the tag and then I really need to sleep :)

[cintasfics]

Speak Now or Forever Hold Your Piece – 1x03

a/n: After coming up with Marley I now struggle to watch Psych without imagining her in the episodes and I needed to get it all out. I also want to give a shoutout to @shenanigans-and-imagines, I love her MASH episode outlines and they are my main inspiration for writing/posting these 💕

Since her first case with the guys involved a high stakes murder/suicide situation, Shawn decides that a fun high-society wedding heist would make a nice little palate cleanser

After kidnapping Gus from work, he swings by Marley’s place to get her

Shawn: Marley! How are you? We were just in the neighbourhood with a new case and thought we’d swing by to pick you up, what do you say? Gus: Oh, so she gets a choice? Shawn: Not now, Gus Marley: Sure, I’ve got the day off so I’d be happy to tag along Shawn, letting himself into her apartment: Great! We’ll fill you in while you get ready Marley: Uh, okay. Hey wait a second, I don’t remember telling you where I lived Shawn, wiggling his eyebrows: Psychic, remember Marley: Right…

She’s greatly amused by his cover as an Interpol agent, ever-impressed by his ability to bullshit and win people over

Gus: You're making keys? Shawn: How else do you expect me to get in the rooms? Gus: Shawn, you can't do that Shawn: Of course I can, I worked at the Hampton Inn for that three-day weekend in Austin when we were 19. I know you remember that. Gus, this is so easy. Try making a key Gus: Shawn: Marley, would you like to make a key? Marley: I would love to make a key, thank you for asking Gus: *begging for strength*

When they’re going door to door checking the suspects rooms, she’s amazed by how quickly Shawn’s mind works

Gus: What are you talking about? We haven't even stepped foot in there Shawn: Gus, do you need the remedial course? Really? Uncle Leo left his wallet on the table. Criminals are sneaky, jaded, suspicious people. They're smart and defensive. This guy has a reason to be trusting. Can we go now? Marley: Unreal Gus: Believe me, it gets old quick Shawn: Why thank you Marley, it’s nice that someone appreciates my talents

She gets her first nickname from Shawn when he introduces them to the bride and groom as ‘Peter Panic and Wendy’

Still new to the whole detective thing, she’s taken aback by finding the body in the dumbwaiter and Shawn’s phone ringing just about gives her a heart attack

While Lassiter is dragging Shawn away from the kitchen, intent on kicking him out of the hotel, Marley and Juliet exchange a quick greeting, happy to see each other again

During Shawn’s episode in the kitchen, she stands back with Gus, watching him wrestle with Lassiter. She’s slightly stunned by the way they’re acting, but runs over to help Juliet with the body when she opens the dumbwaiter

Like Gus, she’s on edge hanging out in Lassiter’s hotel room, sure they’re going to get caught any second, but pockets a few treats from the gift basket and defends herself to Gus saying that the city has already paid for it

She feels a bit uneasy at the bachelor party

Shawn: You okay, Marls? Marley: I’m just not 100% comfortable being here, I mean Dylan seems like a nice guy and all, but a room full of drunk men during a bachelor party is somewhere I don’t really want to be Gus: See Shawn, this was a bad idea. You’re making Marley uncomfortable and wasting time when we should be questioning suspects

Shawn gives Marley a quick apology, realising her position, and quickly calls Dylan over to question him

Gus being the one Dylan asks for a kiss from helps her relax though. She fails to hold in her small laugh, sending Gus an apologetic look of her own

She’s a lot more at ease at the bachelorette party

Shawn, watching her interact with some of the women: 🤨🏳️‍🌈?

She follows Gus out into the hallway, trying not to laugh at the state of him – shirt unbuttoned and covered in whipped cream – but passes him a towel to clean himself up

Marley: Peace offering? Gus: What, for abandoning me in there? Marley: Hey, I was just as upset as you that Patrick Swayze picked you over me Shawn: 🤨🩷💜💙?

At the wedding, she tries to convince him not to interrupt it

Gus: Probability of being right? Shawn: I don't know, high 60s? Gus: Close your mouth Shawn: But the person's in the room. The thief could escape. Shouldn't I stop the wedding? Gus: No, under no circumstances are you allowed to stop this wedding Marley: Shawn, I know you love the spotlight, but please don’t disrupt this wedding with only 60% certainty Shawn: It’s high 60s Marley: Can it really not wait until it’s over? I’m sure no one’s going to leave in a hurry

As soon as he stands up, she leans over burying her head in her hands, but she quickly gets sucked into the moment, watching him like it’s the climax of some soap opera

After catching the bouquet and revealing the ring, Marley is standing between him and Lassiter

Shawn: Dude, you’re next Marley, acting as if he’s proposing to her: Oh, Gus, it’s just all so sudden! Gus: *unamused*

[protege-not-protagonist]

Criminal Minds: The Protégé Chapter 4

Ch 4: My Brother's Keeper Pt. 1

Blurb: After meeting with Dr. Reid, Grace is called away on a case with the team to a double Homicide of children with excessive overkill. It doesn't take long to establish that This Unsub will kill again if not caught soon. But as Grace works the case, certain aspects of it stir up a past she would rather forget. Meanwhile Spencer can't help but start working on the victimology of this new possible serial killer back home.

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Audience: mature audience for depictions of violence and sexual references

Author's Note: if you see a trigger warning that concerns you, you can scroll to end and I'll have a brief description what happens. I think that system should work well cause then those who don't want spoilers don't have to read the trigger warnings at the start and get spoiled. Also my apologies to Groton South Dakota. I'm sorry I'm sure your a lovely town, I just threw a dart on the map and looked for a small town in that area. No offense.

TW: Ableism, child death, violence, gore, crime scene depiction, kidnapping.

Quantico, FBI Runway Tarmac Thursday July 2023 1:32 pm

‘Sorry,’ Grace apologised as she entered the jet, ‘It’s worth the wait trust me.’ She turned behind her and gestured to the two people who followed her up the stairs, ‘This is my friend Agent Stiller, from Forensics…’

A neatly dressed young man with dark skin and round glasses smiled widely and offered his hand to the rest of the team, ‘You can just call me Avery, nice to meet you guys, I’ve heard a lot about the lofty sixth floor. Didn't know you guys had a jet.’ That earnt a few laughs from her team.

Grace turned to the older redheaded woman who still stood at her side. ‘And this is our associate, Dr Boland, she's an expert Forensic Anthropologist with the Smithsonian. She taught me everything I know.’

'Well, I don't think that's quite true, Grace,' Dr Boland chuckled slightly and turned to the team offering a small wave, ‘Nice to meet you all, although I wish it were under better circumstances.’

‘Thank you for joining us on short notice, we appreciate having you both on board,’ Prentiss welcomed them, ‘Take a seat where you can find one, budget won’t allow for a bigger jet so we might have to get a little cosy, I’m Section Chief and Acting Unit Chief SSA Prentiss, this is SSA’s Rossi, Alvez, Simmons, Jareau and Dr Lewis, you both know Special Agent Matthews. As soon as we’ve taken off, we’ll start running through what we've got so far.’

The jet started taxiing along the runway. Without too much surprise, Avery and Dr Boland took the couch seat together. Grace smiled and shot them an encouraging smile up before sitting down next to Rossi.

‘Where did you wander off to today, huh? That's the first time you’ve taken a lunch break longer than 10 minutes. I’m proud of you,’ Rossi nudged her.

Across the table from her, Dr. Lewis and JJ listened in curiously.

‘I was still on site, as I’m sure you will all hear from Alvez in his report-’ she heard Luke snort from the seat behind her. ‘-I went to see Dr Reid.’

Everyone sat up in their chairs, suddenly very focused on what she had to say. She even heard the rest of the team's seats creak behind her.

‘What?’ she asked. It felt like she was unaware of some joke that they had with each other. Had they been taking bets again?

‘Nothing.’ Rossi shrugged, ‘We all miss him. Guess we just wanna know how he's doing, How’d it go?’

The jet shuddered as it sped full speed down the runway. They all paused their conversation as the cabin began to rattle. Rossi gripped the armrest tightly and Grace closed her eyes and enjoyed the stomach flipping sensation. They lifted off the ground and there was the pleasant buzz in her body of adrenalin. She loved take offs. She opened her eyes and there were a few pairs staring back at her, waiting. Oh yeah, they had asked her a question.

‘Fine, it was really good actually. He’s nice, gave me some advice, and he's funny too… It was very… I don’t know.’

‘You two just… gelled well? It would be nice having someone on your level to talk to,’ Dr. Lewis suggested.

Grace let out a nervous chuckle, ‘Oh no, he is way above my level, but… he’s not like other people I've met who are like that.’

Rossi gave her a knowing look, ‘He is the smartest guy in the room but he doesn't lord it over anyone. He doesn’t have a drop of arrogance or conceitedness in him.’

‘Yeah, that’s it,’ she smiled. Rossi was right, probably because he knew who some of the ‘other people’ she was referring to.

‘Well, if you think he is funny, you must be closer to his level than us, cause his jokes often go over our heads,’ JJ remarked and there were a few nods of agreement.

The monitor chimed, and Garcia’s bright personality shone through the screen.

'Hello my crime fighters and special guests! I've got an update, not a good one but still an update.'

'What have you got, Garcia?' Prentiss asked. They all got up and gathered around the second table in the jet that currently had all the files scattered across it.

‘Well, I have nothing folks, I looked for two related persons with Brittle Bone Disease in Groton and surrounding areas, and there are none. I trolled through medical records, but knowing they can be tricky and locked up tight, I went with ER admissions for repeated broken bones, then tried health insurance, then wheelchair and braces purchases, then school enrollments with special needs, nada… whoever these babies are, they aren't local and I can't find them and it's making me so sad.'

‘That's okay, keep working on that list, extend it to nationwide; families with two or more individuals with Brittle Bone who are under 25,’ Prentiss instructed.

‘Oooh, that is a big list,’ Garcia winced.

‘It’s okay, we have Dr Boland and Agent Stiller here, they will help give us more identifying features and we can narrow down the list further as we go along.’ Prentiss assured her. 'But are there any missing persons with Brittle Bone reported?'

Garcia shook her head, 'None reported in the entire country.'

Grace felt her chest ache a bit at the thought of a pair of parents out there unaware their kids were missing, or worse, not caring that they were. She held to that thought.

‘Brittle Bone is debilitating for kids. Most breakages occur before puberty, they would require a high level of care. These are kids you couldn't leave them home alone for long periods of time. They wouldn't be able to walk long distances or play on a playground unsupervised. Even if these victims are in their early teens, and they aren't as vulnerable, they're still someone you would notice missing. If they have not been reported missing, it’s likely that their guardian is also missing,' she suggested.

'Or the unsub themselves,' Alvez countered.

Why hadn’t she considered that? It was more likely.

She winced at the thought, 'I hope not. But yeah that's what statistics would point to, most murders are committed by someone closely related to a victim, even more so with children.'

'Well, if that is not the case…' Simmons pointed to a map of Groton they had on the table, 'Two major routes intersect here the 37 and the 12, there isn’t much in the town, it’s basically a rest stop, we could be dealing with a mobile killer. If our unsub knew the town had little in the way of law enforcement, they could dump the bodies, shock a small town, overwhelm law enforcement and continue driving. They’d be long gone before the cops even figured out what to do, it’s a forensic countermeasure. Have we looked at the Highway Serial Crimes database? Any similar scenes in other states?'

Garcia shook her head, ‘I checked that, and I'm keeping tabs, but I’ve found nothing this severe, or with kids, sorry. Ah… and I see you’re getting ready to look at those photos and I’ll take that as my cue, I’m out. Talk to you later.’

The screen went dark as Simmons laid out some of the photos on the table.

Prentiss turned their guests. ‘Can you tell anything from the photos that will help narrow anything down?’

‘Ah, no, I agree with everything Grace has concluded. An MNI of two. Both victims are definitely under 21. Most likely related, both have OI. Most likely Caucasian; their teeth have no shovelling. I would say these victims are more likely have Type One, but we will have to reconstruct and get stature estimates and bone samples to know that for certain. Unfortunately, I can’t rule out one of our individuals being pre-pubescent either, like Grace observed, their 31 hasn’t erupted. And if the victims do have Type One, it is the only type not known to cause unusual dentition. I believe it is a worse case scenario, one of those victims is around 12 years old.’ Dr Boland reported.

Grace already had known that, but somehow having someone else confirm it, made the cabin's recycled air feel heavy.

Avery sighed, ‘I have nothing to add, except I want to let you guys know, we are pretty good, but we are not miracle workers. I just want to prepare you for the possibility that we may not ID these victims if no relative comes forward with DNA or reports them missing. Soft tissue is obliterated, so we’re going to work with what we can and move to bones. Now, with younger victims, it is harder to determine sex with only skeletal remains, and given the condition they are in, the fragmentation will also make it difficult to determine facial features or distinguishable characteristics. Dr Boland will do what she can and I will assist where I can.’

‘Wait assist? So you’re not a bone and body guy?’ Alvez asked.

The rest of the team looked confused. Grace realised she hadn’t really told them much about who Avery was, or much about her old team, really.

‘I dabble but no, on the second floor, I’m the living people expert,’ he explained.

JJ nodded along with a grin, ‘You’re the team liaison.’

He nodded proudly, ‘I specialise in CSI coordination, organisation, and education for local police. Grace called me because I’ve worked cases like this before. It is possible we are walking into a contaminated crime scene, regional PD’s will be trying to work with one another, there will be press vultures, and we will most likely be doing the reconstruction in a country clinic or even a vet clinic. Agent Prentiss, I know you will be head of this investigation, but if you allow it, I will gladly organise and coach Local PD though evidence collection. I will do my best to make sure all evidence is collected and processed so it is admissible in court, if that's what you want me to do.’

‘That would be a big help, a profile is going to be hard enough with not much victimology to go off, we don’t need to be juggling crime scene management as well,’ Prentiss agreed.

Avery pulled out a business card and passed it around, ‘That’s my number, I'll grab all yours as well. I know how important a profile is in a case like this, I need to know any updates on your profiles immediately. In a small town like this, we will definitely work with volunteers. I’ve been warned that having Feds brought in might excite and Unsub, it’s possible I will be working along side our unsub at some point, so I think it’s good if we stay in touch.’

Rossi nodded with an impressed look on his face, ‘Where do you find these people, kid?’

‘Around. I keep good company,’ she smiled.

‘Okay when we land, we have a 20 minute drive to Groton from the regional airport, JJ, Matthews, Stiller and Dr Boland, I want you to go to the crime scene, make sure they get everything under control. Rossi, Alvez, I want you to question the staff at the golf course where the bodies were found. Simmons, Lewis you're with me, we will go to the station and get a lay of the land. We'll meet at the Gold Stallion Inn by seven. That's where we're being put up. I hope none of you snore, because there are only six rooms some of us are gonna have to share.’

‘Shot not sharing with Rossi,’ Dr Lewis remarked.

‘Hey, I do not snore. And I’ve had three wives who can attest to that,’ Rossi defended.

-------

Somewhere along Route 37, South Dakota, Thursday July 2023 3:30 pm

He looked out the window as the radio played country music. It had been a long time since he had been on a road trip, he’d forgotten what it felt like. The crink in his knees hardly bothered him though. This was too exciting. Fields passed him and he smiled as a herd of cows lazily grazed, watching their minivan drive by.

‘Cows!’ he exclaimed with delight.

No one else in the car shared his enthusiasm. That was okay, his mom and dad had been driving for a long time, they were tired.

But then the woman next to him sobbed.

‘Please, where are you taking us? Where are my boys!’ his mother cried.

His smile retreated. She was ruining it.

‘SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP RIGHT NOW!’ he pressed the gun to her head again.

‘Lilly, it’s okay baby, we’ll be okay!’ Dad called from the driver’s seat. ‘Please don’t hurt her, she just wants to know when we are going to stop.’

The man turned back to look at him and the woman with pleading eyes. It was good that Mom and Dad loved each other. If only they would love him as much. This was supposed to be a family road trip. They were supposed to be a happy family now. Why didn’t they love him?

‘We stop when I say we can, and you’ll see your boys again, soon enough,' he promised, and he wasn’t lying this time.

This Mom and Dad weren't right, his brothers weren’t right. He’d find the right ones one day. But he supposed he had to value what little time left he had with this family, it was supposed to be fun wasn’t it? He lowered the gun as the road sign loomed up ahead and he smiled. They were nearly there.

‘Ooh, let’s play a game… I spy, with my little eye, something, beginning with… M.’

--------

Groton SD, Golf Course, Thursday July 2023 3:58 pm

'Deputy Mitchell?' JJ asked as the four of them climbed off the golf cart and approached a middle-aged man guarding a large tarp spread over the ground.

'You the feds?'

‘Agents Jareau, Matthews, and Stiller, and our forensic expert Dr Boland.' JJ introduced, pointing out each one.

'Well, thought you'd be all suited up with earpieces, but I'm glad you're here. Body is under here.' He lifted the tarp partially and they all braced themselves. 'Groundsman found it here this morning, Jesus,' the deputy winced and turned away.

'When did the call come in?' JJ asked.

‘That was about six this morning... Look, other than putting the tarp on and doing a search of the grounds, we haven't done anything else. This is way over our heads. We are a small community. People come here cause it’s quiet and nothing happens, we don’t have resources, certainly not for this. Heck, I’m not even sure how we are going to move the body. We asked the regional centre, Aberdeen, for help. They took one look and told us to contact you guys, but they’re sending us their CSI team. They just radioed that they are a few minutes away.'

Avery began to talk about how they were logistically going to go about this. JJ asked questions about what time people usually played golf, and the opening times of the course. She zoned out and peeled the tarp back fully, and Dr Boland jumped to help.

Immediately it was clear the victims were killed right here. This wasn't a dump sight. Blood spatter was caked all over the grass.

Dr Boland opened her field kit and began taking the ambient temperature, following procedure. Grace however became focused on the thing she hadn't been able to tell from the photos; how was this done.

She fixed her glasses on the nose and knelt down next to the bodies.

'Hello, I'm Agent Grace Matthews, I'm just going to examine you to see what happened, okay? Then we will get you both somewhere safe and put you together so we can bury you okay?'

She always spoke to the bodies. She knew the others on the team thought it was weird. She even felt weird talking to them this time, it was hard to even recognise them as human in the state they were in. But that’s why she had to do it, especially at a scene like this.

It was a habit she started at her first job after she left school and she kept it up when she went into forensics. The practice was quite normal in some fields. It was a humanising technique that gave dignity to a body while acting as a coping strategy for the living person. They taught it at the academy, but few practiced it.

'And I'm Dr Boland, I’m Grace’s friend. I will be putting you together and running tests. I will work as fast as I can.' Dr Boland introduced herself, not missing a beat. Grace looked to her in surprise. The doctor only smiled warmly back at her as if to say, “it's not weird at all.” And kept setting up the scene for the investigation.

Grace turned her attention back to the gore and clasped her hands together and hugged them under her chin; it was time to focus. This is what she was here for, this is what got her into the FBI.

Her eyes darted across the mess and searched for repeated patterns or familiar shapes. Amongst the clumps of flesh, splinters of bone and bloody strips of cloth that would have been clothes, she looked for large pieces that were still relatively intact. A long bone, or perhaps the outline of where the clothes would have sat, hopefully. She moved around, searching from every angle for something recognizable. Eventually, the two bodies began to appear. She could identify different sections of a body and her mind filled in the blanks or rearranged into the form it was supposed to take. The two had died next to each other; one face down, one face up.

Two fragmented bones stuck out to her. A snapped the ulna and radius. Attached to it she found a bit of skin that was bruised and dented in a rough crescent shape.

The scene flashed in her mind;

A young voice cried out as they were hit in the back of the head with the bludgeon, their skull shattered immediately, they fell face first into the grass and their jaw dislocated, which allowed the mandible to remain relatively while the overkill was exerted. This was the younger one. When they hit the ground, the other older one turned to the assailant, who was already swinging the weapon at him now. They raised their arm in defence to block the first blow of a rounded heavy object swinging at them. Their forearm shattered immediately. They fell to the ground, and the blows kept coming in a frenzied rage from the man standing above them. They died relatively quickly. But the unsub wanted to humiliate and disfigure them further, he beat them for what must have been hours.

She shook the scene from her mind and focused now on the weapon.

It was flexible and heavy yet did not leave a uniformed mark. It was malleable and, given the frenzied blitz attack; improvised.

She racked her brain, an improvised weapon on a golf course. It would have to be a club right? But it couldn't be; a golf club wasn't the right… anything. Shape, size, weight distance from the attacker; it was all wrong. This damage was more like a mediaeval mace, something heavy that could be swung but didn’t have much reach- yet, not solid? She stood up and wandered around, deaf to the world as she searched for an object that would fit the disruption.

'Hey Agent Matthews… Matthews… Grace. Grace!’ Dr Boland called to her.

‘Yes?’ she turned around

‘If you're heading over there to the bunker can you get a sample of the sand please?' Dr Boland asked.

She nodded and pulled out a test tube from her forensics field kit. She knelt down and scooped up some sand from the bunker. It was really fine sand, not like the natural sand that was about the town. This stuff would get everywhere if I fell over right now, she thought to herself. Then she had a little giggle to herself, it would get everywhere, but it wasn’t rough, or course, it was powdery and fine. Like Anakin Skywalker, she disliked sand, which was unfortunate, having grown up on a tropical island. She also hated golf courses. In her opinion, and her father’s, they were a waste of space. Swathes of nature manicured into useless fields to chase a ball in. The amount of habitat destruction, water wastage and land metamorphosis places like this went through was… she halted.

The sand wasn't from here.

It was brought here, and you buy sand in bags and sand bags are heavy and malleable. And she knew firsthand, you can scale a sandbag down and make the tried-and-true homemade truncheon with little effort.

She ran back over the body and pulled out her magnifying glass, inspecting a depression that would have been caused by a blow. Sure enough, she could make out a few fibres and sandy particulates in the wound. She pulled out a swab taking a sample.

‘Dr Boland, there are fibres and particulates in these wounds, make sure to get some samples before you clean the bones, have you established a baseline yet?’

‘Yeah, it's that flag there,’ she pointed to the peg in the ground and continued laying out measuring guides getting ready to take scaled photos. Grace stood next to the baseline, took out her tablet, snapped a photo and drew an outline with her stylus.

'I got a rough indication of where the victims are lying. I'll do a diagram, that way you can have a rough starting point for the reconstructions.’ She drew outlines of the victims over the photos and labelled them One and Two and hit send.

Dr Boland glance at her tablet smiled, 'This is great. I've never seen you work out side the lab before.'

'Well I do this quite often, I think it would be more accurate to say I've never seen you work out side a lab before,' Grace grinned.

'True, the field is not usually my scene, especially when the site is this recent. But I just wanted to say, the field, it suits you. You seem... more free.' The doctor remarked.

Another golf cart approached carrying a uniformed officer and a few people in CSI jackets; the team from Aberdeen.

‘Looks like the Cavalry's arrived.’

‘Go, catch this guy, we’ve got this,’ Dr Boland nodded, holding out her hand.

Grace frowned at her and reached to shake it.

Dr Boland laughed and shook her hand back, ‘As much as I appreciate that you are comfortable enough to shake my hand, I actually was after the samples you collected, I need to catalogue them.’

‘Oh. right,’ Grace nodded and handed them over. ‘What do you recon? If we catch this guy by Saturday, will you be up for Sunday Study Brunch?’

Dr Boland smiled at her, ‘Well with your diagram here, it should make it easier to reconstruct. I’ll say, we’re on at this point. I’ve got a new stack of possible US soldiers from Bataan, circa 1940s, that I could use help cataloguing, unless you want to work more on your thesis?’

Grace sighed, ‘Not yet, I’m still stuck. Cataloguing Soldiers it is then. I’ll see you and Avery tonight, I’ll keep you in the loop, but I have to brief JJ, and the team. I’ve got a weapon and a few details.’

--------

Leaving one car with Avery and Dr Boland at the scene, JJ and her met up with Rossi and Alvez after they finished the staff interviews.

‘Anyone stick out?’ JJ asked.

‘Nope,’ Rossi shook his head. ‘All of them have alibis.’

‘Grounds man was a bit too into lawn, but none of them seemed off at all.‘ Alvez added. ‘What if this guy is a worse case scenario; just a random guy with victims of opportunity who motored out of here like Simmons said?’

JJ sighed, ‘Well, apparently opening hours are seven to seven, and people would only interact with staff and leave a record if they paid for entry, or hired equipment or a cart. Most locals have an annual pass, so they don’t need to pay for entry. Not that it’s really barred at all, there is no fence, no security or CCTV. Anyone could walk onto the course at any time. What could you tell from the bodies?’

They all looked to her.

‘It was a blitz attack followed by post mortem overkill. After the initial attack the unsub continued to beat them to humiliate and dehumanise them. There was no attempt to conceal the bodies; there is no remorse. The Unsub, is a man, given the strength, and probably under 30, immature and emotionally stunted. The attack was disorganised and full of rage. It seems personal, if the unsub didn’t know these kids, he must be using them as surrogates,’ she reported.

‘Now that kinda rage at two random defenceless disabled kids makes me think we could be looking at a hate crime; like extreme ableism,’ Alvez surmised darkly.

‘Ugh, can this guy get any worse,’ JJ murmured.

Grace gave her a sympathetic look. JJ hid it well but Grace could tell, she was very shaken by this case. She had said very little the entire time. Anything with kids was hard, especially on JJ, but this level of brutality was something else entirely.

‘You said the attack was disorganised, are you implying that he is organised in another aspect?’ Rossi turned to her.

‘Yes well, I may have some good-ish news in that department,’ Grace nodded, ‘The weapon was an improvised truncheon. Now improvised weapons usually indicate a disorganised individual, but on this occasion the weapon actually shows the opposite. He used something that requires criminal sophistication. This guy used a sock filled with sand. It’s a simple but effective weapon. It's not one that comes to mind unless you’ve been in a situation where you’ve had to learn to make a weapon out of nothing before,’ she smiled proudly. They continued to look at her, confused, so she elaborated; ‘I think this guy’s been to prison. Which means he’s in the system, we can find him.’

Rossi’s phone rang and he answered after a quick glance at the Caller ID. ‘Yes? Yeah everyone’s here, yeah I’ll put you on speaker hang on-’ Rossi held his phone out, and they gathered around it, ‘-Go ahead Emily.’

‘I have bad news and worse news. The bad news is there are only five rooms at the inn, so more of us are going to have to share. The worse news is that there are only five rooms because room one’s key was left in the drop box this morning before the office opened and the guests’ car was gone. Now the manager assumed they had checked out, but when the cleaner arrived this afternoon, the Giles family’s belongings were still inside the room.’

‘Well, that’s not good,’ Rossi voiced what they were all thinking.

Grace's mind raced, it made sense why they weren’t reported missing; this family was on vacation, they weren’t expected to be anywhere. The Unsub still had the parents, they couldn’t report the kids missing, they might not even know their kids are dead.

Prentiss continued, ‘Hotel manager says the Giles family were a family of four staying one night. Mom, dad and two boys, one around 15, one around 12 with crutches. Garcia got the 411 on them, the Giles are originally from Minneapolis, she can confirm the boys and the father have type one Brittle Bone Disease. Garcia is searching for their car as we speak. We also have moved our base of operations to the inn and called in State troopers to meet us and the sheriff there. We need to give the profile as soon as possible; we’re dealing with a family annihilator.’

-------

Next Chapter

Note: Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this and that you like Avery and Dr Boland, we'll be seeing them and a few other OCs a fair bit in this story. If you love it, or even just like it, please leave a comment and/or like, it is much appreciated and it really motivates me.

TWs:

Ablesim: this is the big one. Unsub is targeting physically disabled people and it is suggested that these murders could be hate crimes. It is not explored why the unsub has this view point in this chapter but it doesn't really matter. It's never justifiable at all to hate like that. unsub is horrible and delusional. Be warned for ick factor.

Child death: sadly the victims are kids.

Violence, gore, crime scene depiction: these all go together, I don't think I'm too graphic, but Agent Matthews goes to the crimes scene and she replays the events in her head. it's a brief depiction of how the children were murdered.

Kidnapping: there is a scene with our unsub who is currently with the kids' parents, who have been kidnapped. He threatens them and is just generally creepy.

[peaceful-melancholia]

The Funeral

It was the following Friday when Ethan and Jake attended Max's funeral. They had met many of Max's family members, though they didn't know them well. The arrangements were partly made by Carla, who required a high level of secrecy about the events that had taken place. She had arranged for the body to be placed in a closed casket without anyone seeing anything, and even bypassed the coroner so that no one would see what had become of Max. Ethan and Jake were trying their hardest not to think about that, though, as they couldn’t talk about it with anyone else at the funeral.

“It's so sad, what happened. I suppose a person wouldn't know they had some heart condition at his age,” a woman was saying. Jake wasn't actually sure who she was, but he acted like he did to prevent having to go through that awkward conversation when he really didn't want to.

“Yeah, it was pretty sudden,” he said. That much was true, even though the heart condition was fabricated.

“You and that other boy were his roommates, right? Is it hard, now that he's not in the house anymore?”

“Yeah, it is. It just keeps reminding us of him, so we’re having a rough time of it. Actually, we're planning to move. Everything here just is a bit of a painful reminder, you know?”

“Yes, I can understand that. Well, if you boys need anything, don't suffer in silence, okay?”

“Alright, thank you.”

Adrian was not at the funeral. He would have come, but he had decided to move away due to all the activity in trying to catch the original werewolf, which, unknown to the agents for now, was him. He didn't want to have any risk of being caught the next full moon. He was also Ethan and Jake's new roommate, so when they moved, they'd be moving in with him. They had all agreed that, under the circumstances, it would be best to live where Adrian went to college, that strange place where supernatural creatures were so commonplace they weren't even reported.

They continued interacting with the others at the funeral until nearly everyone had left, and the casket was lowered into the grave. Then they went home, packing their things. They had both put in their two weeks notice soon after Max had been shot, which meant they had to stay a bit longer still, but their landlord had been very understanding of their situation, so they were free to exit their lease agreement early – they only had to finish out the month.

Both of them were restless throughout the last week of work, not wanting to wait before leaving that place. Ethan had one last meetup with Andrew, who apologized again for his involvement in the whole thing. He gave Ethan a copy of his paper, which he had decided to write in an attempt at exposing the reality of the situation, and drew from early history to show that the modern conception of werewolves as dangerous was inaccurate.

“This is well-written, at least,” Ethan said. “I’m sorry we can't tell you any more about the organization, but I think it's better for everyone if we don't.”

“I understand. I don't think it would have helped all that much, anyway,” Andrew said. “The paper didn't do that well. The professor thought I didn't have enough modern sources to support the idea that werewolves were benign, and I couldn't exactly say ‘my cousin knows a werewolf'. Or knew, sorry.”

“I appreciate the thought, though,” Ethan said. They continued talking a bit more before Andrew ended up leaving.

Finally, the time came for them to take their packed cars to the road. Ethan was driving a moving truck with his car being pulled behind, actually, but Jake was driving his packed car. Ethan didn't trust Jake to drive a moving truck, and Jake didn't question him on it.

The trip was two days in total, the first consisting of about ten hours and the second eight hours before they crossed into their new home state. It wasn't immediate, but as they got a bit further in, they saw several supernatural creatures in the open. When they arrived at their new address, Adrian came out to greet them in a t shirt and jeans, and since it was part of the full moon cycle, he was in wolf form. It was odd to see him openly like that, but Jake noticed a woman with snake hair walking nearby, so clearly it was commonplace.

“Welcome, welcome,” Adrian said. “And again, thanks so much for letting me live with you guys. It'll be a nice change, I think.”

At that point, their fourth roommate came out of the front door, wearing a tank top and jean shorts, blond fur sticking out, and tail wagging behind him, though he seemed not to notice. He had the biggest, toothiest grin anyone had ever had as he ran towards them and hugged them before stepping back for a moment to greet them verbally.

“Welcome to Florida!” Max said. “How was my funeral?”

[catullus0525]

Prologue: The World Forgetting, By The World Forgot

Notes:

This is the full first draft of the biography of Robbie Ross (1869-1918) which I have been working on over the past few months. I am posting it today because today (25th May) is Robbie's 155th birthday. I will be posting it bit by bit over the following weeks.

I will be revising it quite drastically over the next few months when I have a bit more time. It is therefore still an imperfect work in progress.

In line with my previous post, apologies in advance for any inaccuracies or inappropriate language -- I have tried my best when writing to avoid them but as with any first draft they are inevitable.

I am happy to answer any questions & provide references & recommend readings!

I will be vibe-matching songs with each chapter.

I know Oscar Wilde kind of hated Alexander Pope but I quite like some lines from his Eloisa to Abelard I am going to quote him anyway

We may forget those transient things 

That made your charm and our delight: 

But loyal love has deathless wings 

That rise and triumph out of night.

—— Siegfried Sasson (1918), Elegy

Death, only death, can break the lasting chain;

And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain;

Here all its frailties, all its flames resign,

And wait, till 'tis no sin to mix with thine.

—— Alexander Pope (1717), Eloisa to Abelard

I. 

On 3 June 1918, taking the witness stand in the Old Bailey which Oscar Wilde had saved him from 23 years ago, Alfred Douglas indignantly denounced his ex-lover as ‘the agent of the devil in every possible way’ and ‘the greatest force of evil that has appeared in Europe during the last 350 years’. No longer the champion of ‘the love that dares not speak its name’, this time, Douglas was testifying on behalf of Noel Pemberton Billing, a viciously homophobic proto-fascist politician on trial for libelling the actress Maud Allan known for playing Salomé. Billing alleged that a circle of 47,000 clandestine gay and lesbians tied to not only Maud Allan but also Robert Ross and the ‘Wilde cult’ had been infiltrating English high society to undermine the English war effort on behalf of the German Kaiser. The laws were not on Billing’s side: his entire legal argument hinged on the fact that Maud Allan understood what a ‘clitoris’ was (which, he argued, proved that she was a lesbian), and alleging that Oscar Wilde was aiding the Kaiser eighteen years after his death was legal delusion. But, crucially, the war-wearied, hate-filled, paranoia-driven English public hungry for a scapegoat was; and Alfred Douglas’s testimony gave them exactly what they wanted. In the end, in a farcical turn, the jury acquitted Noel Pemberton Billing and condemned Oscar Wilde. 

Douglas would forswear his statement years later (as he had forsworn many other things in his life), but the harm done was not reparable. For Robert Ross, who had dedicated the past eighteen years to rehabilitating Oscar Wilde’s literary reputation, witnessing his effort turned to dust and Wilde's name sullied once more must have been an excruciatingly agonising blow. Days after the acquittal of Billing, Ross angrily snubbed Sir Charles Mathews, then the Director of Public Prosecutions, ‘the bastard of a mummer’, and sardonically congratulated him on ‘the complete rehabilitation of [his] protégé, Lord Alfred Douglas’ and snubbed him ‘the bastard of a mummer’. Meanwhile, to his friends Cecil Sprigge and Charles Ricketts, Ross expressed his despair over the war-weary English public’s eagerness in ‘kicking Oscar’s corpse’ and lamented that he himself had been ‘used as a piece of mud’ in smearing Oscar Wilde. Four months later, Ross died of heart failure, aged only 49. 

Unlike Douglas, who wrote endless autobiographies regurgitating his narrative, Ross never publicly told his side of the story and left scant traces of himself. Therefore, unfortunately, we would never know whether his official cause of death, recorded as ’gastritis caused by chronic bronchitis’ belied a broken heart. Did the fresh wave of anti-Wilde furore made him believe that his advocacy for the past eighteen years had all been in vain? Did he fear that Wilde’s legacy would be irrevocably tarnished by Douglas’ ongoing vendetta against himself? Did he die tormented by regrets and despair? These we could only speculate. We only know that for a long time before his death, Ross had suffered from severe depression and chronic insomnia which ruined his health and prematurely aged his appearance. This was due in no small part to Alfred Douglas’s relentless persecution of him due to his homosexuality. It would also be reasonable to postulate that the uncharacteristic sarcasm of his letter to Sir Charles Mathews was the tip which belied an iceberg of agony.

Ross left almost everything in his possession to others upon his death. The Oscar Wilde estate was transferred to Cyril (then deceased) and Vyvyan Holland in its entirety. Most paintings in his possession were presented to the British Museum. His personal savings were largely left to More Adey, one of his ex-partners with whom he spent nearly 15 years. To himself, he had reserved only a quiet little enclave in Wilde’s famous Père Lachaise tombstone: unbeknownst to everyone, he had requested a small secret space for his own ashes when commissioning that majestic tombstone. In his will, Ross directed that:

[…] my remains shall be cremated at Golders Green Crematorium with the ordinary burial offices of the Catholic and Roman Church. And I direct that my ashes shall be placed in a suitable urn and taken to Paris and buried in the tomb of the said Oscar Fingal O' Flahertie Wills Wilde. 

Moreover, since the will was penned during his persecution by Alfred Douglas, Ross foresaw difficulties with placing his ashes in Wilde’s tomb. In response, he directed that were burial to prove impossible, his ashes be scattered in Père Lachaise around Oscar Wilde. 

It was as if Ross was being the Heloise to Wilde’s Abelard. In that famous Medieval love story, much like how the illustrious writer Oscar Wilde was captivated by the 17-year-old Robbie Ross, Abelard, the brightest philosopher of his day, fell for his astute pupil Heloise, 19 years his junior. They were not only intellectual partners but also passionate lovers, yet loving Heloise was the beginning of calamity for Abelard. But Heloise’s love was unwavering even after Abelard’s ruin, not unlike how Ross steadfastly stood by Wilde after his imprisonment till the very end. In the end, much like how Heloise demanded to be buried with Abelard 22 years after his death, 23 years after Wilde’s death, Ross yearned for eternity alongside Wilde, beneath the same hallowed earth that cradled Heloise and Abelard.

Yet, unlike Heloise, whose effigy lay proudly beside Abelard's in Père Lachaise and whose name was engraved alongside his in history, Ross deliberately left no mark of his own on the final resting place he shares with Wilde. So whilst Heloise receives countless visitors’ songs and tears alongside Abelard, out of the hundreds of kisses imprinted on Wilde’s grave, none was intended for Ross; and most who wander through Père Lachaise remain unaware that Ross's ashes are silently guarding Wilde’s body.

Such self effacement was despite the fact that Ross had given up his eternal life with God for eternal rest with Oscar Wilde. As a devout lifelong Catholic, in directing his body’s cremation, Ross had denied himself resurrection —— it was not until 1963 that the Vatican finally conceded that cremation was ‘not opposed to the Christian religion' and ceased to deny Catholics wishing to be cremated their sacraments and funeral rites. Although at the time of Ross’s death, the Catholic Church sometimes acquiesced to cremation in practice as a result of  WW1 (as reflected by the ‘the ordinary burial offices of the Catholic and Roman Church’ at Golders Green Crematorium), it was still quite possible that Ross never received the funeral rites which prepare a Catholic’s soul for afterlife. 

What had prompted such grave sacrifice? Perhaps he wanted to take up as little space as possible, lest his presence eclipse the master’s lustre. Perhaps it was his ultimate penance for his incurable sin of loving Oscar Wilde. Or perhaps he saw incineration as the only way to purify his body and to make himself worthy of eternal rest by the artist he had corrupted, just as Alexander Pope had written of Heloise: 

Death, only death, can break the lasting chain;

And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain,

Here all its frailties, all its flames resign,

And wait till 'tis no sin to mix with thine.

Yet, were it not for Robert Ross, us contemporaries might not have known Oscar Wilde at all. Despite Nicholas Frankel’s brilliant effort to re-write Wilde’s final years as a joyous saga of love and self-acceptance, there is no denying that Wilde died a ruined bankrupt in 1900. Upon his death, he was a persona non grata in England whose name was synonym to scandal, and due to his bankruptcy, everything he had owned was automatically passed into the hands of the Official Receiver in Bankruptcy. This meant that none of the proceedings from Wilde’s works (if there were any at all) would go to his orphaned children. Furthermore, though Salomé was successful on the German stage and The Soul of Man under Socialism welcomed by the bookshelves of Nizhny Novgorod, Wilde’s works were deemed worthless in England: the complete rights to Lady Windermere’s Fan and The Importance of Being Earnest were sold off for the meagre sum of £100 each. Indeed, the Official Receiver had told Ross in 1901 that Wilde’s works ‘would never command any interest whatever’. But Ross’s labour of love worked miracles. In eight years, Ross had accomplished what none had thought possible: he had repaid all of Wilde’s debts, restored Wilde’s children’s rights over their father’s literary estate, and restored Oscar Wilde’s literary name. Moreover, Ross might have taken some comfort in the fact that he had reinstated Oscar Wilde so solidly in literary history that even the setbacks of the Billing trial did not hinder the reading public's rediscovery of Wilde’s genius in the long term. In particular, the remarkable 14-volume Collected Works of Oscar Wilde Ross had almost single-handedly compiled remains one of the most exhaustive collections of Wilde’s writings. To this monumental endeavour we owe much of our current understanding and appreciation of Wilde and his works. Few in history had done so much yet said so little. 

II. 

In the years since Ross’s untimely death, two drastically different images of him emerged. 

To his friends and acquaintances, Ross was a erudite wit with a big heart, selflessly devoted to Oscar Wilde and his legacy but also endlessly keen on supporting other artists. Edmund Gosse described him as a ‘talker’ with rapid thoughts and astonishing breadth of knowledge and an ‘expert […] in the art of benevolence’ who ‘wore himself out in deeds of active kindness’. Siegfried Sassoon corroborated Gosse’s assessment in his Elegy, and added to it endearing snippets of personal stories, such as when Ross put up an umbrella to reassure an old lady bewildered by air-raid during the Great War. Arthur Humphreys remembered him as someone who ‘never talked of anything without touching the salient point at once and bringing his fancy and brilliancy to bear upon all’, who knew more but showed less of their knowledge than most men, who was always eager and capable of giving help to those in need, and who never ‘became embittered’ or ‘say an unkind word of anyone through the trials and tribulations of his life. William Rothenstein praised Ross's ‘genius for friendship’ and his ability to inspire the best in those he admired. Vyvyan Holland cherished Ross as his ‘dearest friend’ whom he could look to when he wanted ‘sincerity and advice’. And The Times wrote in Ross’s obituary that ‘It was his foible to pretend to be a trifler in all things and to gibe at the greatest reputation; but he knew more and did more than many solemn people and, in acts of kindness, he was always in earnest’.

However, to Alfred Douglas (who outlived Ross by almost three decades) and his sympathisers, Ross was a conniving, almost-psychopathic social climber mad with unrequited love for Oscar Wilde and jealousy for Douglas. In his Autobiography, Douglas described Ross as a ‘sinister looking, bloated and bald-headed person’ with ‘snaky eyes’, ‘bulging face and body’ and ’n—er-like mouth and teeth’. In addition, Douglas described Ross as a jealous, embittered man with a ‘subconscious determination’ to ‘get even with’ himself, and a hypocrite who socialised beyond his station by contrived ‘flattery “laid on with a trowel”’. Somewhat corroborating this, Samuel Roth claimed that Frank Harris had once described Ross as a ‘rascal of the first water’ drunk on the illusion of being Wilde’s only lover. Following closely upon Douglas’s narrative, Rupert Croft-Cooke (who was a friend of Douglas’s) wrote in 1963 that Ross was an ‘amusing little queen’ who ‘ingratiated' himself with Wilde with 'feminine willingness’, who ‘had no other serious interest’ beside Wilde, who took Wilde as his life with ‘exhibitionist devotion’, who was tormented by ‘the green fires of jealousy’ after Wilde met Douglas, and who ‘had nothing else to warm his nature but a little rancid promiscuity and a dilettante interest in art and letters’. Caspar Wintermans likewise maintained that Ross was a jealous hypocrite who saw Douglas as ‘an impediment’, who schemed, lied, and manipulated to tear Wilde from Douglas, and who maliciously used Arthur Ransom as a ‘tool’ to ‘get even' with ‘the Adonis [Douglas] who twenty years ago had appropriated Oscar Wilde, relegating him, Bobbie, to limbo.’ In a similar vein, Douglas Murray portrayed Ross as a despondent abandoned lover whose effort in rehabilitating Wilde stemmed from a twisted desire to ‘claim back Wilde for himself’ as a ‘revenge for the back-seat role that the advent of Douglas had forced him into with Wilde’.

Ironically, were it not for Douglas, I would not have embarked on my journey to rediscover Robert Ross. I had knowledge of him as one of Oscar Wilde’s many lovers and literary executor after watching Wilde (1999) and The Happy Prince (2018), and was briefly intrigued by the bickering amongst Wilde’s lovers. However, it was the feud between Douglas and Ross over the publication of De Profundis which really led me down the rabbit hole. 

De Profundis is my favorite work of English prose, not only for its exquisite elegance but also for its delicate balance between truth and deception, and between artistic form and poetic spirit. Because it was composed in prison, Wilde’s genius in weaving beautiful lies ‘lying’ was marred by and married to raw, almost religious agony, producing a unique literary masterpiece which stands out from his other works. On a more personal level, the book had been the healing balm to my soul amidst some of my darkest personal moments, and it has been a source of strength and comfort since. So, quite naturally, I searched for anything and everything related to its composition and publication, which eventually led me to Robert Ross, the man who quite literally made De Profundis.

But before I got to Ross, I first encountered Alfred Douglas’ various autobiographies and biographies which levied extensive allegations against Ross’s character and conduct re the publications of De Profundis. Douglas and his biographers accused Ross of stealing personal letters, acting contrary to Wilde’s wishes, manipulating writers, and luring Douglas into a libel action, all for the sake of destroying Douglas and avenging the loss of his lifelong love (amongst other things). I shall analyse the merits of such allegations at another time —— here it is suffice to say that I was fascinated by the colourful character of Ross their narratives constructed, as I had always been drawn to tragic villains in romantic sagas. So I began my search for Robert Ross, hoping to discover a complex, twisted, and fascinating Jekyll-and-Hyde type character, whose too-profound love and hate had led him to stoop low and weave elaborate webs of lies in the dark to bring down the innocent protagonist in a one-sided romantic vendetta. 

However, what I found was exactly the opposite. 

The more times I read over Douglas and his biographers’ narratives, the more contradictions, inaccuracies, dubious interpretations, and arbitrarily imputed intentions I noticed, and the less convinced I became of their portrayal of Ross. Things simply did not add up for me. I shall elaborate on the reasons I found faults with Douglas’s narratives some other time; in short, I discovered that most of Douglas’s allegations were either unsubstantiated, untrue, or maliciously misconstrued. 

Moreover, as I read into the life of Robert Ross, I realised that he was, or rather deserved to be, so much more than simply a footnote in Oscar Wilde’s story. I found that in his rather brief life, Ross had inspired, supported, and made many great names in literary and queer history. Indeed, as argued, without Ross, us contemporaries might never have had the pleasure of reading Oscar Wilde. I also came to believe Ross deserved to be remembered as a hero (if not a martyr) in British queer history alongside Wilde in his own right, for his remarkable, lifelong courage to live as a somewhat openly gay man and shelter other young queer men from a society which condemned homosexual intercourse to life imprisonment. So increasingly I wanted to extrapolate Ross from the quarrels amongst Oscar Wilde's lovers (which, I believe, are somewhat blown out of proportion by the two brilliant Wilde biography films I had mentioned above) —— I believe Ross deserved to be remembered as so much more than an embittered ex-favourite in an all-male harem, or the male version of a forbearing traditional wife whose sole purpose in life was her man. 

III. 

But I could not help but to notice that, despite all his achievements, throughout his life Ross had consistently erased himself from the narrative. Even at the 1908 dinner which celebrated Ross for his remarkable success in rehabilitating Wilde’s literary legacy, Ross claimed that he regarded himself as no more than an instrument, that it was chiefly to others’ credit that Wilde’s debts were repaid, that he was not the only friend by Wilde’s side over the latter’s last years, and other friends have done more for Wilde than himself. 

Moreover, like T.H.Crosland (out of all people), I wondered why didn’t Ross defend himself when faced with vicious persecution Was it fear —— fear that had he defended himself he would have incurred more severe persecution and be imprisoned for his sexuality like Oscar Wilde? Was it love —— could he have worried that if he had defended himself as vigorously and relentlessly as Douglas did, the squabbles between them could eclipse Wilde’s literary legacies which he had poured his heart and soul into? Or was it simply a lack of time —— might he have told his story had he simply lived a little longer? 

On top of which, I wondered whether Ross would have preferred to be relegated to a small footnote in Oscar Wilde’s story, just as he wanted his ashes to be quietly laid in a secret little enclave in Wilde’s grand tomb in Père Lachaise without his name being engraved anywhere. As Edra Bogle postulated in her 1969 PhD thesis, Ross might have wished to be forgotten himself and have any fame to go to ‘those whose work he hoped to advance’.

Thus, I deliberated long and hard before penning this piece, wondering whether I might be disrespecting a dead man’s wishes in trying to tell his story. But eventually I decided to write, for three reasons. Firstly, with the decriminalisation and increasing normalisation of homosexuality in Britain, the factors which had caused Ross to fear publicity in his time are no more. Secondly, thanks in no small part to Ross’s effort, Oscar Wilde’s position in literary history is so well-established today that no stories of his personal life could have eclipsed his literary legacy. Indeed, volumes had been written on the private lives of Wilde, Douglas, and Ross (albeit with varying levels of accuracies), but none has diminished people’s appreciation of Wilde’s literary genius. If anything, the biographies and films served to augment the reading public’s interest in Oscar Wilde by fleshing out the literary personality. Thirdly, personally, I suppose if Ross had known that ten years after persecuting him into his early grave, Alfred Douglas would continue to not only drag his name through the mud but also refuse to assume any substantial responsibility for Wilde’s downfall, he might have wished to write something.

So, this piece is for Robert Baldwin Ross. It is a labour of love by an amateur Wildean upon the occasion of Queer History Month. I hope to pay tribute to the man who not only introduced us to Oscar Wilde, Siegfried Sassoon, Wilfred Owen, and so many other queer luminaries, but also was a beacon in queer history in his own right. This was a man tormented by his faith and suffered endless prejudices from a cruel society, yet he braved the troubles of his life with heroic resolve. He came out to his family at the tender age of nineteen, never married to conceal his sexuality, and nurtured a generation of queer artists. I hope I could honour his beautiful soul by doing justice to his extraordinary story, a story of courage, of struggle, of sacrifice, and above all, of love.

[cutekittenlady]

Emmet and Ingo go on a Road Trip

((I just wanna write so I'm doing random prompts I find using this bad boy Link))

"This was an excellent idea."

"Hm."

"We needed to get away for awhile."

"Did we?"

"Indeed!"

Emmet could only hum in response.

"It is unhealthy to work so often with no breaks! This road trip has been long overdue! We are due for a long week of rest and relaxation!" Ingo said cheerily, "Just the two of us! Plus Chandelure and Eelektross. And the rest of the team of course."

"And stowaway." Emmet said raising his hat to show the small joltik that was there.

Ingo chuckled, "Yes, and stowaway."

As Emmet replaced his hat, Ingo said, "It is a good thing Emmet. Really. We need a break."

"You have certainly said so."

"I say so because it is true."

"Or because of the intervention."

"Ah... yes, uh... that too."

The intervention had been unexpected. They'd arrived at the station only to find a circle of chairs, and all the depot agents gesturing them to sit down.

As it turned out, Isadore had taken it upon himself to look at the twins accumulation of paid days off. What he'd found had been... interesting.

Okay so maybe they hadn't taken a vacation in 3 years.

And maybe they'd built up a lot of overtime that they were carefully hiding.

And maaaybe when they realized the agents were going to force them to take a vacation they tried to run.

But that wasn't their fault! There was just so much to do in the subway! So many trainers to fight!

Being subway bosses was like a fantasy dream job for both Ingo and Emmet. It was hard to step away from.

But here they were. On the road. Heading to some hotel in Undella Bay to soak up some rays, build sand castles, and whatever else came to mind! It would be good for them! True there were no trains in Undella. And true there was no battle facility there. And true Isadore had said he'd called ahead and instructed the gym leader to absoutely NOT battle them.

But that was FIIIINE.

It wasn't like the only two things they knew was trains and battling!

"Yes a vacation is exactly what we need!" Ingo said. "We can make sand castles! And drink berry juice! And visit the sea port!"

Emmet just pulled his hat over his eyes and said nothing.

"Yes! We definitely needed this road trip!"

"Hey, uh, guys?"

They both looked up from the back seat.

"Can you stop calling it a road trip when you're not driving?"

"We are terribly sorry sir!"

"Can you also stop yelling!"

"Of course-! Ah... I mean. Of course."

"Thanks." The driver said refocusing on the road, "you know I couldn't help overhearing. If you guys need to get the battling out of you're system I happen to know Caitlyn of the Elite 4 has a villa in Undella town."

The twins looked at each other.

"Isadore said we weren't to work."

"Yes, but it is not work." Emmet pointed out. "Caitlyn is technically a colleague."

"Hm true. It would be visiting a peer."

"Yes. Pluuus, technically our jobs are only on the subway! We can't be doing our jobs on a beach."

"But... we are still subway bosses aren't we?" Ingo asked.

"Of course!"

"Ah good."

"And if we get berry juice and build sand castles after~"

"then it still techinically counts as a vacation! Bravo Emmet!! Please, driver, full speed ahead to our next station!!"

The driver was unperturbed.

"Speed limits 30 on this stretch of road bub."

"Ah certain, safety precautions must be observed. In that case, make post haste for our destination!"

"We're still three hours out."

"Ah. Then we shall wait patiently driver."

"My name is Jerry."

"Our apologies we shall wait patiently Jerry."

"You two are the weirdest fares I've ever had." Jerry muttered, "And that's saying something."

[adleryoung]

"Oh," Barkingthwaite replied. "Well, if it's a matter of honor, I suppose we have no choice but to accept. Terribly sorry, old bean. Meant no disrespect."

"Please accept my apologies, my lord," Venatrix apologized. "I certainly wouldn't want to put you out by refusing a gift. This rule wasn't mentioned in any of the lore."

"Just take it," I snapped, as I apported a sack of gold and held it out to them.

"My word," Barkingthwaite exclaimed whe he saw it.

"Are you quite sure?" Venatrix inquired. "That seems a bit -"

"TAKE IT!" I ordered. "If you successfully complete this mission then I will have more work for you. Consider the surplus a retainer for future assignments."

They took the gold and scampered away into the woods.

LOWFOLK! By Fuma, they were every bit as exasperating as I remembered. I massaged my temples and tried to remain positive about the prospect of working with them. They were my only option at present, so I would have to make the best of it.

While I waited, I reviewed what else I would need done.

If even half of Lana's information about Zandar was accurate, she was dangerously Unseelie and quite powerful. Her failure to return to Faerie at the same time as the other changelings indicated a rebellious spirit. I would need a way to restrain her so that she would be unable to escape my agents once they found her.

Zandar's decision to shut herself up in a cellar for centuries showed an exceptionally grim determination. I wasn't sure exactly what crime she was avoiding the consequences of by doing this, but it indicated that we had something in common. It also showed that she had a familiarity with potent preservation spells. My research into the subject had revealed that a counterspell would be required to revive her. I would need to have my servants gather ingredients so I could prepare an elixir. Then I would have to carefully instruct them how to use it.

I also wanted to know more about the exact state of the rabbit settlement. Where were my Ixies? Why had they not returned? What happened to Rebecca and Burnside? It would be nice if they were available to help me, and I didn't have to rely entirely on bumbling lowfolk.

I was still musing on these topics when Barkingthwaite and Venatrix returned, laden with a smallish chest full of clothes.

"I didn't request an entire wardrobe," I protested.

"This is a single outfit," Venatrix explained. "The outer skirts and jacket were bought, as well as the shoes and a few of the structural elements, but much of the foundation I made myself."

"What in Fuma's name?" I asked as I held up a diabolical-looking restraint covered with straps and laces.

"The corset," Venatrix beamed, as Barkingthwaite bashfully turned away. "A wonderful invention that helps ensure a proper fit for the outer dress."

"You seem to have anticipated my needs far beyond what I told you," I admitted as I examined a flexible cage made from lashed-together hoops of a strange material that flexed like a bow but didn't seem to be wood. "Are you planning to trap her in this? Not a bad idea. My only objection is that it seems a bit small."

"Oh no, my lord," Venatrix chuckled. "That's the bustle. It goes underneath the outer skirt, to fill it out and give a stylish profile. Remember, as I explained, these fashions were invented by a spider. It is all the rage among vertebrate femmes to simulate the appearance of a plump arachnid abdomen."

Barkingthwaite began coughing violently. He gasped out something incoherent about his blasted pipe as he excused himself and staggered over to the other side of one of the menhirs.

"She will definitely have trouble fighting in this getup," I surmised with a smile as I looked over the assortment of clothing. "I need to place some enchantments on it to further limit her capacity for mischief. While I am busy doing that, I have another assignment for you. This one will not be as easy."

[ollieofthebeholder]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks @fridayyy-13th for the tag!

How many works do you have on Ao3? 64!

What's your total Ao3 word count? Holy...! Uh, 1,700,611. (I should've guessed, I've got some ultra-long fics on there, but Jesus Christ on a cracker.)

What fandoms do you write for? These days, mostly The Magnus Archives. I've also written for Star Trek (primarily the AOS/Kelvin films), the MCU/Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Cut & Run, and RQG. I've got a couple of very, very old Sherlock fics, a couple PJO fics from some ship week challenges I took part in back when the Heroes of Olympus books were still coming out, a couple WTNV fics, a few Star Wars fics that never made it to AO3, and three one-offs.

What are your top five fics by kudos? leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall) - 1,758 kudos Had He Known It - 777 kudos Whiskey Lullaby - 395 kudos It Was Just My Imagination Telling Lies - 378 kudos Hurry Up and Slow Me Down - 349 kudos

Do you respond to comments? Every single one! It's half the fun to me.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Ooh...that's a toughie, actually, but I'm going to go with Where the Road Waits to be Taken because it's the only one where the ending focuses on the people left behind.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Also a toughie! But I'm going to go with Love Will Find Out the Way.

Do you get hate on fics? Not so much anymore. I've been around long enough that I definitely used to, but I write for saner fandoms now.

.Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Not these days. I'm asexual and, while I'm personally sex-averse, my tolerance for it in fiction kind of goes in cycles. I think the last time I wrote an explicit sex scene was in 2016 or 2017.

.Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written? Heh...I do, on occasion. Most recently the WTNV/TMA crossover (the full extent of which hasn't been published yet), which isn't that crazy. I think the craziest one I wrote was the Sherlock/Star Trek crossover that was also (sigh) a HP AU...which I have deleted, so sorrynotsorry.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not as far as I know, but I don't exactly go looking.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Again, not as far as I know.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Uh...technically? My brother had an idea for a fic, but he wasn't old enough to join any fanfic websites at the time (we were probably the only two kids who never lied about our age on the internet to join websites), so he dictated it to me, I fleshed it out and posted it under my username.

What's your all time favorite ship? I love so many, but I have to say, the only ship I love that I genuinely can call an OTP in that I cannot fathom them in a relationship with anyone else (even adding anyone else to the equation) is Cecilos. JonMartin is a close second, but, well, I can see (and frequently enjoy) them also having other people in their relationships. Cecil and Carlos? Nuh-uh.

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Ooh. There are...a couple. But I have a WIP sitting in my Tumblr drafts that was a sequel to Hurry Up and Slow Me Down that I would very much like to finish someday...I just, yeah.

What are your writing strengths? Angst and heartbreak. I've got a gift for descriptions, and I'm really good at conveying emotion in text. And I think I have a knack for putting together a tasty sentence.

What are your writing weaknesses? I do tend to get hung up on irrelevant details, and I frequently think myself into a corner. I also think I tend to obsess sometimes about things being perfect...and if I'm being honest, a big weakness of mine (not just in my writing, but in general) is that I often feel like it's something I need to apologize for, which is not helpful.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? Oh, I love doing that! I try to put a translation in hover text, and also in a footnote for benefit of screen readers, but I also try not to burden the actual text with translations. It's one of those "trust the reader to know what you're trying to say, and if they can't figure it out from context, you have failed as a writer" things to me. (This may have something to do with the fact that I used to write Star Trek fanfic, and conlangs are a thing.)

First fandom you wrote for? If you want to get technical, Power Rangers; I used to tell myself stories about the Power Rangers to put myself to sleep at night when I was a little kid, and once I wrote one down and read it out loud for Show and Tell. (The opening line was "One night, when Kimberly and Trini were sleeping, they were stolen," which should tell you everything you need to know about it. In my defense, I was seven.) I didn't know that's what it was at the time, though. If you're talking fandoms that I wrote for knowing it was a fandom and published on the internet...well, I grew up in the '90s and turned thirteen in the early '00s, so it probably shouldn't be that big of a surprise that it was HP.

Favorite fic you've written? It's like asking me to pick a favorite child. I am deeply in love with to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest) even if the next chapter is currently frustrating me a bit, because I am always deeply in love with my current project, because I love the way it showcases how I've grown as an author. That being said, I think my favorite fic that is currently complete might actually be Tomorrow When the World Is Free.

Tagging (absolutely no pressure) @blasphemous-lies-and-deceit, @amberastra, @magnetarmadda, @astudyinfic, @dyscalculated, and anyone else who wants to give this a go!

[voltage-vixen]

hi! I am unsure whether requests are open now or not,and if they aren't,ignore this,I do not mean to be a bother! If they are open,I was wondering if I could request a kazuomi X mc fic?while I do think seeing them as newlyweds would be pretty adorable,honestly the general theme doesn't matter as long as it's fluffy,as I feel like there's a lack of that kind of content for them and I wish there was more of it. thank you for your time!

Hello all!

I again apologize for my late responses to asks, but I hope you all are still around and don’t mind that I combined these since I felt they complimented each other well enough. I’m also going to refer to the MC with she/her pronouns below, and there’ some slight suggestion but nothing explicit (blink and you’ll miss it). 

I could envision fresh newlywed Kazuomi seeking out any and all opportunities to touch his MC. MC is in the kitchen prepping a snack for them to consume? Sounds like the perfect opportunity for him to envelope her from behind. How could he possibly miss a chance to steal another inhale of her sweet scent or snuggle up to her warmth?

After spending sometime together in the shower, Kazuomi would offer to dry his wife’s hair with a towel. At first she refuses, which would amuse Kazuomi. After all, her fierce independence is one of the reasons the sly agent was able to infiltrate his heart. However, two could play the game, and he is just as skilled as she is. He would playfully jest that the reason she would deny him this was because she was concerned that he would clearly be inferior in terms of his hair drying abilities. Never one to shy away from a provocation, MC would toss him the towel and submit herself to his care. Kazuomi would take extra caution to knead his fingers delicately to gently massage her head so that it felt good and relaxing.

Sometimes in the late evening or early morning, Kazuomi would find his wife had snuck away to the balcony to admire view of the sky. As her husband, Kazuomi would join her, immediately pulling her into his chest so she could rest her head and use him as a pillow while they took in the sight before them. Sometimes they would exchange small conversation, but often in those moments words weren’t a necessity and each other’s presence was enough to satisfy the craving of one another. While he would never beg, Kazuomi would silently long to hear his beloved utter the words that would call him a sweetheart since hearing them caused his heart to race a little faster. 

While it wouldn’t be for awhile after they exchanged their vows, it wouldn’t be until the day arrived when the MC kept throwing up and feeling nauseas did Kazoumi begin to connect the dots. Could it be that his wife was pregnant? Surely after all of the times they’ve been together this was bound to eventually happen? He never envisioned the life of domestication one he would be suited for, but nonetheless he would be overjoyed since this meant that him and MC would have a new partner in crime to tag along on their journeys in the future. After all, the more the merrier, right?

Kazuomi would first and foremost respect the MC’s wishes in terms of offering support. However, he would be the first to anticipate what she needed and have it ready and waiting before she even realized it herself. Lady Borden ice cream-no need to ask, because Kazuomi has it ready and in multiple flavors for his wife’s disposal to indulge in her pregnancy cravings. 

It wouldn’t officially hit him though until he saw the very first ultrasound photo of their bundle of joy that they created together. It would be then where that realization of the fact that Kazuomi was going to be a father would fully sink in. He’s created a lot of impressive creations over the course of his life, but nothing could come close to the creation of his domestic life with MC, along with this child they created together. 

To the last Nonny, I could easily also see Kazuomi being a girl dad and being overtaken by a home full of girls and they grew up and were able to team up alongside their mother. 😂 Kazuomi would love it though! He adores how strong his MC is, and would encourage his daughters to grow up and be similar in that regard. He’s certainly not one to be intimidated by strong women, and that’s one of the many reasons why we stan the man.

[starkslove101]

CHAPTER 2: "Welcome home"

CHAPTER 2: “Welcome home”

2009-2011

I arrived at stark industries. Pepper was waiting for me at the entrance of the building. Her eyes were red and puffy. “What happened?” I asked while running inside. I grabbed her hands in mine. “I don’t know” I wanted to hold her tighter. But someone interrupted us. “Ms. Potts come take a look” a man in a dark suit approached us. 

Pepper nodded and pulled me along with her. People were standing around a monitor. As we got closer I had to find my grip. There he was. His chest was wrapped in bloody bandages It felt like I wasn’t getting any air. “Oh no,” tears were prickling in the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill. I turned around and walked out of the group.

Someone appeared behind me. “What are you gonna do?” I said. “All our men and women are looking for him trying to get him safe” I bit the inside of my cheek and my blood started to boil. “That’s not enough!” I hissed.  “Agent Evans, I assure you we’re doing all we can” Fury tried to calm me down. “You better bring him back alive” I whispered. “Or I swear to God” Fury raised his hands. “If you guys don’t do the job I will go and get him myself!” this time I raised my voice. But no one seemed to notice. “We’ll try everything we can” 

*** 

Days passed by. Pepper and I barely slept. Time went by slowly almost like it wasn’t going at all. People were trying to get me to eat. But I wasn’t hungry. I just wanted him back doing the stupidest stuff. But I was also sure that he could save the world the way he saved me. “Agent Evans” my name came through. Waking me from my haze. “Agent Evans” this time I looked up. “Fury!” I jumped up from my chair. “Do you have news?” I asked my voice almost sounding like I was begging. “We found him” Joy took over me but it was as fast as it came. “Is he-” Fury interrupted me. “He is alive. He’s safe” I was relieved and I felt tears prickling in my eyes. 

I looked around. The world started moving again. I felt alive again. “Pepper!” I yelled. I ran up to her and pulled her into a hug. I turned around. I wanted to say thank you but he was in true Fury style. 

Everyone and everything started moving and so did I.  “What do we do now?” I said looking at Pepper. She turned her head at the same time.  “Don’t know” I raised my shoulders. “Just wait and see, maybe go set up his house” Pepper nodded. “You go,” she said. “You know his house better than anyone” I frowned. I wanted to stay here. “Okay” 

I grabbed my stuff and went back upstairs. On my way out I ran into Happy. “Hello, Mrs. Evans” I smiled. “That’s a name I haven't heard since 1945” Happy looked confused. “Mrs. Evans was my mother” his lips moved into an ‘O’. “My apologies” he knew talking about my parents was a touchy subject. But I felt like I was constantly talking about them. I never got to say goodbye. “Don’t worry, my mom was an amazing person” Happy nodded. 

“I have a question” Happy perked up. He looked at me like he was expecting something special. “Yes?” His voice was shaky. “Would you like to come with me to Tony’s house to set everything for his return?” Happy’s shoulders slumped. But he smiled at me. “Yes, of course,” I smiled back and placed my hand on his shoulder. “Thank you”  

We went to Tony’s house. Everything was just how he left it the last time I got here. The bottle of whisky we opened weeks ago was still on the kitchen counter. Two glasses were still standing there. The one I drank from was still half full. It made my heart flutter. I remembered that we were arguing about something stupid. I guess it was about what Black Sabbath song was the best or something like that. I just remembered saying that it didn’t matter and that I was 64 years old so what do I know? It made him laugh so hard that he almost snorted the Whisky through his nose. It resulted in me spilling half of my glass on the ground and it was still there. We were so drunk.

I only left this house because I couldn’t handle the memory of his father. Tony remembered him as a horrible human being, and I was praising him here. But every time he’d remind me that Howard is the reason why I’m here and stuck 64 years into the future. He had a point. It became so bad that I started to resent Howard and seeing Tony daily made it worse. At least when I worked for him I knew after the 8 hours of work I put in I’d go home and be alone without him.

Now seeing Tony so low and vulnerable made me not want to leave him anymore. It made me feel protective. I knew it wasn’t my responsibility and trusting a Stark is what got me into this mess in the first place. But I couldn’t help myself. I felt like I was supposed to be here for a reason. 

Lucky for me, Happy shook me out of my ongoing thoughts. “So Mrs. Evans what do you want me to do?” he asked. “Maybe check the rooms and living room and clean up some eh... Clothes that aren't supposed to be there” I said awkwardly scratching my head. Happy laughed. “I will” 

Tony. 

It hurt just to breathe For a while my life was on the line. Thinking about it sent me back into a frenzy. Rhody placed a hand on my shoulder to calm down. “Next time you ride with me” I smiled. “Yeah” I looked out of the airplane window. 

There isn’t going to be a next time, I thought to myself.

Ransom.

A few days passed. Tony was still recovering from his wounds. The press was all over him and the new thing in tony’s chest. “He called it an arc reactor. It was supposed to be a mini version of what powered the company. “But is it safe though?” I asked. “God, no. But it keeps me alive” Tony laughed. “But it’s safe with me” I looked him dead in the eye. “Stark and safe don’t go together” I raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Oh stop it I kept you safe” I shook my head smiling. “Whatever you say big guy” Tonny shifted in his seat. “It’s supposed to fire the suit right?” Tony nodded. He sat down and sighed. “What’s wrong?” I took a chair and sat down right in front of him. “Obediah” the name alone made the hairs on my arm stand up. Tony saw my face contort. “You don’t trust him do you?” I shook my head. “There’s something about that man,” I said. “Like that press conference, the panic in his eyes” Tony frowned. “ what do you mean?” 

“Well once you were out of your mellow state and announced that you’d stop with the guns he jumped up and pushed you aside.“ Tony raised his eyebrows. “Something is up with the guy” I leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. 

Tony was screwing something in the arm of his suit. “Alright, look into it” Tony looked up. “I know you have extra hands somewhere. 

And that he notices…

Next chapter