#but Mike only draws nearer. holding him. asking to be let in

[kiirotoao]

Mike, stars in his eyes, holding Will’s cheek as he whispers, “look at me.”

Breathe if you agree!!!

[teawaffles]

The Fugitives from the Fire: Chapter 5, Part 1

Note: This is a long chapter too!

Gregson squared his shoulders as he walked.

“I don’t really want to team up with you; but anyway, we have no choice but to solve this quickly. Now it’s time for me to show my stuff after fighting crime day after day in this capital.”

“I’ve thought about it every time we’ve met — but where do you get that confidence from?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he followed behind him. Then, Gregson turned around.

“Oi, that big attitude of yours is probably because the inspector called you in; but I’m the one who messed up here, so I have to take responsibility myself. Don’t butt in unless you’re needed.”

“I know, I know.”

More than anything, the personality of this assistant inspector he’d come to know all too well brought Sherlock a sense of relief. In addition, his words and actions revealed his pride as a police officer, and Sherlock quite liked that.

“Come to think of it, did you really not find out anything during the interrogation?”

Gregson replied without slowing his pace.

“Well, I can’t say that we didn’t learn anything. He told us how he’d come to hide in that building, but refused to say a word on where his accomplice was.”

“So how did he arrive at the inn?”

“From what we heard, after they escaped, the two of them had been moving from place to place in the slums. They first laid low somewhere, but quickly got wind that the Yard was searching the area; hence, they ran off searching for a new place to hide — and ended up at that inn.”

“So does it mean that at the time, the Yard had been able to track them down to some extent?”

Gregson snorted in displeasure.

“Not a whit. It’s disgraceful, but so far, we haven’t been able to trace their whereabouts one bit. Right now, our only lead is that tip-off; in other words, the two of them were just misled by rumours that the police were coming.”

“…………”

Gregson seemed to be pitying the fugitives for the days they’d spent in fear, but Sherlock’s mind was elsewhere.

The criminals had been flushed from their hideout using false information, and ended up at a particular location. At the same time, information had conveniently come the Yard’s way, as if someone had meant for them to arrive at the same place. His intuition told him the situation could not be written off as a mere coincidence.

——Could the Lord of Crime be involved in this case? But if he was, then for what reason?

Sherlock began to think over that question; but before he could reach a satisfactory answer, the two of them had arrived before a different inn, located a short distance from the site of the fire.

“Now, the suspects have been gathered here on the ground floor — please be quiet.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Temporarily switching his focus, Sherlock replied half-heartedly. Then, with his sullen expression still intact, Gregson stepped into the inn.

Inside, there were several police officers, three men with bandaged faces, and a tall middle-aged woman, who stood firm with crossed arms.

Looking over everyone in the room, Gregson cleared his throat, and spoke in a loud voice.

“Well then, I’ll cut to the chase. ——The culprit is among us.”

“…………”

However, not one person reacted. He was simply stating a fact, but perhaps his entrance had been too sudden, and that pronouncement a tad abrupt.

Looking a little embarrassed after his brave proclamation, Gregson cleared his throat once more, and started again.

“……That’s what we’ve concluded after careful discussion. To begin with, let’s start from these three men gathered here.”

“——Hold on, Inspector! Before that, don’t you have something to say to me?”

“Hm?”

The middle-aged woman took a step forward as she raised her voice, and Gregson turned to face her.

“You are… the owner of that inn.”

“The very one that got burned down, yes! My name is Hillary Weaver — you’d best remember it, since it’s the name of the victim who'll eventually charge you people for expensive repairs.” [1]

Her high-pitched voice was almost akin to that of a witch casting spells. Gregson flinched, taking a step back.

“W-……Why do we have to pay for damages?!”

“Of course you do: the moment all of you came along, my inn disappeared.”

“That’s not true! The one at fault here is the arsonist — the Yard had nothing to do with that!”

“What’re you saying? I’m sure you people sparked it all off. Quit whining and give me back that place of comfort!”

“What part of that wretched inn could be called comfortable?! It’d be more pleasant being buried in straw! When we were interrogating the other man, the floorboards were creaking so badly I thought we were going to fall through the floor any moment!"

“That’s because all of you came in at once! Spare a thought for the building capacity!”

“Are you telling me your rooms reach their limit after just a few people step inside?!”

“…………”

As Gregson and Hillary — the inn’s proprietress — were engaged in a row that was completely beside the point, Sherlock turned his attention to the three suspects.

The first was a burly man. The left half of his face was wrapped in bandages, and his long sleeves were rolled up.

The second was a slim young man with short sleeves. The lower half of his face was bandaged down to his neck.

The last was a tall man of indeterminate age. He wore a thick coat, and his entire face was swathed in bandages.

Three men, three suspects. Right as the detective used his powers of observation on them, Gregson signalled his men to get Hillary to back down, forcing the argument to a close.

“……Dammit, was she silver-tongued. Now I’ve wasted energy.”

His shoulders were heaving, and Sherlock flashed him a cold smile.

“If the talk show’s finally over, then let’s get on with the questioning. We’re short on time.”

“I know! ……Well then, let’s start from the big man over there, and proceed in order.”

Gregson addressed the burly man.

“Tell us your name, the room you were staying in, and what you were doing when the fire broke out.”

“My name’s Mike Myers. I was in room 203, on the first floor. When the fire broke out, I was in my room reading a book. It was from one of my favourite authors, but all my belongings were destroyed in the blaze.”

The man answered in a deep voice that matched his appearance.

Gregson took down the information on a notepad, and moved on to the next man.

“Next, the slim man over there.”

The young man promptly sat up straight.

“Y-Yes, um, my name is Bruno Campbell. My room was…… number 301, on the second floor. At the time of the fire, um…… I was sleeping right until it started. Sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologise. Next.”

Gregson turned to face the last man.

“……Jerry Dorff. Room 101. I was asleep.”

The man who called himself Jerry murmured that in a low voice, uttering only the minimum number of words.

“101…… The ground floor, huh. So all your rooms were on precisely separate floors.”

Once he’d ascertained the suspects’ rooms, Gregson quickly sketched the inn’s floor plan on his notepad.

According to his diagram, on the ground floor, there was a staircase next to the reception desk, and three rooms in a row behind it. Starting from the one closest to the front desk, the rooms were numbered 101, 102, and 103. Further to the back, there was another set of stairs. The other floors had the same layout; it had been a simply-structured inn.

The reception desk, the front stairs, three rooms in a row, and the rear stairs. All the rooms had their doors on the south side of the building, and their windows on the north side. Sherlock craftily took a peek at his drawing, memorising the layout, and applied the locations of the three suspects to his mental picture.

“It seems all of you were in your own rooms when the fire started; but before that, did you stay in your rooms throughout?”

Mike spoke up.

“I never even took a step outside my room after you bobbies entered the building. After all, one of the criminals from that attack on the department store was lurking inside, right? I wouldn’t be able to bear it if I made a wrong move and ended up getting suspected.”

“I-It was the same for me: I tried to avoid moving around as much as possible.”

“Me too.”

The timid young man, Bruno, and the taciturn Jerry both agreed with Mike.

“So you all didn’t leave your rooms, let alone the inn. ——Is that certain?”

Gregson asked one of the officers standing beside him, and the man responded with vigour.

“Yes; I was standing in front of room 303 at first, and two others were standing watch in the ground and first floor corridors — we didn’t see a single person leave their room.”

Sherlock had been listening from the side, and now he pointed to the officer and Gregson in turn.

“So during the break in the interrogation, Gregson took over from you in standing watch outside the room.”

“Indeed.”

“Oi, Holmes. I told you not to butt in.”

Ignoring Gregson’s complaint, Sherlock made a deduction.

“So no one was moving around during the interrogation. Then during the break, the man was left alone in the room. Since no one heard any suspicious noises, it would be difficult to conclude that there had been movement inside the room. In that case, as I thought, the criminal must’ve made his move after the fire began.”

“A-As I was saying, don’t talk without permission.”

“……We don’t have time for that kind of thing. From what you said earlier, it seems you were standing outside the room until the fire began — were you also standing watch throughout after it started?”

Reluctantly, Gregson revealed his actions at the time.

“……No, when I got news of the fire, I went to the stairs nearer the reception to check out the situation. I climbed down until I could see the ground floor, and saw that the corridor there had already been covered in flames; so I quickly shouted for everyone to evacuate as I went back up to the second floor, in order to free the man we had arrested.”

“Did you go door to door when telling people to evacuate?”

“There wasn’t any time for that: the best I could do was to shout in every corridor as I rushed up the stairs.”

“I see. By the way, do we know where the fire originated?”

One of the officers standing to the side responded.

“I was outside the building at the time, but back then, part of the ground floor’s exterior north wall suddenly burst into flames. Though, I can’t say I had witnessed the moment the fire was set.”

“……Oi.”

The officer had readily given information to the detective he so hated, and Gregson glared at him. But as expected, Sherlock continued as if nothing had happened.

“Even so, the mob had surrounded the inn at the time, didn’t they? Was there really no one who saw exactly what happened?”

“The crowd had been rather large, so we couldn’t interview everyone who was there……” the officer responded briskly. “But we didn’t receive any eyewitness accounts of the arsonist.”

Even as he threw a displeased glance at his subordinate, Gregson thought hard.

“In that case, what if he used a device that automatically ignited the fire after a certain amount of time?” he offered.

“That’s one possibility,” Sherlock added. “It doesn’t have to be automatic either; he could’ve sprinkled flammable oil around the area beforehand, then sneaked out the window, climbed down the wall, and thrown a tiny spark — like the cinders of a match — through a window. Just like this, he’d be able to ignite the fire without drawing attention. It started from the north wall, right?”

“Yes, the wall where all the rooms’ windows are lined up,” the officer replied.

Sherlock gazed at the three men.

“In that case, that means any one of you could be the arsonist himself. But the question remains: after the fire began, how did the culprit manage to kill his accomplice in room 303, and create a locked-room murder case without anyone noticing?”

“…………”

In a way, this was the biggest ‘riddle’ in the case; all the officers, including Gregson, fell silent. In this situation, how should they proceed? Sherlock too pondered that question.

——“Oi, Sherlock. This is just my opinion, but……”

Amidst the long silence, the voice of Sherlock’s partner rang out in his mind.

——“When the fire started, Inspector Gregson went down the stairs until he was almost at the ground floor, right? During that time, there probably wasn’t anyone in the second floor corridor. Since Bruno-kun was also on that floor, I think he’s the most suspicious……. Hold on. If Mr Mike climbed up the rear staircase from the first floor, he would’ve been able to avoid the inspector and reach the second floor. Moreover, Mr Jerry was on the ground floor to begin with, so you could say he was in the most convenient location to start the fire……. Oh my, I’m starting to think all of them are suspicious.”

Sherlock could easily picture John getting confused by his own theories; gently, the corners of his mouth creased into a smile.

Then Gregson flashed Sherlock a bold grin as he spoke.

“Oi, Holmes. When I went down the stairs till I was nearly at the ground floor, there probably wasn’t anyone left in the second floor corridor. In that case, since he was on the same floor, Bruno would be the most suspicious. Fufu, as I thought, there was no need to bring you on this ca…… Hm, hold on. If Mike used the other staircase, he could’ve reached the second floor without me noticing. But Jerry’s room was on the ground floor, so it would’ve been easy to start the fire there…… Dammit, now we can’t narrow it down.”

“…………”

Strangely enough, the assistant inspector had unfortunately put forward the same theory, erasing John’s face from Sherlock’s mind once again.

Then, Mike also put forward his own theory.

“Hey, certainly, it makes sense that any one of us could’ve went up to the victim’s room. But wasn’t the door locked?”

“H-He could’ve been shot or stabbed through the door, but from what I heard, there wasn’t any evidence of that, right? M-Maybe after he killed him, the murderer locked the door again from the outside?”

Bruno also proposed a theory, but Mike was sceptical.

“The fire was going to burn everything down anyway, so why would he bother to do that?”

“I-In that case, maybe the killer opened the door to attack him, b-but the victim suddenly closed the door to try and protect himself?”

“Yeah, that might be possible. So when the wound proved fatal, it ended up looking like a locked-room murder. That makes a fair bit of sense; well, what do you think?”

“……I don’t know.”

Mike’s words had started a frank exchange of theories among the three suspects. Sherlock seemed to be listening with great interest, but Gregson seemed annoyed.

“Oi, don’t talk as you please: this is a matter for the Yard to examine. In the first place, it’s not clear whether it was a stab or shot wound……”

Hearing that, Sherlock spoke up.

“If he’d been done in with a gun, there probably would’ve been the sound of a gunshot. Though with a bit of effort, the sound could’ve been suppressed…… Did anyone hear any strange sounds?”

Bruno, who by chance happened to meet Sherlock’s gaze, responded.

“I heard someone shouting ‘Fire!’ from the outside, then flew out of bed, but I don’t remember anything after that…… Oh right: during the commotion, I think I heard something breaking once or twice.”

The timid young man had given an important testimony, but the burly man disputed that.

“Is that so? I was awake the whole time, but I didn’t hear anything?”

Even Mike’s usual appearance was intimidating; hearing that, Bruno shrank back.

“R-Right. It was probably just the sound of the wood snapping as it burnt.”

“……I can’t say either way. After all, everyone was confused and in chaos.”

Jerry also gave a vague testimony, and Gregson ruffled his hair in frustration.

“We don’t even know if there was a gunshot — it feels like we don’t have a single lead at all.”

“But if the killer had fired a gun in room 303, since he was on the same floor, Bruno probably would’ve heard it — though he himself isn’t clear on that.”

“……I knew that already; you didn’t have to say it.”

“Even though you’re making a face like that was a revelation?”

Sherlock poked a little fun at Gregson, then continued questioning the suspects.

“All of you are bandaged up rather pitifully — are they injuries from the fire earlier?”

“Yeah, I got burned while escaping; It’s not life-threatening, though.”

“It’s the same for me: when I reached the ground floor, it was already covered in flames, and when I tried to escape, I tripped and fell…… It was just my luck that the spot I landed on was aflame, so I ended up getting burned around my neck.”

Two of the suspects had explained how they got their injuries, but only one person remained in silence, his gaze slightly lowered. Of course, the detective probed further.

“Mr Jerry. Is your story the same?”

The man looked up at him. Then, after hesitating a little, he muttered briefly.

“……These are from an accident a long time ago. They have nothing to do with the fire.”

Saying that, he pulled his thick coat closer, obscuring his mouth. That caught Gregson’s attention.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, but only you’ve seemed rather reluctant to speak. It feels like you don’t want to have anything to do with this case.”

Sherlock had also gotten the same impression; in contrast to the other two, who had even made their own deductions, it seemed this man was trying to withhold information about himself.

As both the detective and inspector fixed their gazes on him, eventually, Jerry explained himself in a low voice.

“I don’t like people prying into my affairs. But that’s because of my own personal situation; it has nothing to do with this case.”

“Why’s that? Could you be hiding important evidence from us?”

“…………”

Gregson tried to press him further, but Jerry remained silent, his intentions unreadable.

His actions were clearly suspicious, but Sherlock’s intuition told him the man had definitely been telling the truth. Jerry had answered all their questions properly; in addition, he couldn’t sense any hostility to the police emanating from the man.

However, Gregson tended to interpret such behaviour in the wrong way. Sherlock had to steer the conversation down a different path before the inspector made any needless accusations — so he called out to the inn’s proprietress, who had been waiting silently in a corner.

Footnotes:

[1] No relation to Jackie Weaver, the unexpected star of the Handforth parish council: this book was published end-2020, and that incident was in early-2021. (The Guardian)

[optimist-pine]

It’s Complicated: Part 3 || Leonardo

Pairing: 2012 Leo x Reader

Word Count: 1,649

Warnings: Mature themes throughout

You hold your breath each time Raph helps you jump down another step. The wooden planks below you creak as you draw nearer to the bottom of the staircase, Donnie and April waiting to get you situated comfortably in the living room.

"What were you thinking?" April asks. Her hands rest on her hips, and the way she speaks makes you feel like you're being scolded by your mother. 

If she was going to treat you like a rebellious teenager... you simply shrug in response.

"You're the one I thought I didn't have to keep my eye on." She sighs, making her way out of the room as Raph and Donnie help you get seated.

You notice Leo looming in the background, his eyes flitting away as if he had been watching your conversation.

"Yeah, well..." You inhale sharply as Donnie sends a shock of pain up your leg. "Apparently drunk me made some stupid decisions." You mumble. Your eyes flick back over to Leo when you realize how that must have sounded, but his back is facing you and he gives no sign of having heard.

"You're lucky you didn't break anything." He finishes wrapping your ankle, covering the purple and blue skin hidden beneath. "Don't walk on it at all for the next couple of weeks at least. It'll be best if you keep it propped up and move as little as possible, and put fresh ice on it every hour or so."

You groan. "Thanks, Don." You give him the most sincere smile you can muster. This isn't the first time he's helped you out, and it's far from the last.

He chuckles. "Just try not to get hurt so often? I'm already patching those clowns up constantly..." He says gesturing to his brothers and Casey.

Yeah," you nod, "I'll try."

"Do or do not, there is no try." Mikey's voice wafts over from somewhere behind you.

"Right, Mikey is." Casey chimes in, leaning over the back of your chair, dangling a banana in front of you.

You take the fruit before bonking him in the head with it. "Don't act like you two don't constantly crash and burn." You smirk.

"Hey!" Casey reaches out for the banana but you manage to pull it out of his reach just in time.

"Play nice, children." Raph nags with a mouth full of cereal.

Casey gives up on trying to nab the fruit. "Like you can say anything, Mr. I'll put my fist through anything."

"Yeah, and that includes your face so you better shut it." Raph says, waving his spoon around to emphasize his point.

You snicker at Mikey egging the other two on in the background. "Well he wasn't wrong, was he?" You add with a mouth full of banana. After everything that had happened in the last 24 hours you were savoring every moment of normalcy... including a little bit of friendly bickering.

"You too, buttercup." Raph smirks, even though you know he has no intentions to do anything besides finishing his bowl of cereal.

You snuggle down into the chair. "Hey now, I'm already injured over here. You can't touch me."

Raph straightens up. "Oh, really?" He asks, making his way around the couch towards you.

Before he can get there though, he crashes to the floor, cereal spraying across his face and onto the floor. You can see an ornery glint in Leo's eye, but when he looks at you it disappears. He gets up and leaves the room without saying a word to anyone.

"LEO!" Raph grumbles, continuing to lie in the mess for a moment more, while the others have a good laugh at his expense.

If you could chase Leo down you would. But on the other hand, what would you say anyways? 

---

The others all got going on their chores or training, whatever they had planned for the day, while you stayed put, a stack of novels, puzzle books, and an ancient MP3 player to keep you company. During the day everyone besides Leo had stopped by to change the ice, grab you a snack, or help you to the restroom but it had been a full hour since you had heard anyone inside the house. The ice packs were soggy and warm, and your stomach was starting to grumble incessantly. You had been listening intently for any sound of footsteps, but the only noises you could hear came from your own sighs.

You halted scribbling on your puzzle for a moment, hearing the back door creak open and shut again.

"Could you grab me some more ice please?" You ask just loud enough that whoever it was would be able to hear without feeling like you were yelling at them.

The footsteps back-track towards the kitchen where you hear some rustling around in the freezer and then the fridge, and finally open the cookie jar on the counter. Cookies were reserved specifically for dessert after dinner so you figure it's probably Mikey stealing a pre-dinner snack.

"Thanks, Mike-" You start to greet as he walks into the room, but you realize you've got the wrong turtle."- Oh."

Leo sets down a glass of water and a couple of chocolate chip cookies on the table beside you, moving to change out your ice packs.

"Thanks." You say quietly. You can feel yourself stiffen up as he goes to work on your leg.

He pauses, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before he resumes, the fresh cold of the new ice packs numbing your skin. "You up to finishing that conversation?" He asks.

---

Leo thinks he may be more terrified to face you than he was to face the Shredder. He's good at narrowing down his enemies and seeking out his target. Finishing the fight. But this isn't a battle; there is no winner. 

This isn't something he can predict with strategy, because feelings are never predictable. He can't even begin to guess what's going on inside your mind besides what you've told him already. What he's heard you say aloud. You never wanted this. Never wanted it to happen to him. That it was a stupid decision. That last one you didn't say to his face, but he assumed it applied too.

But he wanted to fix things. You meant too much to him to see you look at himself with such raw pain and confusion. He wanted you to crack some ridiculous dad joke that would make everyone groan, but he would know you only intended it for him. He wanted you to run and jump into his arms, making him drop whatever he was holding already as laughter bubbled up your throat. He wanted you to sit and meditate with him because you're the only one he could focus with.

You've ruined it. Your friendship.

He missed training with you. He had taught you how to fight from the start and you had gotten fairly good fairly quickly. The two of you would banter back and forth, your teasing tone ringing in his ears, and as soon as he would take you down your face would light up like you wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

But right now... Right now you looked like you'd rather be anywhere else. Not even when you first met had you seemed so uncomfortable around him, and it broke his heart.

---

The sooner you get this over with, the sooner you can get past it.

You nod before realizing he isn't looking at you. "Uh, yeah." You manage to stammer out, grabbing the glass of water to take a swig and momentarily distract yourself from the entire situation.

He gets up to return the warm packs to the freezer before settling down uneasily on the couch. It doesn't seem like either of you know where to even begin so you pass him one of the cookies, making his brow crease momentarily. 

"Peace offering?" You question, picking up your own to nibble on. You watch him take a small bite before he appears to steel his nerves and look you in the eye.

"You still don't remember anything?" His eyes are wide, and you notice that he's tapping his heel.

Despite the overwhelming awkwardness you try to remind yourself that this is Leo, maybe the person you are closest to on the entire planet. You care too much about him to let this get between you, even if it's difficult. You take a deep breath. "The last thing I remember is talking to you about... Well I'm not sure what we were talking about but we were sitting on the couch... Or maybe your bed? I'm not really sure... After that, just waking up in your room..." You can feel your cheeks start to heat up so you drain half your water glass in one go. 

"I remember kissing you." He blurts. I'm not sure where or what happened before or after... but I remembered it this morning." His green cheeks are tinged with a bit of pink themselves.

Your stomach starts to flip a little. "Yeah but... we... we did more than that... " You try to swallow but it's getting caught in your throat.

"Yeah..." Leo replies, setting his barely-eaten cookie back on the table.

Yours falls to the floor but it barely registers. "Yeah..." The only thing you can focus on is your leg, bandaged and swollen. The tension in the room presses upon your lungs, and your fingers tap the arm of the chair in random jolts.

"Do you think we've messed this up? Being friends?" Leo asks you, the beginnings of tears in his eyes. You hate seeing him like this, especially when you're the reason for his pain.

"I'm not sure." Your own eyes have sent wet tracks down your cheeks now. "I don't want it to."

"Me neither." He states softly, and you release a breath you didn't realize you were holding.

"If it had to be anyone... I'm glad it was you. I hope that's not the wrong thing to say, but it's true..." You say.

If it had to be anyone he thinks... "Me too."

[russian-romanova]

nothing to fear

title: nothing to fear

pairing: adult!bill denbrough 

word count: 2.1K

warnings: adult language, frightening images and scenes, spider-pennywise (ew), 

notes: my memory is still choppy when it comes to chapter two. i promise absolutely no perfection down there, but I tried my absolute hardest to get everything correct! hope this is what you were looking for anon. :)

request: “May I request a Bill x reader fic that has Bill rescuing the reader from Pennywise maybe using her fears against her? (It doesn’t matter what the fear is) and I do think it’s more fitting as adults considering what happened in the second movie, but it’s also fine if it’s written with them being younger.” 

summary: requested. no matter how prepared you thought you were for the second battle with pennywise, you can never really be ready to confront your worst fear. 

+      +     +

When you had confronted Pennywise for the first time, twenty-seven years ago, you thought you were as terrified as you would ever be. You were wrong.

In fact, the first thing you remembered when you got the call from Mike was that four-letter word, the one that made your chest tighten up and your heart quicken. Fear; the absolute fear of facing Pennywise on his own turf. You remembered how terrified you had been, but how Bill had taken charge over the group and it had turned into a good sort of fear, the kind that empowered you. That was the sort of fear that It hated because it gave you and the seven other losers an advantage. If you weren’t scared out of your wits, even if there was just that little smudge of hope in you, then you could take down Pennywise.

And you had, at least for a good chunk of time. For twenty-seven years Pennywise had stayed down, but then It came back. It came back, and Mike Hanlon had called all of you and told you to come back to Derry, and all of you but Stanley had obeyed. You obeyed because you knew you had to, and you stayed because Mike had a plan.

A plan that, up until about five minutes ago, seemed to be working out perfectly. 

He called it the Ritual of Chüd, and you had all been ready and willing to give it a try. You all had to sacrifice something of meaning from your childhood for it to work, although you were admittedly fuzzy on why that would work. You had brought an old diary of yours from the time, which you had filled with secrets and stories. That diary was surely the only way you hadn’t gone crazy after the whole Pennywise encounter, allowing yourself to pour the emotions you felt into its pages. 

Everyone else had added in their items and Mike declared you had to all hold hands. He was nervous, you could tell by his rushed words. You had all complied, and began to all repeat ‘turn the light into darkness’ as the deadlights appeared. It had been working, like some overdue miracle, and you had more hope than you ever had. 

With your horrible luck, you should have known it wouldn’t work. If anything, it had only seemed to draw an extra scary Pennywise nearer to your group, and now you were running for your lives. Bill had been standing next to you, and you had both grabbed for each other’s hands. If it had been any other occasion, you would have likely stopped and thought it over, read more into the action. It wasn’t some other occasion, however, and you focused primarily on not letting go and running for your lives.

You were close to blushing in Bill’s grip despite the running part. The two of you had always been shy around the other as children, but you had brushed it off as teenage awkwardness. It wasn’t until you had returned that you realized you had loved Bill, truly loved him, even as children. The two of you had only grown closer in the time since you returned, and you certainly weren’t complaining. You had silently sworn to yourself that if you made it out of this hellhole, you would finally tell him.

Bill had thankfully led the way, following the twists and turns as you shouted about Pennywise behind you. He had emerged as if he was now part spider, with half a dozen shiny, hard legs that were clicking behind your group as you slowly divided. Mike ducked behind a large object as Richie and Eddie split off. Bev and Ben did the same, and you felt yourself practically leaning forwards as you tried to run even faster. Wordlessly, Bill had led the two of you to a narrow hiding spot, and you broke apart and rolled inside. You could barely hear the menacing snap of Its jaws behind you, but felt the rush of air that accompanied the motion. Everything was dark in here, you realized as you blinked a few times. Everything was dark, and then it suddenly wasn’t. 

For the longest part of your life, you had been deathly afraid of heights. This had lurked in the back of your mind the whole time you had been back in Derry because you knew that It would remember that. One memory in specific seemed to bring the fear forward -- one where you and your dad had been working on the roof of your house. You were sure that your mom wouldn’t have let you up there, but she was at work and your dad hadn’t seen the harm in it. He should have, which was a fact he would realize the moment your feet slipped and you slid down the roof and fell off the house. You had a broken bone or two, but the doctors had praised your young age for the lack of permanent damage. What they hadn’t discovered was how terrified you were that the falling sensation would happen again. 

You were there again now. Upon opening your eyes, you had been greeted by the bright sunlight and the feeling of cold stone against your back. You were up on the roof again, with your back pressed against the chimney. You were balanced near the top of the roof, where your feet seemed to have a temporarily decent grip. If your eyes fell to either side of you, the ground greeted you below. Slowly turning your head to the left, you noticed how far down the ground seemed. Was it really this far or was this some sort of trick?

A trick, that’s what this must be. Your left foot slid along a shingle and you pushed yourself back up, pressing your back up against the wall as best you could. This wasn’t real, just as none of it usually was. This was some stupid trick, compliments of Pennywise, and all you had to do was realize it wasn’t real and you’d wake up. You would wake up and none of it would be real, you would be safe at home with your alarm going off, and it would have all been a dream. 

“Scared you’re going to fall?” A voice floated from the other corner of the roof, and you pulled your eyes away from the taunting ground. Across from you stood the creature you wanted the see least of all, and It was grinning at you. You could feel your eyes widen and your breath hitch in your throat. “Oh, don’t worry. Your bones’ll bounce back.” You were only vaguely aware that this is what the doctor had told your worried parents after you had fallen. “They’ll bounce right back.” 

None of his words were comforting. “This isn’t real, there’s nothing to fear,” You repeated your mantra out loud, frozen. Pennywise took a step closer. You slid a foot to the side, but it only attempted to slide with your trailing. Regaining yourself, you realized that this roof wasn’t going to hold you as well as a real roof would. This was It’s turf, after all, and now you were playing by It’s rules. 

“Bill!” You called out, hoping that he would hear you from whatever unconscious state you had fallen into. 

“Bill can’t come to the phone right now,” Pennywise answered. “He has his own fears, his own anguish.” He took another step in your direction. “Nowhere for you to go but down, down, down.” 

You tried to stabilize your breathing, anxiously replying, “Fuck you.” There had to be some other way out of here anyway. You whipped your head to either side, looking for what you were missing. There must be some way out of here that wasn’t falling. There always was, right?

Pennywise advanced, and you felt a hand brush against yours from the opposite side of the chimney. A frightening noise came out of your mouth as you attempted to move it out of reach of the other hand while maintaining grip. 

The hand found yours again but was accompanied by a voice this time around. “Y/N. Heh-heh-hey, it’s Buh-Bill.”

“Bill,” Your voice came out in a relieved sigh. “Are you okay?”

He ignored your question. “Cuh-can you move around? There’s a luh-luh-ladder over he-here.” 

An attempt to move only brought your foot slipping again. “No,  I can’t. I can’t move, Bill.” 

“You’ve got it. It’s oh-okay,” Bill’s hand tightened around yours. “If y-y-you slip I’ve guh-got you.” 

From his grip spread warmth and confidence. Taking advantage of the burst of adrenaline, you slowly began to move across the roof, feet taking small steps and your arms remained outstretched. Not even daring to look towards Pennywise, you inched your way across the roof until both your feet were slanted. The ground was certainly unnaturally far away, you realized as you glanced down. The sight made you dizzy. “Duh-don’t look duh-duh-down,” Bill added, and you realized that you could see him out of the corner of your eye. His hair was a little messy, and his eyes seemed more tired than they had before. It was a comforting sight none the less. 

You were almost there when your feet finally did slip. You had been doing amazingly well considering the few attempts you had previously tried had been nothing short of pitiful. It seemed perhaps due that your feet finally did slip, but Bill kept his promise. Somehow stable, his other hand shot out to grab your arm and he pulled you forward.

The action seemed to do it, and the bright sun from on your roof turned into the dim lighting of the cave. “Holy shit,” You breathed after a moment. “Holy shit.” 

“Are yuh-yuh-you okay?” Bill answered.

“Where the fuck did you even come from?” You asked him, your voice coming out in a realized chuckle. 

“I don’t nuh-know.” His hands moved to grab onto your arms tighter. “I was in muh-my buh-basement, and th-th-then I was there.” 

You stood in silence for a moment, catching your breath. “Thank you,” You said finally. Quickly, you moved in for a dark kiss. Easily, you had found his lips and you felt his grip tighten and then relax. In the hectic grey of the storm, this was your yellow moment of happiness. 

Silently, you pulled away. In the dark lighting, it was hard to make out Bill’s expression but he seemed pleased enough. You were smiling at him, although you were sure he couldn’t see it either.

“Should we go kill that fucker?” You asked in a whisper. ‘How romantic,’ you found your inner voice commenting. 

“Oh-okay,” The shadow of Bill’s head moved up and down in a nod. “Cuh-cuh-can we guh-go out f-f-for dinner or suh-something after?” The words came out despite the situation. 

“Okay,” You repeated. With a renewed confidence, you retook Bill’s hand in yours and turned around. If you could do that, you could do anything. 

extra note: ahhh this is so little, :( it also totally veers off from what actually happens. my memory sucks ass sometimes, and the only transcript i could find was very shifty and unclear. i’m sorry this took so long to get out anon! i hope it satisfied your needs. :)

[darveyfics]

Louis has some heartbreaking news for Harvey about Donna... interpret this how ever you want. Based whenever you want.

.

He’s never run so fast in his entire life. 

He bounds into the Hospital, before striding to the reception, a flurry of commands and orders and her now distinct name rolling with practise off of his lips - along with little bit of his own - as his clenched fist drops solidly onto the counter. 

He’s in a daze, fingers pointing away from him, with ‘stranger’ mouthes moving in front of him in a blur as his body responds on autopilot. He’s desperately trying to quash the heartbeat pounding in his ears, thrumbing with an echo and a thud. The sear of acid in his stomach lashes up his throat and burns in his mouth with a vile taste.

He presses the elevator button, cursing at the drudging speed of it’s descent towards him.

He doesn’t have time. He’s already delayed. Fate had already kept him away from her for so long…

His eyes notice the door to the stairs, as he pushes it open roughly, taking them two at a time and thanking his consistent morning routine for the added support as he climbs four flights in total, every one of them a mountain in his mind.

He’s panting from the rush of adrenaline when he arrives at the right floor, pushing open the door to level three as his eyes read the various signs in a panic, looking for the right department. Looking for an endgame to his distended sense of dread. 

He finds the right one, marching along mint coloured walls and heads for the last reception of his journey, as a soft looking, older woman with glasses, shuffles paper in front of him. 

“I’m looking for Donna Specter? Where is she?” He asks impatiently.

“Sorry, Sir, can ask who you are to her?” She questions, looking at him.

“I’m her husband.” He says heavily, clamping down on the frustration coursing through his veins. 

The woman frowns, looking down the hall for moment. Before she can comment, he hears a familiar voice call down to him. 

“Harvey.”

He notices Louis, his eyes bloodshot red as he stands in the middle of the ward, his hands limp against his sides. 

His own chest lurches, as he walks over to the shorter man. 

His face is grave, unsure and terrified, as he stares back at Harvey. 

“Louis…” He manages, his chest heaving then. He doesn’t have to hear words to see that it’s bad. Really bad.

“I uh…I’m sorry, they wouldn’t let Mike know anything, so I…I lied…and then,” He rambles, regret etched on his stunned face.

“It’s fine, Louis.” He rushes the sentiment. “Where is she? Is she…”

“The way the car…hit her…she…” 

“Louis…” He swallows, feeling a punch within his gut, his heart beating too fast to concentrate. “Just tell me.” He orders. “Please.”

He watches as Louis trembles, his face bending into a panicked cry as his hand tries to stop the eruption of tears. “She lost the baby…”

It’s like a literal punch to the face. 

They only had a month left. One month. Four little weeks, until…

They had a room filled with green and yellow and blue.

He had recalled her sitting in it lately, talking to the person that he knew she was so excited to see. That they both were.

It had been the first time in his life that he truly felt complete.  

Now, he felt limp, his throat dry despite the tears in his eyes. 

“Is she, uh…” He starts, unable to finish the words.

“She’s stable. They operated on her two hours ago.” He explains. “I made sure she had a good room.” 

“I dropped my phone.” He says numbly, his glaze blurring. 

He had been in board meeting. He had dropped his phone whilst taking a piss, of all things. He had spoken to her half an hour before that. She was shopping for things. Happy and light and whimsical about being ‘knocked up by Harvey Specter’…

“Harvey…I’m so sorry.” Louis says, throwing his mind back into the room.

“It’s okay.” He tells the man, nodding, half telling himself in the process.  “Where is she?”

“Harvey,” Louis warns then. 

He frowns, judging the man’s reticent expression. “Louis. I need to see my wife. Right now.”

He watches as his friend and Partner judges his expression, before turning his back. He follows, his hands balling into fists.

With every step he takes it gets harder to walk, despite his rushing urge to see the literal love of his life. 

He spots Mike and Rachel first, Rachel’s face is drenched with tears, and Mike is holding her a mere foot or two away from the end of the bed. They look to him, their faces as pained as his feels. No doubt the entire team had set themselves against the usual hospital laws. 

They are a unit. A family. All of them. They do it all together.

It’s then that he notices the splayed red hair across the pillow. The bruises. The broken arm in plaster and the gaping, resonating absence, 

Of where their child once lay, waiting patiently for them. 

His mouth falls open, a puff of air forcing itself out as his shoulders drop at the realisation. 

He had nearly lost her, too. Hell, he still could. And hell it would most certainly be…

Her face is peaceful, as he moves slowly but loyally to her side, gravitating towards the chair nearer to her. It still feels warm - Louis must have been here in his absence - as he pulls it closer to her bedside. He stretches over to her, his right hand taking her left as he pulls it towards his face, kissing it soundly. Her diamond ring is missing. He frowns, even the absence of that painting his face a darker colour. 

Despite it all, she looks like a peaceful angel, if you concentrate on the left side of her face. If you ignore the bruises and the drastic change in her. 

“Donna,” He whispers, his jaw clamping with the tension of seeing her like this. He draws a breath, tears falling between their joined hands. “I’m so sorry.” He sobs, finally. 

His friends linger near him. Knowing that he needs them now, more than ever. 

Knowing that she does, too.  

They watch after him, as he watches after her unconscious form. 

If you must wait,Wait for them here in my arms as I shakeIf you must weep,Do it right here in my bed as I sleepIf you must mourn, my loveMourn with the moon and the stars up aboveIf you must mourn,Don’t do it aloneIf you must leave,Leave as though fire burns under your feetIf you must speak,Speak every word as though it were uniqueIf you must die, sweetheartDie knowing your life was my life’s best partAnd if you must die,Remember your lifeYou areYou areOh, you areYou areOhIf you must fight,Fight with yourself and your thoughts in the nightIf you must work,Work to leave some part of you on this earthIf you must live, darling one,Just liveJust liveJust live

‘You’ by Keaton Henson.

[theyleftherbones]

Title: Show and Tell Fandom: The Walking Dead Pairing: Rick Grimes/Michonne Rating: M Summary: Aaron volunteers to join Rick and Michonne on their next scavenging trip and, despite his good intentions and their best efforts, they’re both far from pleased. Author's Note: Here goes my first foray into the Richonne fandom—I can only hope I did the fabulous pairing justice!

Spoilers for 7x12.

 ~

“I could’ve gone a couple more days. I would have liked that,” Rick had said.

And, if she’s honest with herself, she would have to.

If she’s honest with herself (and she has no reason not to be at this stage), she doesn’t think she’s had what she has with Rick with anyone else. Mike came close during the good days, she thinks, but it didn’t stick.

When things fell apart, Mike fell apart with them, and there was no bringing him back—not for anything or anyone.

That’s not to say that Rick hasn’t had his fall from grace, more than once by all accounts; but he always came back (to Carl and Judith, to the group, to her).

The time they spent on the road, alone, together, only served to cement her belief that this was it for the both of them. The things he said, the things they did—it was what she wanted that, again and again and again.

And so, when Aaron volunteers to join them on their next scavenging trip, Michonne’s heart drops in a way that doesn’t quite surprise her.

It makes sense that he’d want to come, makes sense that they seek they increase their numbers on these runs because, as capable as the two of them are, there are a myriad of things that can go wrong without another pair of eyes.

But, there’s so much more that can go right when it’s just the two of them.

It takes her mere seconds to see that Rick feels the same way.

He’s quiet throughout the day, supplying her with little more than small smiles and short answers when prompted with questions, clearly lost in thoughts she isn’t privy to just yet.

It isn’t until she’s put Judith to sleep and joined him in the kitchen that she’s finally awarded with the clarity she’s craving.

He has two of the ready-to-eat meals they found laid out with a single candle between them, an arrangement that pulls something at the pit of her stomach. Who would have guessed that Rick Grimes was a romantic of the highest caliber after all?

“We really hit the jackpot that day, didn’t we?” She smiles, seeking to lighten the mood before prying.

“Yeah, we did,” he says.

In more ways than one, she thinks, but does not say.

“Aaron wants to join us, one our next run,” he says after a few moments of silence.

She stops chewing almost instantly, and looks up to find him watching her. She wonders if he can see the enormous pit that just landed in her stomach, the disappointment that settles into the back of her throat.

“What did you tell him?” She asks with a casualness that she does not feel.

“What could I tell him?”

And he’s right, he is. How were they to turn away help they so desperately needed?

“Well, the more, the merrier, right?”

“No,” he simply states.

“Rick…”

“I know, I know. I’m being selfish,” he shakes his head, and her palm finds its way to his cheek before her mind directs it. “It’s just… it was good. Just the two of us, doing our thang out there. I liked that.”

“I did too,” she admits.

They’re silent for a few moments, his head bowed in what she knows is a keen disappointment.

Suddenly, before she spares a thought for what she’s doing, she leans closer to him, close enough that she can bring her lips right against his ear.

“You know what else I like?” She whispers, her lips brushing against the lobe in a way that draws a deep sigh from him.

“What?” He asks without turning to her, eyes closed and breathing heavy as she buries her fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck (the way she knows he likes).

“This,” she tilts her head to the side, and presses her lips over his own, an invitation he’s clearly been waiting for if the way he instantly deepens the kiss is any indication.

They stay like that for a while, exploring each other in the leisurely way she’s grown to love until he pulls back, forehead resting against hers while his hands cup her face as if it’s the most precious thing that’s ever stood between them.

“What else--what else do you like?” He pants, and she can already feel herself growing wet.

She spares a brief thought for the fact that Carl isn’t home, and can potentially walk in on them any minute, before throwing caution to the wind.

She cups him though his jeans, and it’s obvious that she isn’t the only one who’s getting worked up. His constant hunger for her is another thing her body is still adjusting to, the intensity of it--the sheer frequency.

She’s stoking him now, and she can feel him growing harder still as her palm traces the length of him. He places his hand over her own, putting an end to her ministrations. It jars her enough that she tilts her head back so she can get a good look at him.

“Tell me what you like,” He says again, voice still raspy, but more than a whisper.

She swallows, unsure how to proceed. She’s no stranger to heated sex, far from it, but words don’t normally play a role. How can she tell him that she likes (loves) him, every brush of his hand, every kiss, every inch of him sliding in and out of her?

“You,” she simply states.

His eyes soften and, just like that, he’s kissing her again, nearly frantic in his movements before he wraps both hands around her waist and places her on the table directly before him.

His heat emboldens her, and the moment she’s able to break the kiss, she speaks.

“I like the way you look at me,” she whispers, and he pulls back to study her with hooded eyes, travelling from the planes of her face, to the exposed skin of her chest just above the opening of her tank top.

He takes his seat again, confusing her momentarily before he speaks.

“Show me then,” he gestures to her shirt, no doubt promoting her to remove it.

She doesn’t need to be asked twice, pulls it over her head in one swift motion, and is left in nothing but her black lace bra and his eyes mapping out a heated trail over her bare skin.

When his eyes meet hers again, she’s already undoing her bra, one quick click before she’s pulling the straps off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor.

He swallows then, and she knows it’s taking everything he has not to lay her across the table and bury himself inside her then and there.

She makes quick work of her jeans next (though she needs to stand for this one, close enough that he’d barely have to reach forward to touch her), but something keeps her from moving right to her underwear.

When Rick senses her hesitation, he gestures to her mid-section, wordlessly prompting her to remove them like she did everything else.

But something is still holding her back, keeping her from treading past the full-blooded state of exposure eliminating the garment will leave her in.

As if sensing her hesitation, Rick wraps both his hands around her waist, drawing her nearer.

He places an open-mouthed kiss on each of her breasts, the feel of his tongue and the scrape of his beard eliciting a quiet moan from her. He kisses his way down her stomach, all the way down to her navel, where he plants another kiss through the fabric of her underwear.

He wraps two fingers around the thin fabric, slowly drawing it down her legs until she’s lifting one foot, and then the other, to be rid of it completely.

He wastes no time in setting her atop the table again, drawing her legs wide open so he can stare right at her center, so two of his fingers can rub against the wetness of her lips and drive her mad with the need of him. The heat she feels blooming across her cheeks is almost unbearable.

“Rick—“

“You like that?” he drawls, his breathing just as heavy as hers.

“Yes—oh, yes,” she moans.

He sticks both fingers inside her then, pulls them in and out with the sound of her wetness making the gesture seem almost obscene.

She pulls him in for an open-mouthed kiss, while his fingers work to drive her mad. He curls them inside her, just the way she likes, and her moans between kisses are growing louder than she’d normally let them.

She needs him, all of him, now.

It’s with that resolve that she begins undoing his belt, her hands moving with a practiced precision that her mind can’t quite mimic.

When she pulls the length of him out, long and hard, she begins stroking him just way she knows he likes. She’s awarded with a long sigh and a shudder that has him breaking this kiss.

“Michonne—“

It’s his turn to find himself at a loss for words, and it has her smiling. She seizes the moment.

“I like when every inch of you is inside me,” she whispers against his ear, and, vaguely, she thinks that this may be the most brazen thing she’s ever said to a man.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, before raising both her thighs, pulling her against him, and sliding the entire length of his cock into her with one solid thrust.

She gasps, her head falling back while his lips latch onto her neck, sucking and biting as he’s thrusting in and out of her, fast and hard and desperate.  

“It’s good?” he pants against her, and it takes a few moments for the words to register with her.

“Yes, so—so good,” she moans back.

It doesn’t take more than a few trusts to have her coming undone, the angle and the work his fingers put in before paying off in the best of ways.

She stifles her small scream against his lips, still taken aback by the desperate sounds he manages to draw from her.  

He comes undone very soon after, pulling out just in time, his seed a stark contrast against the skin of her abdomen.

He grabs the nearest cloth and begins cleaning them both up, as is his habit, head bowed and eyes focused on his work. She succumbs to the urge to pull him in for a kiss on the cheek, his stubble prickling the skin of her lips in a way she’s grown to love.

“Next time,” She whispers, “you’re going to tell me what you like.”

~

[vintagemichelle91]

A Hard Lesson in Matrimony: Chapter 2

Author’s Note: Thank you all for the lovely feedback on last night’s first chapter! @rauliskafan and I are always so excited to hear from you guys! We hope you enjoy chapter two and make sure to check back a little later because there is something we would like to ask all of you guys!! 

           “Maggie, do you have a fairy godmother?” Violetta asked curiously, pulling her soft peach blanket up to her chin and snuggling at Maggie’s side as Cinderella’s raggedy pink dress transformed into a sparkling blue ball gown that was sure to capture the entire kingdom’s eye.

           Maggie was slightly taken aback by the strange question from her niece She paused the movie and turned to face Violetta with an arched brow. “Unfortunately, no. But there are so many people in my life that have helped me.”

           “Like who?”

           “Well, like your Mami and Papi for sure,” Maggie replied sincerely. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that she would never be able to repay them for all they had done. In so many ways, they rescued her from herself.

           Violetta nodded in agreement. “Me too. They help me lots.”

           Maggie giggled. “Of course they do, silly. You are so lucky to have such kind parents.”

           “Can’t say the same for Cinderella,” Violetta stated sadly as she pointed towards the flat screen. A small tear glistened in her eye and Maggie couldn’t help but cuddle her closer.

           “Don’t worry; I’m sure she’ll get her happy ending,” Maggie promised as she pressed play and the movie continued. Natalia and Rafael would return from the opera soon before the night was out, sure to laugh at their sweet pea’s sympathy showing through the sass. Someday, Maggie hoped for a little girl just like---

           With a sudden knock at the door, they stirred from under the blanket and glanced at one other. Maggie checked the time on her phone and noted that they were not expecting anyone this soon, and their dinner had been delivered over an hour ago. Balancing Violetta on her hip, Maggie went to go answer the door with slight hesitance.

           “What are you doing here?”

           “Trevor!” Violetta bounced excitedly in Maggie’s arms as she saw the older man standing on the doorstep with two small pink gift boxes in hand. “You bring presents!” Her little eyes widened in excitement as Trevor smiled.

           “For my best girl,” he said as he kissed the top of her head.

           “Maggie, put me down!” Violetta squirmed until the ballerina complied with her demand.

            “You come here expecting to buy your way into her heart?” Maggie huffed.

           “Maggie, be nice! Or I tell Mami!” Violetta threatened as she tugged at her skirt.

           “Quite right, Mind your manners, Maggie.” Trevor chuckled as he got down to Violetta’s eye level. “Now, I have one for you and one for Harold.”

           Violetta smiled in pure glee as she patted Trevor’s cheek. “Glad to see you have your riorities straight.”

           “Priorities, little one.” Maggie corrected gently as she avoided Trevor’s gaze. Maybe Natalia had reconciled with the man. But she just couldn’t allow herself to let him in, especially after all that had happened in London.

           “That’s what I said!” Violetta declared with a roll of her eyes as she shook the pretty pink box. “Can I open it? Please?”

           “Of course! I want to be sure that you like it.” Trevor encouraged her with another kiss to her cheek, his gaze softening as Violetta tore into the package. Maggie couldn’t help but hold her breath, wondering what it would have been like to know him as a child, wondering if he could have shielded her from her mother’s many moods.

           “Oh just what I needed!” Violetta exclaimed excitedly as she pulled out a small sparkly tiara. “Harold and I can play queen and princess!” She opened the other box and appeared pleased to see a much smaller tiara for her hippo friend. “I go show her! Thanks, Trevor!” Violetta kissed his cheek.

           “You are most welcome, your majesty.” Trevor bowed and seemed to relish the sound of Violetta’s delighted giggle.

           “So…” Trevor started. “How are you?”

           “Wonderful,” Maggie said quietly. “You know you’re unbelievable.”

           “Why do you say---?”

           “Because you come around and fill Violetta’s head with stories,” Maggie quickly responded. “But I’m not so easily swayed.”

Trevor tried to draw nearer to his daughter, but she placed a harsh palm in front of him.

“Maggie, please. I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

           “Then why the hell are you here?” Maggie asked exasperatedly. He shuffled his feet and spoke slowly.

           “I… I wanted to congratulate you on your engagement and… and tell you that I am happy for you,” Trevor said gently.

           “God, Natty talks way too much,” Maggie said, none too pleased and thinking that she might have to have a little conversation with her sister tonight about sharing her stories out of school.

           “Natalia only means well,” Trevor continued. “She loves you Maggie.”

           “She has a funny way of showing it sometimes.” Crossing her arms over her chest tightly, Maggie held her ground, wanting him to turn away and not take another step.

           “She only wants the best for you. And so do I.” He dug into his breast pocket and pulled out a small black velvet box. “This is for you. I hope you like your gift, too.”

           Maggie cast him a weary glance and reluctantly took the box from his hands. For a few moments, they stood in silence, neither one knowing what to do next.

           “Why should I accept a present from you? Isn’t it too late for this now?” Maggie struggled to keep her voice from cracking. Far too many painful memories flashed across her mind and she so desperately wanted to move on… move past them. To forget and hope for the future.

           The pitter patter of Violetta’s feet filled the silent void as she returned to the doorway. “Tia Maggie. Trevor bring you a present, too?” she asked as she curiously eyed the box.

           “It would seem so.” Maggie bit her lip and sighed.

           “Open it! I wanna see!” Violetta jumped up and down tugging on Maggie’s free hand. Against her will, she opened the box and her breath hitched. Inside were a pair of antique sapphire earrings. The most exquisite pair she had ever laid eyes on and a part of her was slightly taken aback by the grand gesture.

           “Oh those are pretty!” Violetta said as Maggie passed her the box and the little girl gently traced her tiny fingers around the blue gems.

           “Something old, borrowed, and blue for your big day.” Trevor’s voice was but a mere whisper. “Even if you won’t… if I can’t attend, I still want---”

           Maggie snapped the velvet box shut and looked to her father. “Thank you. But this is too much.”

           Trevor shook his head. “It isn’t nearly enough. But it’s… it’s the least I can do.”

           “You wanna watch the rest of Cinderella with us?” Violetta asked as Trevor smiled down at her and Maggie tensed.

           “I’m afraid I can’t say. But you girls enjoy. It’s a lovely story.”

           With that, he waved goodbye before disappearing into the night.

           “He so nice!” Violetta mused as the little tiara glistened amongst her honey-colored tresses and Maggie blinked back a few stray tears.

           “Not as nice as the fairy godmother. Come on little one.” Maggie took hold of Violetta’s hand and led her back to the living room. “Let’s see what happens at the ball.”

She left the black box on the side table, wanting to forget it for the rest of the night.

           “Maggie, look I found this on Pinterest.”

           Natalia pulled out her phone to show Maggie a centerpiece idea. She had spent the past few weeks pinning to a virtual mood board to help Maggie plan. Rafael rightly pointed out that her novels lay long forgotten on her nightstand because she spent most of her time before going to bed incessantly scrolling through her iPad

           “Natty, you showed me that the other night.”

           “Oh?” Natalia’s brow furrowed. “Did I? I can’t remember.”

           “Yes, you did. And you sent it to me via text message.” Maggie pulled out her own phone and showed her sister the text.

           Natalia’s cheeks turned a bright shade of pink. “Sorry. I know I have been going a little crazy.”

           Maggie smiled. “I know. But I mostly have everything covered.”

           “You do?”

Rollins glanced over her shoulder while she browsed the endless racks of dresses.

           “Yes. Mike thinks I’m going overboard but---”

           “Watching Cinderella helped,” Violetta said as she climbed onto a plush chair to get a look at the picture on Maggie’s phone.

           “Cinderella sure has some expensive tastes,” Rollins pointed out with a light chuckle.

           “Maggie,” Natalia whispered. “Are you sure you don’t need us to help?”

           “Everything is fine, Natty! Now let’s get me a gown.”

           Liv arrived at the bridal shop to help as Maggie tried on dress after dress. Two hours later, the room was overflowing with tulle skirts, lace mermaid-style dresses, and heavy beaded garments that sparkled against the chandelier hanging above them.

           “Mami, I hungry,” Violetta whispered to her mother as they watched as Maggie turn this way and that in her latest selection.

           “Oh no, this isn’t right at all,” Maggie said, scrunching her face in disgust.

           Natalia patted Violetta’s cheek and offered a granola bar from her purse. “I know, sweet pea. I promise we’ll go eat as soon as Tia Maggie is done.”

           “Got another granola bar in there?” Rollins asked.

           “I have a spare box of Noah’s Teddy Grahams somewhere,” Liv said as she rummaged through her large tote bag.

           “At this point, I’ll take a crumb,” Rollins sighed as Maggie disappeared into the fitting room to put on yet another dress. Violetta hopped off Natalia’s lap and handed Rollins the rest of her granola bar before walking to the dressing room door and knocking as hard as she could.

           “You know Cinderella was happy with what she got, Tia Maggie. And she not make such a fuss,” Violetta scolded as the others burst into laughter. Natalia couldn’t help but see so much of Rafael in her at that very moment, eager to tell him as much when he returned home that night.

           “Smart girl,” Liv said as she smiled at Violetta.

           Maggie quickly flung the door open. “I thought we had each other’s back, little girl.”

           “Not when I starving,” Violetta whined as she made her way back onto her mother’s lap.

           “She has a point, Maggie,” Natalia said as she gestured towards the many discarded dresses. “I mean, the last one was lovely on you.”

           “And this one.” Rollins stood to present a heart-shaped strapless gown with pink embellishments. Liv followed her lead and pulled out the second one Maggie had tried on, another strapless dress with flowers cascading down the bell-shaped skirt.  

“This one looked great, too,” Liv said.

“I like this one!” Violetta declared.

“I thought you wanted me to narrow this down,” Maggie teased. Everyone seemed to have a different style in mind, and the bride-to-be stood before all four dresses and listened as each lady made a case for their choice.

           “Okay then,” Maggie started. “It will be one of these. I’ll keep you posted and let you know what I decide.”

           “Keep us in spense why don’t you.” Violetta threw her little arms in the air and fell back to the plush chair.

           “Suspense, sweet pea,” Natalia corrected as she sat next to her.

           “Well, as long as we can go eat I have no objections,” Rollins said as she started gathering her things. “Maybe we could try that new place on 7th?”

           “Yes! Rafael said it was wonderful!” Natalia buttoned up Violetta’s little white cardigan and sent him a quick text.

           “Bill said something about it, too. Said the paninis were the best.” Liv also typed a quick text as she slung her tote over her shoulder.

           “Not so fast, ladies. There’s a bunch of dresses I want you all to try on.” Maggie emerged from the fitting room dressed in her own clothes. She paid no mind to the groans coming from her bridesmaids and her little flower girl.

           Violetta sighed. “You paying for lunch when this over, Maggie.”