#six month smiles essex

[smolvenger]

A Court of Mischief and Purpose Chapter Six (Loki x fem! Reader, A Court of Thorns and Roses Hiddlesverse AU)

Series Summary: Inspired by A Court of Thorns and Roses with the Tom Hiddleston characters. As you lay dying of consumption, You make a deal with Loki to heal you in exchange for staying with him every month. You are whisked to a world full of magic...and danger.

Chapter Summary: You and your band of Loki and his variants travel to Jotunheim to see the Prophet for a clue about defeating Grendel, but you receive an unexpected warning about your old friend from home...

Warnings: Some angst and hurt/comfort. Loki being a cheeky lil shit. Mentions of sex, cheating, and a suicide attempt. Some spicy sparring tension. Me being bitter about the canon events of The Essex Serpent and it shows.

Word Count: 6K

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @muddyorbsblr @thrut

Chapter One//Chapter Two//Chapter Three//Chapter Four//Chapter Five

A/N: Happy Loki release day to all who observe! I hope you likeit!

“Hm- I think we should try each other. But���ladies first. Y/N, let’s see if you have truly improved,” Loki asked that day in training.

It was only your second week since you chose to stay here. Every day, training continued for two hours. You had now only picked up the basics of sword fighting.

You gripped your practice sword in your hand. It was technically not a sword yet- it was still a wooden pole with the weight of a sword. Better than having everyone being chopped into bits- and you were still a beginner. You nodded.

“Alright- then try me,” you replied.

Hal stood, arms crossed to watch. Thomas took out a pocket watch to keep track of the time.

“It will be three minutes- beginning- now!”

Loki charged up to you with the dulled practice sword. You took up yours as the blades touched.

Clang! He took it back to try to swipe you at the side, you tapped his- clang! Jonathan wiped off his sweat with a towel but kept an eye there to you both. Robert only crossed his arms and sat, but his eyes were steady.

“Not bad, Y/N darling.”

“Quit calling me that!” you barked. You took a sword to him, but with you exposed, he tapped your leg.

“Ah-ah! You just exposed yourself there- Y/N. Isn’t that better? Just Y/N.”

You tried to turn around quickly to get his other side, but he charged forward. You tripped on your feet and fell on your back.

“Two minutes!” Thomas announced with the pocket watch.

He gently traced the blade of the pole over your neck. You felt your heart beat fast at its touch- like that of a finger. Your muscles ached so badly they screamed at you. You had trained hard for an hour and a half and you were feeling it everywhere. And you were tired-you dreaded going to sleep and it was tougher to fall and stay asleep. You kept having that odd dream about the boat, the boy, the water, and the white hand.

“Are you going to give up that easily on the battlefield?” Loki asked, arching a brow.

“No! I just..I…”

‘Hmm, you need some motivation- when you are there in a fight, you must not give up. You have to continue to the end…” the god said. 

“I’m just…I’m…I’m tired…” you confessed.

He knelt down with a smile. His blade right over your stomach. Then he leaned down his head, sending a thought of his right into your mind to where you heard his voice clear as a bell. All with that blasted smirk on his face.

“Your breasts felt nice and soft when I was a cat.”

Enraged, you gave him a swift kick in the stomach. He fell forward, as you scrambled back up, got your sword, and put it against his throat.

“Hmmm- not bad, but you forget-I’m armed too-”

His pole whacked you on your feet. You fell from the surprise and realized you fell on top of him. He was-close. So close. Your noses, your lips, inches away. You took in the blue of his eyes, the ivory color of his skin. Both of you panting hard. Where your arms fell- it was like an embrace. Embarrassment flooded you. For all of them to see you both in such a…position. You stared at him dumbfounded, frozen with surprise. His shirt, his body, hot and flushed with exercise felt solid against yours. And there was something stirring inside you to touch him. Something you didn’t know. Something you didn’t want to say. Something you never dared explore, dared taste. 

You pulled yourself off, feeling the cool air of the outside over your skin enflamed with excercise and the accidental intimacy. You propped yourself up as did Loki. 

Thomas finally announced “Time!” as he closed the pocket watch. Loki used his seidr to wipe off the dust from his clothes and dry the sweat. He tilted his head at you.

“Well, Y/N, you need a little more practice…but you are far from bad,” he said.

Your muscles relaxed after being so tense that whole time. 

“That’s a compliment on your terms-Thank you.” you replied

You turned to the other gentlemen. Then Loki walked up to them. He looked at all of them, his expression hardening. 

“We shouldn’t wait for the ceremony of the heir to see him.” he announced.

“How come?” Jonathan asked, squinting his eyes.

“It’s a royal ceremony…no matter what happens or who is named, I will be there. It will be impossible to slip out without suspicion.”

Prince Hal gave a confused look.

“Just use your own privilege to let you through!”

Jonathan put a hand in front of him.

“He has a point…and every minute we hesitate, we wait- Grendel might gain a new ally. Attack a new place. A new life could be threatened…”

“Then…this place the prophet is in-will there be enemies there?” you asked.

“Only the Frost Giants. They only attack you if you attack them-they tried an invasion some odd thousands of years ago…but…”

A light in Loki’s eyes dimmed.

“But no- they aren’t to be-be…slaughtered…:

“If Grendel has no allies with them, he has no allies with them- and we will need to go. Prepare an offering for this prophet and go,” you nodded.

Thomas tucked the pocket watch into his pocket.

“I hear it’s very cold…I only hope the rest of you are as used to it as I am.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The land of the Frost Giants indeed. How cold it was! All of you wrapped up warmly. Jonathan and Robert in big, puffy coats and gloves. Robert clutched a case with his fists despite his chattering teeth. Jonathan only wore a determined frown. Thomas in his thickest cape and gloves. Hal shivered beneath his black cloak. And You shivered so bad even in your muff and heavy coat and knit scarf bundled before your face. Only Loki was in his normal clothes, going about perfectly fine. It was probably the godhood in him. You stepped through thick snow, the wind cutting at you as it hit you at an angle and the snowflakes hit you less like a gentle kiss and more like an angry pelt of tiny stones. 

“Here! His cave is here!” Loki pointed out to the cave. “I know it is- follow me!”

All of you trudged forward. Though it was still cold and you saw your breaths in the air. There wasn’t sleet or wind here. Your steps echoed.

Thomas brought out candles from his coat pocket and Robert lit them with his cigarette lighter.

“Alright- get it ready…” Thomas guided.

Robert nodded. He got out the case- sure enough, a whole roast chicken was there—warm and delicious smelling. If you hadn’t eaten right before, you would have been tempted to have a bite. Then Loki used his magic- there was blue light around. Then with another flick of his hand, he made the platter of chicken float in the air. 

“We are here…we have questions to ask you,” he announced, the sound echoing down.

Out walked the Jotun prophet. Your breath hitched as you took in his appearance. His blue skin and red eyes looked on you- his hair white and long with a little beard. Then his long, thin nostrils sniffed.

He looked down. Then walked forward to Loki. 

“Ah…a gift…” he said with a gentle, airy voice. He licked his lips. 

“Hmmm…delicious. Full of spices- expensive one. It’s must be from the Asgard palace…”

“Yes, it is,” Loki confirmed.

The Prophet smiled, then he lifted a hand and grazed Loki’s cheek. To your shock, the gods skin turned blue and his eyes red. Everyone paused, looking at each other. Your jaw was near the floor and you placed a hand over it. Loki was stiff, but his now red eyes hard. 

“A son from our kind for a dinner from Asgard. A fair trade, is it not?”

Loki said nothing. The Prophet released his hand and Loki’s appearance returned to normal.  

“Oh…but I must get through this before my dinner…what do you ask of me?” he questioned.

“Good sir, Tell us about Grendel…where is he? How do we defeat him?” Hal pressed. “We made our offer. And we have more- tell us where Grendel is!”

The Jotun Prophet continued to speak in his calm, wispy voice.

“Grendel hides. His mother sends out the armies. But they are everywhere. They perch in trees like ravens. Amble down the pathways. He has many camps-camps in every world. Even Midgard. Always in their camps and disguises. In their marks on trees, onthe ground… Grendel himself…is in deep hiding. For he has something precious…priceless…”

“Which is?” Thomas pressed. All of you leaned forward. The Jotun prophet kept a smile- the dealer of cards.

“A cauldron…” he announced.

“A cauldron?!” Robert gasped.

The Prophet nodded.

“A cauldron…of deep magic, deep power. Whoever touches it, drinks from it. They are renewed. It is old magic and new magic. 

“So this cauldron is the key to his strength?” Jonathan asked.

“Yes…if it is destroyed, he will be too- as simple as a blade will defeat Grendel and his conquest…” The Prophet confirmed.

The wind whistled outside. You shivered further into your coat. The Prophet gave you another look- his red eyes right into yours. He only kept smiling and then turned back to Loki as the God of Mischief spoke.

“But Grendel leaves no trail…” he argued. 

“Yes, little prince… he guards his cauldron like a hen guards her eggs…but the cauldron does leave a trail…and it is hidden…stowed somewhere safe…” he said.

The Prophet held out a hand and twirled his little finger- you saw bits of blue magic twirl around it. It formed a cauldron that spiraled on his fingertip in blue mist.

“It is said…there is a special spell…when a dagger is blessed with it…and the magic from that dagger neutralizes it…then, and only then, shall Grendel be vulnerable…”

The cauldron disappeared into air.

“Then, that’s it! That’s how we defeat him- find and destroy the cauldron!” you cheered.

The Prophet’s red gaze turned to you. His voice did not change or raise in its tone.

“His spies report everything they hear. Including that of mortals in the Asgard palace…It’s a wonder he’s so interested in you-”

“Me?!” you cried.

The Prophet nodded.

“He’s heard of you- the mortal girl saved from death. The bargain from the god…and they say- now that magic has touched you, been inside you, it won’t leave. Hearing thoughts, strange dreams…and there soon will be others in time- so no wonder Grendel is curious about you, Mortal lady…”

You felt your stomach twist and could hear your heart pick up. You remained frozen and the cold had nothing to do with it. He sighed through his nose. As the plate with the chicken floated, he tore off a bit of skin and ate it.

“A pity about your priest…you loved deeply. But he was not your True Love-so it could not be….”

“True love? Do you mean Will?” you asked.

“What do you mean about ‘True Love?’” Thomas asked curiously. Loki stayed where he was, his eyes wide.

“Yes- the True Love. The Great Love. When Fate binds you forever to that person- and the great love you feel for them can never be broken- but only when both return it. It is special. It is rare. You can never think of, never dream of betrayal, of harm-the person you were meant to be with. When both are destined to it by all the gods- that they were meant to find each other, and to be together…take comfort in that fact…”

He dug in, found a little bit of white meat. He took a bite, licking his fingers. Then he spoke on.

“How strange you are here…it wasn’t supposed to be you…”

“How come!? I am me!” you asked.

“I’m not sure what this has to do with Grendel…” Jonathan wondered.

“No- there might be a clue…”

“Hmmm, you were an alternate universe…of what should happen…of this other timeline…“But it seems, your existence, your birth, shook things up…now there are two timelines supposed to happen…” he said.

You stepped forward, desperate.

“What is supposed to happen?” you asked.

“You see…in this other timeline…you are not there…the threat of this False Serpent was supposed to happen…years later…oh- and she…The Lady of the Stars…. Fond of things that are blue…”

“Why- that’s Stella! My sweet Stella! She’s my friend!” you gasped.

“Yes- with her tender heart. Her gossiping mouth. She has a role there- an important one. A fitting one for her.  For she knows all and speaks to all…”

“Oh, Stella could befriend Ebeneezer Scrooge himself if she wanted to!” you cried.

“Pray tell, Who is he?” Hal asked.

“Is he some warrior or prince of Midgard?” Loki seconded. 

“We’ll tell you later,” Robert said, stifling a small laugh.

“The Lady of Stars, The Lady of Blue…should you not have been there, Y/N- it is she who is the bride for the priest….”

“What?! Stella…. Married to…to Will?!”

How both fitting and odd it felt to you. But married to Will of all people. She would never complain under his thumb. She never complained about anything. You recalled looking at her small hands as she would arrange and organize her belongings. Though she was slightly tall, her hands were tiny. Oh- how easily his big hands would crush hers! 

“Their marriage is..idealistic. Deeply loving. Strong. They love each other so much. There are….children…two of them die, but three survive…at night, they hold each other, skin to skin…they love each other- it is a deep, strong connection…”

“Are they supposed to be each other’s True Love?” you asked.

The Prophet paused. His smile never leaving his face- a dealer who knew everyone’s cards before they set them down.

“No…” he said.

“No?” you repeated.

“The True Love is so sacred, one cannot imagine another taking their place. Their desire, their adoration, is all consuming- they crave no other…one would think the Star Lady’s marriage would be that…it appears like that…and it will appear like that for fourteen years…until…”

“Until?” Loki commented, squinting his eyes. The others looked genuinely confused.

“The Serpent arrives…rather, it’s threat…It was supposed to wait…fourteen years later….when the widow arrives…”

You felt your stomach drop.

“No matter what, whoever was the priest's wife was bound to suffer, for the widow is too much for him to resist…”

“Is Cora Will’s true love?” you asked curiously.

“Strangely...no…” the prophet said.

“No? How come?” this time it was Loki who was parroting.

“The Priest shall never find his true love for his heart is never settled, never on one…for the Star Lady is the Wife of Perfection. Beautiful. Proper. Sweet. Child-Bearing. And she claims it is better her husband is happy, says how she holds no jealousy…caring only for his happiness and peace than hers…”

You let a free hand fall from the one holding your lit candle and dropped it into a fist. No….Stella happily married…only be betrayed as you were!

“But that doesnt make what he did right!? Why should it be?!” you cried. “It says far more about Will to decide to betray her than it does about her! And prophet- where is her lover?”

“Pardon?” he asked gently.

“If Will can take a lover, she can too! We all thought her the real beauty of the town…where is her lover then? Some soldier writing her letters!? A duke rake falling on his knees before her! A baronet dancing with her-Thomas! Why can’t we send him!? So she has a handsome baronet in black as her lover?!” you cried.

Eyes turned to Thomas. And there was a a nervous chuckle from him. Only Jonathan kept looking at the prophet, never glancing at anyone else, but listening. The Prophet shook his head.

“No. She is a good and faithful wife-”

You stepped forward, interrupting.

“Why is it Stella must remain a faithful, dutiful wife and Will is the one free to do as he pleases without consequence?!”

The Prophet gave no answer. But he kept his smile on, and it made you sick inside. 

“Her fate is to smile and say all is well…as her husband freely takes the widow in fields and pleasures her against trees as the blue lady coughs out blood…”

You felt nauseous again. Then it struck you.

“It was…Stella…who was supposed to have consumption?”

“Yes, dear child…and it was Stella who was supposed to take the widow’s son…go to the beach…bring her collection…”

Suddenly, you didn’t like where this was going. Yet you said.

“Then…then what happens…why are they at the beach?” you asked. It was similar…too similar. The flowers and bottles from your dream- they were blue trinkets! It was her collection! And that meant…was your dream of…of…

“She will say…she is going to meet him…but we all know…the real reason why…”

You felt the blood drain out of you.

“No- no, no, no, please prophet!” you begged.

“The widow’s son finds a boat…gathers her things inside…she goes in the boat…”

“No-stop there!” you begged. 

 But he did not stop.

“He pushes the boat…out to the sea where it floats to the middle…”

“No-prophet- please-”

“And with a smile, she drowns herself for her husband and his mistress like a good girl”

“NO, STELLA!!” you screamed. 

You lurched forward- Jonathan held your arms back. Then you collapsed. On your hands and knees, tears pouring out of you. You clasped a hand over your mouth.

“Oh my god…Stella…poor Stella…” Tears poured out. “She’s going to die…kill herself…kill herself, Stella-”

Loki went over, he hugged you and you nestled into him. You shook so hard. 

“Oh- fear not, Mortal woman! She doesn’t die!” The Prophet consoled you.

You turned up.

“The Priest - drags her out of the sea in time. In time for her to live- for her slow eventual death so he can run back to his widow’s arms. He’s quite a devoted husband…”

“Fuck him!” you shouted impulsively. 

You grabbed a rock and threw it on the cave wall in fury, imagining it was your old fiances's skull smashed into bits. Guts and bones spewing out. The Lusty Vicar as a Not Very Lusty-looking corpse. You turned to the prophet. 

“And this happens to Stella…is this what is going to happen or what might happen?” you asked.

“It happens once she marries him- not in that order- but when she vows herself to him, her fate is sealed…”

You put a hand over your mouth. You turned around, eyes down to the floor. You heard Hal close the case.

“Where can we find out about the spell- the dagger?” Hal asked.

“It must be a newly made one…and for the spell…it’s a book…why-in Vanaheim! The god of mischief must go to Vanaheim…” The Prophet answered.

“Then…that is where we shall go…” Thomas agreed, looking at each other.

“Well…I’ve said enough…I have a dinner to enjoy…you know where to seek me…goodbye…” he said.

The floating plate beside him, he vanished back into the cave’s darkness. But you still knelt down, crying so hard. You wished you could rejoice in finding out a key to Grendel’s defeat. But your mind was reeling. 

“Stella…oh, Stella….Oh god! What have I done? If I stayed engaged to him…he would have…he wouldn’t have anything to do with her…now…he’s free! He’s going to propose to her! And this is going to happen!”

Loki laid a hand on her shoulder. You heard Hal step forward.

“This was the maid?” the medieval prince asked.

“Stella…sweet Stella…she doesn’t deserve this…she deserves a prince, a knight in shining armor- not…not…not him….”

Fury consumed you.

“Fuck William and Fuck Cora too! If William even LOOKS at her, I SWEAR I will kill him! I’m going to kill him- and I’m going to kill Cora, too! I’m going to stab her and rip her limbs apart, That Bitch-”

Jonathan went forward, another protective hand before you.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry you found out about this- but-but pacing and talking will not solve anything,” Jonathan reasoned. 

You interrupted in your raging. Loki lowered Jonathan’s hand with a pleading look. Letting you rage on, get it out of you. You clutched your fists before you. 

“I will kill them- both of them! I’ll-I’ll take his green Sunday sash- and I’ll hang him in the church! No- better- I’ll hang them toghether! No, I’ll- I’ll take a real dagger and-and-and-and stab them a hundred times each! I shall- I shall I..for Stella…poor Stella…”

Loki embraced you again as you continued crying. Once you calmed down, you looked up at him.

“Jonathan is right. Talking won’t help anything. We have to go back…Just a little…”

“To Midgard?! Your time?!” Loki asked.

“We have to go! I have to go! I have to see her- speak to her-Stella! I cannot delay! I have to go back to Aldwinter!”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

All of you arrived to the small Essex town immediately after. You landed in between two of the houses. How little anything had changed. The houses were still all white, the ground dark and dirty, and the sky grey and overcast even in Spring. You were back in your blue day dress. Loki had donned a dark bowler hat, a rich green waistcoat, and a dark coat. Thomas blended in perfectly in his black coat and suit and top hat. The other gentlemen had to adapt in order to fit into the time. Hal in his red waistcoat, Jonathan in his blue, and Robert in his grey. It would be a sight for a medieval prince in a red leather jacket and a dagger to waltz down the street. 

Yet…it was a street you hesitated to walk down. The others followed suit, yet you stayed. You leaned against the wall, barely peeking out. Checking to make sure to avoid a certain ex-fiancee. 

“Is there a…a…a man with a goatee and a green scarf out?” you asked.

Robert looked around freely and then shook his head. Very few people were out and about today. 

“No, the coast is clear.” he announced. 

Out you came. Walking staunchly, hurriedly, to Stella’s home. You had been there so many times you led the way with the few men at your heels.

You went up and knocked. Immediately there was Stella’s mother that answered. She let out a gasp.

“What! Miss Y/N! You’ve returned! What are you doing- is that-who are these men? And is that-is that Loki?” she asked. Though a twinge of disgust at the last word colored her voice. Loki only smirked and gave a little theatrical bow in response. 

“Mrs. Harris! Yes, I’m back to visit! The gentlemen are just my companions- they’re fine. Yes, I am safe and unharmed. Where is Stella!?” you asked.

“Why- she’s in her room! But please! These are guests! Let me make them comfortable!” Mrs. Harris insisted. Then she turned the corner and yelled out.

“Stella! Y/N is here! She’s brought guests! Make yourself presentable and make haste down!”

You heard Stella gasp in response from her room and the scurry of footsteps from the house. 

She led all of you inside the house. The five tall, broad men squished together on the couches and chairs. Pots of tea and teacups were brought out.

Then Stella finally emerged. Still in her blue, and adjusting her blonde braid to as she smoothed out a few hairs. As she went out, her lips with her rich, full lips dropped and she let out a gasp, then held her hands over her mouth.

“Y/N! Y/N…is that…is that you?!” she cried. 

You ran forth and hugged her and she hugged you back.

“Yes, Stella…Stella, I’m here…”

She turned around, her blue eyes wide at the men. 

“Dear Heavens! Guests! I have hazelnut biscuits to go with tea- made them this morning! Here- let me fetch them!”

She ran to the kitchen and offered plates of two biscuits for the god and his variants. 

 You felt Mrs. Harris look at the five men with eyes like the local rector. But she made no comment. 

“Mrs. Harris, Miss Harris, I should introduce you to them. They are my friends. You are familiar with Loki already,” you began

Jonathan picked up a biscuit and took a careful bite. Robert was working on his second one and Hal sniffed curiously at the tea before he took a sip. Thomas held his tea and smiled and sipped like a duck brought back to gliding on water. 

Stella looked at Hal as he dropped a cube of sugar into the teacup.

“Are you the gentleman that… spoke with me?” she asked.

“Ah, you are the maid! Very well and fair, thank you my lady,” Hal replied.

“Yes, they are!” You began. “Oh, Mrs. Harris, Stella- let me introduce you quickly- This is Loki, Doctor Laing, Uh- Mr. Lancaster, Sir Sharpe, and Mr. Pine.”

Sir Sharpe stood up made a small bow and a smiled at her. Robert wiped the crumbs off his pants. The others followed suit.

“ I hope the tea and biscuits are to your liking- I made them. They’re not my best, I admit,” Stella said.

“This drink you call ‘tea’ is rather good,” Hal said. He put up a biscuit. “As are these.”

“Perhaps you could teach Y/N the recipe!” Robert joked.

Jonathan softened his gaze- yet he seemed almost frozen. Then he nodded his head, a small smile on his lips. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, you are an excellent hostess, Miss Harris,” he said warmly.

You then emerged from your seat and grabbed Stella’s hand.

“Mrs. Harris, may I talk to Stella privately?” you asked.

“Why of course,” she answered.

Stella looked astonished as you practically dragged her and went with her back to her room. The wallpaper and little blue pillows and cushions. There was a writing desk- but you saw no letters. She wouldn’t be writing to him directly unless they were engaged-that gave you a little relief. You sat her down on her chair but remained standing. 

“Y/N- what is going on?” she asked.

“Stella- tell me- have you received any marriage proposals- any?” you asked desperately.

She shook her yellow head.

“No! No I…I haven’t…I promise you, if I had, I’d tell you! but Y/N…the last time I saw you, you had fainted! What were you doing in the woods?

“I have to tell you something-”

Stella’s jaw tightened and she leaned forward in her seat. 

“But…answer me please! I never knew! YN, what were you doing in the woods? I never got a letter from you- your family did, but not me! I’ve been worried all this time!”

You stopped. You realized you should have sent a letter to her. You took in a deep breath. Then you sat on the rocking chair next to the window, your hands clutched in your lap. 

“I’m sorry- I’m so sorry. I promise. Stella…the reason why…is…is…”

You felt your throat get tight. You knew if you told someone, your reputation here would be that of humiliation, a laughingstock. But…then people would know what their rector did. What their scientist widow did too. And you wouldn’t be staying here to get the fire. On one hand, Stella could be trusted with a secret. But on the other hand, if she told someone…you decided it wouldn’t matter at all. You were going to be brought low in the town but you would drag them down with you.

“Because Will- Reverend Ransome…betrayed me for Mrs. Seaborne.” you stated.

Stella’s eyebrows shot up to the rim of her forehead. 

“I found their love letters before the wedding. Then I saw them kissing in a field. I confronted him about it that night and then cried and ran to the forest to hide from him. I was so distraught from it all I…I passed out. That was why I was there- and why Hal took me to Asgard. I then decided to end things. I sent him a letter and returned the ring,” you explained. 

Stella placed a hand over her heart.

“Oh…Y/N…that’s…that’s…dear heavens, I don’t know what to say!”

“He saw her even when I was sick! I…I loved him so much and he…he…he tossed me away for another!” you confessed, your body shaking with tears. 

Stella went up and embraced you.

“Oh, Y/N, that’s horrible for you! You deserve to be happy-you don’t deserve these tears…” she consoled.

“And neither do you…and that’s why I’m here,” you replied. You broke the hug, wiping the tears off her hand and staring her in the eye.

She blinked.

“What do you mean?

“Stella…Asgard is a magical place. Loki’s there, and so is his god family. But there’s a threat to their world and ours. I’m staying with them  to help out there’s Grendel…”

“What’s a Grendel!?” she asked.

“He’s a monster- humanlike, tall, with claws and eyes yet with fur. He’s strong and can fight. But he’s smart- talks like a person. He’s threatening to rule over all of us, Loki said…and that includes home- here on earth…”

Her eyes widened. But there was no sign of doubt.

“We went to a prophet to ask for help and he spoke about a clue to defeat him. But there’s more- he told me of you- of what’s going to happen to you!” you cried.

“To me!?”

You grabbed her shoulders, seriously. You hardened your look, your eyes never leaving hers.

“The Prophet told me my fate is supposed to be your fate. If you had married William, you would have died of consumption and he would have betrayed you for another as you lived!”

“What!?”

“Yes! And you would have attempted suicide!”

“Y/N! I…that’s…that’s what is supposed to happen to…to me?” she asked.

“Yes! Stella- I am very serious. I came back to warn you of this. I do not wish for you to suffer what I suffered. I don’t care if you insist it is better for the ones you love to be happy- I don’t care if you never act like me if you say you have no jealousy if you never reveal your deepest thoughts. He’s going to betray you for another, no matter how long you’re with him or how much you love him. You are going to die and die horribly if you marry him- like I almost did! Stella-you must promise me two things!”

You looked in her frightened blue eyes, your hands gripping her shoulders, but not shaking her.

“One- you must promise you will never try to kill yourself!” you said. “If you ask anyone to help you- they have to refuse and take you somewhere you can have help!”

“Of course I won’t! I never could! Never thought it possible of me!” you responded with a nervous nod.

“Two- Stella…this is important…I say this to protect you…you must tell me…do you have any feelings for Will! I promise it won’t hurt me…”

“No, I do not. He’s spoken with me a few times but…he’s no more than our Rector and sometimes a guest at home. Nothing more…”

You looked her deeper in the eye.

“Swear to me on your life- Promise me, Stella. If he ever proposes marriage to you- you will refuse him! Be rude to him! Slam the door in his face! If your mother enforces the marriage- run away! Jilt him at the altar! Ruin yourself!”

“Ruin myself!?” she cried.

“Whatever it takes! Promise me, Stella! You’re going to die and be betrayed if you marry him! Promise me!” you begged.

She lifted a hand and touched yours.

“Y/N- I- I…I promise then…”

Crying tears, you hugged her again.

“If he even lays a hand at you, I swear, I will kill him…” you muttered, anger and sadness washing over you. 

She embraced you back. You crying definitely and even she shook with a few quiet tears, her hand rubbing your back softly in the embrace. 

You gave her a last hug and both of you cried a little. She gave you her handkerchief with little blue flowers sewn at the end to wipe your face from tears. Then you went downstairs returning to the parlor. 

You said your goodbyes, promising Stella to be more diligent when writing to her. After checking the coast was clear of a green scarf, you ran out to the street, the men following. Loki made a portal back. Laing, Hal, and Thomas all eagerly got through. Jonathan turned back, had a last look back, and then he turned around and walked through the portal. Stella kept the door open as you both waved goodbye. You shared a look with your friend and then returned to Asgard, Loki hopping in right before you.

“Well, I hope you all enjoyed the little field trip-but I could use some relaxation. It’s been quite a day!” he stretched his arms up and then used his seidrs to have everyone back to their normal clothes, except Thomas and you of course. 

“For once I agree with you- I-I’ll be in the garden if anyone needs me,” you breathed out, before turning around.

You returned and sat right down into the garden onto a bench. It was a bright, lovely day on Asgard with the yellow roses in bloom. Your mind was spinning- she was warned. She’ll be safe. She will keep her promise. 

But recalling it- you still felt it. The Letters. The field. The white shirt. The red dress. The kiss. The white house. The brown inside. The bible on the floor. Your throat scratched as if you were just yelling- you leaned down and placed your head in your hands. Not even the soft breeze and sunshine saving your from your sadness.

 You then heard a gentle voice- the queen’s voice. 

“Why…Y/N- Is something the matter?” Frigga asked.

You turned up and saw she had a basket where she was gathering a few flowers.

“No I…I…I made a visit back to my home town…” you began. “My friend was…was in danger. I had to warn her. Now she knows and she promised me she’ll be careful but…still…all the memories of what happened with my-my betrothed, I-I…He’s no longer my bethrothed. I ended things with him but…”

She sat down next to you, listening intently.

“But…yet it still makes me sad! I can’t stop thinking about him- about what happened! And it just- it all reminded me of him!”

She gave you a small smile.

“You have done the right thing then. You would have been more miserable if you stayed promised to him and went through with the marriage…”

You wiped a tear off with your sleeve.

“I just don’t know if…if my heart will…ever stop breaking from what happened…or if I will stop thinking about it!” you confessed.

Setting the basket aside, she offered her open hand. You accepted it. 

“Y/N, time is a kind friend. Time will pass…and you will learn to move on from him. But if you go to places and things that remind you of him, you will think yourself still about to marry him. I say you must not go to places that will give you those memoies- at least not now when you are still hurt. You will never be able to move on…”

“Move on…I wonder…if I’ll ever be able to move on…” you said.

“Your pain is great- you have borne the worst of it. You are not there anymore and you are not his anymore. You must be patient now-your feelings of greif may never completely go. It never does. But it will not consume you. But first,  you must be willing to let them pass as much as come…”

She looked over and gestured to a tree in the garden. Leading you to walk there, you stood up to admire it. It was a tall tree full of pink blossoming flowers with a sweet, delicate scent.

“Y/N, my dear- do you see the scars on it’s trunk?”

Squinting, you saw that the dark wood of the trunk did have scars on them. Multiple ones. You nodded at Frigga.

 “It got the scars after it grew to a full tree. The scars will be there all of it’s life. But, it  still grew. The leaves and blossoms open, whither, and fall and bloom again. They become bigger and larger around their scars until they are just faint marks…and that will be you.”

She reached up and plucked out a few flowers, handing them to you. Then as you pressed the flowers into your hand, she kept a gentle hand over yours. Yes, this was the queen touching you, but she was kind. Comforting you as she must have comforted her children, her family, or her friends. Not seeing you as a subject beneath her- but someone in need of help. 

“YN, you will grow and bloom despite your scars. I promise you- one day, you will not cry as much. And little by litte- you will let him go and learn how both to mourn, and how to move on.”

She smiled at you, touching your cheek. When you returned to your room, you pressed the flower into your journal.

[nosuchthingasagruffalo]

chapter 6

**set 2 years after Voyager's return**

Kathryn and Chakotay had taken the children for a day out walking along the banks of the Wabash river. They had eaten a picnic of sandwiches and strawberries and enjoyed pointing out all the birds drifting along on the currents. Chakotay had Niamh in the baby carrier and Kathryn pushed Amal and Lottie in the pushchair. Lottie had started to grumble so they had started to head back when Chakotay let out a cry. "Argh nappy leak, there's poo all over my shirt" he exclaimed, Kathryn dashed to him and tried to rub it with a wet wipe. "Ugh stand still, I need to rub it more" Kathryn groaned. They were both so absorbed in the shirt they didn't see Lottie climb out of the pushchair and head toward the river bank. Afterwards neither Kathryn nor Chakotay could agree what had happened. Kathryn heard what sounded like Amal shout "Lottie, river" but Chakotay could have sworn he heard him cry "save her". But seeing as Amal was only six months old, of course neither of them could have been right could they?

Upon hearing the warning she dashed to where Lottie was standing at the edge of the bank pointing at a heron and scooped her in her arms. As she lifted her up she had sudden sinking feeling of dread, as of she had been in this situation before, memories that never happened flashed in her mind, Chakotay crying, her old quarters on Voyager almost completely destroyed. She tried to shake them from her mind, Lottie was safe, she wasn't sure what had just happened but she wanted to go home and cuddle her children close. Pushing this moment to the furthest corner of her mind.

**present day**

The Commander of The Essex surveyed the newest batch of crew. Some she had worked with on her previous assignment, some she had never met before but one Ensign, with grey blue eyes, tanned skin with a dusting of freckles across her nose and forehead and a determined expression she recignised immediately. "You have all received your cabin assignments, you are dismissed. Ensign Janeway accompany me to my office please".

The office was decorated with an air of one who has a longing for momentos yet none of their own. There was a vintage Kal-Toh set, a carved wooden bat-leth and a watercolour picture of a bird. The Commander spoke "Ensign Janeway, I am sorry about your brother, is it wise to join a mission so soon? It will be difficult to return to earth should you need".

Charlotte studied the painting. "I can't sit at home wringing my hands waiting for news, I can't join the search party. So what can I do to stop myself going crazy? I need the challenge, to be away from it all, everytime I ask to help my father shoots me down. This work will save me, it's what I need" she stated. "If my parents weren't so high profile I would be expected to carry on after passing psych, I noted our personal relationship on my apllications forms, being the god-daughter of the Commander was approved my HQ. So can I stay?"

The Commander looked at the painting once more then back at the woman standing before her. "Very well you may stay. Dismissed Ensign".

Charlotte nodded and glanced back at the bird before leaving "ver

y life like, I think Poe would approve."

Seven smiled.

[dentalkind]

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[cloudberry-sims]

A Decade Through Time: The Alderberg Legacy: Year 1572

From the Beginning I Resent 

The church bells rang of Anne’s 18th birthday in 1572, as she reluctantly married John Wardeby, the village smithy.

There was no smile on the bride’s face, and the bride’s brother felt less joyous. 

William truly loved his stepfather, but his decision was one which he would never forgive for it cause his beloved elder sister so much grief.

He promised, if he outlived Geoffrey and became his younger sisters’ guardian, that he would never let this happen to either one of them. It would be their choice, not his. 

John understood that clearly  Anne was not ready to consummate their marriage. 

So on their wedding night he only kissed her forehead telling Anne he won’t try anything else until she was ready. 

All he asked for was that she helped him taking care of his father and the house. Anne was grateful for that, at least.

A few months after the wedding and it was Audrey’s sixth birthday. 

The little girl was happy and cheerful, refreshing after almost two years of sadness and mourning.  

She loved animals and to spoil his adorable little girl, Geoffrey went to the village and brought a puppy for her, who she named Essex.

She loved animals and to spoil his adorable little girl, Geoffrey went to the village and brought a puppy for her, who she named Essex. 

One day , William decided to take a stroll across the meadows to the other side of Outland , to his surprise he meet someone he wasn’t expecting. 

Sitting by on a rock , sobbing , was Rebecca Chelsey. 

William fell on his knees next to her and asked what was wrong, however she just bitterly told him to show it and leave her in peace. 

William was about to do that when a idea struck him. Instead of leaving , he started to sing. It was a silly little song filled with jokes and high-jinxes , but it seem to do the trick as Rebecca stopped crying and listen.   

Rebecca had lost her father , whom she was so close to. She felt that she couldn’t cry at home like her mother and sister did, so she ran off to lament. William understood, grief works differently for everyone, then asked if she wanted to hear another song, which she did. Rebecca even started to sing along in a few songs.   

Afterward , William followed Rebecca home to the village. He felt good for helping but there was also a new feeling blooming in his heart, which he was unsure what it could be. 

Eleanor Horthall still paid visits to the Dawne Farm with August , to make sure her younger siblings were well taking care off now that Anne no longer lived at home. 

She even had excited news to share: She was expecting her second child! In six months time her beloved brother and sisters would have a new nephew or niece. 

However, this pregnancy was not easy as Eleanor felt more nauseous compared to when she had August. Her mother-in-law thinks it will be a girl , but Eleanor was skeptical. 

It’s a good thing that Audrey was there to give her beloved sister a hug to help her feel better. She can’t wait to meet this new baby! 

August is a  2 year old with a big personality. He could be very loving and sweet one minute , the next he will be acting out of hand, like when he throw food on the floor. 

William asked for Eleanor’s advice regarding the new weird feelings he felt towards Rebecca , which Eleanor was shocked that the mean-spirited Chelsey twin was the one to capture her sweet little brother’s affection, if anything Susanna seemed more fitting for a courtship. 

She told William that only he will know about these feelings , and if they are pleasant then to start slow. So William started writing everything down, into letters or songs. Hopefully he will be brave enough show Rebecca one day… 

[lauwrite1225]

Somebody to die for.

Finan x OC; The Old Guard inspired Alternative Universe

Summary : Victoria's life is rather simple until she has a car accident from which she ends up miraculously unscathed. A series of weird events animates her daily life, everything seemingly bringing her to a strange man. Until this very man knocks at her door.

Spotify Playlist • Masterlist

A/N : And there it is, the first chapter of this fic I have been working on for a few weeks now! I'll post every Friday! A very BIG thank you too @maggiescarborough​ for all her precious help and thanks to whom this is story is way better than originally ahah!

Warnings : mention of blood and death

Chapter 1 : I'm fallin' so I'm takin' my time on my ride

“Vicky you shouldn’t drive home so late.”

Victoria sighs as she climbs down the few stairs from her parents’ house down to the garden, her mother following her close. It’s dark and the motion detector activates the outdoor light, making the little path leading to where she parked her car more visible. 

“Stay for the night at least, you can leave early.” Her mother insists, arms crossed upon her chest to protect herself from the cold.

“I can’t mom.” She unlocks her car, throwing her bag on the passenger seat before turning around and leaning against the door. “I have to open the shop tomorrow and I don’t want to be late if there’s too many people on the road.” 

“That’s not safe, Vicky.”

“Come on, mom, it’s not the first time I’m driving during the night.” She exhales, sitting in the car and starting it. “I’ll text you when I’m home.” She smiles, ignoring her mother’s eye roll and closing the door. 

She slowly drives away from her parents' house, an old house lost in the middle of Essex. Her mother wasn't wrong about the risk of driving during the night on country roads, but Vicky took this road so many times, she's not really worried. She turns on the radio and turns the sound up when she recognizes the melody of Ride by Twenty one Pilots. Her fingers tap the steering wheel in rhythm with the drum, her head nodding regularly. She knows that song by heart and can't resist singing the lyrics as she drives in the direction of London. 

After half an hour of driving, a heavy rain is now falling, Vicky starts to regret not having listened to her mother. She woke up early this morning to be in time for the family lunch her parents have been harassing her about for a month. She yawns, her hand passing through her blond hair as she drives on a small quite deserted road. She tries to turn up the music louder to not fall asleep, but inevitably, her head starts to nod and her eyelids grow heavier. She closes her eyes, just one second, but when she opens them again, she’s blinded by the headlights of another car in front of her. Panicked, she hits the brake with all her strength, a slew of insults escaping her lips. The person in the vehicle in front seems to do the same and swerves. But inevitably, the two cars meet and the shock makes Vicky’s head hit the steering wheel violently.

For a long moment, it’s just darkness and silence and Victoria finds it awkwardly peaceful. She feels weak and out of her body, the strangest feeling she has ever felt. She can’t tell how long she’s been that way but suddenly it vanishes. She’s overwhelmed by all her senses who awaken at the same time. She panics, the feeling of her heart beating resounding in her whole body and the air painfully filling her lungs. She abruptly opens her eyes, straightening until the back of her head hits the car seat. 

It takes her a few minutes to calm her breath and to realize where she is, morning’s light blinding her. She’s still in her car, the windshield broken in a million pieces dispersed everywhere. She quickly notices the blood on the steering wheel and her clothes and immediately she brings her fingers to her forehead and indeed she finds fresh blood, but no wound. It should have reassured her, however it horrifies her. She tries to open the door and has to force it to finally leave the car. In the process, she falls on the floor and crawls to move away from the vehicle. The sleeves of her shirt are torn and stained with blood, but again, she’s perfectly healthy. Her confusion makes her sick and she leans on a side to throw up, her whole body shaking with a long thrill. 

Once her stomach is emptied she starts to look around her, now that there’s daylight she is able to see the fields that expand as far as the eye can see. She’s alone on this road, with her car with smoke coming out of the hood and absolutely no sign of the other vehicle. She stands on her feet, her legs shaking, and walks a little further to see if there’s anyone.

“They fucking left me alone.” She grumbles as she realizes she really was utterly alone. 

She walks back to her car and grabs her bag and jacket before searching her phone. When she finally has a hand on it, she sighs of relief. Though it doesn’t last long as she discovers how the screen is cracked. 

“New car and new phone it is, then.” Victoria speaks to herself, more to try to stay calm than anything. Fortunately, it’s still working but she realises right after that there's no signal. “Obviously.”

She looks around her one last time before facing the facts, she has to walk back home. She fills her bag with the important papers stacked in her car before walking away. After a quarter hour of walking, she starts to recognize where she is and estimates she should arrive in a village in another quarter hour. This time alone gives her the occasion to try to understand what happened last night. She obviously got into a car accident and the other person involved let her on her own, didn't even try to search for help, it is morning now, in six hours at least, if they left to find help, they should have already been back. No, they left her on her own as if she was dead. 

Victoria stops, the thought troubling her. She can't explain what she felt after the accident, she has already fainted a few times in her life, and it has never been like this before. But what is even more troubling, is that she's perfectly healthy, not even a scratch despite the blood she found on her clothes and in the car. Nothing is making sense.

She covers her face with both of her hands, then rubs her eyes as waking up from a bad dream. But she's still in the middle of a road, in the middle of nowhere. 

“What the hell?!” She shouts, frustrated by so much incomprehension. 

She continues to walk, she wipes the blood from her face before she reaches the village and puts her jacket on to hide the state of her clothes. She has no idea of what happened and she definitely doesn't want to have to explain it to anyone. She finishes her way home with public transports, and it's past midday when she arrives in London. She gets a few messages, from her boss and even more from her mother. She sends excuses to her boss with a lie and another lie to her mother, saying she fell asleep and forgot to text her before. 

Once she's in her small flat, she rushes to the shower after throwing her clothes in the washer. She stays at least an hour under the water, her mind playing the past events over and over until she's upset again. When she steps out of the shower, she’s starving. So she grabs the first thing she finds in her fridge, which happens to be the leftovers of her lunch from two days ago. She tries to remain distracted, turning on the TV and starting an episode of Game of Thrones, her best friend Rebecca has been harassing for a month to start watching the show. And for a brief hour, she’s captivated by the Battle of Bastards, and by how good looking Kit Harrington is in armor. 

The rest of the day is uneventful and when Rebecca visits her later in the afternoon Victoria hesitates to talk to her about her accident. But she’s pretty sure she’d simply think her completely crazy. 

“Are you alright, Vicky?” Rebecca eventually asks when she hands her a cup of tea. 

Victoria smiles kindly. “Yes.” She’s not used to lying to her best friend. They have known each other since middle school and she could count the number of times she lied to her on one hand, one being for her surprise birthday for her 18th birthday. “Why are you asking?”

She sits next to her friend on the couch, bringing her own cup of tea to her lips to blow on it. “I don’t know you’re very silent. And you said you weren’t feeling good this morning.”

“Oh… Well it was nothing, just felt nauseous.”

Rebecca narrows her dark eyes but doesn't push further. “How were your parents?” She asks, changing the subject, much to Vicky's pleasure.

“They were fine.” She takes a long sip of her tea. “They wondered if you'd like to come for dinner one day.”

Rebecca grins, her parents have always been pretty fond of her, even proposing her to join family events. It never bothered Victoria who was happy to have a friend with her. “Of course, I'll come. I just need a date.”

“I'll text you.”

Rebecca leaves after dinner and as soon as the door is closed Vicky falls into her bed, exhausted. She doesn't have time to overthink as usually when she tries to find sleep, she finds Morpheus' arms the moment she closes her eyes. But her sleep is far from being peaceful, her dreams bringing her sometime in the Middle Age, judging by the clothes of the men surrounding her. She's in the middle of a fight opposing warriors with long hair and tattooed faces and others with more modest appearance, only a fire alighting the area. She looks around her, trying to understand the scene, but her vision is almost constantly brought back to one of the warriors. It's a tall man, wearing leather armor above a greenish tunic, with dark hair and beard. He is using his sword with such ability, his movements swift and precise, Vicky can't help but be impressed. From the corner of her eyes she can see men falling and how trees seem to delimit a clearing. She looks up to the sky and can see the stars shining in the sky, never before she has seen them so clearly. Then, a sound catches her attention and she's staring at the warrior again. He is not fighting anymore, frozen and his face twisting into a grimace. She looks down to his abdomen in sync with him and she gasps as she sees the sword coming out of his belly. And it's like she can feel all his pain as the sword leaves his body, her guts tearing apart. The man coughs blood, falling on his knees, his hands pressed on the gaping hole in his abdomen. He finishes his fall, head first in the mud and Victoria can feel the life leaving his body as the man takes his last breaths, his brown eyes looking into the void. 

Victoria wakes up abruptly, sweating and panting. She presses a hand on her chest, desperately trying to calm her breath. Once she's calmed she pours herself a cup of water, still haunted by the sensation of her dream or maybe nightmare. She doesn't find sleep after that, so she just lies on her couch, watching TV, until morning comes and the hour she has to leave for work. 

It's only the first night of a dozen as sleepless. Most of the time, she finds herself in the Middle Age, in various places, some faces regularly appearing. Sometimes she's in other periods, even in modern days. But the common point to all her dreams is this man. Each time she can see him more clearly, his thick hair is most of the time cut short around his ears, a scar slashing his forehead while two small others are ornamenting his left cheekbone. One day, she decides to draw him, she spends the afternoon on it, but she's determined to make it as realistic as possible. As the lines darken the paper, she realizes how the man reminds her of someone. She sends the drawing to Rebecca without much explanation and she immediately replies to her that he reminds her of the guy from the conspiracy theory video they watched one late night. 

Victoria takes the time to search the video in her browser history, and indeed, Rebecca was right. The man is the spitting portrait of the one called the “time traveler”. She watches the video with probably much more interest than the first time, desperate to understand why he is haunting her nights. That's clearly the least credible story she has ever heard: a man, the same man, captured in pictures at different places and at different periods of time. A guy talented with photoshop could perfectly create this whole theory. She sighs, closing her laptop and just comes to the conclusion that her brain registered the man's face when she watched the video with Rebecca and simply has a fixation on it since. 

Curious to know the origins of the other faces she can see in her dreams, she draws them as well and she finds herself with three other men. The younger looking is blond with a bowl cut, a long face and an endearing smile. The two others look much more like warriors, one has long hair tied and shaved on the sides, his eyes a piercing blue, the other has different colour eyes and a tattoo covering the side of his neck. Once again, she sends her drawings to Rebecca but this time she has no idea of where she could have seen them. 

Days pass, the dreams don't fade but Victoria forgets about her accident and all the strange things that happened, until the police call her. Obviously, her car had to be found as she didn't call anyone to take care of it, she just wanted to forget what happened. She tries to give the best explanation to the police, telling them she's alright and shock made her forget to deal with her broken vehicle. After an hour on the phone they finally let her alone, adding that if she wanted to file a complaint there would probably not be a lot of results. She just replies that she will think of it, when in fact she won't at all.

As things couldn’t get weirder, one afternoon she meets an odd customer at the bookshop she’s been working for years now. She doesn’t notice him particularly, until she feels like he is staring at her behind his sunglasses. She tries to ignore him, but can’t resist staring back. He is wearing a grey sweatshirt, the hood covering his hair, but at the color of his beard she guesses it’s as dark. There’s something familiar to him and decided to understand what his problem with her is, she fully turns to face him. 

“Can I help you?”

The man seems to freeze, his hands sinking in the pockets of his trousers. He lowers his head and reads the badge with Victoria’s name on her jacket. He looks back to her and this time she raises an eyebrow, her arms crossing over her chest. 

“No that’s alright.” He mutters with an accent she doesn’t get in the moment. “Sorry for botherin’ ya.” 

He steps back and leaves the bookshop without another word. She doesn’t move for a moment, frowning and still staring at the shop’s door. She has dealt with a thousand customers in five years of working here, sometimes extremely weird, even more than this one, however it’s him who remains stuck in her head even a few days after his visit. 

But the culmination of this month filled by weird events happens a week after the man came to the bookshop. It’s a friday, and as usual, Vicky has her free afternoon and spends it at her flat, watching the last episode of Game of Thrones while drawing. But she’s interrupted by a knock on her door. She frowns, pretty sure she expected no one to come today. The person knocks again and she gets up from her desk chair. She unlocks the door, opens it, and before she can even say “hello”, she gasps in surprise at the sight of the man standing in front of her. 

Victoria has no doubts. It’s the man from her dreams or the one theorists call the “time traveler”, standing in the corridor of her floor with a tight, uncomfortable.

A/N : A first chapter full of misteries ahah ! Don’t hesitate to comment, express your ideas regarding what could happen or whatever could happen, I’m really curious to know ahah! See you next week for some answers ;)

Tags : @maggiescarborough​ @geekandbooknerd​ @obipoelover​ @finansarms​ ; Don’t hesitate to tell me if you want to be add to the tag list of the fic!

[masterofmagnetism]

a prayer like a war cry

WHO: Erik Lehnsherr, Scott Summers @firstxman, Jean Grey-Summers @jeaniegreysummers, Maddie Pryor @rxdqueens, and Lorna Dane @mistressxfmagnetism WHERE: Genosha. Erik’s house and the missile silo. WHEN: 14 days after training with Jean and Lorna went sideways. WHAT: Erik has a plan. The kids aren’t on board, this time. WARNINGS: Literally so many TWs. Major character death, abuse, alcoholism, addiction, plane crash mention, lots and lots of mentions of murder, fire, suicidal ideation, assorted mental health issues, grief, ptsd, manipulation, probably more that I can’t think to tag rn. Proceed! With! Caution! WORDS: 12k

ERIK: Lorna's pulse thumped steadily beneath his fingertips, her chest rising and falling shallowly on the bed. The wound to her chest was well-bound; the bandages that had been wrapped around her head for a few days had been removed since then. Erik had been careful to delicately clean the stitches on the back of her head every night since they were removed.

She never made a sound. She hadn't woken up since Ric carried her back from New York, no matter how much Erik talked to her. No matter how much he begged, or apologized.

He hadn't cried since the night he brought her back to his home from the hospital, since he managed to finagle the nurses into agreeing to come tend her here rather than in a hospital bed. The sterility of the hospital room made him queasy every time he visited; he'd never liked them, and Lorna hadn't either. She'd be happier waking up at home.

If she woke up.

The doctors had told him that she should. Not would, because there were some promises that just couldn't be made, but they'd sounded optimistic. Told him that she'd been through a lot. She needed time. Her body needed time. It made sense, he knew it made sense, but that didn't shake the tightness in his own chest, the fear that sat in his throat that another child was going to slip through his fingers and end up six feet under.

He had cried, after the nurses left for the night, after he'd gone through the checklist they gave him, and he had fallen asleep sitting against the side of the bed, fingers twisted in hers. And he'd fallen asleep praying. He didn't do that much, anymore, had learned along with the rest of his contemporaries during the War that g-d could not be relied on to intercede. The rabbis had tried to rationalize it afterwards, of course. In Israel, across Europe. They had come up with myriad reasons why His 'Chosen People' were left to be exterminated in the most horrific ways possible, tried to salvage their faith.

Erik had never found any of the excuses satisfactory, but that was the thing about faith, wasn’t it? Blind trust. Optimism. Hope. And he’d held onto it, or at least something like it, even as he decided that he would not wait for His hand to do anything for him that his own two hands could not, one way or another.

Lorna had been in His hands, and she was alive. Not awake, but alive, and that was something. That was more than he’d gotten for her sister. Lorna hadn’t died, and that meant something.

Her waking up would mean something, too, if Erik had anything to say about it. The idea of retaliation had been on his mind since she’d come back cold and almost dead, as Ric could attest to, but his thinking had evolved that first night. He had the means, nestled in their quickly-built silos on the coast. It’d be something swift, something clean, something that wouldn’t require anyone else to get their hands dirty as the siege had, something that wouldn’t run the risk of another Raven. It would, quite literally, be as easy as a push of the button. As easy as sitting on the coast watching the sun set behind New York, and clearing the buildings and people out of the way for the sun to shine unimpeded on Genosha.

He’d had a week to do it, and yet something had sat uneasy in his chest, something that screamed that it was as wrong as the way Lorna’s heart had stutter-stopped across the bay. There was another voice that was louder than that, too. ‘They deserve it. You’ve always known they do. Always known this would end only one way. You’ve tried to give them the benefit of the doubt, time and time and time again, and what do you have to show for it? Loss after loss after loss. Betrayal after betrayal after betrayal. The kids will understand, when it’s all over. Just like they did with the siege.’

That niggling feeling in the back of his mind had stilled his action, until now. Instead, for the first time in a long time, Erik had decided to put his next move in His hands, too.

If she wakes up, I won’t do it. If she wakes up, I will let this pass. Just let her wake up. Let her wake up.

He’d given it seven days, and Lorna’s eyes still hadn’t opened.

That was his answer, then. Erik closed his eyes, leaned forward in his chair to press Lorna’s knuckles against his forehead, letting out a slow breath through his nose and squeezing her hand.

Once more, he asked. And once more, she didn’t stir. Something steady and quiet and assured settled across his shoulders, and Erik pressed his lips to the back of Lorna’s hand before he pushed up to his feet. He set her arm gently on the bed, and brushed back a loose strand of her hair, fingers running along her cheek for just a moment.

She would wake when this was finished. He was sure of it.

Erik picked his helmet up from next to him and settled it over his head before stepping out of the room, closing the door silently behind him.

The walk to the silo building passed in the blink of an eye, and by the time Erik snapped back to himself, his hands were trailing along the shells of the missiles. He could feel the energy contained inside, a heady sensation up so close. His fingers were halfway to the first manual switch when he heard the door open behind him, and three sets of footsteps in the wake of the click. Erik’s lips thinned, and he turned, eyes almost fever-bright. “She hasn’t woken up.”

SCOTT: Erik was planning something.

Only a few months ago, the concept had been one that sparked hope in Scott’s chest, bright and hot and unfamiliar. Erik had had a plan then, and Scott had been on board. He’d been excited, he’d been ready. They had stormed the U.N., they had done what they needed to do. They had taken Erik’s plan and they had made a home of it. They had turned it into safety, into security, and for the first time in his life, Scott had been blessed with a warmth that didn’t slip through his fingers. Only a few months ago, Erik had been planning something and Scott had been behind him without hesitation.

But things were different now.

Rictor had been uncharacteristically quiet, the few times Scott had seen him around the island. He looked angrier than usual, which was saying something for Ric. He looked tense, looked over his shoulder at every turn like he was worried he might find someone he didn’t want to see standing there, and Scott knew who he was searching for. He knew that Rictor looked very much like he had looked at fourteen, with Jack looming over his shoulder and bruises hidden beneath his sweatshirt. Erik, Scott feared, had become exactly the sort of man he’d dedicated his life to fighting against. He’d become Jack Winters, become Nathaniel Essex, become Sebastian Shaw. He’d become the monster under the bed, the thing their people feared.

And Scott couldn’t let it go on any longer.

Erik would be glad for it, if he were himself. Scott knew that. Jean could attest to as much in the way she’d asked Zatanna to kill her back when she knew she’d gone too far, in the way she’d begged her family to stop her before she became the thing she desperately wanted not to be. When the people you loved turned to their own demons, when they became the vengeful spirit making the walls of their own homes drip blood, exorcism was a kindness. It was a necessity.

The Hendersons lived near the silos, and when Scott had asked them to let him know if Erik passed by their apartment, they hadn’t questioned the request. They trusted him. They asked if he was worried about Erik, looked concerned with the question. ’He’s so torn up over poor Lorna,’ Michelle had sighed, glancing mournfully out the window as if she could see Erik from there. Maybe she could --- he wasn’t sure about the limits on her ability to peer through solid surfaces. ’Hasn’t left the hospital much, from what I hear. If he’s out this way, I’ll let you know. We should all keep an eye on him together. A show of support.’ Scott had tasted bile in his throat when he’d nodded, had felt like a villain when he’d smiled. A show of support. It made his stomach clench.

He wished he were more surprised when, seven days after he’d stopped Erik from murdering Rictor in a hospital lobby, Michelle Henderson texted him with a grainy photo of Erik passing by her window with his hands in his pockets. ’He looks sad,’ was the accompanying message, and Scott tried to look hard enough to see the expression on Erik’s face in the photo, tried to determine if the set of his shoulders was grief or anger or determination or some combination of the three. Maddie and Jean were both in the kitchen when he exited the bedroom, twin expressions of grim determination on their faces. They knew what needed to be done here. They knew.

The trek to the silos was a silent one. Even their minds were quiet, like they were all terrified of thinking the thought, all nervous to be the one to put words to the act they were about to commit. None of them wanted to do it, Scott knew. None of them wanted to be here. But Erik was planning something, and the thought wasn’t supposed to fill them all with dread. It wasn’t supposed to make their blood run cold.

Erik didn’t seem surprised when they entered the silo building. It was almost like he’d been expecting them. The helmet on his head made the thought a much scarier one, the idea that he was actively hiding things from them instead of doing it passively enough to make Scott freeze in the doorway. Erik spoke, and he sounded like Winters, like Sinister. He sounded like a madman. Scott closed his eyes behind his visor, chest tight.

“She will,” he said, voice bouncing off the walls around them, echoing to fill the empty space. “Don’t you want to be there when she does? Go home, Erik. Don’t do this tonight.” Don’t do this at all. He couldn’t say it, couldn’t let Erik know that they weren’t on the same page anymore, that they hadn’t been for a while now. He told himself there was pleading left to be done. He told himself there was hope of saving this, of saving Erik. He told himself that, if Erik left this building without doing what he’d come here to do, it might mean there was hope.

He’d gotten good at lying to himself, over the years.

JEAN: When you loved someone, you ignored their worst parts. You adored them in spite of the characteristics and opinions you would hate in a stranger, that would drive you to war with an enemy. Jean ignored Scott’s tendency towards violence (the hypocrisy of that uncomfortable stone in her stomach wasn’t lost on her, either. She was capable of ripping the world apart just as often). She ignored the fact that Maddie was fashioned from fibres of the Phoenix, delivered to her doorstep as a manifestation of best intentions. She ignored how Erik walked out that door, leaving her with tear tracks running down her face and worlds they’d created crashing around her, ignored the years they’d been on opposite sides of battles.

(It went both ways, Jean knew. Kara ignored her tendency to run from problems, to box them firmly in specified areas of her brain to think about sometime close to never. Scott ignored the fact that Jean was, as she was slowly coming to admit, absolutely fucking insane. The X-Men ignored Jean burning to ashes on the front lawn of the home that was supposed to represent safety and comfort, ignored that she brought a vicious, angry entity into their lives through nothing but ignorance and naivety and a desperate clutch towards being unafraid.)

She had to make it convincing. Erik would see through her in an instant. He’d tracked her expressions since she was little more than ten years old. He knew her inside and out, knew her better than most, knew her angry and vengeful as much as he did happy and, on rare occasions, calm. He knew her -- and that meant it had to be believable. She had to be warm, had to be compassionate, had to be Jean Grey.

And that meant ignoring it. It meant remembering why she’d adored him so thoroughly. It meant putting this cold rage into a box, and bringing the flickering fire back into front and centre.

It meant flicking through photo albums, seeing the letters he wrote her as a child, reading through books they’d enjoyed. It meant practising what he’d told her, exploring her powers and feeling proud to be a mutant for the first time, not feeling as if she was passing for anything other than what she was, totally in tune with the world around her. It meant looking at Lorna, feeling that desperate pull in her chest, and remembering that this girl who she loved so completely was half of him, so at least fifty percent must be worth taking another breath.

It meant telling herself she wasn’t the monster she was becoming, that she would shed a tear when he was dead. In the back of her mind, Jean simply resented the fact that she wasn’t the one to deliver the final blow -- but she had to make it believable. She had to be his friend, his daughter. She had to be another half of him out there in the world.

Did Maddie know what they were going into? Did she know why they moved under the cover of darkness, why Jean asked her to mask their movements from the other citizens and even those they considered family? Had Scott told her -- had they talked in the kitchen when Jean was pretending to sleep, staring at the ceiling and counting how many days until she killed another piece of her own soul? Did she know, or was she following them out of love, because when you adored someone you ignored their murderous inclinations?

(It was almost funny. It was almost ironic. The Phoenix was flickering, and if she wanted this to stop, she would’ve told Erik. She might’ve already. She might have been manipulating them all, just waiting for them to get together and laugh at the cataclysmic explosion that was sure to follow. The Phoenix was life itself -- she knew what was about to happen, and she let it happen anyway. The true manifestation of evil, Jean thought to herself. All those things you ignored because you loved me, the Phoenix provided. Jean pretended it was her own mind.)

She’d been quiet with him. Nothing explosive like usual -- no arguments that led to raised voices and smashed plates. He would know she had shifted, know she had changed, but there were other things she could blame it on, other griefs. Her family were dead. He was the closest to a father she had left. She was simply protecting her own heart, or scared that she would lose someone else close -- it was a matter of preserving his life, worried for what the Shi’ar would do when they saw what he meant to her.

Any number of arguments came to mind, but Jean didn’t go for any of them. Her hand slipped out of Maddie’s (she’d held it on the way without realising, without noticing the pulling need to share her energy in that moment). Instead she stepped forward, Scott’s words still ringing in the silence between them, and reached her hand for Erik’s.

“Talk to me,” she said, voice thin (she was desperately holding it in. She wanted to scream how could you? She wanted to crack the Earth beneath him. She wanted to say Lorna was hurt because of him -- but they were both guilty of so much, the words got caught almost naturally in her throat). “We can talk with words, or we can talk in our minds. We can do anything you want, Erik, but don’t do it alone.” Her composure cracked, but it made it sound more like a plea than a threat. “Don’t block me out, please. I can’t lose someone else.”

MADDIE: There was a point when someone was faced with a decision, a scarily huge one, and were at a crossroads. Which path to take, the unknowns daunting over either option making it that much harder to make a choice. Then there were times where the decision was made for you, something so impactful it shoves you down the pathway before you can even try to think what pros and cons the other pathway brings you. Scott, Jean, and Maddie had been pushed down this path and were racing down it at a fast speed, slowing down enough to mask what impact was incoming for Erik. It had felt like since the incident at Jean’s family home they had been hurtling down a path that was set for them, dominoes falling and setting off a chain of events that fate had in mind for them, no matter how painful.

Initially, Maddie hadn’t even been aware of the plan. Her mind whirling over her own struggles with where exactly she fit into everything. There were no photos in Jean’s family home of her, it was like she was a ghost. Someone who passed through the unseen to walk among those who were tangible. It scared her, left her with entirely too many questions rather than answers. Naturally, she shoved these worries far away from the reach of Jean. Jean could find them if she dug, went searching, but Maddie knew she wouldn’t. Not unless she gave her a reason to, so she had to keep silent. Scott approaching her while Maddie took to having tea on a sleepless night was easy enough to focus on instead.

It was almost too easy to agree, to simply nod and ask when they were to move forward, to sit on standy for the inevitable. It had to be done, Maddie wondered what it said about her to be so willing to go along with a murderous plan without so much of a flinch. 

(Did sinister feelings already exist in her and were simply waiting for the excuse to finally seep out like a poison to infect her? Was it really sinister if she was doing this and it was ultimately for the best? When did she start rationalizing the lack of feeling truly anything but understanding to a murder?)

The day came, the air changed in the kitchen upon Scott entering. A grim realization dawned that there was stepping out now, no backing down. The voice in the back of her mind was silent, too silent, she didn’t know if that was a good thing. It felt ominous in itself as Maddie cloaked their movements through the night, undetected to anyone and everyone, even those she wouldn’t normally. Those she loved, but Erik was among those, the ones she loved and despite the rationalizing of it all there was a quiet ache in her chest along the fire that normally simmered there. Her fingers curled around her sister’s, grounding her as much as she was sure it was doing for the other as well. There was no going back.

Maddie wasn’t sure if the cold seeping down to her bones was from the silo or the ice that was breaching the canyon between Erik and the three of them. Her tongue bled from how hard she bit it, keeping in far too many words that threatened to flow. Not now. (She wasn’t even sure if she had a right to say them. A new addition to the family, sliding in like she had always belonged, but entirely unsure if she belonged. After all, what did it say that everyone, Erik included, initially thought her to be Jean?) .

“We’re not going to leave you alone,” Maddie finally spoke, in space of the angry words that were a threat to bleed into her tone despite her masking it all. “She’ll wake up, because she will wake up, and will want you firstmost. This can wait.” Her tone was careful, even as she could manage.

Looking at Jean, Maddie’s frown was genuine. There was a flash of the way her sister crumbled as she saw her parents lying far too still before the house was set aflame by Derry. It had stayed with her and was sure it would for a very long time. The grief had been palpable, an ache that could be felt even after they had left the home. The only difference in this moment they were all grieving for the living, for the person before them. 

ERIK: When you lived your whole life on a precipice, that looming drop became something familiar, something that settled in your blood, in your bones. Mind your step, always, and Erik did. He had survived where countless others hadn’t, instincts always on, always making sure his footsteps were sure, always ready to fight off anything that might knock him off balance.

Here, in a room with three of his four living children, Erik felt for the first time in a long time like the ground wasn’t quite steady under his feet.

It was hard to put a finger on what, exactly, the problem was—perhaps Scott’s pause in the doorway, perhaps the way Jean was suddenly in his arms after two weeks of avoidance, perhaps the way Maddie held her tongue and sounded calm in a way he’d rarely seen from her.

Individually, excusable.

Together? That creep of unease that had him put on the helmet before he left coiled itself around his spine, wound down to where Jean had taken his hands.

For all their fights, he’d never killed one of the X-Men. Not because he couldn’t; he had a mental file of the known powerset of whatever the current roster was, all the ways to get to them if need be. Not because of Charles, either—if the man saw fit to send children to fight him, well, he should be damned ready to face the consequences. Not because they were children; Erik had first taken a life (had taken three) when he was fourteen years old. No, Erik hadn’t held back on principle.

Erik had held back for Jean, who loved her team as much as she loved him.

Jean was in his arms, asking him to talk to her after two weeks of the silent treatment, taking his hands after avoiding his presence for just as long, and Erik knew something was wrong, even as badly as he wanted to believe it. Self-deception was an easy trap to fall into, for the ones you loved.

One he’d already fallen into. That was why he was here, after all. To fix what weakness had wrought him.

He couldn’t let them stop him. But maybe, maybe, he could make them understand what was so crystal clear in his mind, now.

(Charles had told him once that there was something clean to the way his mind handled plans. Setting them up involved a tangle of ideas, red strings on pinboards, but once they were finalized? It was something crisp, pure. A silver thread from problem to solution. This one had been there for a long time, behind locked doors. Had been there since that day Charles had found out Shaw’s plans from Emma and looked so horrified while Erik had quietly weighed its odds of success.)

“I know she’ll wake up,” Erik said, glancing between Scott and Maddie. “I know. But not now. Not until I do what I should’ve done a long time ago.” Alone, or with his family at his side, it would be done. “It’s been seven days. This is what needs to happen.”

And if they get in your way….

“You were right about Ric, Scott. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have taken my frustration out on him. He did what he knows how to do. He tried to help with her anger the same way I would have, and he saved her life by bringing her back here. Killing all those men. My anger should never have been leveled at him. No, it’s the people who pulled the trigger who are the problem. The humans.”

Erik’s fingers wrapped tightly around Jean’s hands, and his expression was determined but earnest. He could convince her. Needed to convince her. “It’s been long enough, hasn’t it? I’ve tried, again and again and again, to give them the benefit of the doubt. For your sake. And every time, we lose someone else. Anya, you, Scott, Raven. How many more of us need to die? Lorna is pulling through this time, but what about next time? If it’s Maddie? If it’s your daughter?” he said, gaze flicking from Jean’s gaze to Scott’s. “Because it will be Rachel, eventually. It’ll be all of us.”

That much was clear, now. So clear, he wondered how he hadn’t seen it before, how he’d settled for the siege when there was so much more to be done. “This island is a target on our backs. Why should we huddle here, waiting for the inevitable to happen? Why should we settle for this little spit of land when we could have more, when we deserve more? What is this, really? A glorified containment cell, one they will grow weary of sooner or later.”

No, his children deserved the world. And they would have it, even if it meant taking it on their behalf.

Erik’s hands in Jean’s pulled her close, twisted just slightly so that she was between him and Scott as he wrapped her in an embrace, pressed his lips to her hair.

He loved them, but he didn’t trust them.

Jean’s weakness was Scott, and Scott’s weakness was Jean, as it had been since they were teenagers. Scott might be willing to risk bystanders in a hospital, but he would never risk his wife.

The switches on the missiles flipped to ‘on,’ coordinate screens lighting up at once.

“You told me that the Phoenix shows you the truth, Jean,” he murmured against the top of her head. “This is the truth. One I’ve tried very hard to ignore for a very long time. Do you remember what I showed you of Cuba?” The reactor room. I'd like you to know that I agree with every word you said. We are the future.

“I tried the other ways, for you. But it’s time to stop lying to ourselves, schatzi. It was always going to go this way. If you don’t want to help me, go home. Let me take care of this the way I should have long ago.”

SCOTT: Jean told him once, in the cold chill of winter, that the Phoenix took everything you had and made it bigger. It amplified all the things you were, all the things you felt. For me, she’d said, the Phoenix found expression through my emotions. It made them so huge that there was no room under the sky for my joy, my grief, my love for you. When he opened his eyes in that graveyard, when he stood in front of his tombstone and realized the burning in his chest was more than just the restarting of his heart, he’d waited for it. He’d spent days with bated breath, waiting for the Phoenix to amplify his emotions the way they amplified Jean’s, waiting to feel everything so big that there was no room left for anything else.

It never came.

Instead of an onslaught of emotion, instead of joy and grief and love too large to ever be contained, Scott felt empty. He felt nothing. And it wasn’t just for current events, wasn’t just for the things as they happened in real time --- Scott felt nothing so intensely that he could hardly remember ever having felt anything at all. If he had, if he had felt the things he’d been through with the same intensity as he was meant to, he wouldn’t have been able to stomach what they did to Derry at all. It made him uneasy now, made him uncomfortable, but if he were himself? Scott would have fought harder against it. He would have refused to let it come to be. If Scott felt everything instead of nothing, it would be better. It would be preferable.

(He thought of his mother. He thought of the locked door, of the blackout curtains over her bedroom window, of the way she got out of bed so rarely that there were days Scott did everything for Alex, changed his diapers and warmed his bottles and put him to bed. He thought of how depression was often synonymous with numbness. He thought of how he’d spent so much of his childhood longing to become his father, of how he might have become his mother instead, of how neither option was a good one in the end. He thought of how this, too, should make him feel something, and of how it didn’t.)

Of course, there were some situations where the numbness was useful. Right now, standing in this room with the silos and controls laid out in front of them, Scott saw how it could be used as an advantage. The old Scott Summers, the one who existed with no spark of the Phoenix in his soul, wouldn’t have been able to do what he planned to do here. Even when Erik was his enemy, that version of Scott could never shoot to kill. He kept his blasts controlled. He kept himself from unleashing his full potential. He kept Erik alive. And maybe, in the end, this made the entire situation his own fault. Maybe if that old version of Scott had done what needed to be done ten years ago, he wouldn’t be faced with this now.

 But the past was the past. Scott hadn’t been strong enough to do what needed to be done then, but he was now. He was. He would do what he always did, what he had done since he was sixteen years old --- what was best for his people. And what was best for his people, today, meant getting rid of one of them. For the greater good. If Erik were in his right mind, he’d understand that.

Jean’s voice was soft, was gentle, was an act. They knew what they had come here to do. They knew talking was not the end goal. As much as Scott wanted Erik to come out and agree with them, he doubted that would be the end result. Magneto had always been steadfast in his beliefs, always had a mind impossible to change. (Mr. Sinister wouldn’t have been able to shape it, to mold it as he had Scott’s. If Scott were more like Erik-) Even Charles couldn’t manage it, with their history. Even Jean didn’t stand a chance. This, Scott knew, eliminated any shot he might have had. Maddie spoke next, tones a twin lie standing side by side with Jean’s, hand-in-hand. They were good actors, the two of them. Scott almost believed they had some intention of letting Erik redeem himself.

And then it was Erik’s voice, flat and steady and determined. He looked to Scott, he said you were right, and for a moment, the dull, emotionless version of hope sparked in his chest. But then Erik kept talking. He continued, he went on about what needed to be done, and it was too late. It had been too late for a long time now.

In the back of his mind, the Phoenix whispered. ’Maybe he’s right,’ the bird said. ’Maybe this is the only way. It would be easier, wouldn’t it? It would be simpler.’ And Scott shut his eyes behind his visor, drew a breath. He thought of Jean. Of how she looked at him on their wedding day, fingers intertwined with his. Of Colleen out in the chairs spread in the grass, grinning. Of Cassie, the way her hair tangled into hopeless knots when she fell asleep on their sofa. Of Zatanna and the horrible favor she’d done for Jean, saving her and ending her all at once. Of Kara when she’d landed behind him in Genosha, of the pain in her voice that he’d ignored because it wasn’t a convenient thing for him to notice. If Erik did what he wanted to do, they would all be caught in the crossfire.

If Scott let Erik do what he wanted to do, his daughter would never look him in the eyes again.

It was Rachel’s name that tore his eyes open, Rachel’s name that settled like determination in his chest. Rachel thought highly of him. She thought he was a hero. If he let the Phoenix convince him that Erik was right the same way he had let it convince him that Derry’s memories needed to fade, she would change her mind. Erik brought up Scott’s daughter in hopes of swaying him one way, but her name pushed him in the other direction. If Scott Summers had ever been a good man, it was only for the people he loved. If Scott Summers had ever been a hero, it was only thanks to his desperation to live up to their expectations. Loving them was what made him decent. Nothing else ever really came close.

Erik knew what they were here to do. Scott had no doubt. It was why he’d shifted Jean, why he’d placed her strategically between them. It was why his tone sounded as close to begging as Scott had ever heard it. He wasn’t begging for his own life --- he wasn’t begging to be allowed to live. He was begging to be allowed to destroy. Maybe that said the only thing worth saying in this entire ordeal. Maybe the truth came not in the words, but in the implications between them.

Do you remember what I showed you of Cuba? The words were meant for Jean, but Scott felt them too. He understood, remembered Jean sharing it with him. He understood what it meant.

He understood that it was too late.

“We won’t be a part of this,” he said flatly. “Jean, let’s go home.” And he reached out across the bond, touched his mind to hers. When you step away from him, he said, I’ll do it. Be ready to contain the blast. I’m going to take out the controls along with him. No one finishes what he started.

(He didn’t say what he feared --- that, if the controls were left untarnished, the one who was in the most danger of deciding to finish what Erik had started was him.)

JEAN: History repeated itself. It was a lesson that Jean learned a long time ago, perhaps sometime around the thirtieth battle between X-Men and Brotherhood. No matter what they did, no matter how they fought or what they sacrificed, the world would treat them just the same. No matter how long it had been, no matter how many Christmases she arrived on the doorstep and felt like a stranger, the Greys would never be a home like the Institute became — like the Institute had been with both of them in those offices.

If Charles was here now, would he say Jean had failed to learn from his mistakes? Would he say this felt like Cuba, like a moment where metal was flying for a beach and then into a spine? Would he tell the story with the same regret as had flooded through Jean’s mind when Erik showed her the memory — and would there be the same determination as there was with Erik, the same certainty that if the situation was repeated, he would make the same choices?

Erik had been right, of course. Sebastian Shaw deserved a coin through his head more than almost anyone else Jean had ever met — the exception being Jack Winters. It was all in the execution. It was all in the not knowing when to stop, all in Erik pushing it just that little bit too far.

Then again, couldn’t the same be said of Jean herself?

Of course, Jean knew that already. Jean knew that, and she put a contingency plan in place. She called Zatanna to her home, befriended her, trusted her, made Zatanna trust in her — and then she asked a veritable stranger to kill her, believing that she would if push came to shove. Better to lose a single life than to destroy a world. Erik would think with the same pragmatism, if he wasn’t the one being killed.

But he was. He was, and the cool tone of his voice, the way his grip tightened only slightly, the drop in his words as he spoke — Jean almost could’ve sworn he knew it would happen. She was almost positive that it was like that moment out on the lawn right before she took her final breath, when she was capable of fighting back but didn’t, because something deep down inside of her said, this needs to happen. This always needed to happen. Erik would want this.

Erik would want this, and with Lorna and Kara fresh in her mind, Jean very much wanted this too. The darkest parts of her had raised their ugly heads, and Maddie could hear them, she knew. Maddie could feel them long before they clasped hands.

And Scott could feel it too.

We can help you, Jean told Scott, letting the thought bleed through to Maddie’s psyche at the same time. We can sharpen you. I’ve been training — I can give us all the roadmap to make us stronger.

To unlock their true potential. To destroy as they were intended to destroy. To put Erik’s hours of teaching to good use. Almost ironic. Almost tragic.

Jean wished she could feel anything but anger.

She lifted her hand, pulling back only slightly to touch against Erik’s cheek. “I really do love you,” she said, “but I can’t love this.”

Now.

A step back, and Jean closed her eyes, focusing everything on that burning core at the forefront of Scott’s mind, the flames he’d always tried to contain.

SCOTT: Ever since he was young, Scott had learned to hide pieces of himself. It was something that started in his parents’ house, when his father was a retreating back and his mother was a locked door and he had learned to push down the parts of him that needed things in order to make himself easier to love. This tendency grew as he did, and he began burying more and more of himself. When he was trying to impress prospective adoptive parents, he was a chameleon. A woman wearing a cross necklace approached him holding the hand of a man in a suit and Scott found religion in the time it took them to cross the room, spoke of church as if it were a place he had been more than once in order to make himself wanted. A man with glasses and a collared shirt who Essex told him was a teacher saw him carefully reading library books and trying to look intelligent. Every person who walked through the orphanage door met a different version of Scott Summers, and they all left him just the same.

It became natural, of course, to hide his mutation as best he could when it came along, too. At first, when it was just headaches and the occasional blackout that he later discovered were due to Sinister’s experiments, this was simple. Scott could go into his bedroom and lock the door, could throw the blanket over his head and turn out the lights. The other kids thought he was weird, but only in the way kids always thought each other odd. Only in the way schoolyard bullies teased about. It wasn’t until he took out a wall that they realized there was something dangerous there, wasn’t until he was fitted with ruby quartz glasses that hiding became harder. But he tried. Lord, did he try. He pretended the glasses were a fashion choice, prayed for sunny days so he wouldn’t look different, used them as a mask to hide more and more of himself. His powers, he had learned in the beginning, were a part of him, too. And the glasses hid that. It was a familiar sort of comfort.

But now… Now, the person he loved most in the world was telling him to stop hiding. The person he loved so much that she had taught him what love was to begin with was telling him to let go, to open his eyes and let that piece of himself free. And there would be consequences. There were always consequences, when the truth came out. His parents grew more distant when they realized he was a child, full of wants and needs and a selfish desire to be loved. Those families who might have adopted him lost all interest when he dropped the act, even if only for a second. The other kids at the orphanage started treating him more like a bomb than a person when the walls came down. And if he took off his glasses... 

If he took off his glasses, Erik would die. Scott knew this. Scott had known this since the beginning, since the three of them headed here, since before that. If he took off his glasses, there would be broken controls and a body and if there was anything left of his soul, that would be done away with, too. War made everyone a murderer in the end, but Scott had never imagined it would lead him here. If he took off his glasses, he would be killing someone he loved more than anything.

And saving the rest. 

Life was full of terrible choices. It was full of plane crashes where there were four people and one parachute, full of mothers putting that salvation on their childrens’ backs and pushing them out of planes with their baby brothers in their arms and firm instructions not to let go. It was full of scientists who wanted to pick you apart but swore they loved you while they were doing it. It was full of men who found you in the streets and beat you, who told you to be grateful for their fists bruising your ribs because at least it meant someone cared enough about you to make contact. It was full of silos with bombs tucked safely inside and people you loved standing at the controls. It was full of the woman you loved begging you without words to kill her father, full of knowing she might hate you when it was over. If Scott killed Erik, he’d never forgive himself. If he didn’t, he’d hate himself just the same.

Glancing to Jean, Scott set his jaw before looking back to Erik. They locked eyes, even if only for a moment. Neither of them had the telepathy Jean or Maddie boasted and, even if they had, Erik’s helmet would have prevented any kind of connection. Scott offered a silent apology all the same.

The glasses came off. The world was red.

The world was always red.

ERIK: Death wasn’t something that was ever far from Erik’s mind.

The how of it had always been up in the air. When he’d been a child, he’d been certain it’d come at the guns of the Schutzstaffel, or in one of the many arsons that plagued Jewish neighborhoods. He’d thought it might come at the end of Shaw’s pistol, as it had for his mother, or under the man’s knife while he was strapped down for another experiment. Maybe it would come in a workplace accident at the manufacturing plant. Perhaps it would reach him while he was lapping the globe meting out his revenge on ex-Nazis. Or with Sebastian Shaw’s hand around his throat in the reactor room. Or with a bullet he was too slow to stop on a beach a thousand miles from home. Of late, he’d considered that it might come at the hands of the humans, and he’d been prepared despite best-laid plans to die for his people during the siege if that was what it took.

He’d die fighting, though. Always.

(Almost always. There’s another way, one that creeps on him on the bad nights, when alcohol and nicotine and sex or adrenaline aren’t enough to keep the worst thoughts at bay. He wouldn’t die naturally, he’d discovered decades ago when his aging had slowed to nothing more than the scarcest crawl; no, his death, like most of the defining events of his life, was going to be something traumatic. Unless.)

Erik was a survivor, even when those he cared for didn’t make it along with him.

That didn’t mean death was ever very far from reach. The constant little voice reminding him of that fact kept him constantly on edge, constantly paranoid, constantly ready to identify and destroy whatever threat was coming to finish the job so many others had failed.

He’d imagined death many times, but he’d never imagined it coming from his family. Dying to protect his family was one thing, something he would accept in a heartbeat. But dying at their hands was another story entirely. .

(Shaw laughs, somewhere, and grins that poisonous, condescending grin and chides him for being so soft. You knew better than that, didn’t you? )

Maybe he should have. Maybe this was history repeating itself, and Erik blinding himself to it because he’d never known how to care with only half a heart. Maybe love was a far more fickle thing for everyone else than he’d ever really given it credit for.

Magda, twirling with him in the cabin he’d built them with his own two hands as music crackled out of their record player, Anya standing on his toes between them, had looked every bit as in love as he was. Until she wasn’t. Until a circle of humans who had attacked their home, murdered their daughter, lay at his feet, and there was no amount of love he could’ve given that would’ve stilled her feet as she ran.

Suzanna, constantly casting her eyes at the door, murmuring how much more she enjoyed his presence than that of her husband, how much she wished she could stay. Until the clock ticked past eleven. Until she got up, issuing apology after apology, and left to return to the human man who finger-shaped bruises on her arms and throat, who left her flinching at loud noises and still was worth more.

Charles, grinning at him over a chessboard or laughing as they tossed flour at each other in the kitchen, who had told him that the Institute was his home as long as he wanted it. Until it wasn’t. Until there was a sea of humans firing missiles at his family, and suddenly his usefulness as a weapon wasn’t quite so appreciated when it was turning those very missiles at the humans. Suddenly it was we don’t want the same thing and disappointed eyes and a gentle push until Erik let his place be taken by the human who seconds before had tried to end his life.

It was all love, until it came to humans on the receiving end of Erik’s fire, and then this. And then it was Jean, looking him in the eyes and saying ’I really do love you, but.’

But.

She said it, but those words didn’t reach her eyes. There was no love there, no warmth, nothing recognizable as the little girl he’d come to think of as a daughter at the Institute or the woman he’d danced with at her wedding just a few months ago. Her mouth said ‘I love you,’ but everything else in her posture, in her face, in her eyes, said but.

’I can’t love this.’

Erik would laugh if his chest didn’t feel like it’d been cracked open at the cold expression, so incongruent with the hand brushing his cheek but perfectly aligned with the words falling from her lips. Because of course. Of course.

“Just like your father.” The words tasted like ash.

Erik wasn’t sure what line everyone else seemed to see, between the Erik they loved and this. Between whatever they always thought he was, and what they inevitably saw in the moment before everything fell apart. It didn’t matter how honest he was about his beliefs, about his intentions, about any of it. He’d tried; g-d, how he’d tried.

He loved so much, but. I can’t love this. Something in him was clearly broken, clearly unlovable, and Erik wasn’t sure when Jean had seen it. How much of the love he’d thought he saw before was an act and how much was real. Pathetic.

(How could it have been real? Why would it have been? Love didn’t just disappear, and if it wasn’t there now, it hadn’t been there at all. Had he simply been a matter of convenience? A weapon useful to avenge Scott, but not once it had a mind of its own. Useful until he wasn’t.)

She stepped back, and Erik’s gaze skipped across her and Maddie, until finally his eyes caught Scott’s, through the quartz.

He knew what was going to happen. Scott’s fingers had already slid up to the visor, and it was a pantomime of that scene in the hospital waiting room last week. A moment where Erik had to weigh his chances. .

He could stop Scott, if he tried. Simply turn off the man’s synapses, and he’d be dead before he hit the floor. He could do it to Jean too, quite probably. Maddie.

He could do it, and he could fire the missiles, and he could walk away from this silo with the life he’d managed to sustain against all odds for over ninety years. He could return to Lorna’s bedside and watch her wake up, ensure that she wouldn’t wake up alone. There would be no more human problems, and his daughter would be awake and at his side, wouldn’t be left an orphan when she woke up, and it was a possibility close enough to taste.

But love didn’t disappear, and Erik loved Jean Grey. He loved her, loved Scott, loved Maddie, despite her relative novelty and incessant annoyances, and there was no force in the universe that was going to make him murder his own children. Certainly not to save his own skin.

I’m sorry, Lorna.

Scott flipped his visor.

The world went red, pain slammed into his chest, and the red slipped into black. Erik was dead before he hit the floor.

JEAN: Just like your father.

There was one part of Jean that she knew was her own. The Phoenix came to her at eighteen, sunk its talons into her shoulders and remained an occasionally silent, oftentimes loud companion for decades after. For a long time, she thought that was a blessing — thought its influence prevented death, inspired life, protected her family. Now, she knew better. She knew she was a passenger in her own body, a prisoner to her own impulses. The Phoenix took her anger and made it bigger than compassion, bigger than logic, bigger than love. But there was one part, a part Erik had facilitated, a part that had grown in her since she was barely ten years old.

Jean Grey was a soldier. Like her husband, like her best friends, like the only true parents she’d ever known. She was a soldier, and that meant when something needed done, she could compartmentalise. She could bury emotions, could get the deed done. She could appear in Charles’ office covered in blood, could stomach his disappointment, could understand that it needed to be done regardless.

Did he know this was the outcome, all those years the X-Men faced off against the Brotherhood? Was it the Phoenix, or merely an inevitability? After all, the bird brought truth — it painted Jean as the villain she must’ve been, showed the parts of her she tried so desperately to hide. Did Charles know Erik had to die? Was that why he sent their daughter, instead of facing off on the battleline himself?

Did Charles know just how much this would hurt?

Anger, bitter and curling in her gut, had a brief flash of vindication as the silo filled with red — and then it was like the air was knocked from her lungs. She heard a screeching, loud and desperate and animalistic, felt something pulled from her chest and saw it in the centre of their circle like a flickering candle, like a flame that never went out.

A flame that could be injured. A flame that wasn’t running through her veins, wasn’t blocking her emotions, wasn’t feeding that fire of rage that had been building since Kara, since Lorna’s revelation, since she walked in and saw weapons of mass destruction pointed towards the very people they promised to co-exist peacefully with.

This was Jean Grey. Authentic. Unchanged. She sucked in a breath of charged air, blinked to remove the specks of light from her vision, and saw Erik lying before her.

Jean Grey. Authentic, unchanged, alone for the first time since she was eighteen years old. Devastated.

The power left her legs, and the skin on her knees tore as she scrambled towards him, hands bunching in the front of Erik’s shirt.

(There was dancing around his office. There were kisses pressed to the top of her head, whispered promises of safety. There were lessons of self acceptance, lessons he’d never been able to finish before they splintered. There was that absence, huge, gaping, constantly a source of pain and desperation that fuelled their confrontations. There was relief when he smiled at her in that restaurant, in the hundreds of conversations since.

She would miss him until her dying day.)

Jean’s shaking hands moved to hover over his chest, telekinesis knitting the wound that burned red together. A medic’s instinct — a trained propensity towards healing, towards fixing problems that appeared before her. A daughter’s last act, because Jean knew Erik Lehnsherr needed to die. She knew that.

It just hadn’t occurred to her that he needed to be dead.

(Death wasn’t peaceful. Jean knew this. Death meant being alone in a white, hot room, watching the rest of the world carry on in your absence. Death meant constructing visions, knowing there was no tangibility to them. Death meant being alone, and she never wanted him to be alone. There was a screeching, and this time it was her.)

Jean leaned down, trembling fingers touching against his face. He wasn’t cold, but he would be soon. He would be cold and covered in dirt, and there would be no fight or fury or argument or pounding hearts. There would be no handcrafted music boxes or father to dance with on her wedding anniversary.

A tear dripped onto his cheek, and Jean rested her forehead against his. “I’ll keep you warm,” she whispered, voice barely more than a breath. He could hear her, though. She had to believe that. (She had to be good enough, had to be loud enough, for him to hear her just one more time.) “You’re just asleep, Dad. It won’t be too long, and I’ll come. Promise.”

Soldiers didn’t die of old age. Erik always knew that.

She wrapped her arms around him just as the Force returned to her, body bracing for impact and still being taken off guard. Cracks appeared in her skin, exposed arms and hands glowing orange, and she heard the whisper.

Pray to me, Jean Grey. We can bring him back.

She was so much stronger than she had been, no longer in pieces. Through tear-filled eyes, Jean looked up at Scott, heart thudding hard when she saw he was still standing — and the same with her sister. Her sister, the machination, still alive. Maddie was real.

And Erik was dead.

Jean lay down by his side, arm around his waist. The embers flickered against his still body, but they didn’t enter. They didn’t raise him.

“I can’t use her,” Jean whispered, again to Erik. (He couldn’t hear her. Her abilities showed no aura, no pulse in his neck. He was gone, but she talked regardless. He was in the dark, and in all the times Jean had died she’d never been able to see Annie again, never been able to find her. But she wouldn’t stop trying.) “This one is on me.”

The Phoenix moved for her grief, for the guilt, and Jean turned her away. She wanted to feel it all.

He feels nothing now. Why must you suffer?

The bird still had so much to learn. (That was exactly why.)(edited)

MADDIE: Red bled into Maddie’s vision, a bright light that filled the silo and painted a picture that was inevitable, but no one wanted to see. Red turned to spotty blackness as all air was zapped from the woman’s lungs. There was an almost peacefulness to the quiet nothingness that washed over Maddie for a long moment. She couldn’t explain it, why she felt like something had splintered, cracks in the foundation that were spidering out. She didn’t know what was happening; why she felt like she had died alongside Erik.

There was nothing, inky blackness wrapping around her like a shock blanket and leaving her numb.

Was this grief? Was this nothingness to protect herself or something entirely else, wrong and foreign? Alongside a screeching that Maddie swore was so, so close but so very far away at the same time.

There was nothing to feel in this vast empty Maddie could feel herself in. No bitterness at how she knew she should be feeling a certain way, a regret or a trickle of grief to follow what had happened. There was nothing. She should feel something. Erik was a good man despite it all, a great man even. The closest thing to a dad Maddie could call, accepting her as the rest of the family had without too many questions. .

On the other hand, Maddie was filled with entirely too many of them. Was the emptiness because of the growing disconnect from those she was calling family? That when they were in the same room as her she felt like there was a silent, but clear divide between them and her? Was she the one who had put that line there or had it manifested itself? She had too many questions and no answers, a craving to find as many answers as she could without fracturing what fragile balance existed between them all.

There wasn’t much longer Maddie could linger on it in the darkness when she was forced back to the present with a rush of something slamming back into her. Air filled her lungs as her fingers twitched and she saw fiery cracks in her skin slowly fade away. Her eyes flickered over to Erik on the floor and Jean moving to lay down beside him. The quietness in the room felt deafening.

“Jean…” Maddie said softly, unsure even what she wanted to say, what she could say. Her heart should be breaking, should be filled with the grief that she saw painted over her sister’s own face. Instead, she felt nothing.

Moving towards the pair, Maddie carefully sat down on the floor behind Jean. Her fingers brushed over red hair, carefully stroking over the strands and staying silent amongst the grief. Comfort she could try, despite the pain she knew was filling every inch of the room.

SCOTT: There was a split second, when tragedy struck, where nothing happened at all. It was the moment after you jumped from the plane but before the parachute caught you, the moment after the blood blossomed over the stomach of the girl you loved but before she hit the ground, the moment after the bullet tore through your chest but before the pain struck you. The moment after you opened your eyes, but before that red blast faded. It was too late to turn back, in that moment. The terrible thing had already happened. There was no stopping it, no pulling it back in. You couldn’t go back to the plane, couldn’t force a heart to beat, couldn’t stop the blood from filling up your lungs. You couldn’t stop the blast from landing. You couldn’t make that moment last. In that split second, things were okay, but that split second always ended. The tragedy always clawed its way to the surface.

And this was no different.

Erik fell. There was no grace to it, no beauty. It was quick and unceremonious and violent, because death always was. No one ever looked pretty when they died. No one ever looked at ease. Death was a tsunami, a hurricane, a horrible and dreadful thing that put a pit in your stomach and filled you with a cold unease. Erik fell, and Scott sucked a breath. It felt like there was something hot was in his chest. When he exhaled, he pushed it out. He didn’t mean to, didn’t intend to. He might wonder, later, if he would have exhaled had he known what he would lose. He might wonder if he could have held it inside of him forever if he’d only held his breath. He might wonder if he’d wanted to. But wondering, in the end, rarely did anyone any good.

Scott exhaled. Erik’s body hit the ground. Jean fell to her knees. And everything slammed into him at once. .

The heat left him, like a forest fire exiting his lungs. He gasped a breath, desperate and drowning, and when he exhaled the fire he inhaled the smoke. Everything came rushing back to him all at once. There was no more cold voice in his head whispering to him about what needed to be done. There was no more strange disconnect from how he felt. There was no more icy anger chilling his veins. There was no more Phoenix. Instead, there was Scott. There was Scott, in a room with three people he loved and one of them was on the ground. There was Scott, with his eyes still burning red. There was Scott, feeling everything all at once.

Grief, when it was thick enough, became a tangible thing. It thickened the air around it, made it heavy and hot. It settled onto your chest, curled its hands around your throat. It suffocated you. It shoved your head underwater, held you there until your kicking stopped and the bubbles ceased to escape to the surface. It killed you piece by bloody piece, and Scott hadn’t had many pieces left. He’d already been shattered. But now…

Erik’s body was in the floor, and Scott had put it there. Jean was crouched over him with Maddie at her side, their grief as tangible as his own. In New York, there were graves with the Greys names all lined up side by side, and they had hated him but there had been a time when they hadn’t. There had been a time where they’d invited him to dinner, where they had accepted him. Derry was in a house in Genosha, and she didn’t know who he was. Lorna was in a hospital bed, fighting for her life. Scott had died, had been buried, had come back wrong. Erik was dead. Erik was dead, Erik was dead. And Scott was feeling it all at once. He was underwater, he was drowning, and he didn’t know if he wanted to make it to the surface. He didn’t know if he deserved to. .

His legs didn’t give out underneath him, and this felt wrong. It felt unnatural, like the tree in the forest that grew sideways, parallel to the ground. There shouldn’t be anything holding it up. Gravity should have an easy task pushing it the rest of the way down, but it stood. It stood still and unnatural and wrong, and you kept thinking that someone was going to take an axe to it one day just to finish the goddamn job but no one ever did and it stayed there. Scott stayed on his feet but he shouldn’t have. He shouldn’t have.

He thought Jean might have been talking. He thought Maddie might have been, too. He didn’t think either of them were speaking to him, and he didn’t know how to tune back into the world to find out. The grief was so heavy, and without the Phoenix’s cold rage in his veins, there was nothing to distract from it. There was nothing to turn to. There was grief and there was nothing else. There was no room for anything else.

(He remembered, again, the way Jean spoke of the Phoenix. He remembered how she’d told him it maximized your emotions, made them so big that the world couldn’t expand to hold them. He wondered how his felt bigger without it. He wondered how the world could possibly be vast enough to fit this much anguish, how the weight of it hadn’t knocked the planet off its axis, how the world could still turn when Erik was dead and Scott had killed him. He wondered how anything would ever move passed this moment. He wondered if they might just stay like this forever.)

The world was somehow both quieter and louder with the Phoenix gone, contradiction waiting around every bend, and Scott didn’t recognize the presence of another person in the room until the door slammed shut. He didn’t feel her approach, didn’t sense her coming, didn’t notice anything but his grief and Jean’s grief and Maddie’s grief and the way it all flowed through the bond like a river trying to go in three directions at once. .

(And had he been in a better frame of mind, he might have recognized something different about that third stream. Had he been able to focus on anything but his head underwater, he might have wondered why the things coming from Maddie felt so different than the rest.)

He turned back when he felt her, used all the strength he had just to tear his gaze away from the floor, from Jean, from Maddie, from Erik. His heart seized in his chest, and that tsunami, that hurricane, it hit him all over again. “Lorna.”

(He choked on her name. It felt more like an apology than a word, more like guilt than a person. Like her name was the closest thing to sorry his voice could manage.)

LORNA: She was drowning. Her limbs as heavy as lead, useless to her as she sank like a stone, but the pain in her chest had far less to do with the water she’d gasped in and more to do with the hole that had been punched through her. And then she’d thought it was over. Lorna had thought about death before. How she’d die, when she’d die. If she wanted to. There had been times when she’d imagined it would be something like this, taken out by hateful humans she’d picked a fight with. Or who’d picked a fight with her. She hadn’t thought it would be tonight. 

And then it wasn’t. Then there was that brief moment of air before darkness swallowed her back up again like it had under the water. But her heart beat on, struggling at first but beating nonetheless. Lorna, none the wiser. 

Until now. 

Darkness and pain were the last things she remembered. Only fitting that darkness and pain be the first things she was aware of now. The pain was far more dulled now, no longer consuming her as it had been. She lay there, in the darkness, for a few moments, as she slowly rose out of unconsciousness. Finally, a week after they’d closed, her eyes blinked open. 

As soon as she did, it was like her other senses flipped a switch. The beeping of the heart monitor and the humming of the oxygen machine filled her ears. She could smell the antiseptics used to keep her wounds clean overlaying the smells of Erik’s house and her room here. While the blankets were familiar and reassuring–far more so than a hospital would’ve been–the mask on her face and the drip in her arm suddenly felt very uncomfortable. Lorna turned her head to find an empty chair. One that was not usually placed by this bed. A vigil left empty?

She struggled to sit up, inhaling sharply at the pain that any movement in her chest caused. Never one to not be stubborn, Lorna still managed, and pulled the oxygen mask from her face. She could breathe without it now. The drip, she was a little more hesitant to touch. Better to wait for Jean. Lorna trusted that Jean wouldn’t force her to keep it if it wasn’t needed. The heart monitor didn’t like when she tried to take that off her finger and Lorna didn’t know how to turn it off–bar simply using her powers to knock it out–so that stayed too. Instead, Lorna leant back against pillows, wondering how long she would lie here before anyone would know she was awake. 

No more than a minute could have passed before she felt it. A shock wave washed through her, one of magnetic energy. Magnetic energy that was far too familiar. Something was wrong. She knew it in her gut. It startled her back up, ignoring the pain. Lorna had to find out what had happened. She pulled the heart monitor from her finger and the IV from her arm, paying no mind to the bleeding nor the way the monitor protested. Her bare feet hit the carpet, and by all accounts she should have not felt as steady on them as she did. Something fueled her, filling her with a strength she should not yet have back. The thought crossed her mind for a moment, but the siren call of that magnetic pulse was too much to ignore.  

It screamed wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Something was wrong.

That feeling carried her out of the house, pulling her like a compass to north. Neither the shock of cool air on her skin nor the damp grass beneath her bare feet even slowed her down. Her powers reached out ahead of her, trying to search for what it was that felt like the world was turning upside down. And why it felt so familiar. Like she’d been here before. Like she’d felt this before. 

Later, Lorna would come to realise she had known before she even got to the silos what she would find. Not the specifics, but her powers let her view the world as electromagnetic signals. People gave off their own energies, energies she mostly tried to ignore for the sake of her sanity living in a city as massive as New York. Some people’s energies were stronger and more familiar to her. 

One was practically just an inversion of her own.  

It was that one she had felt from her bedroom, echoing out like a shock wave. Like the aftershocks of an explosion. And if she had stopped to reach for it now, she would have known. She would have felt nothing. Well, not nothing. Even dead bodies felt like something. Lorna knew that all too well. But not the energy she needed to find.

She came to the door of the silo, footsteps practically silent. Her voice was stolen from her chest as she finally found the source of the explosion. 

Lorna stood in shock. She could barely see the way Jean grieved or Maddie comforted her or Scott stood still. All she could see was him. Erik. Dead. Not dying as she had been when Rictor brought her back, not an avenging force as he had been when he found her in the forest twenty years ago. Dead. If she could even notice anything else, she would’ve felt how that strength that had carried her here seemed to grow amongst the grief. If that grief had not been so overwhelming.

Without speaking, she reached a hand out. Metal scraped against the concrete ground, echoing in the quiet. Erik’s helmet flew from his body to her outstretched hand, where Lorna clutched it tight. The door slammed shut behind her, echoing in the heavy silence. 

Her eyes finally moved from Erik to find Maddie, then Jean, then Scott. Her eyes stayed on him, the smoking gun that was Erik’s body giving her all the evidence she needed. 

“Scott. What the fuck have you done?”

[calypsoff]

One. Part 2

Robyn pushed back her snapback; she is still frantically searching my eyes. I think she is taken aback by this, she didn’t expect this moment at all “I am sorry I am still in shock, you look so different” putting my head down letting out a low chuckle “more skinny huh” bringing my head back up “you was never fat, I told you that. We both had those chubby cheeks” we both said the same word and laughed “I did come back to Essex High, after I released my first song I came there. Ask Mel, I came to visit, I asked about you. Nobody had the answers, I tried to ask TJ and Barry at the time, but they just shook their head and said no. I did come back there, it was a year later but I did, I thought you would be there still” licking my bottom lip, the room is awfully silent and it’s a little awkward. Looking around me, I think that is her boyfriend and he just stared at me “can you all leave the room, I need to answer his question in private. Rich it’s ok, I know him. Just leave the room, everyone” stepping back a little from Robyn, Barry and TJ never said she asked about me, I didn’t know she came back to Essex High, it’s nothing big but I just would like to know why, she left at the most important time for what we could have been, was it me. I just need to know; I feel bad to think it was me that pushed her to go “you’re going to be long? We have the after party, this little reunion gonna take time?” her boyfriend said “Rakim, just do what I said. I won’t be long” watching people filter out of the door, I know Seiko going to be thinking what the fuck is happening because they are leaving the room “I won’t be long Rorrey, just tell Rakim to relax” her brother walking slowly behind the group, I mean she didn’t need to do this at all. Maybe she doesn’t feel comfortable with saying it in front of others, but she didn’t need too.

The door closed and that actually left us alone in this room, which didn’t bother me but I felt a slight nervousness about it “I can’t believe, like you’re really here” turning to Robyn with my hands behind my back “I am shocked you remember me” I mumbled “remember you!? Pinkie promise twin, I would never forget you. A face like yours, with your forty freckles. I mean you probably got more now” touching my face laughing “you was that bored in class you counted them, you repeated that shit so many times too” Robyn giggled “to be fair you kept moving your face and then the next day you blamed me for getting a spot on your cheek” nodding my head laughing remembering it all, she walked over to me with her arm up, another hug I didn’t think she would give but she did. She hooked her arm around my neck, this time I did hug her back “you gone taller too” she really has “same to you, so good to see you. I know it was months, but we saw each other every day Chris. It felt like years with us, I couldn’t forget that. The memories never fade Chris, they never do” I let out a deep sigh as did Robyn “so good to see you, really is” she moved back from the hug “where was you? I came there to see you again, that was the only reason. It felt like shit, you were suspended when I went and then you weren’t there when I came back. I didn’t even have a phone, I barely made it to Virginia in the first place Chris so I didn’t have a phone” I understand what she means “I told you I could get you a phone, you just went. I wasn’t there because I was busy with my cousins, making pointless money” putting my head down “you didn’t?” she said, disappointment coming from her voice “I did, and I’ve just come back out of Lawrenceville Correctional Center. I been out six months now” Robyn’ mouth fell open “I been locked up five years, possession. That was the least sentence I could do, I had to snitch on the people dealing to get that. They found out I snitched and beat me and then they put me in Lawrenceville for safety where I just did the rest of my sentence and I come out, six months ago” no words left her lips, just shock.

The look in Robyn’ eyes, so much care and hurt by what I have just told her “what did I tell you Chris? I said stay away from your cousins, family or not you had to cut them off. So you weren’t there when I came, you was busy being dumb with them, oh god. Why? You had so much going for you, you helped me with my work! You were the brains behind our group projects” chewing on my bottom lip listening to Robyn, she is right “maybe I wanted to impress you, maybe I acted clever for you” I said laughing “be quiet, I am annoyed at you. Why did you fuck yourself over your cousins. So you were locked up all this time, you told me to live my dream. I am talented, you hyped me up, but you didn’t do it for yourself did you? I am just sad for you; I feel like that place has changed you. You’re quiet and within yourself, but you’re still the same guy I remember. I can’t believe it, but you came here, and I am so happy to see you, I swear you have literally made my night, I did think to check up on you. It was weird because you came to mind just last night, when I arrived here I was like I am close but it’s too late now. We lost that contact, come let’s sit” Robyn pointed at the seating area, Robyn is not wrong. I have changed within myself; I am just trying to keep myself good and not get in trouble like I did, I was fearless when I was young. Following behind Robyn “make yourself comfortable, I uhm never forgot you. I don’t know if you were paying attention, but I have a song called photographs, it is about you” furrowing my eyebrows “me!?” I spat; I didn’t expect that at all “uh yeah, but anyways. When you get the chance listen to it, but I know you asked the question on why?” sitting down on the couch.

I did not expect that, she made a song about me, now I am shook “yeah, why did you go? I remember the weekend I did initiate sex with you, and then I felt like it was me that pushed you to go? You didn’t want it, I was cool with it, I really was. But things were weird between us but then you just disappeared, not even anything. Shit was hurtful” I just need to know this, I have always thought this all these years “shit, if you waited a little longer I was going to ask you out. You just went, it was just me and you and that was it. We were young and we had so much fun, you went and that was it. I was suspended but you could have tried. I thought I meant more to you then just that, I ain’t never forget you because you a good woman” Robyn giggled, I missed hearing that giggle “you mean you and Barry using me for my cornrow services, I had the best time in Virginia and that was down to you Chris, I don’t regret coming here. I don’t think I would have had a good time if it weren’t for you. And every second we spent time, it meant something. We were some broke ass kids, and I will never forget what you did for me. You helped me in some sticky situations too” I swallowed hard “I left you at the party, I didn’t think they would try and play you like that. Foreign girl that put out, I don’t play that. It was my bad but look at you now. You are shining, I am happy for you. Like I was butt hurt, I never told anyone. Crazy how we’ve ended up how we did, I just think if you stayed longer then you did” I drifted off “probably save you from your cousins that I kept on saying leave them” she finished off “I got called back, my gran gran was very ill. And the family I lived with offered to pay my flight back but it was for that day, I was in a bad place. But I did think of you, I went back for that reason. I love her to death, and it broke me at that time, and I went back. I had to go but I promised myself to come back, and I did come back Chris. You can ask Barry and TJ; I am surprised they never said it” I think I am more relived it was me she ran away from me “I am sorry to hear about your Gran is she ok now?” Robyn smiled a little, teary eyed “she is with the angels, but all is well, I am not going to cry. She wanted me to pursue this, she was happy for me” I feel bad, I would hug her but maybe I am doing too much “I understand why now, I am sorry about your Gran, she sounds so sweet” hearing the door open behind me “we need to leave the venue” the lady said, rubbing my face as I got up from the couch “give us a minute” Robyn said.

Rubbing my hands together “don’t want to get in trouble by your boyfriend now” I laughed it off “we still have things to discuss though” she stepped in front of me “you’re a busy lady now, I appreciate that you answered what I have been feeling all that time. I just didn’t want it to be the cause of you going, you know” she answered what I wanted “busy for my twin? Don’t be stupid, we have so much to speak on. I am still here tonight; I leave to go Oklahoma in the morning. I have an after party tonight, well just a party. Come to it” I smiled at Robyn “I have work at seven, I work at Amazon. But we can exchange numbers” Robyn nodded her head smiling “I would like that, once tour is over. My last date is in New York, I can come back without the entourage, I somehow feel bad that you ended up locked up” shaking my head laughing “aye, it’s cool. It’s life aight?” holding my pinkie out “I just can’t believe you’re here in front of me, I just was left with that image of your chubby cheeks and bright smile, it’s like life has taken it out of you. I still have that picture of us with the science project we did and I just see that” she grabbed my pinkie “don’t ever think that twin” wrapping my arm around her with our pinkie still connected “it’s been good to see you, I always thought of you and it’s good to see you in high spirits, what you deserve princess” moving back from the hug “two up, two down” I snorted laughing, she remembers “ok, we really need to go now” the lady came into the room again “also your girlfriend is worried” moving my hand away from Robyn’ as Seiko walked in all wide eyed “don’t want you to get in trouble by your girlfriend now” Robyn repeated the very words I said, looking over at her, nodding my head smiling “yeah, coming” walking around the couch “wait” turning around to Robyn “we didn’t take a picture?” she asked, placing my hand over my heart “no need” Robyn breathed out smiling as I turned back around.

Seiko been pretty quiet with me as we got escorted out of backstage and out the building “enjoy your night” the venue security said “thanks dude, damn. Everyone gone home” stuffing my hands in my pockets “where is your picture with her then?” she asked straight away “there isn’t any, I just wanted a question answered and she did. That is it” Seiko’ face is unimpressed “you were near enough half hour in there, the fuck!? What question was this? Did you just come here to make me look stupid, I mean I got to meet ASAP but still, what was the question?” she is being nosey now, I laughed walking by her “Chris! Seriously” she is straight tripping “Christopher, hey!” some guy shouted, looking behind me. That is the big nigga that was escorting us to the room “you forgot your poster” he jogged over to us, seeing the rolled up poster “I did?” he held it out “yeah, it’s yours” taking the poster from him “thank you” smiling at him as I turned back around to walk off, I am content now. I think I got my answer, and she remembers me, but Barry or TJ never told me she came, she asked for me too. Why didn’t they just mention it, that alone would have closed the page on me ever going to see her like this. It was kind of risky to even go. If she didn’t know me then that would have hit me, but she knows me.

Seiko been quiet the whole car ride home, well to her home because I need to see my dumb friends after this “why you quiet? Ok, I asked her if she remembers me and we had some jokes about school, no foul play. Happy now? Old friend, it was jokes” placing my hand on her thigh “you wouldn’t lie to me right?” shaking my head “never, I got you. I am with you ain’t I? But did you have a good night yeah?” Seiko smiled “I did, thank you. I know this was expensive, don’t be out too late with those friends, work in AM. You want me to call you, check if you’re awake?” nodding my head “for sure, I should be awake. Goodnight” leaning over the panel and pressing a kiss to Seiko’ lips “I love you boo, thank you so much for this” I grinned sitting back in my seat “it’s cool, I better get going now though. You know how TJ is” watching Seiko get out of the car with all her things, I did think she was going to kick off but she didn’t, she could have easily been worse about it all. Side eyeing her slamming my car door though, like was that even necessary. Letting out a deep sigh, that reminds me, she said she made a song about me. Grabbing my phone from the panel, I want to hear this actually and I have been thinking on it since riding back. Opening Apple Music app, searching Rihanna photographs, better not be some diss track, imagine if it’s her saying I am a wack ass nigga, that would be awkward. The song started playing, I turned it down a little, can’t be riding with that loud. The guitar started playing “Here's a little story I've got to tell, about this boy I know so well” Robyn started to sing and I started to drive off.

Replaying the same part again “And look what happened to our love, I'm like how could it be” pausing the song again, I have done this like five times now, love. I mean she playing like this, did I hurt her or was it because I wasn’t there when she came back but did she love me, is this what it is “wow” I really need to go, my friends will be waiting outside my apartment but that is interesting, I can’t believe it. And she added the kissing on the couch, and we did do that, oh my god. That is just wow, getting out of my car with the biggest smile on my face, this is just crazy to me. Closing my car door and then seeing the rolled up poster, I didn’t ask for anything, but I won’t leave it in this car. I will give it TJ, he seems to be obsessed with Rihanna, opening the back seat and grabbing the rolled up poster. Kicking the door, locking the door as I made my way to my apartment complex, let’s see what picture it is actually, taking off the elastic band from the poster and opening it up “oh” seeing the writing on the corner of the poster “you didn’t take my number! It was so good to see you so I hope you do message” I read out, she left a smiley face too “wow” she really gave me her number, dragging my eyes away from the writing and staring at those very hazel eyes “what the fuck nigga!” I moved the poster down seeing TJ “you are one creepy nigga stood there with his concert poster, hurry up!” he had to catch me.

I needed that drink, it’s been eventful “long night?” Barry said breaking the silence, I heaved out “man, she remembered” rubbing my chin “oh shit, really!? Was Psycho angry?” TJ asked “she wasn’t there, she went in before me, apparently we was in there for half hour but it was cool, she said something interesting, she said that she came back to Essex High and she asked you both about me” I pointed at them “lies!” TJ spat “man, shut up. She is right but like you didn’t need to hear that, you were barely seeing us at the time. It was a mess, then just adding that. You would have dragged her down, she is on a high and you weren’t. She asked, she hugged us and then the first thing she asked was where is twin? Is his cheeks still cute how I like it, I just said you ain’t here anymore and we don’t know, she was pretty butt hurt but we didn’t say because, I guess what is the point? You weren’t interested, what difference would it make telling you?” Barry is right “but I deserved to know she asked and cared somewhat, but it was good to see her. There was heavy connection there still, she was touching me a lot, I felt like the teenager, the tables have turned. It was wild, she invited me to the after party, but she got a man, she is dating that rapper nigga ASAP so I said I got work in AM so no, which I do” TJ gasped “don’t he paint his nails?” Barry laughed out “he do but that is not the point, but you said she was heavy on the connection, fuck dude. So what if he is a rapper” I shook my head “she started telling me when her tour is over, make time and shit. But it’s done” they know I am right, I don’t get why they are looking at me crazy “I don’t know what those nigga did to you in jail but they knocked sense out of your head, can we bring back the cocky nigga that would have snatched her up, so Rihanna is wanting to reconnect and you sat there like a flat tire” TJ snorted laughing “flat tire but has her titties grown since” rolling my eyes “I don’t know, and be quiet. I just want a easy life, I have Seiko and she has him, she is at a different point in her life too” Barry got up from the couch “you just drink more of this alcohol” they want me drunk knowing full well I will act out.

Jumping off of the stool “I am going to bed, so peace out” walking over to them, dapping them “listen to us! We are right!” Barry shouted in my face “yes boss” I said saluting them as I walked off to my bedroom, I have been drinking a little, had a blunt and I feel more relaxed now. Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I have put her number in my phone now under Twin, but I will message her. See how it goes, you never know, it’s been so good seeing her, I enjoyed it.

Twin

When you walk by ……🙇‍♂️

Pressing send on the message, I mean she will work it out but if she doesn’t then my bad her man must have got her phone but she may be happy with him and I am just there, maybe I am taking it the wrong way, we are friends. That song does state otherwise, she mentioned love. Does she love me or did she love me, my phone pinged in my hand.

Twin

Every night talking sweet and looking fine …. 🤣🤣

She knows, this is why she is twin and will always be twin. She is like me because she remembers everything we did and even sang about.

[towie-s26xe03-watch]

S26E03# ~The Only Way Is Essex | Season 26 Episode 3 - 'Full Episodes' ~HDTV~

Heyy Guys… Watch The Only Way Is Essex Season 26 Episode 3 : Episode 3 || Full Series Premiere | Full Episodes Online 3030 | Watch Full Episodes Online Complete. All Sub title. Enjoy watching! 🔛 WATCH The Only Way Is Essex Season 26 Episode 3 ➲ https://flixsight.com/tv/34284-26-3/the-only-way-is-essex.html - SHOW IS FREE 7-DAY TRIAL ON HERE 🔛Pete and Chloe Sims' relationship is nothing if not tempestuous. Six months ago, they were inseparable, until an argument exposed some serious cracks. 🔛 The Only Way Is Essex (HD) Full Episodes : Complete ✓ Official Partners ITV2 TV Shows & Movies. The Only Way Is Essex The Only Way Is Essex 026x03 The Only Way Is Essex S026E03 The Only Way Is Essex Cast The Only Way Is Essex ITV2 The Only Way Is Essex Eps. 03 The Only Way Is Essex Season 026 The Only Way Is Essex Episode 03 The Only Way Is Essex Season 26 Episode 3 Trailer The Only Way Is Essex Season 26 Episode 3 Online The Only Way Is Essex Full Streaming The Only Way Is Essex Preview The Only Way Is Essex Watch Online The Only Way Is Essex All Subtitle The Only Way Is Essex Full Show Thanks For All And Happy Watching! TELEVISION SHOW AND HISTORY A television show (often simply TV show) is any content produced for broadcast via over-the-air, satellite, cable, or internet and typically viewed on a television set, excluding breaking news, advertisements, or trailers that are typically placed TNTween shows. Television shows are most often scheduled well ahead of time and appear on electronic guides or other TV listings. A television show might also be called a television program (British English: programme), especially if it lacks a narrative structure. A television series is usually released in episodes that follow a narrative, and are usually divided into seasons (US and Canada) or series (UK) — yearly or semiannual sets of new episodes. A show with a limited number of episodes may be called a miniseries, serial, or limited series. A one-time show may be called a “special”. A television film (“made-for-TV movie” or “television movie”) is a film that is initially broadcast on television rather than released in theaters or direct-to-video. The first national color broadcast (the 026526 Tournament of Roses Parade) in the US occurred on January 026, 026526. During the following ten years most network broadcasts, and nearly all local programming, continued to be in black-and-white. A color transition was announced for the fall of 02665, during which over half of all network prime-time programming would be broadcast in color. The first all-color prime-time season came just one year later. In 02673, the last holdout among daytime network shows converted to color, resulting in the first completely all-color network season. FORMATS AND GENRES Television shows are more varied than most other forms of media due to the wide variety of formats and genres that can be presented. A show may be fictional (as in comedies and dramas), or non-fictional (as in documentary, news, and reality television). It may be topical (as in the case of a local newscast and some made-for-television films), or historical (as in the case of many documentaries and fictional series). They could be primarily instructional or educational, or entertaining as is the case in situation comedy and game shows. A drama program usually features a set of actors playing characters in a historical or contemporary setting. The program follows their lives and adventures. Before the 02680s, shows (except for soap opera-type serials) typically remained static without story arcs, and the main characters and premise changed little. If some change happened to the characters’ lives during the episode, it was usually undone by the end. Because of this, the episodes could be broadcast in any order. Since the 02680s, many series feature progressive change in the plot, the characters, or both. For instance, Hill Street Blues and St. Elsewhere were two of the first American prime time drama television series to have this kind of dramatic structure,while the later series Babylon 5 further exemplifies such structure in that it had a predetermined story running over its intended five-season run. In 300263, it was reported that television was growing into a larger component of major media companies’ revenues than film. Some also noted the increase in quality of some television programs. In 300263, Academy-Award-winning film director Steven Soderbergh, commenting on ambiguity and complexity of character and narrative, stated: “I think those qualities are now being seen on television and that people who want to see stories that have those kinds of qualities are watching television. CREDITS Find all the movies that you can stream online, including those that were screened this week. If you are wondering what you can watch on this website, then you should know that it covers genres that include crime, Science, Fi-Fi, action, romance, thriller, Comedy, drama, Anime Movie, etc. Thank you very much. We tell everyone who is happy to receive us as news or information about this year’s film schedule and how you watch your favorite films. Hopefully we can become the best partner for you in finding recommendations for your favorite movies. That’s all from us, greetings! Thanks for watching Videos Today. I hope you enjoy the videos that I share. Give a thumbs up, like, or share if you enjoy what we’ve shared so that we more excited. Sprinkle cheerful smile so that the world back in a variety of colors, Stay safe and Stay home. Thank you very much and Enjoy for watching.

[in-flagrante]

ALL CHANGE With Michelle Dockery

Best known as Downton Abbey’s indelible Lady Mary, MICHELLE DOCKERY effortlessly transitions from haughty aristocrat to corrupt cockney in Guy Ritchie’s new gangster movie, The Gentlemen. LAURA CRAIK talks to the British star about her working-class roots, embracing a golden age of opportunities for female actors and why working with Ritchie, Matthew McConaughey, Hugh Grant and her idol Jeremy Strong was a dream come true

Michelle Dockery is about as different from Downton Abbey’s Lady Mary as is imaginable. Dressed in Totême boyfriend jeans, white Adidas trainers and a black cashmere turtleneck, she is warm, effusive and quick to laugh where Lady Mary is frosty and composed, and she has an accent not dissimilar to Victoria Beckham’s. “It may come as a bit of a shock to everyone when I open my mouth in the film,” she smiles.

“The film” is The Gentlemen, a classic gangster caper written and directed by Guy Ritchie in a return to the genre that first made him famous. “Charlie [Hunnan, one of Dockery’s co-stars] is calling The Gentlemen ‘vintage Ritchie’, and I think that’s right,” she says of the British director behind Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and Snatch. “I play Rosalind, who is the wife of Matthew McConaughey’s character, Mickey,” Dockery explains. “He has these marijuana farms that are growing underneath stately homes, hence the title The Gentlemen.”

Marijuana farms? What would Carson say? Dockery laughs. After six years playing Lady Mary Crawley in Downton Abbey– first in the well-loved TV series (which has won 15 Emmys and been watched by an estimated 270m people worldwide) and latterly in the movie – her role in The Gentlemen was a great departure for the 38-year-old British actress. “Rosalind runs a car dealership, which she’s inherited through her family. She’s a real, tough, east-London girl. I grew up in Essex, and my family has a sort of east-London background, so it was great to step into that world.”

To say the cast of The Gentlemen is “stellar” is an understatement: in addition to Dockery, McConaughey and Hunnam, the movie stars Hugh Grant (who plays equally against type and appears as a corrupt and predatory reporter), Colin Farrell, Henry Golding, and Jeremy Strong, most recently seen as the troubled Kendall Roy in HBO’s Succession – of which Dockery is a huge fan. “I mean, this whole interview could be about Succession,” she laughs. “It’s absolutely brilliant, the best thing on TV. Every single character is Shakespearean. I loved working with Jeremy. We only had one scene together, a dinner-party scene, and I would never have seen his character the way he played it. He was a joy to watch, and worlds away from Kendall.”

Working with Ritchie – and the laugh-a-minute, largely male cast – was, Dockery says, a dream. “There’s one scene where I arrive at my garage, and Guy wanted to add a bit of dialogue, just off the cuff. I had to be on my toes, and I really enjoyed that. So often, when I’m working, the process is very much word for word, and on this film it was malleable. It was liberating.” She also relished collaborating with Ritchie on Rosalind’s look. “Even though Rosalind works in a garage, I get to wear the most beautiful Balmain jumpsuit, and the first scene is me walking into the garage in a pair of Louboutins, which is hilarious. Rosalind has clearly worked her way up to where she is, really enjoys the lifestyle and having money, but still wants to work. I love that about her character, that she still gets her hands dirty.”

Dockery says she is happy with the quality of roles she has been offered in her career (she graduated from London’s Guildhall School of Music & Drama in 2004), while being aware that, in the past, female actors have lamented the paucity of fully rounded female characters. “I do feel I stepped into this industry at a time when things were really beginning to change, especially for women. It’s the golden age of television, where creators have the luxury of writing 10 hours as opposed to just two, so there’s room to explore a character in greater depth. It’s now becoming much more normal to start a job or to read a part and for me to have a dialogue with the creators – if there are moments where it’s felt the female character is not involved, for example – whereas I guess in the past, it would have felt like more of a fight.”

Does she have any aspirations to write or direct herself? She laughs. “I do think about, you know, doing other things. Right now, I’m not sure exactly what, but…” she tails off, laughing. The glint in her eye suggests she has something in the pipeline

After a six-month stint in Boston, where she was filming Defending Jacob, a harrowing miniseries about a family whose lives are torn apart after the death of a boy at their son’s school (“it’s not a comedy,” she notes wryly), she is very much enjoying being home in north London, where she lives close to her two sisters (Dockery is the youngest of three). “It’s a cozy time of year to be home,” she smiles, nursing a cup of tea. “It’s great catching up with friends and family – and, because I travel a lot for work, every time I come back to London, I appreciate it much more. Recently a friend came over from LA and we went to the Antony Gormley exhibition. It took my breath away.”

Can she walk around London fairly anonymously? “Yes, more so here than in America. But that’s the thing with our culture. Brits are too cool to approach you, but in America people have more confidence to come over and say something. It still takes me very much by surprise, but it goes in waves. When the Downton film came out, it peaked again.”

She laughs as she explains that she can never tell who’s going to be a Downton fan. “I got into a cab a little while ago, and the driver was this big, burly Guy Ritchie type. ‘Where you going, love?’ he said. And then it went a bit quiet. And then he was like, ‘You alright?’ And I was like, ‘Yeah, yeah,’ and told him about my day. And he suddenly went, ‘Shame about your sister in season 3.’ And I just laughed out loud. People really surprise me sometimes.”

Would she say she’s an introvert or an extrovert? “I’m an introvert.” Although not the stay-at-home type. “I do like to go out and dance. For me, it’s not a night out unless I’m on the dance floor. Every couple of months, I just need to dance; have one of those… dance-y nights.”

Her interest in fashion is modest rather than craven. “I love clothes but can be ignorant of certain designers. I like supporting young ones coming up.” She’s also what she calls “a coat girl”, with more coats than shoes. But her most cherished possession is a St Christopher necklace her mom gave her. “It comes everywhere with me. I’ve had it for 15 or 20 years.” She recently started donating her old clothes to Smart Works, a British charity of which the Duchess of Sussex is a patron, which helps unemployed women get back to work. “They’ve got all my skinny jeans.”

Our time being almost over, I finish with the question few subjects want to answer. Is she in love at the moment? She laughs and draws an imaginary zip across her mouth. The line of enquiry is especially sensitive as Dockery’s fiancé, Irishman John Dineen, passed away in 2015. She is now rumored to be dating Jasper Waller-Bridge, brother of the feted Phoebe, creator of Fleabag and Killing Eve. If this is true, perhaps we’ll see her in a comedy soon? “There are things on the back burner, but I can’t say,” she says. Then, in a quick flash of Lady Mary, she concludes with a polite, “Thank you so much. It’s been really lovely.”

The Gentlemen is released on January 1, 2020

[hphmbang2020]

A Snadger Story

Merry Christmas, @slytherincursebreaker !!

From your secret santa, @thewasp1995

Elia you know that hearts never lie

A scribbling of a quill scratched the line out.

“No that’s not it.”

Elia, where the mind rests the heart never sleeps

Were I never to wake to see you, tears I would weep

Another scribbling of the quill.

“Damn. Why can’t I find the right lines to this?” muttered a boy of average height with severe but handsome features and neatly combed brown hair.

Making sure no one else was listening in (the Slytherin dungeons were not very well lit and contained plenty of snoops) Felix dipped the quill back into the ink and attempted to resume his little project once more. But this wasn’t just another monotonous essay from Professor Snape….it was far more personal.

Felix Rosier had to resist blushing when he thought of Elia Westerling. A beautiful, vivacious Hufflepuff girl who hailed from Essex. The House of the Badger was often written off as uninspiring or even useless by some critics from other houses, but this particular Hufflepuff was someone he would never soon forget. Slim, curvy, with raven hair and hazel eyes, Elia had a personality to match- confident and self-assured but also playful and a tad mischievous which made her any boy’s match if they tried hitting on her. Felix had never tried himself, but by Merlin he wanted to and rather than embarrass himself with a cheesy pickup line, perhaps a poem would be able to better catch her attention.

Then there was the matter of her family- she was of mostly French and Turkish descent though she was English on her mother’s side, the fact was wizarding blood only went back two generations- two of her grandparents had been muggles. This made it that much harder to confess his feelings, his parents would certainly frown. He could already hear his older cousin, Evan admonishing him.

Intermarriage dilutes the magical blood, Felix. Even talking to one of those wretched creatures is an affront to everything we stand for.

Even with all this in mind, Felix had long decided not to pay much attention to his family’s pure blood prejudices. Elia was a witch that was indisputable, and a damn good one. He wasn’t going to let something so trivial get in the way of at least taking a shot. Besides, Evan had held onto that ideology with an iron fist and look where he ended up? Buried six feet under, killed by Mad-Eye Moody himself.

No, he wouldn’t let remnants of the Dark Lord’s memory bully him into deciding what he wanted, and that was Elia. The bigger question remained, however: how would he give her this poem?

“Alright, let me see…”

“Whatcha doin?”

The sound of a young girl’s voice made him jump almost ten feet in the air, spilling ink all over the desk.

“Merlin’s beard, Allison! Where do you get off sneaking up on people like that?”

“I don’t know,” the girl shrugged. “I was just bored and wanted to see what you were up to.”

Felix sighed. Allison Garrison had been nothing but a pain in his arse from the day she had arrived at Hogwarts. It was his first year being a prefect but the last he expected was for them to be so…blunt, or at least that was the case with Allison. She constantly talked back, caused mischief, and lost more house points from Professor Snape in one month than any other Slytherin in an entire year. His memory of his own time at age eleven was somewhat hazy but he was also quite certain that he had been able to keep his mouth shut for the most part.

This first year held no such ability.

“It’s just homework I have to do. Nothing that need concern you, Garrison.”

“It doesn’t look like homework.”

Good heavens, this girl just won’t let up.

“And how can you tell?”

“You keep crossing things out. Over and over again. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t take you that long to write a sentence for a Potions essay. And you’re mumbling constantly.”

Despite the negative attributes he associated with the first year Slytherin girl, Felix had to admit she could be quite clever and extraordinarily perceptive for someone her age. It was impressive and at times such as these, annoying.

“Whatever I’m doing, it’s still none of your business, Garrison. Now go.”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with that Hufflepuff girl you’re always staring at-”

Felix cut her off with a temporary silence charm before lifting it.

“Must you always be a problem?”

“How’s it my problem you can’t tell a girl that you like her?” Allison responded sarcastically with a hint of a smirk. “Oh, I can picture it now. A snake and a badger together in never ending love. A snadger! Yeah, that’s what I’ll call it. Snadger!”

“Garrison, unless you want detention, I suggest you take your prattling somewhere else.”

That threat seemed to finally work as she had served a few already and would not enjoy another session pickling toad guts with Professor Snape. Nevertheless, she continued to taunt him as she left the room skipping and singing, “Snadger, Snadger, Snadger” all the way out of the common room.

“The little first year is going to give me an aneurysm someday,” Felix muttered to himself, attempting to return to his poem. With any luck, he could finish it before dinner and give it to Elia then.

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

Felix ran a hand through his hair as he entered the Great Hall, all abuzz with activity as it usually was. He knew Elia liked it that way, but he didn’t want to make it seem like he had done it on purpose. Better to be casually aloof and spontaneous than give away it was all part of a calculated plan.

Making his way over to the Hufflepuff table, he received some confused even hard stares from some of them. It was no secret that Slytherin was the least liked among the four houses and while the puffs were not quite as hostile as the Gryffindors, there was a clear stark contrast between ideologies: hard work versus ambition, fair play versus cunning, honesty versus doing whatever it took to win regardless of moral implications. Thankfully, Elia did not share such sentiments- they had been friends since first year after all, but trying to confess your feelings to girl was still nerve racking all the same.

He tried to calm himself, taking a deep breath through his nostrils.

Just ask for a moment of her time, which she’ll give you. Read her the poem, ask her to Hogsmeade and it’s over. Easy right?

Before he could debate further in his head, an odd sight made him stop in his tracks. A first year Slytherin girl that looked painfully familiar was already chatting away to Elia of all people. Feeling his stomach drop three feet, Felix rushed over as quickly as he could.

“Of all things…what on earth is she doing talking to Elia?” he muttered.

When he reached the scene, the horror reached new levels.

“Oh, hello, Felix,” Elia said, a hint of amusement in her voice. “I was just talking to one of your first years. She’s quite interesting you might say.”

“Interesting how?” Felix asked trying to keep his tone as light as possible.

“Oh, I told her everything,” Allison boasted but with a dangerous twinkle in her eye. “I told her you’re my prefect of course, how you keep trying to get me to stay out of trouble, the incident with Devil’s Snare, Merula, even giving me detention. She told me that you guys have been friends for over five years now.”

“That is true,” he replied tersely. Elia seemed like she was trying not to laugh but this was not unfolding the way he wanted it to. The mischievous look on Garrison’s face only spelled further trouble.

“So why haven’t you told her, yet? You know? About the po-mmhmhmmmff”

It was then that Felix’s patience ran out as he covered Allison’s mouth with his hand and spun her away from the Hufflepuff table.

“Very nice to see you, Elia,” he said forcing a smile that was more like a grimace. “But I do believe we must be going.”

He began leading Allison away but the Hufflepuff girl stopped him.

“Felix, it’s okay, let her go. I’d like to speak with you in private.”

Such a calm, reassuring tone from Elia, who rarely turned down an opportunity to tease him, helped deescalate the situation. He released Elia, but not before she licked his hand with her tongue.

“Ack! I’m not finished with you, Garrison. Stay here until I return.”

“Whatever you say,” Allison responded in that same sing-song tone. “Have fun, snadgers!”

Felix had to be practically led away from the Great Hall from the eyes of other prying Hufflepuffs, still mortified from Allison’s meddling.

She knows. She knows that I like her and she’s going to let me down easy. All because that stupid first year couldn’t shut her mouth for two seconds.

Upon exiting, Felix heaved a heavy sigh, figuring it was best to rip the bandage off quickly before the inevitable rejection came.

“Elia, I’m sorry about her,” he said. “I wanted to tell you myself, but she beat me to it, I guess.”

“Felix, you don’t need to apologize,” the Hufflepuff soothed him and then her infamous grin spread across her face like a Cheshire cat. “The truth is, I’ve known for some time.”

“Wait…you were already aware of how I felt?”

“Boys are hardly subtle,” Elia laughed. “Even a Slytherin such as yourself. I’ve caught you staring more than a few times.”

“So, why not say anything?”

“Well for one, listening to Allison jabber on like that was kind of cute.”

Felix couldn’t prevent the pink from spreading across his face.

“She’s getting detention for the rest of the year,” he muttered.

Elia placed a soft, feminine hand over his cheek, turning it to face her. This caused him to go from pink all the way to beet red.

“Felix, don’t punish her. She wasn’t trying to embarrass you; it was actually quite sweet. Nothing she told me was anything I didn’t know already. But she put in a good word for you, saying how you were a great prefect and how you wanted to ask me out with a poem. She thinks the world of you.”

He crumpled the piece of paper in his robe pocket.

“She does, eh?”

“Yes. And I don’t need a poem and an elaborate ritual to be convinced to go out with you,” she teased. “I’ll gladly go to Hogsmeade with you next weekend. Meet me in the courtyard at two o’clock.”

And then, without warning, Elia kissed him on the cheek and winked at him as she walked back into the Great Hall to rejoin the other Hufflepuffs.

Touching the spot where he had received the kiss, Felix proceeded to shuffle back towards the Slytherin table in a bit of a daze, wondering if he had actually just scored a date with the girl of his dreams until a loud, familiar voice snapped him back to reality.

“Felix?”

The Slytherin prefect looked down and saw the little eleven year old girl staring up at him. Functionality returned to his brain, remembering that he had instructed Allison to remain in the Great Hall until he returned.

“You told me to stay here. What’s my punishment?”

Looking into the eyes of the precocious first year, Felix knew she had tried to play matchmaker on purpose and true to Slytherin form, used her own brand of cunning to do it. But more so than that, he also knew that Allison also genuinely tried to make him look good as well, appealing to Elia’s heart and sensibility. The newfound revelation that this first year not only tried to help but liked him was touching.

“You’re off the hook this time, Garrison. Enjoy your dinner.”

Allison mocked fake surprised, but the twinkle in her eyes gave her away.

“Wow! Thanks, Felix! You really are the best prefect ever.”

Giving him a big hug, she skipped away to her friend Rowan but before sitting down, she added, “Enjoy your snadger date! Snadger, snadger, snadger…”

Felix rolled his eyes but allowed a slight smile to cross his face.

He knew this would not be the first nor the last time Allison Garrison caused him trouble.

[citrinekay]

2: i loved in "two inches to the left" the brief mention of Bill's apartment being almost barren and impersonal--would love to see something about Holden moving in and helping fill those spaces. whether it's them actively doing it together, or Bill realizing after awhile that Holden has helped him make a house into a home, so to speak.

Me: I love angst. I’m an angst master. give me all the pain and suffering. 

Also me getting this prompt: i’m just a soft baby. love poetry and sappiness. give me all the tooth-rotting fluff. 

You have been warned!

Holden hadn’t had many stipulations when he agreed to move in. The only thing he wanted to bring from his old, bachelor lifestyle was his collection of books. In his old apartment, he didn’t have much room for the ever-growing number of paperbacks, and a dismaying handful of them had never made it outside of his moving boxes. 

In retrospect, he’d never meant to stay at that apartment for so long. When he’d first returned from his brick agent days in Chicago, he’d rented the apartment with the plan - or rather belief - that he’d soon get back into the dating pool and find someone to move on with. As it turned out, his new job in witness protection hadn’t afforded him much time to break into the dating scene.

 It wasn’t until he met Debbie that he thought he might be onto something. But Debbie wasn’t all that interested in hanging around his apartment or his book collection. She had her own books and ideas, and so the paperbacks stayed in their boxes. Then came Kemper and the study, profiling, consults, work days that bled into one another with few breaks in between. Holden’s book collection gathered dust in his guest bedroom even as it continued to grow. 

They’re enjoying an unusual weekend off in downtown Fredricksburg when Holden pulls Bill into a vintage book shop that’s displaying a second edition of John Keats in the window. 

Bill looks on in amusement as Holden forks over the cash for the volume. 

“I didn’t know you were a poetry guy.”

“You learn something new every day.” Holden says, gleefully taking the bag from the cashier. “I have a pretty big collection of books in my apartment. I just don’t have the time to read all of them.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, mostly still boxed up.” Holden says as they step out of the shop and back onto the bustling sidewalk. “I don’t have a shelf for them.”

“We should get you one.”

“Maybe we can.” Holden says, “That giant, bare wall in your living room would make the perfect spot.”

Maybe he hadn’t really meant to say it, or though it would come out as a jest. But Bill stops walking behind him, and Holden gets several feet up the sidewalk before he realizes Bill isn’t matching his pace. 

“What?” Holden asks, wandering back down the sidewalk to Bill’s side. 

“Are you inviting yourself to move in with me?” Bill asks, a conflicted look of disbelief and eagerness colliding in the lopsided smile on his mouth. 

“It was a joke.” Holden says, giving a forced chuckle. “Right?”

Bill shrugs. “A joke. Sure.”

The joke lasts for a week before Bill brings it up again. They’re lying in a hotel bed across the country, in California where the sun is shining through the window, and the air on the West Coast is starting to have a familiar tang. 

Bill’s fingertips wander down Holden’s arm, awakening goosebumps. 

“It’s not such a bad idea, you know.” He says, “You moving in with me.”

“You think so?”

“Mhm. We practically live together as it is.” 

“It would be more efficient.” Holden says, adjusting his cheek against Bill’s shoulder, and smoothing a hand over his bare ribs. “One mortgage, fewer bills …”

“I’m not talking about that.” 

Holden slowly lifts his head from Bill’s chest. Bill’s eyes are somber, that storm-cloud gray that makes Holden want to live inside them - and now he can have it every day without interruption if he wants.  

“Me either. Not really.” He whispers, his chest aching with a sudden joyful longing. 

Though they never really said it aloud, the decision had already been made. The next week when they get back into town, Holden cleans out his apartment. The last thing he loads up are the boxes of books which has now grown to an even six. The Keats book is sitting on the top of the last box that he slides into his trunk. A smile fixes itself on his mouth as he climbs behind the wheel and drives away from Essex House for the last time. 

~

The power drill whirs as it slides the last nail in place, completing the polished, walnut bookcase Holden had picked from a dozen other choices at the store. Bill sets the tool aside, and runs a hand across the finished corner. 

“You think it’s big enough?” He asks, shooting a teasing glance at the stacks of boxes sitting in the corner of the living room. 

“It better be.” Holden says, climbing to his feet. “Here, help me stand it up.”

They each take an end, carefully pulling the bookcase up from the floor, and guiding it to its spot along the wall. Bill takes a step back to survey the new fixture in his living room. Aside from a few pictures of Brian, there aren’t many personal touches in his house. He’d moved in here a few months after the divorce was finalized, and had never taken the time to decorate. He kept the place clean, but with the amount of traveling they do for work, the house had sat mostly empty for the past few years, looking more like the inside of a home improvement magazine than a lived-in, nurtured space. The simple addition of the bookcase feels revolutionary, but it isn’t just the piece of furniture that’s injecting warmth into this previously cold space. 

Bill slips his arm around Holden’s waist, and pulls him to his side. 

“It looks good, baby.” 

“Yeah, really good.” Holden whispers, resting his head on Bill’s shoulder. 

Bill glances down when he hears Holden sniffs, quietly. “Hey, what’s the matter? Don’t tell me you hate it.”

“I don’t. I love it.” Holden says, casting Bill a misty gaze and trembling smile. “It’s what I always wanted.”

Bill gives his lower back a reassuring pat. “Good. How about we put the books up there?”

“Okay.” 

Holden drags out the first box with a delicate touch, almost a reverence. He takes out each book, inspecting the spine carefully before arranging them on the shelf. Bill grabs the second box, and starts from the other side of the bookshelf. They meet in the middle after unpacking the sixth and final box. There’s still one empty shelf. 

“And room for more.” Bill observes. 

“You shouldn’t encourage me.” Holden says, “I have a real problem. I haven’t read half of the books I already have.”

“Why not?”

“Do I seem like a guy with a lot of time on his hands?” Holden asks, running his fingertips along the spines of the books. 

“We could make time.” Bill says. 

Holden casts him a fond glance. “I would love that.”

“How about drink?” Bill says, climbing to his feet. 

“Yeah, sounds good.” 

Holden lingers by the bookshelf while Bill gets up to retrieve glasses. Among his drink selections is a good bottle of scotch Wendy had bought him when they finished the study. She’d told him to open it on a special occasion. He hadn’t found that moment until now. 

Grabbing the scotch and the glasses, Bill goes back into the living room to find Holden sitting cross-legged on the carpet with the Keats book open in his lap. 

Bill pours them both a drinks, and offers a glass to Holden. Sitting down on the floor beside Holden, he wraps an arm around him, and peeks over his shoulder at the words on the page. 

“A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness; but still will keep a bower quiet for us, and a sleep full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.” He reads the first few lines quietly. 

Holden glances over at him, a smile quivering on his mouth for a moment before he presses a kiss to Bill’s mouth. When he leans back, he laughs quietly, “I never thought I would hear you read poetry to me.”

“Neither did I.” Bill says, chuckling into his sip of scotch. 

He tightens his grasp around Holden’s waist, impressing the warmth of Holden’s body into his mind like some kind of signpost that this moment is real - just as real as precinct after precinct, dead bodies, killers, questions in the dark. And it’s not just the poetry that’s surprising; he never really thought these four walls would feel like a real home. He thought he’d lost that forever. 

“Keep going.” Holden whispers. 

Bill takes another drink of the scotch to loosen the thickness in his throat before he turns his gaze back to the old words on the page trodding across his mind now as if they were somehow new and radical. 

“Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing

A flowery band to bind us to the earth,

Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth

Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,

Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways

Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,

Some shape of beauty moves away the pall

From our dark spirits.”

[dentalkind]

Dentist in Brentwood

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[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi steph. Do you have a fic rec list of novel- long fics? Ta

AHHHH Nonny you’re in luck! As I’ve been sorting, I’ve been separating them into word length too, LOL. And seeing as it’s National Novel Writing Month, I think this is a great time to give our fandom writers love and appreciation for their novel-length works!

So I Googled how long a basic novel is, and according to this site, it’s between 40k and 90k. Hmm, well, I have them sorted in 25K chunks, so I’ll start at 50K to 100K, since it works seeing as NaNo’s writing goal is 50K :D). 

I really hope you enjoy! :D Love all you authors so very much, and I look forward to this year’s submissions!

NOVEL LENGTH FICS (50 - 100 K WORDS)

Triage by scullyseviltwin (E, 51,612 w. || Character Injury, Introspection) – Sherlock’s mind goes exceedingly, devastatingly quiet and gray-blank. When he speaks it’s through a thick haze, it’s through molasses, he’s so disconnected from the words that it may as well be the unconscious shooter speaking.

In the Dark Hours by hubblegleeflower (E, 51,639 w. || Friends to Lovers, Unreliable Narrator, Closeted Bi John, Angst, Miscommunications, Slow Burn, First Time, John’s Blog / Epistolary) – John, wounded and silent, drifts back to Baker Street for healing...and then goes home again. He visits, gets more upbeat, chattier, smiles, jokes... and still goes home again. Sherlock wants him to move back in - it just makes sense - but John shows no signs of doing so. This is the story of how John and Sherlock learn to say what needs to be said when they're both so very, very rubbish at talking.

The Homecoming Series by sussexbound (M, 51,744 w. across 12 stories, WIP || Domestics, PTSD, Love Confessions, Hurt/Comfort, Cuddling, Jealousy, Family Issues, Cuddling) – Sometimes home is all you need. After three years of horror, betrayals, and crushing loss, John and Sherlock find their way back home to one another, and together find new footing in a world that has changed forever.

Spare Change by Ermerness (E, 51,966 w. || Rich Holmeses AU || First Kiss / Time, Holmes Family, Virgin Sherlock, Anal, First Meetings) – The Holmes family is one of the richest and most powerful in England. Sherlock spends his time flying around the world on the family's private jet drinking a lot and shopping at expensive boutiques as a way of trying to alleviate his endless boredom. His mother decides it's time he settles down with someone powerful, wealthy and well connected. John Watson happens to be none of those things.

Coventry by standbygo (E, 52,020 w. || Dollhouse AU, First Time/Kiss, BAMF John, Slow Burn, Falling in Love, Case Fic) – “Let me get this straight,” John said, wondering when his life had become a science fiction film. “Some guy orders up a personality, a person, to his specifications, and they program this into a real live person, who has consented to do this, and she goes to this person and acts as his wife, or lawyer, or Royal Marine, or Navy Seal or what have you, and she has all the skills, all the knowledge, everything? Then you say the magic words, and she follows you back to The House, and they erase it all until her next appointment?”

Lost Without My Blogger by starrysummernights (E, 52,155 w. || Rev. Reich, PTSD, Hurt / Comfort, Fluff / Angst, Psychological Torture, Reunion Fic, Friends to Lovers) – John is abducted and declared dead. How will Sherlock cope without his blogger? How will he react when John comes back from the "dead?" Drama and angst with a healthy dose of romance. Part 1 of I'd Be Lost Without My Blogger

John Watson's Twelve Days of Christmas by earlgreytea68 (M, 53,464 w. || Christmas, Holmes Family, Fake Relationship, Alternate First Meeting, Falling in Love, Fluff and Angst, Hardcore Pining) – It's the holiday season. John Watson needs money. Sherlock Holmes needs something else.

Fan Mail by scullyseviltwin (E, 53,942 w. || Stalking, Obsessive Fans, Angst) – “WatsonChick143 has been rather maniacal in her commenting as of late... she’s left comments on everything you’ve posted John, something so obvious can’t have escaped even your attention."

Albion and the Woodsman by Glenmore (E, 54,437 w. || Post S3 || Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst, Family, Drug Use, Depression, Sherlock POV) – Sherlock and John are devastated after Mary Morstan makes her final moves. Sherlock relapses at the crack house, John walks around the world ... and a lot happens in between. Parentlock, in the good way.

Guilty Secrets by Ellipsical (E, 55,086 w. || Drumsticks, First Time, Love Confession, Self-Sexual-Discovery) – John has a prostate exam and discovers something surprising about himself. Experimentation follows. Sherlock wants to help. They're in love. You know the drill.

Wars We Fought, Things We're Not by blueink3 (M, 55,204 w. || Parentlock, Fluff & Angst, Kidnapping, Whump, Post-TAB, UST, Slow Burn, Couple for a Case) –  Five months after John's world has fallen apart, Mycroft sends the consulting detective and his doctor on a case that neither is prepared for.

The Great Sex Olympics of 221B by XistentialAngst (E, 58,611 w. || First Time/Kiss, Experiments / Sexual Experimentations, Multi Pairings) – John Watson thinks Sherlock Holmes should admit that he, Watson, is more of an expert on sex than Sherlock is. But Sherlock refuses to concede the point. He comes up with an experiment plan that will resolve the issue. The results will determine who wins the prize. But sometimes even the best thought-out scientific study has unexpected consequences.

Bridging the Ravine by SilentAuror (E, 58,887 w. || Post S4, Couple For a Case, Bed-Sharing, First Times, Confessions, Awkwardness, Sex Trafficking) – Sherlock and John go undercover at Ravine Valley, a therapy centre for same-sex male couples in an investigation into a possible human trafficking ring. As they pose as a couple and fake their way through the therapy sessions for the sake of the case, it quickly becomes difficult to avoid discussing their very real issues. Set roughly six nine months after series 4.

The Book of Silence by SilentAuror (E, 60,056 w. || S4 Fix It / Post S4, Virgin Sherlock, Rosie / Parentlock, Domesticity, Fluff, Praise Kink, Sex Toys, First Person POV) – As spring blooms in London, John and Sherlock begin to take new cases and cautiously negotiate this new phase of life with John living at Baker Street again. Despite how well it's all going, John struggles to forgive himself for the way he treated Sherlock following Mary’s death as well as trying to figure out how to finally put his long-time feelings for Sherlock into words. Part 1 of The Book of Silence/Rosa Felicia

Scars by SilentAuror (E, 60,493 w. || Rape / Non-Con / Abuse, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Dub Con Elements, Homophobia, Angst With Happy Ending, Mary is Not Nice) – S3 rewrite, showing Mary’s manipulation of John as he realizes his love for Sherlock. Mary is not having it.

The Progress of Sherlock Holmes by ivyblossom (E, 62,006 w || Sherlock POV, Pining, Angst, Slow Burn, Infidelity, Sherlock Learns About Himself, Happy Ending) – Sherlock struggles with his feelings for John, makes a mistake, and learns just how important he and John are to each other. Non-BBC Mary / John, but it’s a *complicated* relationship.

An Experiment in Empathy by belovedmuerto (T, 62,397 w. across 13 stories || Empath AU || Psychic John, Psychic-by-Proxy Sherlock, Empathy, Psychic Bond, Romance / Bromance) – In which John is an empath, Sherlock is Sherlock, and an epic bromance happens. In the aftermath of The Great Game, John creates an unexpected bond between himself and Sherlock. Now they have to learn how to deal with it. John is better at this than Sherlock is.

Perdition’s Flames by i_ship_an_armada (E, 63,435 w. || Treklock AU, Est. Rel, Genetic Engineering, Angst & Fluff, BAMF!John) – Sherlock would do anything to save him. Risk anything. Give anything. His money, his life. His soul. What he does, though, is change both of their destinies forever. Genetic re-engineering is the only option left. It turns out researchers underestimated the life expectancy and potential abilities of genetically re-engineered subjects. The British government and what would eventually become the United Federation of Planets, however, had not. Part 1 of PF Universe

Bedtime Universe by Liketheriver (M, 65,173 w. across 2 stories || Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Angst, Humour, Case Fic) – John's POV during Season 2 and beyond when Sherlock takes up semi-permanent residence in his bed. A collection of codas and missing scenes wrapped up into one long fic and topped with a bow that takes the story beyond Reichenbach and into happy territory once more.

Watches 'Verse by bendingsignpost (E, 66,905 w. across 2 works || Magical Realism, Reality Distortion, Angst, Partial MCD, BAMF John) – First, he is shot in Afghanistan. Second, he wakes to a phone call in Chelmsford, Essex. Third is pain, fourth is normalcy, fifth is agony and sixth is confusion. By the eighth, he's lost track. (John-centric AU) Part 1 of Watches 'Verse

You Have Drawn Red From My Hands by J_Baillier (T, 67,085 w. || Three Garridebs, Heavy John Whump, Hurt / Comfort, Pining, Heavy Angst, Case Fic/Adventure, Slow Burn, Sick Fic, Injury, Guilt & Depression, Just Talk Already Please, Medical Realism, PTSD) –  John getting injured leads Sherlock on a path of guilt and revelations.

Electric Pink Hand Grenade by BeautifulFiction (E, 67,718 w. || First Time / Kiss, Seizures, Headaches) – "If Sherlock's brain is a hard drive, then these attacks are an electro-magnetic pulse." Sherlock Holmes does not do anything by half, not even a migraine. It falls to John to witness one of the greatest minds he has ever known tear itself apart, and he must do his best to help Sherlock pick up the pieces.

The Green Blade by verityburns (T, 72,929 w. || Casefic, Bromance) – As a serial killer hits the headlines, the police are out of their depth and the next victim is out of time. With faith in Sherlock Holmes at an all time low, this is a case which will push loyalties to the limit...

Darkling, I Listen by You_Light_The_Sky (T, 73,254 w. || Fairy Tale AU || Loosely Based on Beauty and the Beast, Magical Realism, Suicidal Themes, Romance, Creepiness, Adventure) – No one who enters old London ever comes out. They say that the beast devours them. When his sister disappears, John ventures into the dead zone beyond the wall, and finds a brilliant madman under a terrible curse... Part 1 of Darkling I Listen + Extras, Deleted Scenes

The Moonlight and the Frost by CaitlinFairchild (E, 77,289 w. || Case Fic, Post-HLV, Self Harm, Virgin Sherlock, First Time, Oral/Anal/Rimming, Romance, Angst, Mary is Not Nice) – John has to somehow rebuild his life in the wake of Mary's betrayal and Sherlock's deceptions.

A Cure For Boredom by emmagrant01 (E, 81,665 w. || Dirty Talk, Threesomes, Light Dom/Sub, Sex Club, Experiments, Anal, Mildly Dubious Consent) – They'd never talked about sex in the year they'd known each other. Well, that wasn't quite correct: Sherlock had never said a word about sex; John had bemoaned his personal dearth of it on many occasions.

Secrets and Revelations by Hisstah (E, 83,535 w. || Sentinel / Guides AU, Omegaverse, Aventure, Violence, Anal / Oral, Omega!John / Alpha!Sherlock, Case Fic, Politics, Mild DubCon) – Dr John Watson has some major secrets that he's kept from his flatmate, Alpha Sentinel Sherlock Holmes. Now the Sentinel Tower is after him. Can John stay out of their hands until he can reveal his secrets to Sherlock? Part 1 of Secrets and Revelations

Uphill by scullyseviltwin (E, 84,945 w. || Olympics AU || Sherlock POV, Skier!Sherlock / Medic!John, Rivalry, 2014 Olympics, Happy Ending) – Sherlock Holmes is striving for gold in this, his fourth and final Olympics as a downhill Alpine racer.

Not Broken, Just Bent by Schmiezi (E, 87,585 w. || Pining, Love Confessions, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Villain!Mary, Suicidal Ideations, Main Character Death, Sherlock POV, Eventual Happy Ending) – "For a second, I allow myself to remember teaching John how to waltz. There is a special room in my mind palace for it. A big one, with a proper parquet dance floor. For a second, I go there. I remember holding him, closer than the World Dance Council asks for, excusing it with the fact that we are training for a wedding, not for a competition. For a second, I feel his hand on mine again, smell his sweat, hear the song we used. For a second, I allow myself to love him deeply. For a second, only a second, that love reflects on my face." Fix-it for S3, starting at the end of TSoT. Evil Mary.

Bleed Me Out by antietamfalls (E, 87,987 w. || Vampire AU || Bonding, Vampire Sherlock, Fluff & Angst, H/C, John Whump, Magical Realism) – John isn’t exactly surprised to discover that Sherlock isn't human. His vampirism doesn't pose a problem, even when their relationship gradually grows into something more. That is, until a deadly revelation about John’s blood sends their lives spinning dangerously out of control.

A Case of Identity by jkay1980 (T, 91,009 w. || Fake Relationship, Post-TRF, Case Fic) – John and Sherlock have succeeded in rebuilding their friendship after Sherlock’s fake suicide, but an unusual case puts their relationship to the test. They pretend to be engaged and attend a marriage counseling workshop. Under the pretext of the case, Sherlock turns out to be a master of seduction, and John finally learns he might like Sherlock more than he thought. Slowly, John discovers that he loves Sherlock not only in a friendly, brotherly way, but both men have to fight their own demons before they can think of taking their relationship to a new level… [[I love this fic. It’s a really great long-fic!]]

The Stars Move Still by BeautifulFiction (E, 96,022 w. || Magical Realism, Demons, Slash to Pre-Slash, AU, Happy Ending) – "What could I want so desperately that would make me sell my soul? What could possibly compel me to surrender the part of myself that makes me who I am: the source of my magic, my self-control, everything?"

[sheepsandcattle]

Chapter 13

“Everyone else has got one page each but you’ve got two,” Genie announces with a shrug.

Curly’s leant back on the couch with the laptop open on the coffee table in front of him. The TV’s playing on mute on the other side of the room whilst his sister tells him all about her family project.

“I don’t believe you,” he says, shaking his head. “How have you filled two whole pages up about me? Have you just listed all the daft things I’ve done?”

The joke goes right over her head and she insists, “no, honest! In a minute - I’ll get it,” and jumps out of the frame before he can tell her he’s only joking.

As he waits, Curls hears the news on her end of the line; a car bomb attack averted in London; some belled in Glasgow drove into the side of the airport, and they’re still looking for that girl in Portugal...

Only four years old and lost somewhere in a foreign country - Curls can’t even imagine what he’d do if it were Genie. She looks nowt like her and is half her age but it still leaves him feeling off.

“See.” She’s back in front of the camera again, oblivious to the scary things going on in the world as she grins with pride. “All this page and all this page is you,” Genie points at the double A5 spread. “I can read it to you if you want.”

“Yeah, mint. Read it,” he encourages, shuffling recklessly as his sister flips the book around and gets ready to read.

The image on his screen is pixelated and jumpy but he never bothers telling her - it’s the best their connection’s been in ages anyway. Her voice is clear enough and he can make out the ponytail Jen’s forced into his sister’s ridiculous barnet and the red school cardigan that Curls knows she wouldn’t be allowed to have on still if it wasn’t a Friday night.

“My brother, Elliot Michael Clarke, was born in Brentwood, Essex on 26th February 1987 at… Ten past six in the morning,” she begins, a little stop-start but who’s judging? Curly was still reading Biff and Chip until year five. “We have the same dad but, unlike me, his mum is named Kimberly as they met before I was born.”

Curls chuckles, “very eloquent, Gee.”

“Obviously. I’m getting more than seventy marks in all my English tests.”

“You’re joking,” he muses.

“No, but shh, I’m not done.” She puts a finger over her lips and he does the same before she goes on: “he’s got curly hair like me and my dad which is why his friend call him Curly. He moved to America when I was six years old but we talk on the phone about three times a week—”

“Only three times?” He frowns. “Surely-”

“Eugenia Clarke,” he hears his dad put on his best strict voice in the background. “Finish your food. Go on, I’ll talk to El ‘til you’re done.”

His sister whinges as she closes her book and looks up to her left, presumably at the man. “I’m nearly done.”

He’s not having any of it though, and soon his sister is ushered out of the way and is replaced by his dad instead, sat at the computer desk in her place in his work top and green fleece. Genie’s shouting something but, as she walks further from the computer, it becomes more and more unclear and all Curly gets is, “haven’t...” and, “...in ages.”

“Alright, El?” His dad brings a mug to his mouth and takes a long swig as he gets comfortable. “Not out tonight?”

Curly chuckles although he feels guilty: Skype night used to be every Friday before he started going out over the weekends. It’s been a good few months since the last one fell on-schedule. “Not tonight, no. I’m shattered.”

His dad hums into his mug, taking another sip before he sets it down. “We’re going to Cornwall in September if you fancy it, mate. We’ll go for a fortnight, make it worth the trek for you.”

He groans, ruffling a hand through his own hair, frustrated as he says, “you know I’d love to dad, but I’m skint. Maybe next time,” with a disappointed huff.

His dad sighs too but says, “if you change your mind, we’ll pay for the stay if you can do the flight - let me know.” Curly nods but doesn’t reply - already fed up with the idea of his family going on another annual holiday and him missing out again. But then his dad says, “listen, Jen fancies visiting you soon. We’re thinking early next year. Just don’t tell your sister yet; don’t want her getting excited just yet.”

Curly spends the rest of the night beaming.

***

He startles from a dream the next morning and his bed is wet right up to his pillow. His head is pounding and his eyes ache so much he can barely keep them open for long enough to check the time.

6:47am.

The dream becomes hazier and hazier the longer he sits awake, but he grasps onto what he can before it goes away.

He remembers a world too full -- a system he minored in. He remembers a page full of words that jumbled up and meant nothing, remembers saying “please, just give me another chance,” as they dragged him out of a room and down a dark corridor that got hotter and hotter the closer they got to the pit.

He remembers knowing what the pit was, but not knowing why, and he remembers passing a huge window, stumbling past his family and his friends who stood waving him off at the other side, green stamps on their wrists where he had red.

He remembers the shove, burning and falling, and then waking up.

Once he’s caught his breath and sat upright, he touches beneath his nose, but it’s not bleeding - not yet, at least. He feels that pressure behind his eyes already though, so he forces himself out of bed, bare feet thumping against the trodden carpet as he sulks out of his dark room with a finger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose.

The light’s on in the lounge (still or already - he’s not sure which) and it hits him so hard he wobbles, squeezes his eyes shut and doesn’t even notice Jules sat in the armchair until he says, “you’re up early.”

He hums and reaches out blindly to flick off the light, ignoring Jules’ irritated, “hey,” as he stumbles over to the couch and curls up on his side against the cushions. It’s lighter in here than his room anyway, curtains open and letting the light in from the street outside. What did he leave his room for again?

“Painkillers,” he grumbles. “‘Ave y’got any? Strong’uns.”

He hears Jules grumble a little before he shuffles around, Curly’s eyes shut again as his mate digs about somewhere, clicking his tongue as he searches.

“I’ve got... OxyContin,” Jules offers, and Curls doesn’t really care what that is as he nods and holds a hand out, eyes still shut as his mate adds, “take… Two, I guess,” and places them in his palm.

Curly pops them both into his mouth and swallows them dry, nose screwed up like it’ll help get them down. “Head’s banging,” he now explains, as if it wasn’t obvious by now, and opens his eyes just a bit to watch as Jules packs everything away again and slips in beneath the chair.

Jules doesn’t answer as he gets comfortable again, just goes back to whatever it was he was going before, which seems to be… Sitting and watching the opposite side of the room.

A familiar song pulls Curly back out of the silence, and he braves a glance at the TV where colourful lights assault his eyes and watches the Red Dwarf intro play on-screen.

“You’re finally watching it,” he says.

“Not really. Got high to it with Oz, but couldn’t keep up.”

“Oh.”

Back to silence.

He closes his eyes again and breaths deeply, cold air soothing the back (but burning the front) of his brain. Curly sees images flicker behind his eyelids like he usually would when he’d clamber into bed at around this time, still drunk and high and half-hallucinating that the night is happening all over again.

Except now he sees his family waving again, not smiling and not crying as he gets dragged off. Then he sees that man who says, “this test will determine... (something something) ...a place after the cleansing,” and then, “I’m sorry to inform you that—“ and then a stamp on his wrist.

“Jules,” he croaks, and there’s still silence but, when he opens his eyes, his roommate is looking over at him, waiting. “Do you ever feel… Small?”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t everyone?”

Curly hums. “Sometimes the world just feels a bit shit, doesn’t it?” Another shrug from Jules. “Sometimes I wish I could fix it, but I think a lot of people would see people like us as the problem.”

“Maybe we are,” he offers, then coughs into his fist. “Why do you care? We all die in the end.” Typical, nihilistic Julian.

“That’s the worst bit.” Curls sniffs, watching his eyelids again - all black this time. “... We die and people say ‘well, what did he expect?’”

Jules laughs then, short and mean, but Curly knows him and he knows he doesn’t mean for it to be cruel. It’s a ‘don’t be daft’ laugh.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m summet special. Do you?” Another laugh. “And then sometimes I feel so… Wasted.”

“You usually are.”

He groans. “Not like that, just—“

“I’m kidding.”

His breath catches in his throat and he shivers, arms winding around himself and hands clinging to his elbows.

“Don’t fucking cry, Curly.”

“I aren’t,” he sniffles, frowning instead.

“The fuck is wrong with you? You been hanging out with that—“

“Jules,” Curly stops him because if Jules doesn’t say it, he can pretend he was never going to. Then he doesn’t have to be mad. They’ve not mentioned Jordan since that night. “Fuck sake, my head.”

It’s only been a few minutes, but Jules says, “maybe they’re expired. I’ll get you another.”

“Can I pay you next week? I’ve got—

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” Curly is about to argue (he’s sick of feeling like he owes anyone anything) but then Jules says, “fuck Curly, you’re bleeding on the couch,” and he’s distracted by the effort it takes to drag himself from the couch to the kitchen, hand over his face to protect the carpet.

[gerec]

Six Sentence Sunday

Writers: post (approximately) six sentences from something you’re working on. If you aren’t ready to do that, add six sentences to your WIP.

Their return to the Capital is a grand affair, with many Genoshans – most rounded up on Shaw’s orders, while others come on their own to gawk - lining the streets as they parade slowly towards Lehnsherr Keep. Shaw smiles and waves from the top of his horse, one arm wrapped securely around Charles’ waist, while his men rain great handfuls of gold coins into the crowd. It’s galling, when so much of the city still lays in ruin, damage wrought by Shaw’s army as Charles’ own forces were overrun.

He never expected to return like this to own home, being led like chattel into the Grand Hall, where he and Erik sat together only months ago as they held Court. The space is filled now with Shaw’s people, along with the traitors who turned against their own; Lords Trask and Essex, tasked by Erik to protect Genosha and his Consort while he went off to war. Though Trask’s betrayal came as a surprise, Essex’s did not, the man’s presence now a stinging reminder of how Charles’ inaction led to his own downfall.

[goodproofingwater]

Wildfire Records - Chapter Ten

Word count: 3379

Warnings: sexual content, drug abuse, angst, fluff, e v e r y t  h i n g

It had been a month since the time in the kitchen, and each day has been filled with more tension than the last. She caught him looking at her on many an occasion, and she found herself biting her lip and smiling as he did so. She wondered if he knew what he was doing, if he knew how much she wished that she wasn’t involved with his friend so she could straddle him on the couch and kiss him as hard as she wanted to.

She could feel herself distancing herself from Andy, and while she knew that after being with the redhead she couldn’t be with Josh, she couldn’t pretend that she was happy to sleep with him like she had been. From the argument, she had been taking less and less drugs and realising just how bad Andy's issue was.

Josh couldn’t help but watch her as she moved around the house, the way she blew the hair from her eyes as she rushed around before work, the small smile she gave him before she left, the way she slumped on the couch when she got home, her lazy eyes wandering to Andy and rolling on the many occasions he was high.

“Wanna go on the roof?” She turned to face Josh lazily, “I’ll make us some tea and we can chill?”

The blonde nodded, feeling the shift between them and hoping that it meant what he thought it did. He knew that she had said she was happy, knew that she was still seeing the redhead, but he couldn’t help but hope. He had tried and failed so many times to get over her.

Andy watched as they walked up the spiral staircase, fingers pinching his nostrils as he inhaled the last of the powder, his brow furrowing. She had changed since that night, had gone from enjoying partying and sleeping with him to spending fewer and fewer nights by his side. And he didn’t appreciate Josh moving in on his girl. They certainly had never said they were exclusive but he wanted her for his own regardless.

Juliet and Victoria spent most of that weekend in the study, working to book the boys a tour across London and the surrounding areas. It was proving more and more difficult with each venue they booked as each one had different rules about the surrounding bars. Some said that a band couldn’t perform anyway around them for 2 weeks either side of the date, some said a month, but after some careful planning, the girls managed to book them an eight-date tour that included six London venues, one in Hertfordshire and one in Essex. Victoria was particularly excited for the Essex one as it was at a venue on the seafront, and she knew that the boys would love it. They often spoke about how much they missed the waves, and while she was sure Southend wouldn’t match up, she could at least offer them some kind of saltwater.

They stormed through the tour without a hitch, and the girls fast became merch girls as well as managers, selling CDs and the t-shirts that Andy had sent out to be printed for the tour. It was a shock to all of them that they were selling considering the tour was so short and they weren’t that big, but by the time they were at their last show at Camden Underworld ,there were only 5 shirts left.

“Honestly it baffles me that these people want a shirt with our faces on it..” Danny shook his head looking genuinely confused, “I mean.. I get mine but you guys..” He grinned at them as they all laughed, Juliet kissing his cheek and his fingers squeezing at her waist. The two had been almost inseparable since they had become official, and Juliet often told Victoria that this was the happiest she had ever been. They had kept their relationship so quiet over the previous two months than no one had even known they were official until the gig by the sea where Danny had let it slip, and they were all happy for them. Victoria had never seen such an example of soulmates in her life.

The girls remained at the merch table for the rest of the gig, listening to the boys rather than watching them as the crowds got bigger and bigger. The set was incredible as always, and Red had made its way onto the set list as a permanent fixture, something Victoria was particularly proud of as it saw Josh get more and more confident each time he sang it.

For half an hour after the band left the stage, the girls were selling CDs, the shirts completely selling out and Victoria wished she hadn’t taken one for herself to wear with the disappointment that washed over the fangirls faces.

Josh and Danny made their way over to the merch table when they had finished packing up their stuff, grinning from ear to ear and adrenaline so prominent in their veins that Danny grabbed Juliet and spun her around, Josh hugging Victoria tight and she swallowed thickly when they pulled away. His hands remained around her waist for a beat too long, their eyes dancing from each other’s eyes to lips until she broke the silence, “Red gets better each time you perform it yno..” she spoke, and a warm smile washed across his features before Danny’s cough forced them back from each other.

It was clear to both Danny and Juliet what was happening, but Danny was also aware that Victoria was technically still with Andy. As much as he tried to stay out of it, he also wanted to ensure as little drama as possible. Considering he had Andy as a friend that was no mean feat.

“Uh.. thanks..” Josh smiled again, clearing his throat, “Want a drink? Whiskey and coke right?” He barely gave her time to answer before he was walking off in the direction of the bar. She followed him with her eyes for a moment, and then looked at Danny and Juliet who were smirking at her with raised eyebrows.

“Oh shut up” she whispered, “where is Andy anyway?”

“Still in the green room I think, some chick said she wanted to talk to him about his bass,” Danny answered, and Victoria nodded, walking in the direction of the green room, which was effectively a storage space with a couch for the bands to sit on should they decide they want a break from the crowds. As a general rule, no one spent any time in there, but Andy was arrogant enough to use it if he had an opportunity to.

She showed her AAA stamp to the bouncer who looked like he couldn’t care less and walked past him into the corridor which held only the door to the stage and the green room. And her stomach fell when she heard moans. Andy was an asshole. He was arrogant and self-obsessed and they had never said they were exclusive but surely he wouldn’t…

Her fears were confirmed when she opened the door and saw him sitting on the couch with his pants below his knees, a girl riding him and running her fingers through red hair that she had been gripping only the previous evening. Sure she had these strange feelings for Josh, but she had never thought that Andy would do this to her. She had never thought that she meant so little to him that he would fuck some random girl at a show.

All of a sudden she felt like she was going to throw up, dizzy and like her legs couldn’t carry her all at once, and Andy glanced over the girl's shoulder to see Victoria standing there with an expression that said she was both devastated and furious.

He picked up the girl and threw her on the sofa, pulling up his pants and walking over to her.

“Babe.. don’t get mad..” Andy started, but tears had already started forming in her eyes. How dare he hurt her like this? She had changed so much for him, had taken so many drugs because he wanted to party and he couldn’t even tell her when he wanted to fuck someone else. “It’s not what it looks like..”

Victoria clenched her jaw and before she could stop herself, slapped him so hard across the face that his entire head turned with the force of the blow.

“Don’t you dare fucking stand there and say that to me, you whore.” She hissed, wishing more than anything that tears hadn’t started falling down her face. Emotion always overtook her in that way no matter what she was feeling.

“It’s not— she’s a radio DJ!” Andy gestured to the girl who was sitting there waiting for his return, not even looking a little bit sorry that the kind of girlfriend of the guy she had been fucking had just caught them.

“I don’t care if she’s fucking Debbie Harry, you piece of shit, we were supposed to… we were something!” She shouted in his face, and he moved to hold her but she couldn’t even bring herself to let him touch her. “Stay the fuck away from me..”

She turned on her heel and stormed out, wiping tears from her eyes and walking back to the merch table where the others were. She picked up her bag and didn’t even give an explanation to her friends before she ran out of the door and ordered a cab to get her home.

How was she supposed to carry on now? She lived in his house, worked with him on their record label. They had come too far to give up now but there was nothing more she wanted than to run away from all of this. Would he even let her stay in the house when she wasn’t fucking him? She hadn’t thought him someone to be like that before but she also hadn’t thought him someone to sleep with someone else.

When she got home, she went to the reception room and pulled a bottle of red wine from the wrack, pulling out a glass from the cupboard and pouring the wine almost up to the rim. She was fully crying now that there was no one to see her, and while she was glad of the fact she wished she had told them where she was going so that she didn’t have to explain what had happened. Andy sure as hell wasn't going to be man enough to tell them.

She was halfway through the largest glass of wine she had ever drunk when she heard the front door, and she wiped her tears, standing and pulling herself together as she readied herself to fight with the man she was supposed to be with when he didn’t even seem to think he had done anything wrong.

“I’m up here” she shouted, trying to push away the image his face in complete ecstasy as the girl rode him and frosting her feelings over in an attempt not to cry more “don't you fucking hide from me.”

And then she saw those beautiful blue eyes and felt like she could feel again, “it’s me V..”

Josh trod carefully up the stairs, knowing that Victoria was going to be volatile. He had seen her run off and had gone to see why when he had found the girl sitting on top of his friend, seeming like it hadn’t even broken Andy's stride to cheat on one of the best women he had ever met.

He watched her face change as she saw it wasn’t Andy, and while he was happy she wasn’t looking at him with that look of pure hatred, the sadness that took over from it was far worse.

“J…” she whispered, arms immediately wrapping around his neck and he held her close by the waist. She buried her face into his neck, inhaling the smell of aftershave and the smoke on his skin, and let herself cry.

“Babe…” he whispered, running a hand over her hair softly, “come on, he’s not worth all this..”

She sobbed into him and he gave her a squeeze before pulling back softly, “come on darlin’, let’s go upstairs.”

He pulled a glass from the cupboard and grabbed the half-empty wine bottle as she took her own glass, and walked up the spiral staircase to find her sitting on the couch on the terrace. He moved next to her and wrapped his arms around her as she cried it out, one hand running up and down her back as he poured himself some of the wine with the other.

“Do you know what happened?” She spoke, pulling back from him and wiping her eyes. The blonde nodded, his brow furrowing in a mixture of anger and confusion.

“He didn’t even come after me..” she shook her head and grabbed her glass, taking a generous gulp and sitting cross-legged facing Josh, wishing more than anything that they had kissed when they had been up here trying to French inhale together. It would have saved so much heartache, so much confusion. Andy had been pure unadulterated lust, and that was the exact reason it had ended this way.

Josh let out a sigh and shook his head, pulling a cigarette from the packet he had taken from his jean pocket and handing it to her, lighting it with his zippo.

“He’s an asshole, V” Josh shook his head and sparked up a cigarette himself, “he doesn’t care about anyone’s feelings but his own, he’s always been that way, especially with women.”

She took a long drag on the cigarette he had given her and then another sip of her wine before she placed the glass back on the table.

“I think I knew that, but it still hurts so much… I… we were never exclusive but to see him having sex with someone when I was at the show…” she shook her head and took another drag of the cigarette, “and his first words were, ‘babe, don’t be mad’” Josh couldn’t help but chuckle a little at her impression of Andy, the American accent flowing from her lips seeming so unnatural but so on point.

“He asked you not to be mad?” Josh took a drag of his own cigarette and shook his head, “unbelievable”

“Yeah, she’s a radio DJ apparently so it’s okay that he’s letting her fuck him in the green room,” she shook her head and picked up her glass once more, taking another drink and starting to feel it more and more. She finished her cigarette and moved closer to Josh, wrapping her arms around one of his and resting her head on his shoulder, tears still falling.

“It’s not that I loved him or anything, I didn’t even like him that much, it’s just the betrayal y’no? I didn’t expect him to disrespect me like that. It made me feel like I’ve been worth nothing this whole time” She sniffed, and Josh moved to push her face up by her chin with his index finger.

“Hey..” he ran his thumbs under her eyes as he cupped her face, “you’re worth everything. He’s an asshole for even looking at anyone but you” he gulped as he looked into her eyes, his thumbs running along her cheeks for a beat too long before he pulled his hands away and cleared his throat.

“Listen… My mom taught me that no matter what happens, no matter how much everything changes, the sun always rises every day. It has done your whole life, it rose even on your toughest day, and the day after and it did this morning. No matter what happens, the sun will always rise and time will always heal.” He took the last drag of his cigarette and stubbed it out, “you might feel shit now but it will get better, I promise…”

She smiled and bit her lip, resting her forehead on his in her drunken stupor. His hand moved to rest on her jaw, rubbing her cheek again as he gazed at her, their lips so close that he trembled. God, she was so beautiful, she was so perfect and had been treated so badly and he wanted to make her feel better but he knew that this wasn’t the time. So instead of pressing his lips to her own as he so desperately wanted, he moved to kiss her forehead softly, pulling her into a hug.

“Thank you..” she whispered as she nuzzled her face into his neck once more, “you’re amazing J…”

The nickname fell from her lips and she wished more than anything that this situation was different, that they hadn’t ended up here with her heart and pride being crushed so that she could taste those gorgeous lips that danced so dangerously close to hers.

“Just want you to be happy...” he whispered, a hand moving around her waist and as he kissed the top of her head, she felt her heart flutter like it never had done.

Perhaps Andy sleeping with someone else had been a blessing in disguise.

Danny and Juliet had come home only an hour or so after Josh, and Juliet couldn’t help but smile as she saw her friend curled up on the terrace couch with the blonde. She had known without Victoria telling her that she had feelings for Josh, and although Andy was an asshole, whatever he had done, she was glad it had given them a push.

The morning was the most painful part for Victoria. She climbed out of bed and had a bath to prepare herself, pulling on a shirt and jeans and wandering up to the kitchen. She had thought she would be okay after Josh had made her feel so much better, but seeing Andy making breakfast as if nothing had happened made her chest hurt.

“Morning babe,” he spoke, and the smile on his face made her wish that she never had to see it again, “I made you breakfast.. pancakes and bacon California style.” He flashed a grin at her and she swallowed thickly, squaring her jaw and walking to the coffee machine. She waited patiently for the coffee to brew and flinched as he touched her arm and tried to pull her toward him.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” She hissed, picking up the mug of coffee and adding creamer before she sat on the couch, flicking on the TV and pretending that Andy didn’t exist.

“Oh babe come on..” he spoke from the kitchen, pulling out cutlery and taking the plate over to her, setting it on the coffee table. When she wouldn’t look at him, he moved around the table and knelt in front of her, hands moving to grip her thighs, “let me make it up to you..” he whispered, thumbs slipping between her legs and running along her denim covered panties.

“Andy I swear to God if you don’t move I’m going to throw this hot coffee all over you. Leave me alone.” She spoke, looking directly into this gorgeous brown eyes and wishing more than anything she hadn’t seen him fucking someone else. She didn’t want them to last longer, but the pain that would come each time she saw him now was something that could have been easily avoided.

“Vic come on..” he spoke, his face falling as if he’d just realised that she might actually be serious, “I was just trying to get us on the radio, you can’t be mad…”

He sat back on his ankles, his hands still on her knees and she let her eyes avert back to the screen.

“Come on babe it’s good for all of us..” she snapped then, a foot moving to press against his shoulder and kick him back and away from her.

“I said leave me alone, for fuck's sake at least give me that!” She almost shouted, and he looked genuinely shocked as she stood and threw the coffee into the sink, making her way downstairs and knocking on Danny’s door, smiling when her friend answered.

“Wanna go for coffee?”