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#a little angst

Detour chapter 1/10

Pairing: FitzSimmons

Rated E, 3,6k words 

Summary: Tired of recovery from his brain trauma not going fast enough, Fitz decides to take an extended leave of vacation from SHIELD to go home and see his mother. But when it turns out that spending all his days with his mother doesn’t really help either, he goes for a drive and his car ends up breaking down next to the cutest coffee shop and guest house in Perthshire. So he thinks maybe a change of scenery would do him some good and it only has a little to do with the muffin baking angel of a woman managing the place.
Set around the beginning of season two except Jemma didn’t join SHIELD.

Beta’d by the wonderful @libbyweasley​ who made this so much nicer to read for you :)

This story was started last summer and I finally managed to get back to working on it, hope you’ll enjoy it :) Rated E for eventual smut but not it’s not a smut heavy fic.
Ten chapters planned, six already written. Updates about once a week :) And now, I’ll be reasonable and not start another long fic before I have finished writing the three I’ve started posting recently :D

Driving was nice. Ironically, it had been one of the only skills that came back easily after the accident (if such a word really applied.) It was strange because it had never been especially important to him before, merely a practical way to go from one place to another. But it was a good thing because being coddled and cared for by his mother like the toddler he had barely ever been anyway (after all he’d started fixing appliances in the house before he was old enough to go to school), was something he wasn’t good at. Of course, he should have known from the start that it wouldn’t work.

After months of encouraging words and helpful gestures from his friends and co-workers mixed with looks of pity that seemed to mean that they didn’t truly believe he’d ever be the same again, he’d snapped. He had decided to use whatever sick days and vacation days he had left, if it even meant anything now anyway, packed his laptop and whatever clothes he could find, and left for the airport. Once there, he’d taken the first flight home he could find, not even caring about how insanely expensive it was. The first week at his mum’s house had been nice. The small country house just outside of Glasgow had given him the peace and quiet he felt like he needed and, at first, his mum had been surprisingly respectful of his will not to talk and be alone. But being the loving mother that she was, she had soon started to try and help him, insisting on talking a lot to improve his speech, and asking him to fix things he knew she’d broken on purpose. And that was when he realized the mistake he had made. He could never be left alone in his mother’s house, she would always take care of him and look at him worryingly, and that wasn’t what he needed at the moment. So he had just ended up feeling like an ungrateful little shite for wanting to snap at her all the time. Because surely, if there was one thing he hadn’t lost in the accident, it was his bad temper. If anything, being frustrated all the time had only made it worse.

So he’d started driving around aimlessly every time he was on the verge of snapping again, and it felt good. Because when he did, he was in complete control, his hand didn’t shake as much, and he didn’t have to talk, just focus on turning the wheel and stepping on the pedals when needed. Maybe it was also because he’d bought that ugly little car for next to nothing and fixed it himself, giving him a sense of accomplishment for the first time in months, however small it was for someone who’d already designed planes. So earlier that day, when his mum had driven him to his wits’ ends by insisting he eat more (like having more soup really was the secret to fixing brain damage!), he’d grabbed his wallet and phone and hopped in his car. At first, he had vaguely followed the road leading to town, but when he realized he really didn’t want to have to deal with traffic, he’d just started taking any road that was small enough to be mostly deserted, the signs becoming a blur on the side of the road as he passed them at full speed. With his brain hashing out all the same memories and frustrations and things he wished he’d done differently over and over again, time passed quickly, so quickly that he didn’t even notice the landscape changing around him. That was, until the car started sputtering before slowly coming to a full stop as he, fortunately, still had the reflex to pull to the side of the road. In retrospect, maybe he should have given that blinking light on the dashboard the attention it deserved.

Read the rest on AO3

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[1:31, a.m]

Everyone was pushing her to feel something she’s not capable of. Like him, they said. He’s a nice guy, they said with a smile on their faces. He’s smart, they said. You’d make a good pair. Give him a chance.

She feel pushed, trapped. They expected her to do the almost impossible, open up her heart to someone, open up her soul to someone, who’s as broken and needs to be fixed as her. Maybe she could fix him. But how she can fix someone when she is need to be fixed too? A broken soul cannot heal another broken soul. That thought was hurt her and what was her reaction?

Running away. She’s the best at it.

People’s expectations are always feels suffocating. The need to be utterly perfect was still there as Damocles’ Sword upon her head, she still hear the voices of doubt, demand and anger.

You have to be perfect, no one’s gonna love you.

You need to be commited for that person. You need to subordinate to balance your relationship.








When she think about that, she remember the seven-year-old herself who believed her father was gone cause he hadn’t loved her enough. She wasn’t perfect for him. She didn’t deserve his love. She did someting bad.

And that’s why she’s escaping from those feelings. If you can’t be perfect, why do you need love?, she thinks.

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Originally posted by johnlockhappiness

And by “complete,” I mean that I’ve rounded out the arc and am finished with the story :-)  Real life got in the way, and I did not get to every prompt, but man–I did love this challenge so much!  It made me get back into the discipline of writing, and I think I ended up with a collection of connected stories that I actually like. 

Thank you so much to @missdaviswrites for organizing all of this and letting us play in your sandbox.  

Happy New Year, everyone!

You can read my collection over at AO3.

Total Words:  5,516

Total Works:  3

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An alternate reality. Halloween-ish companion piece to The Familiar Stranger…


Old Hallows Eve…


The body was laid out on the table, all the instruments lined up ready. She could delay the inevitable no longer.

Taking a deep breath, Molly Hooper pressed record. “William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Caucasian male. Age, thirty-eight. Height, six-foot, three inches…”


The preliminaries were completed in a matter of minutes.

Molly mentally squared her shoulders as she now turned to the instruments that were integral to performing an autopsy. As she reached for the scalpel she closed her eyes, reminding herself over and over, ‘You can do this, you can do this, you can…’

The sound of a sharp, strangled inhalation of breath had her spinning around, the scalpel slipping from her grasp to drop unnoticed to the floor.

The pathologists wide brown eyes collided with the unmistakable blue-green ones of the dead consulting detective.



“This will never work.”

“It will work, but only as long as we play our parts convincingly,” Sherlock assured the man who had taken the name Wallace.

“You’re certain they’re not like you?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes impatiently. And here he thought The Watcher’s knew all there was to know about immortals. Or maybe it was simply that his distant relation hadn’t paid enough attention after he’d been recruited by the secretive organisation.

“If they were like me I’d be able to sense them, and I haven’t felt any other immortals in the area”

“You’re sure he doesn’t know what you are?“

“As I’ve told you before very few people know we exist. As a rule we tend to tell only those we know we can trust. As that usually means friends and loved ones, I’ve not had to tell many. And then there’s The Watcher’s…”

Wallace frowned as a worrying scenario occurred to him. In recent years a militant offshoot of The Watcher’s, driven by fear that the eventual victor of The Prize would take control of the world, had broken their sacred vows, and had started interfering in the events of The Game. With their knowledge of Immortals, and the only way they could be killed permanently, they had taken things into their own hands. With immortals unable to sense them, a number had been taken by surprise by the unexpected attacks, and had paid with their lives.

“What if it’s The Hunters?”

“It’s a risk we’re going to have to take,” Sherlock replied, indicating something over Wallace’s shoulder with a slight nod of his head. A car had pulled up a short distance away. “We don’t have a choice now, our audience has arrived.“

Wallace gave a sigh of resignation. “I really hate this plan…”


From his ill-concealed vantage point, Moriarty’s lieutenant, and chief partner-in-crime, Sebastian Moran watched the confrontation between the meddlesome consulting detective and the hit-man he’d hired to bring the annoying investigator to a permanent end.

Moran didn’t dare get too near, so he wasn’t able to hear what was said. But as far as he was concerned, actions were far more effective than words.

And so:

The two men stood facing each other.

The hit-man pulled out his gun.

The detective attempted to talk his way out of the situation.

The hit-man fired his gun.

The bullet hit the detective in the chest, and he dropped to the ground, dead.

Problem solved…

Satisfied Moran got back into his car and drove off.



“So how long have you been…?” Molly indicated Sherlock’s hastily sheet wrapped undead state with a vague wave of her hand.

“Since 1895 wasn’t it? That’s the family legend anyway,” Wallace supplied as he re-entered the morgue.

Sherlock glared at his distant relation, and Watcher. “What are you doing back here?” he snapped.

“Forgot to return this,” Wallace replied, as he handed Sherlock his sword. “Best not to go round unprotected, never know who’s likely to turn up.”

Sherlock nodded his head in thanks as he took hold of his katana. It was a foolish immortal indeed who went around without their sword to defend themselves.

“And just when were you intending to tell me?”

Wallace knew that tone, and smirked as he watched the usually confident consulting detective genuinely quail in light of his pathologist’s obvious wrath.

 But before he could enjoy the moment, Wallace found that same displeasure turned on him.

“What are you smiling about?” Molly demanded as she rounded on the Watcher.

It was then Sherlock read the undeniable hurt in her expressive eyes, and he felt like a prize heel as he realised that Molly believed his decision to not tell her was an unspoken admission that he didn’t trust her.  When in actuality, nothing could be further from the truth.

 “Molly,” Sherlock said softly, his tone conciliatory as he gently took hold of her shoulders, bending his head a little bit so that they were at the same eyelevel.

The pathologist returned his gaze, the fire that had fuelled her annoyance with the two men gone, to be replaced with wounded uncertainty.

Sherlock pulled her in for a brief hug, before moving to cup her face in his hands.

“I’ve wanted to tell you about my…situation, condition…whatever you want to call it,” he began. “Just how to go about it has always been the problem. I’ve rarely taken anyone outside of the family into my confidence. Not because I haven’t felt I could trust anyone else, but because there hasn’t been anyone else that I’ve cared enough about to tell. It’s only been over the last few years that I’ve made friends with people that I’ve felt could accept the responsibility, and keep the secret of what I am. And yet I’ve still remained silent, worried about the burden of that knowledge…on you, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, John and Mary…”

Sherlock paused briefly, trying unsuccessfully to gauge how Molly was taking what he was telling her. In an attempt to add a little levity to his explanation, he added.  “And I felt it would be easier if you actually saw it for yourself.”

After what felt like an eternity, Molly gave a resigned shake of her head. But when she returned his gaze Sherlock was relieved to see an impish smile on her lips.

“Always dramatics with you,” she acknowledged.

Sherlock raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “So, does this mean I’m forgiven then?” his tone hopeful.

In response Molly lunged forward, sliding her fingers through his sinfully soft curls as she pulled his head down, kissing him firmly on the lips.

Sherlock responded in kind, pulling her into his arms.

The detective and his pathologist were too engrossed with each other to notice the precarious nature of the sheet wrapped around Sherlock’s hips, as it unravelled.

The Watcher however had.

“And that would be my cue to leave,” Wallace said as he quietly backed out of the room, leaving the couple in peace.


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Day 5: Soulmates AU


“People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that’s what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that is holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life.
A true soul mate is probably the most important person you’ll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then leave.” 

Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

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“They’ve been running tests on me.” (Wisdomsword - Critias)

Maha cupped his partners face in his hands. He was bruised and spattered with blood as he fought his way to this room, to find the knight. His eyes were dark, haunted with the things he had seen, the things he had done to get here. Things that went against his very nature, but he had very little choice.

But he wasn’t going to think about it right now. No, right now he was going to ease Critias onto his feet as he checked him over, healing what he could before they would have to move.

“It’s okay now,” he managed to say. “I’m here, and no one will touch you again.”

His vow to never killed had been broken once before, by others forcing his hand. That vow was broken once more now, but this time by his own choice.

But that happens when you have someone to protect.

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Chapter 37: Commiseration

 “I think I’m in love with him.” Mila said finally, looking down into her cup.

 Yuri raised a single golden eyebrow in shock. Mila had never uttered those words about a man before, not seriously. She’d say she loved their eyes, or their smile, or their ass, but never them as an entire person. This was new territory for her. Yuri couldn’t help but grin.

 “Really? When did you figure it out?”

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(A/N: A request from an anon. I hope you enjoy, sweetheart)

  • When Archer sees his s/o injured he freezes at first, but then it’s like an adrenaline rush. He instantly takes his coat off and runs to s/o to dress their wounds with it.
  • Then he takes his blades and tries to stay near s/o, ready to protect them, not to avenge. His main goal is rather to fight the enemy off and pave the way for his Master to retreat.
  • If Master of the enemy takes a part in that battle, then it’s a double trouble, but EMIYA tries to fight them both and instantly intervenes if one of them gets too close to his s/o by shielding the loved one with Rho Aias. However, keeping the shield on makes him unable to use one of his arms, so he just quickly attacks the opponent and pushes them back.
  • If it’s needed, Archer covers s/o with his own body, but even injured he doesn’t stop the battle.
  • He throws a glance at his Master and sees the hope and terror in their eyes. He realizes that he can never give up, what helps him to rally and fight back with even more power.
  • When he finally injures his enemy and the battle stops for a moment, he immediately picks his s/o up and runs away as quickly as it’s possible.
  • Finally, they come back to safe place, but it’s not over. EMIYA puts s/o on a couch and nervously seeks for a first-aid kit in the bathroom, probably throwing some things off the shelf or the drawer.
  • With shaking hands he tries to clean the wound and dress it with bandage, bumbling about taking s/o to hospital after he gets some rest.
  • When it’s finished and Master’s life isn’t in danger anymore, he allows himself to finally sit and calm down. He remains silent for few minutes, but then starts apologizing for not being able to keep them safe.
  • With tears in his eyes he confesses that he was never ever so afraid in his entire life and afterlife.
  • He starts crying when his s/o puts a hand on his head and gently caresses him, trying to comfort him. They are a little shocked, because they never saw that generally calm and impassive soldier crying before, but most importantly they are worried and it hurts to see EMIYA being a mess.
  • Archer finally calms down and wipes his eyes, and decides to take s/o to hospital.
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Someone wrote an awesome KakaSaku recently and I absolutely adored it and it inspired me to write this, but I can’t for the life of me remember the name of it or who wrote it?? (Maybe @raendown or @mouseymightymarvellous???)

In the Darkest of Places

Kakashi had been watching her all night.

Like a moth to a flame, his gaze drew to her, falling away only to be pulled back again some minutes later. As her ex-teacher, it had long since become habit for him to keep an eye on Sakura. She had been the only female and the one with the most to lose, and in a way he was more protective of her than the others, even if she had become the most successful. Sakura was equal parts strong and beautiful and intelligent. She drew every gaze when she walked into a room but even the bravest of admirers refrained from approaching her when her teammates were attached to her hip.

But not tonight. Tonight she was alone.

Kakashi had witnessed her arrive some hours ago, but Naruto and Sai continued to remain absent as she sank lower and lower in her stool as alcohol took her in its unforgiving grip. The chatter of his companions felt on deaf ears every time he diverted his attention to observe her across the bar, eyeing each shot she consumed. The longer he watched, the more concerned he became.

Something was a little off, something a little wrong. Sakura never came alone and she never drank herself onto the floor.

And so Kakashi continued to watch over her from afar, silently chasing away any admirer that entertained the thought of approaching with a warning glare and a promise of regret should his unspoken order be defied. Sakura needed company, but not to share a bed with. And as the night wore on and the shot glasses continued to drain, Kakashi knew he was going to have to be the one to fill that role tonight.

The bar was nearly empty by the time Genma and Anko finally left Kakashi alone at the table. His gaze never wavered from the kunoichi still hunched over the bar who had drank her weight in liquor and had slipped so low her cheek pressed to the countertop. She didn’t show any signs of moving any time soon.

It was only once Sakura continued to remain oblivious to the bartender’s pointed stare that Kakashi finally pushed himself to his feet and quietly approached her. He was mildly surprised to find her still conscious as she traced the scratches in the counter’s surface with her nail absently. Her finger stilled as she noticed his presence and she peered at him without lifting her head. “‘kashi.”

He could hear every drink she had consumed in that single syllable but he merely smiled at her under his mask as he placed a hand to her back. “It’s about time we get you home, yeah?”

Sakura hummed and her gaze fell back to her finger as she resumed tracing patterns in the old wood. For a long moment, he was certain she wasn’t going to move and he briefly considered the potential consequences of just hoisting her over his shoulder when she sighed heavily and straightened on the stool.

Her pale, pink locks cascaded over one shoulder in a mess of hair that brought attention to the slender column of her neck and the strength of her shoulders, but it was her eyes he was drawn to. They were red-rimmed, but from exhaustion or alcohol he didn’t know, and the energy that normally brightened her forest-green eyes was dull and lackluster as if the spirit had been stolen from her.

“Am I a good shinobi?” she suddenly asked.

Kakashi cocked his head curiously. “What?”

“I asked if I am a good shinobi?” Sakura repeated slowly.

She gestured with her hands, briefly taking them off the counter of the bar and it was only Kakashi’s years of training that allowed him to react fast enough to steady her before she slipped backwards off her stool. Sakura quickly placed her palms on the counter again but his hand still lingered on her waist, not entirely trusting her to remain upright on her own.

“Of course you’re a good shinobi,” he told her. “One of the better ones, in fact.”

Sakura nodded slowly. “Good. Because apparently I am not a very good medic  and it’s good to know that at least I have something to fall back on.”

Her words slurred together but she spoke slow enough that Kakashi could make out her words, and his brow furrowed in confusion. “Why aren’t you a good medic?”

“Because medics are supposed to save people,” she said sharply, like he should have already known the answer. But then her voice softened as her shoulders slumped dejectedly. “And I don’t.”

Understanding washed over him like fog dissipating in the sun and sympathy curled in his chest as he rested a comforting hand on her back. “You can’t save everyone, Sakura,” he reasoned quietly as her gaze fell to the dirty counter. “It’s just a fact of life. But you are still a great medic. Sometimes you’ll save a patient and sometimes you’ll lose one. I know it’s hard but you have to keep trying-.”

“Four,” she said, holding up four fingers towards him.

Kakashi frowned before he shook his head, not understanding. “Four?”

“You said ‘sometimes you’ll save a patient and sometimes you’ll lose one’,” she explained. “I didn’t lose a patient. I lost four, back-to-back.” She lifted her gaze from the counter to meet his gaze, the dare evident in her haunted eyes. “So tell me again that I’m still a great medic.”

Kakashi released a silent but heavy sigh as he finally understood the weight of her burden. But before he could say anything to lessen her grief, the bartender slid a piece of paper towards them. “The tab,” he explained simply.

It took a great deal of self-control for Kakashi to not shoot him a scathing look and he said nothing as he pulled a small stack of yen from his pocket and left it on the counter.

Sakura missed the entire exchange as she rested her eyes on her palms but she picked her head up again as Kakashi placed a hand to back again. “You are a great medic,” he repeated firmly.

She shot him a ghost of a smile but it breathed some life back into her emerald eyes and she followed his silent gesture to stand before she allowed him to lead her from the bar, his arm wrapped securely around her waist as he supported most of her weight. She stumbled a few times as they traveled down the dirt path away from the downtown district of Konoha but Kakashi caught her every time, ensuring she remained tucked safely against his side.

“Can I stay with you tonight?”

Kakashi looked down at her sharply, caught between being surprised at her boldness and confused as to why she didn’t want to go home.

“I’ll sleep on the couch, or even the floor,” she pressed before he could ask. “I don’t care. I just don’t want to be alone.”

Sakura tucked her face into his shoulder as they walked, her fingers gripped the back of his vest as her other arm wrapped around his middle. She looked so lost and fragile, something he hadn’t seen from her since she was a genin straight out of the academy, and whatever argument he had building on the tip of his tongue died.

There were so many times he had fallen short on his responsibilities as her teacher and then again as her team leader; so many times she had required help and he had been unable to support her in the way she needed. But this time would be different. This time, he would get her through this night.

“Yeah, you can stay with me.”


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When you fight Ataru, you fight with all of them.

Something silly that popped up in my brain,like he doesn’t care if they talk bad of him but if it’s about his friends is another story.

bullying is one of the themes that I think ataru is being a victim because they always look down at him and he always escapes the fights.

but with his new friends he doesn’t allow to others talk bad about them, he tells them to keep their opinnions to themselves or even fights.

I think that the first time he really fought  it could be when someone say bad things about lum. 

@artistefish  sorry if I got carried away with this ;_;

One more draw to go!

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Headcanons about Pyrrha getting saved from Cinder by her s/o, but her s/o got horrible burn scars in the process?
  • A nice visual for those who want to see her reaction (x)
  • She was so happy and relived to see her s/o come to save her, to see them help her fight off Cinder, but she never felt more pain than when she saw them hit with those powerful flames
  • Like the visual, in the hospital, she’s at their bedside constantly saying “I’m sorry…” 
  • She basically becomes their own personal nurse, watching over them, helping with everything she possibly can, she runs herself ragged in order to take care of them
  • She falls asleep at their bedside quite a bit
  • She never gets more power in her voice than when it comes to making sure her s/o knows that the scars don’t take away a thing from their appearance and her love for them
  • This also comes to the rare asshole who wants to make a comment on their scars, there is very few things in the world that get Pyrrha as angry as when this happens
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