#Anthea’s up next - can’t have one and not the other after all! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mycrofts-gunbrella · 3 years

Text

Caring is the Greatest Advantage- Part Eight (Mycroft Holmes x Reader)

Sorry for such a long delay!! It’s my little boy’s first birthday this week so I’ve been running around making arrangements and picking up last minute presents! Hope you enjoy this little chapter. It’s only 3K words, but it is a build up ready for the next chapter which will contain smut! Not full blown smut (I don’t think Mycroft is ready for that yet!) but still smutty nonetheless!

I will separate the smutty bit enough so that you can skip it if you want, but it will be referenced later on in that chapter!

Word Count- 3062

This morning differed from the last few that you had experienced since staying at Mycroft's home, namely because Mycroft had awoken before you this time, but also because it was the first morning you had ever been awoken by long fingers prodding at your forehead. That and also because, despite last night's late events, you managed to arise at a reasonable 9am.

"Did you know there are a lot nicer ways to wake somebody up?" You questioned, opening your eyes to see Mycroft staring at you with a slight frown to his brow. He retracted his hand slightly and shifted to sit a little higher.

"You know, Sherlock as a child once woke me in a similar way. I felt small scratches on my eyebrows and woke up to see him crouched over me with a smug little grin on his face. As it turns out, he had slipped sleeping pills into my cup of tea before bed and in my slumber covered my eyebrows in toothpaste." You covered your mouth with your hand and snorted slightly. "He'd come in to see if there was anything left beneath them, which, of course, there wasn't.. claimed it was just an experiment. I'd like to laugh and be more dignified about it upon looking back, but I struggle because he was only six and already a sod."

"Okay, you've proven there are in fact worse ways to wake up." You didn't make big deals out of it, but every time Mycroft welcomed you a little more into the stories of his youth, you can't help but feel your heart warm. It may not seem like much, but coming from Mycroft, a very private man who hasn't been treated the best over the years, it meant everything. You stretched and moved your hands up to rub your eyes, flinching a little as your fingers brushed against the bit of your head above your eyebrows. "Bugger." You winced, poking again and feeling a small lump.

"I was going to warn you but you laughed at my traumatic eyebrow removal story." You groaned and recalled your memory of last night and where you believe the bruise originated from.

"I jumped into bed last night sulking a bit that you wouldn't talk to me and uh.. misjudged.." Mycroft snickered slightly from your side, you swatted his arm. "Tit. I'm blaming you. This wouldn't have happened if you didn't go all Han Solo in carbonite on me." You spoke playfully, letting him know you weren't truly peeved.

"I thought you said it was cute?"

"That was clearly a concussion talking." You stretched once more and climbed out of the bed, walking over to a mirror above a dressing table and rolling your eyes. "Might need your special government powers to clear out the cafe else Ms Woodall will think we've had a domestic." Bernice Woodall, owner of one of your favourite little cafes settled on the outskirts of St James' Park was a very.. particular lady. She could have a good laugh one moment, and start a quarrel with a customer over the amount they stir their tea the next. But, you'd have to admit, she has one hell of an all day breakfast menu; you could practically taste one of her omelettes just by thinking about it, making your stomach growl loudly.

"I would but, if I am to be very honest, she genuinely scares me a little. I think she could overthrow MI5 so I daren't even try." You stood and moved into Mycroft's bedroom, grabbing your bag of clothes and picking through a few of the pairs of your jeans Anthea had brought and scanning through the t-shirts. Your fingers brushed over the creases of the shirt that had formed from being stuffed in the bag and frowned.

"Perhaps it would be more suitable for you to pop those in one of the chest of drawers? I'm sure I have at least one drawer empty.." Myc's voice came from behind you and you fell from your crouching position, clutching your heart.

"You and your bloody spy legs, you just scared the shit out of me." You stood back up, your pile of today's clothes in one hand and the bag of the rest in the other. "Giving me a drawer in your place already? Ooh Myc you are serious." You grinned playfully, following him as he guided you to a set of drawers in the opposite corner of the room. Mycroft halted and opened his mouth to make some kind of comment but you cut him off, placing your folded clothes inside the Edwardian furniture. "Only teasing.. I'm just glad you haven't kicked me out yet. Though I don't think my own bed will ever feel as comfortable as yours. I might not want to go back now you've spoilt me, you'll just have to be blunt when you're bored of me." You winked at him and carried your outfit into the en suite bathroom to get ready. Mycroft headed over to his wardrobe to pluck out his own clothes, electing to remain somewhat casual for your trip to breakfast with a pair of navy chinos and a lighter blue button up before muttering slightly under his breath.

"And if I never am?"

In the rare parts of his life where he allowed to imagine himself getting into a relationship, Mycroft had never expected himself to be overwhelmed with so much emotion so quickly, but with you it was almost as though he had no control; as though there had been so many pent up feelings over the years that they just seem to have exploded without any rational thought behind it. And whilst these were all new to Mycroft, and how he still wasn't entirely sure about everything that he felt when it came to things with you, the only thing he was positive about was that he didn't want it to go. And that meant not wanting you to leave. Which was ridiculous. You had just under two weeks left together until you would be needed back at work, and he would have to return to fighting on Britain's behalf, but the thought of you not being at home to greet him when he finished, or him not being able to pick you up in one of his cars from the Yard to take you both home made him feel a sense of disappointment. He shook himself from his thoughts when you emerged from the bathroom fully dressed.

"On second thoughts, I may take the risk. I'm not sure I can have members of the general public associating me with a Sex Pistols fan, no matter how humerous you may believe that top to be." You walked out proudly wearing your 'God Save the Queen' t-shirt with a grin. "You are aware tha-"

"That when the Sex Pistols released their song 'God Save the Queen' in 1977 it was around the same time of The Queen's silver jubilee and thus it was banned for a while on the premise of being 'bad gross taste'? You've only mentioned it every time I wear this shirt.. Though if your research extended enough then you'd know Paul Cook said it wasn't written specifically FOR the jubilee.. So if one of Lizzie's spies catch me in the act, I shall make a very sincere apology." Mycroft took his own clothes into the bathroom to get ready himself and scoffed.

"But I AM one of 'Lizzie's Spies'." He mused, leaning slightly against the doorframe after settling the outfit on the counter. You turned around on your heel and stood up on your tiptoes, pushed him more forcefully against the doorframe and placed your hands on Mycroft's cheeks, pressing your lips softly against his. His shock subsided before he kissed you tentatively, his hand resting on your lower back. You pulled away after a moment and ushered him into the bathroom to get ready, closing the door behind you and leaving him still slightly red faced and confused.

"Consider that my sincere apology." You headed over to the dresser and began to tie up your hair. "But hurry up, I'm starving." You called, moving the hairbrush too low and brushing against your bruise, making you wince loudly. From the bathroom, you heard Mycroft's voice before the sound of him brushing his teeth.

"Head?"

"Well I was thinking more along the lines of breakfast, but who knows what the day will bring." You heard the sound of Mycroft choking on his toothpaste and wished to whatever deity out there that you could have seen his face. Yes, you had promised to try and be less overbearing with your comments but he walked into that one. You grinned and sat down on the side of the bed, briefly scanning through your phone before Mycroft emerged, his face still burnt a red as deep as the burgundy sweatshirt he had paired with his outfit. The fact he had come out at all at least let you know that your joke hadn't taken it too far.

"You're a minx."

"And you wouldn't change it. Now let's go!"

---

Only 20 minutes later had you both be found sitting comfortably in Ms Woodall's cafe, tucking into your respective meals- with you noticing, but not commenting on, Mycroft eating comfortably until the last bite of toast was gone, a sense of pride warming within you. Not too long after, Bernice herself headed over to clear up your tables.

"I trust everything was up to standard?" She asked, piling your plates onto her little trolley and offering top ups on your drinks.

"Splendid as usual, Ms Woodall." Mycroft smiled, accepting his new cup of tea and cradling it comfortably between his long fingers.

"Still proving to be our favourite place for breakfast." You praised, your hand reaching out to fondly brush against Mycroft's before taking your coffee into hand. Bernice watched your movements and raised her brow knowingly.

"Took the pair of you long enough. I had been half tempted to abstain from feeding you here until I got one of you to say something, it had started making me feel a bit sick watching you eye each other up each time you'd get up to order something." You rested your elbow on the table, hand covering your mouth as you let out a laugh.

"Yes, well, I can't promise you the ogling will stop on my behalf." You teased.

"And why should it? Mr Holmes in those posh little outfits is enough to make anyone swoon." And with that she had headed back out into the kitchen again.

"There you go, Myc. Should anything happen to me, my replacement is only round the corner."

"Mmm, and she does make a rather good cup of tea. Perhaps I shouldn't wait that long." His lip raised slightly in a smirk as he took a sip of his hot beverage.

"Oh really? Need I start getting possessive; stand my ground?" Before Mycroft could quip back, Ms Woodall had returned with a plate of biscuits in hand.

"Means you've already answered my next question, anywho." She hummed, placing the plate down between you and perching on the corner of the table beside yours. The pair of you gave her a questioning look and she continued, pointing up to her own forehead. "Tony and I were just as bad at the start of our marriage. Anywhere and everywhere we could get our hands on each other, I ended up with bumps and scrapes from alleys, the backs of cars, even in that one restaurant toilet that time.." You choked on your coffee and Mycroft all but dropped his teacup. "Oh don't act so ignorant, even us oldies had sex in their time." Your eyes caught Mycroft's and you could see him stifling down a laugh, biting softly on his knuckle- which, in itself, shouldn't have been as attractive to you as it was, but it is what it is.

"And with that thought, we best be off. Got a movie date planned." You commented, coughing down your own laugh as Bernice continued.

"Though to be fair it never stopped, all that spontaneity. Even towards the end, he could be like a lad of nineteen with how it was. God the positions, you'd have mistaken me for a gymnast and he could last for ages. I'd just lie there wondering 'will this pleasure never end'?" You could feel tears prick at your eyes as your laughter began to break through. "And then of course once Tony passed a couple years ago it all stopped. Shame really, all those years together, ending how it did.. Though sometimes I'm not sure if it's him that I miss or his massiv-"

"Ms Woodall we really should be going, thank you for breakfast." Mycroft hastily threw a few £20 notes on the table, far too much to cover your meal but enough to distract Bernice while tugging your hand and beelining for the door. Once safely distanced from the apparent nymphomaniac cafe owner you had to stop in your tracks to let out a laugh, Mycroft's hand still in yours as you doubled over.

"I can't believe she said that! She's so open."

"Evidently." Mycroft's comment set you off again, his laughter following, ignoring how you caught the attention of a few people passing by. "I do hope you are in no rush for breakfast there again any time soon, I don't think I can look her in the eye for a good while."

"Still so sure on replacing me with her so soon? I think she'd break you."

"Or turn me into a whore." You snorted and settled back to walking.

---

"Drink?"

"Please. Tea, hold the sexual history."

"I'll try my very best, though, much like my tea, I imagine my list would be abysmal in comparison to old Ms Woodall." You flicked on the kettle, eager to replace the half drunk coffee you had discarded on the cafe table in your escape from listening about pensioner sex. "Will you load up the movie?"

"No. But I shall get the film ready to go.. How the American dialect found its way back to England will never fail to disappoint me." You had followed him into the room shortly after, mugs on the table and settled on the sofa beside Mycroft.

"You know, typically, when people elect for a movie day, they don't choose the tenth movie in the series to watch first." You grinned, tucking your legs beneath your body in an attempt to get comfortable. You continued your shuffling movements and heard Mycroft's voice.

"I believe we both agree that Carry On Cleo is the superior of the 31 movies for, well, a multitude of reasons." He trailed.

"I shan't object. It's sweet that you remember it's the first one we watched together.. Had it not been for you hearing Kenneth's famous 'Infamy, infamy' line persuading you to come over, I fear that I'd have been set up with one of Greg's mates by now, sitting in a pub nursing a G+T."

"I never said I remembered that."

"You didn't have to. You and I both know that your favourite was always Carry on Camping."

"Yes, well.. Opinions change with experience."

"Is this our equivalent of a patronus? Yours has changed and matched with mine? Very cute, Myc. Might I expect you in a 'Never Mind the Bollocks' shirt next week?" You teased, electing to lay down with your head lightly using Mycroft's thigh as a pillow, feeling grateful when he didn't shove you off with a comment about ruining the linen of his trousers, and instead took to softly brushing his fingers over your head, narrowly missing the purple bump each time.

"You'd have better chances of catching me running naked down the street."

"Is that a promise?" A flick to your forehead.

"Just play the bloody film."

---

By the time the film had finished, your cheeks had hurt from smiling and your eyelids had felt heavy. Whilst getting up at a reasonable hour had felt like an achievement this morning, the lack of sleep from the previous night was beginning to catch up to you.

"Myc? Would it be entirely improper to nap on the sofa when there are multiple reasonable beds upstairs before continuing our films?"

"Only about as improper as it is to have a midday nap when you're not a young child." You shifted your head from his lap and sat up, ignoring the fact that you actually did end up ruining the linen of his trousers with the crease of your skull.

"Let me rephrase. Mycroft, would you be willing to break your proper posh boy streak and nap with me on the sofa?"

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to deviate from one's usual behaviours in order to satisfy those one holds dear."

"That's a yes, right? Good, lay down, else I may just collapse right at this moment." Mycroft's sofa certainly was a significantly bit bigger than those usually found in somebody's front room, but it was still nowhere near wide enough for two people to lay with distance. Even still, he followed your request and rotated his body, lifting his long legs to rest down the side of the sofa while you slid into the gap beside him. He eventually circled his arm beneath you and rested his hand on your hip, your face softly brushing against the comforting material of his jumper. "If you drop me, I will be holding you accountable." You mumbled, shifting your body closer to his. He merely hummed, his hand slightly bunching in your shirt and his arm tightening. "I'd always hoped you were secretly a cuddler."

"Make a point of it or tell Sherlock and I'll throw you off." You couldn't even think of a witty comeback before your slumber had taken over, the smell of Mycroft and the sounds of him breathing overstimulating your senses. Mycroft being a secret cuddler hadn't been as much of a shock to you as it probably should have, but you welcome it completely and feel incredibly thankful that he trusts you enough to let you be that close to him, to feel his body in such a way. And you would embrace that- and him- as long as he would let you.

165 notes · View notes

themirokai · 3 years

Text

When Mystrade Met Rinch

Ok so @ambi-apocalypse got me to watch Person of Interest, and apparently I've now gotten @musicismagic-writes to watch it. And previously the ship that the three of us had in common was Mystrade. So this Mystrade to Rinch party gave me crossover thoughts, but those crossover thoughts would be a much more ambitious story than I'm actually ever going to write, so I figured I'd just post my plot bunny/outline here. If anyone wants to adopt this and actually write it into a story, have at it, but please let me know if you post it!

Most of it under the cut cause it's kinda long...

Finch and Reese are working a number and figure out that the dude is a freelance assassin. He’s clearly the perp but for some reason they’re not able to take him out, so they’re trying to figure out who his next target is.

Mycroft is in New York for a meeting at the UN. Greg, his husband, has decided to tag along and make a holiday of it.

Reese figures out that Assassin is surveilling this tall British dude with fancy suits and an umbrella. Reese suggests that Finch should talk to him about vests in order to get close to him. Finch informs Reese that the gentleman is wearing a waistcoat, not a vest. “When the garment is the third part of a three-piece suit it is referred to as a waistcoat.”

“See?” Reese says, “you can talk to him about fancy clothes stuff and then casually work your way around to why he’s being stalked by an assassin.”

After some digital digging…

“Ah, there he is,” Finch says. “His name is Mycroft Holmes. Looks like he’s a bureaucrat in the Department for Transportation.”

“That doesn’t add up, Finch. What’s a small time transportation guy doing at the UN? And he looks like his clothing budget rivals yours.”

“Maybe civil servants are better compensated across the pond? Or maybe he has inherited wealth?”

“Can’t you find out?”

“No. He’s remarkably off the grid.”

Reese realizes that Mycroft has a badass security detail. So what’s a well-dressed mid-level bureaucrat doing at the UN protected by a security detail? And why would the Machine give them the number of an assassin who’s trying to kill him if that security detail was up to the challenge? Something something, they figure out that the Assassin or whoever hired him has bribed/infiltrated/compromised/whatever the security detail.

Reese goes in. POW POW fight scene. Reese incapacitates like 3 dudes who were protecting Mycroft. So that leaves Mycroft and Greg.

“Listen to me very carefully,” Mycroft says, making eye contact with Reese, “there are 4 things this could be about. None of them require my husband’s involvement. You will let him go at once -“

“Sod off, Mycroft, I’m not leaving you!”

“But,” Mycroft continues, ignoring Greg, “if you harm a single hair on his head,” here he draws the sword from his umbrella, “I will open you from chin to groin.”

“Mr. Holmes I promise you I will - is that a sword?”

“A sharp one. And I assure you that I am quite good with it.”

“Did you pull it out of an umbrella?”

Mycroft barely restrains his eye roll. “Do keep up.” He turns to Greg. “Gregory, kindly go and phone Anthea and give her code gamma orange 6.”

Reese convinces Mycroft that his security was compromised by Assassin. Reese is happy to let Greg go but wants to protect both of them and cautions them against making any phone calls that could tip Assassin off.

Mycroft digests all this and then tells Reese that he wants to talk to the person in Reese’s ear. Finch agrees and they get on the phone.

“Everyone in your government is too frightened of me - appropriately - to try anything like this,” Mycroft starts off. “Your associate is former CIA but has left that employment and now has a wealthy benefactor. Your operation is quite small and so it stands to reason that the wealthy benefactor is also the person calling the shots. Who are you?”

“I’m someone with accurate information and a desire to use it to prevent harm, Mr. Holmes.”

They talk. Game recognizes game. Mycroft knows that the Americans wanted the Machine after 9/11 and has now deduced that they have it and Finch has access to it. Mycroft decides he can trust Finch and Reese and lets Reese take them to a safe house while they wait for Anthea to assemble and send a clean security detail. Reese asks if they’re sure Anthea hasn’t been compromised. Greg laughs a lot.

On the way to the safe house…

“So about that umbrella,” Reese says, looking at Mycroft in the rear view mirror. Mycroft raises an eyebrow in response. “Can anyone buy one or is it an MI6 thing?”

“If Gregory and I make it out of this situation unharmed, I would be happy to contact the purveyor on your behalf, Mr. Reese. Though I will say that this sort of weapon doesn’t seem your style.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t be for me,” Reese says with a smile. He touches his ear. “I know what I’m getting you for Christmas, Finch.”

“Mr. Reese-“

“It’s a weapon that isn’t a gun and doesn’t need to be walked!”

“Actually, it’s also a gun,” Mycroft says.

“Shh, he doesn’t like guns.”

“Walked?” Greg asks.

“Already got him a dog. But sometimes the dog is with me.”

They get to the safe house but Greg and Reese are both restless. Making sure Mycroft is safe is good, but actually stopping Assassin would be better. Greg wants to use himself as bait to lure out Assassin, then have Reese get him. Mycroft Does Not Approve. Finch trusts Reese’s judgment. Reese calls in Carter for backup. Carter and Greg hit it off immediately. Mycroft recognizes Carter as a consummate professional who has - in his opinion - a more appropriate level of risk tolerance than Greg or Reese. He, still grudgingly, gives his approval for the Greg as Bait plan.

The plan works! Assassin is captured. Reese says he can take Assassin to a Mexican prison. Mycroft has other plans that involve an inescapable prison on an island. Anthea’s team arrives and takes custody of Assassin for transport to Sherrinford.

Finch and Mycroft have a conversation. Finch is concerned that someone with Mycroft’s position and resources knows about them and the Machine and his access to it (however limited). Finch is worried that Mycroft is going to want a version of the Machine for London. Mycroft assures Finch that while he respects what Finch has accomplished, the Machine is not his style and he prefers getting his intelligence the old fashioned way. He also has no intention of compromising Finch and Reese, but he would like to be able to call them up from time to time. Finch agrees as long as he can call Mycroft when needed. Greg tells Carter that if she ever wants to move to London, he’s got a spot for her at the Met.

They part ways amicably… until next time.

#this all started because I was thinking about Reese seeing Mycroft's umbrella and wanting to get one for Finch #mystrade #rinch #person of interest #bbc sherlock #miro does poi #mirokai writes #mycroft holmes #greg lestrade #harold finch #john reese #crossover #plot bunny up for adoption #I guess it's bigger than a bunny #plot capybara?

29 notes · View notes

ampleappleamble · 3 years

Text

—

Debriefing the Crucible Knights went about how Axa had expected it would. She and her companions had staggered out of Heritage Hill only to be immediately escorted back to Crucible Keep along with the little girl they'd rescued from her family crypt, the poor waif falling asleep on Edér's shoulders as they'd made their way through town. Once inside, they'd had their wounds tended to and their bellies filled as they recounted the events of their harrowing mission, repeating themselves over and over to one bewildered Knight after another. By the end of the evening, rumors, misinterpretations, and half-truths about the "end of the Curse of Heritage Hill" were all anybody in Crucible Keep could talk about– unless one preferred to gossip about the mysterious Watcher of Caed Nua instead.

Restful sleep was coming harder and harder to Axa, and the troubling trend had continued as they'd bedded down in the barracks that night. She'd woken the next morning feeling worse than she had when she'd laid down the night before, and her attitude had very much reflected it. She'd particularly let her ire show when her breakfast had been interrupted by a man who'd introduced himself as Penhelm, a name she recognized as the one belonging to the Knight that Osric had sent her after the day before, hoping she could recover his family's breastplate from the snooty little gossip.

"Is it true that you're not actually a Watcher, but merely a Cipher? Like the... others of your kind down at Hadret House?" Arrogance and curiosity mingled in his insufferable smirk as he spoke, not even having had the decency to wait until she'd finished chewing.

"That depends," she'd replied, her mouth still full of bacon. "Is it true you steal people's family heirlooms after talking shit about them and getting them kicked out of the service?"

Needless to say, she had gotten nowhere trying to convince him to do right by Osric. So on her way out, she'd passed through the scriptorium and, with a careful eye and a whispered word to Aloth, she'd left Crucible Keep that morning with Penhelm's soul lineage affidavit tucked away in her satchel.

She had been on her way to Hadret House to have the affidavit examined for authenticity, hoping to gain a bargaining chip that might pry the heirloom armor from the little bastard's hands, when a messenger had appeared at her shoulder, letting her know that her presence had been requested... at Hadret House. She'd almost laughed at the absurd coincidence– until the messenger told her exactly who had summoned her there, his tone low and reverent.

"Who is Lady Webb," she'd asked, "and what exactly does she want with me?"

The messenger had been young, with a casual, almost flippant air about him, but he had still had the good sense to lean close and keep an eye out for eavesdroppers. "You don't know her, milady? She's the directress of Dunryd Row, Defiance Bay's investigative peacekeeping force. No one's actually met her face to face, in... I don't know, a long time. But they say that despite her advanced age, her mind is a steel trap and her will is an iron fist. She and her Cipher operatives keep the city safe from threats that most kith are never even aware exist..."

Axa had listened, at first. She'd tried to listen. But as he'd spoken, as he'd thrust the wax-sealed summons into her hand, she'd found herself distracted by an all-too-familiar feeling. Something was pulling her toward Hadret House, something that had nothing to do with Dunryd Row or Ciphers or Lady Webb, and she'd turned away from the messenger in the middle of his speech to pursue it, helpless to resist.

He was there. Just outside of Hadret House, on the far side of Brackenbury. He was there, and she approached him–

–she approached him, any confidence she'd had before dissolving now in her sick stomach, trickling down her trembling limbs. She couldn't do this.

She had to do this.

He was already watching her, but the impact of his gaze was no less powerful than if he'd turned dramatically to face her. It was as though he knew what she was going to tell him already.

Of course he does, she thought. He knows all. He knows what I've done. What I–

"You look as though you've seen a ghost, dear."

Lady Webb chuckled in her throat, but her face did not laugh with her. "Although, perhaps you have. After all, you are the Watcher who wrested the ruins of Caed Nua away from poor, mad Maerwald, as well as the Watcher who ended the... 'curse' of Heritage Hill, if my reports are correct." The old, frail woman rose from her desk, crossed the room with a deceptive grace. "And they are."

Axa kept her head low, but lifted her eyes to meet Webb's gaze. "Why have you asked me here–"

"–You know why I have asked you here, child." With anyone else, she would have felt that she was being chastised, but with him, she only felt kind, fatherly concern. "Your fellow missionaries have reported a change in your behavior recently. You neglect your duties, you are quiet and distant. What troubles you so to make you act this way?"

Tears stung her eyes. Her whole body quaked. Her breath caught in her throat. The quivering pit in her stomach broadened and her heart fell into it, and for a second she thought she might actually vomit, but instead it was her confession that flew from her mouth:

"Your Eminence, I... forgive me, but I wish... I wish to leave the order."

He folded his hands, frowning–

"You're not a stupid woman, Axa Mala. You should know why I've asked you here. Defiance Bay's concerns are my concerns, you see, and evidently, they are yours as well. But neither of us is overly fond of beating around the bush, so let's cut straight to it, shall we?" Lady Webb stopped at her bookshelf, turned to face Axa again, her keen eyes piercing the other woman's mind, her soul. "Why do you seek the Leaden Key?"

She had known, somehow, that Webb would ask her that, but it still took her by surprise. Nevertheless, Axa didn't waste time asking how she'd known. "I'm looking for someone. A man I saw in the ruins of Cliant Lîs. He... did something to me. And I need him to undo it."

The wizened old Cipher nodded at her, then, let her eyes slip shut, her face twitching–

–"You have been nothing if not an extraordinary asset to us," he said, slowly pacing as he spoke. "Your conviction in our cause has inspired your contemporaries to greatness, and together with them you have brought the light of redemption to thousands, if not more! What could possibly shake your faith in yourself like this? Your faith in us?"

Somehow, without her realizing, he had ended up crossing the room to stand directly before her. He looked into her eyes, worry and sorrow emanating from him. "What's wrong, Anthea? What happened?"

She squeezed her eyes shut but she still saw him in her mind, still saw the compassion in his eyes that a despicable sinner like her could never deserve–

Lady Webb opened her eyes, gasping softly.

"The gods are cruel," she murmured. "The man you seek is none other than the grandmaster of the Leaden Key himself: Thaos ix Arkannon."

The name echoed in Axa's head, the bearded man's masked face floating before her mind's eye. It felt like she'd always known him, or at least known of him, but only now could she put a name to the face.

"Thaos," she whispered–

"I cannot stay, Your Eminence. I'm... I'm tainted, wicked and weak." Anthea lowered her head, letting her tears fall to the floor. "I've done something terrible, something I can never undo, an unforgivable act of blasphemy. I fear– no, I– I know I am beyond redemption."

She curled in on herself, wracked with sobs, unable to continue. Shame and guilt burned her face, but she knew she deserved to burn for real, to burn forever. But even to cleanse her soul with holy flame would be too kind a mercy for a traitor of her magnitude. How could he, how could the gods ever forgive such a miserable wretch like her?

His hand fell onto her shoulder, steady and strong–

"He is a man unlike any other," Webb explained, her voice quiet and serious as she made her way back to her desk, hands folded behind her back. "The Leaden Key is an organization dedicated to obscuring, muddling, and destroying information, including any evidence pertaining to themselves or their activities. There's no way to be sure, but what little we've found suggests that they have supposedly existed for over two thousand years." She looked pointedly at Axa, one eyebrow cocked. "And it was Thaos who founded them."

"But that's impossible," Aloth blurted. "Even the longest-lived elves haven't even come close to..." He trailed off, twisting his fingers together anxiously, dropping his gaze to the floor.

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" Webb sighed, one drooping corner of her mouth briefly lifting into a smirk. "But when it comes to the Leaden Key, little is as it seems. If what we've managed to learn about him so far is true– and there's no guarantee that it is, but it's the best explanation we've got– he is one of Woedica's Favored, an agent of the Queen Who Was who has been gifted with the blessing of eternal life. In practice, this means that every time he dies, Thaos' soul is guided by Her hand to be reborn in an almost identical vessel, and once he reaches puberty, he Awakens to all of his past lives at once, in order to continue the work of his Mistress on Eora. So strong is his soul, in fact, that he can supposedly even project it out of himself and into others, crushing the will of lesser souls and usurping their bodies for his and his Queen's own ends." She regarded Axa with pity. "He is almost certainly the most dangerous, elusive, powerful man on the face of the planet. And while I can't deny being grateful for the company, you have my deepest sympathies that your path has also crossed with his."

"Why was he in Teir Nowneth the night the machine was activated in Heritage Hill?" Axa demanded, her head spinning. "What was he doing in Cliant Lîs? How did he Awaken me–"

–"So you have sinned," Thaos proclaimed gravely. "You have erred, stumbled on your path, and now you would cast yourself into the Void. Is that it?"

Anthea wanted to cover her face with her hands, wanted to run, to hide, but she could barely even find it in herself to draw the breath to answer him. "What I've done, no god could forgive me. Now or ever."

He brought his other hand around, then, gripped both of her shoulders firmly. "My child, my dear child, if you truly believe that then I have utterly failed you, as a teacher and as a leader. There is no sin so grevious that it cannot be absolved, no path so dark the gods cannot light the way to salvation! As long as you do not turn your back on Them, They will never turn Their backs on you."

She knew it couldn't be true. It was too good to be true, and nothing in her life had ever been half so good. Not since she was a child. But... would he really lie to her like that? He never had before. At least, she didn't think he had. Anthea slowly lifted her head to look at the man who would save her from herself–

Lady Webb sat back down, letting her chin hover just above her steepled fingers. "That's what I'd like to know. There's quite a lot I'd like to know about Thaos ix Arkannon and the Leaden Key, as I rather imagine you would, too. That's why I summoned you here today– to work with you, pool our resources, compare notes. The Key has been... active as of late, and where they go, you seem to follow, righting their wrongs. As you did in Heritage Hill." She smiled, her thin, red mouth like a slit cut into her face. "I'd like you to continue to do so, and to report your successes back to me. In return, Dunryd Row's resources shall be at your disposal should you need them, and with a bit of luck– well, a lot of luck, in truth– perhaps we two can corner him and get our answers at last."

There was something behind Webb's eyes, something mysterious and passionate and unrelenting that Axa couldn't quite place, but she knew instinctively that it wasn't for her. Whatever it was that drove this woman, whether it was a thirst for vengeance or a desire for the truth or a need for justice, the ferocity behind her eyes was only for Thaos.

She could respect that.

"Very well," Axa replied, "I accept–"

–"I... I want to believe that's so, Your Eminence," she stammered, "but even if it were, I don't deserve Their clemency."

"Some among the gods would see you punished, it's true," he murmured. "But the sting of the lash passes in an instant compared to the eternity afterward in which you shall enjoy the boundless mercy, the cleansing forgiveness, the all-consuming love of the gods. That is what makes one deserving– devotion. As long as you devote yourself to Them, They will return the faith you place in Them a thousand fold."

The tears fell afresh from her eyes, this time from sheer relief. Somewhere deep in her heart, she must have known he could make it all right, could show her the path to absolution. He always did. That was the real reason she had come here, wasn't it? What had she been so afraid of?

Thaos smiled warmly at her, his hands still gently clutching her shoulders. "Stay with us, Anthea. We need you. The gods need you. They have entrusted you with the truth of Their Word– will you return that trust?"

"I will," she whispered–

"Now, before you go– what was that bizarre display you put on just outside our door?" Lady Webb was already looking through another stack of documents, but she spared Axa a bemused glance. "It's not a good look, dear, standing around with your eyes glazed over and your mouth agog. You're liable to catch flies."

"I'm an Awakened Watcher," the orlan retorted curtly. "The memories from my past life tend to be a bit more vivid than the ones other Awakened kith might experience. And I don't exactly control what I see or when I see it."

The old Cipher shrugged. "I meant no offense. Only trying to warn you that you may have unwittingly broadcasted your whereabouts to someone who seems to have a bone to pick with you." She gestured vaguely toward the door to her office, and it swung open, an orlan man stepping in as though he'd been expected.

Webb looked at Axa the way a jaded teacher might at an impudent pupil. "Well? Show him the affidavit."

She blinked, and somewhat reluctantly, she reached into her satchel and produced Penhelm's affidavit, the one Aloth had pilfered for her at Crucible Keep. "Uh... Can you tell me if this is genuine?" she muttered.

The older man took it from her, looked it over briefly, and shook his head, wrinkling his nose in disgust as he handed it back. "Not at all," he pronounced. "Being perfectly honest, it's a rather shabby forgery, too."

Webb sighed, shuffling her papers. "Thank you, Kurren; you may go." The orlan gave her a respectful nod and left to return to his work downstairs as the directress of Dunryd Row grinned wryly at Axa. "Now you have your bargaining chip. Penhelm is waiting for you on the street outside. Do exercise caution, dear, and try to keep the blood off of my siding. We've only just had it repainted last month."

"Actually," the little woman smiled slyly, "I think I've got a better idea."

—

#pillars of eternity #poe anthem infinitum #fic wip #i knew this section was gonna be the real meat of the chapter #i'm doing a Thing with capitalizing the gods' pronouns #one more section and then a new playing and planning phase can begin bghfghbfghfhh!!!!#thanks for reading ♡

6 notes · View notes

wipbigbang · 3 years

Photo

2021 Round - Artists Claims (Round 2)

Round 2 of claims for artists are open! The second round will go this week and then I'll post a new round on Thursday, opening it up for thirds. Everybody spread the word! We have 70 story summaries below for you to choose from, and this round, you may choose 2 stories to do art for! Just use a different check in ID with each sign-up.

This year, art claims are working a little differently than in years past. We are using a google form to streamline things, which should make things easier both for you as participants and us mods. To claim a story, the form requires email, check in ID, and the identifying number of your first choice of story. Putting your top three choices is best in case your first or second has already been chosen. Please be sure you've read the FAQ before claiming.

Click here to claim a story!

BBC Sherlock #15 Title: Children Of Light, Children Of Dark Pairing/Characters Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, John Watson/Mary Morstan, Irene Adler, Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Anthea, Sally Donovan, OMCs, OFCs Rating: Teen Warnings/Tags: Mentioned animal abuse, character death Summary There are a series of murders going on that have a pattern, and Sherlock sees glimpses of it but can’t fathom it completely. But Molly realizes it’s reminiscent of an unsolved case her mentor had told her about, where the murders were based on a series of fantasy novels that Molly herself adores. Sherlock asks her to use her knowledge as a pathologist and a fan of the series to help him figure out both sets of murders, and in the process Molly gets quite a bit more than she bargained for. BBC Sherlock/Agents Of S.H.I.E.L.D/Marvel Cinematic Universe #17 Title: Playing The Game: Act II – Knights & Knowledge, Romance & Regret Pairing/Characters Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, background Natasha Romanoff/Clint Barton, background Jemma Simmons/Leo Fitz, past Molly Hooper/Victoria Hand, Daisy Johnson, Antoine Tripp, Phil Coulson, Melinda May, Grant Ward Rating: Mature Warnings/Tags: Graphic Violence, mentioned past major character death Summary After tracking down Phil Coulson and his team, Molly and the others join him on their hunt for Grant Ward so that Molly can get retribution for Victoria’s death and Nat and Clint can further Fury’s assignment to help deal with all of the escapees from the Fridge. But as things get more complicated with the appearance of the Diviner and all the entails, Molly begins to wonder if she will ever get her end goal of Ward disappearing in a deep dark hole where no one can find him. BBC Sherlock/Midsomer Murders #18 Title: Every English Village Has Its Secrets Pairing/Characters Past/Pre-Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade; Tom Barnaby/Joyce Barnaby, Sally Donovan/OMC, Gavin Troy, OMCs, OFCs Rating: Teen Warnings/Tags: Character death (no major characters), murder Summary When Greg and Sally get called to Midsomer County for a case, right from the start Greg knows it will be a headache when Mycroft offers him lodging (so long as he's alright with his former lover being his housemate for his time there), and it doesn't get much better when he meets DCI Tom Barnaby and immediately their Detective Sergeants take an instant dislike to each other when Sally arrives the next evening. And that isn't even getting into the actual case itself and all the secrets hidden in the village of Elverton-cum-Latterley...

Star Trek: Alternate Original Series/BBC Sherlock #60 Title: To Fight For The One You Love Pairing/Characters Khan Noonien Singh | John Harrison/Molly Hooper, OMCs, OFCs Rating: Mature Warnings/Tags: Graphic Violence Summary Something is peculiar about his flatmate, Molly Hooper. In a new world where nearly everyone has a superhuman ability of some sort, Molly seems...different. And she arrives home early in the morning all beat up to Hell. What is she doing? Khan is determined to find out.

8 notes · View notes

stuckysdaughter · 3 years

Text

What Do You Know about the British Men of Letters?

Pairing: Mycroft Holmes/Gender-Neutral Reader

Tagging: @aquananner24

Summary: You and Mycroft used to be together until you parted ways. Now, you realize that you need all the help he can offer.

Summer, 1982

You really didn't want to move. You really didn't. You had built a life back in New York, and you didn't want to leave it behind. Even your school that you didn't love attending but you would miss not being there. Now you were pulling up the driveway to your new house. It seemed like a nice place, but that wasn't going to stop you from being salty about leaving.

The house was made of brick, just like the rest of the neighborhood. You had a large lawn now, which was new for you. Your Upstate NY home had had a lawn, yes, but that still seemed to pale in comparison to the Eden before you now.

Your next door neighbors greeted you once they saw you'd arrived. A nice couple around the same age as your parents with a fondness for plaid, and their two sons around your age you found out. You couldn't keep your eyes off the older of the two. Auburn waves and dark eyes that were polite, but cold. You longed to know what those eyes held. As you tried to puzzle this out, his gaze met yours. He tilted his head a bit, as if he was reading your thoughts and found them confusing. You could've sworn his eyes softened, but you talked yourself out of it. It's a trick of the light, that's all. Nevertheless, his continued stare caused you to faintly blush. Your parents didn't notice a thing of this silent exchange, too busy idly chatting on the porch.

A year later, you two found yourselves a happy couple. You were his piranha in a world of goldfish, if you know what I mean. You brought out the best in him, and he in you. But now, you had to have the hard conversation about your future. You were going back across the Atlantic for college, and he was staying for his own studies.

"I'm guessing it is too much to ask that you stay here?"

You laughed lightly, before replying, "I think you know the answer to that. You and I both know that I need to go, as much as I would love to stay by your side."

"So does that mean what I think it means? I mean, logically, the next choice is..."

You stayed silent, only nodding. You knew what he was hesitant to put into the open. Because that would be an admission and an acceptance of what you both knew to be true. You could try to make it work, but it was just too much.

Now

"Dean, I swear I don't know what this is," you sighed, tired.

"Didn't you say you spent some time in England?"

"Yes, but I never heard about any Men of Letters."

Sam asked his own question, "Is there anyone you know that might be able to tell us anything?"

You paused. You had a hunch that you did. But, the last time that you talked to them they'd been so busy that it didn't even reach them. Just their secretary, Anthea.

You'd spoken to Mycroft Holmes several times over the last few years, reconnecting after a long time apart. You'd started college, and completed your undergrad degree. But, after a tragedy involving a close friend and a skinwalker, you joined the Winchester boys in hunting. You had planned on going back to London to see the Holmes man, but as it turned out, you both were far too busy to make the trip. You two were friendly now, but you wished for the two of you to rekindle the relationship you had as children. You guessed this meant it was time for another call to Mycroft.

"I just might. Give me a few minutes." And with that, you walked into what had been deemed your room in the bunker.

Ring. Ring.

Damn it, pick up. Anybody!

At last, someone picked up the other end of the line. "Mycroft Holmes' number, this is his secretary, what can I do for you?"

Anthea again. "Anthea, it's Y/N, I need to speak to Mycroft. It's a bit urgent."

The line went quiet, until there was another voice. "Hello?"

"Mr. Holmes, it's been a while since I last heard your voice. Finally deemed me worthy enough of your time?" You joked with a smile, happy to hear him after so long.

"Y/N, it's so good to hear from you. Is everything alright? You can't still be hanging around those Winchester boys, can you?"

"I am, in fact. Everything is just fine, but that's why I'm calling."

"You mean this isn't a social call?" He joked with a light tone.

"You and I both know you wouldn't pick up the phone if you knew it wasn't urgent." There was silence at the other end of the line. "Well, I know you're busy, so I'll get right to the point. What do you know about the British Men of Letters?"

You could hear Mycroft fumble with his cup of tea, before he collected himself again.

"Where did you hear that term?" He was no longer joking.

You nervously responded, "I may or may not be staying in one of their secret bunkers. The one located in Lebanon, Kansas. We're trying to figure out who they were."

"Y/N, you have to be careful with them."

"Careful, or I might think you still have feelings for me," you smiled. "Don't worry, I will."

"Y/N..."

"Mycroft?"

"I'm coming to see you. You need my help. And... we have something to discuss."

"Mycroft, you should know that... I... I still hold feelings of a romantic kind for you. I think I've become more of a goldfish in the past few years, but I want to give us another try."

"As do I, Y/N. You're far too special for me to leave behind. You're too special to become a goldfish."

"So does that mean what I think it means?"

You could physically hear the smile on his face, as you both recollected the same sentence being uttered almost 25 years earlier.

"Yes, I think it does. I'll be in Lebanon in a few hours. I hope that will be enough time to prepare for my arrival?"

"More than," you replied with a gentle tone.

Sure enough, about thirteen hours later he appeared on your doorstep. It took some explaining, but the boys seemed to accept it without much questioning. Maybe they saw the lovestruck look on your faces that was so very similar to that first day he met you at your house. You both were inseparable ever since, both of you going back to London. After all, there were monsters all over the world, and getting out of the life is so much easier with someone to come home to.

Author's Notes: Just a short drabble for a request I received a while ago. PS - Thanks for being so patient! Hope you enjoyed it! Please like and reblog if you do, and comment!!

#mycroft fanfic #mycroft x oc #mycroft holmes #reader insert #mycroft/reader

19 notes · View notes

ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 4 years

Text

Blue Eyes Epilogue

Summary: After the Garrison is shot up, the youngest Shelby daughter finds a new home in London. She strips herself of her last name and tries to live a peaceful life far away from her brothers’ chaos in Birmingham. But fate leads her right back into it after she runs into Alfie Solomons.

“Alf?”

“You alright, love? I heard you getting a bit heated over the phone.” Alfie was at the sink, gently washing the sand off Ezra’s feet. Father and son had been out on the beach that morning watching the waves and the sea birds overhead.

“I was on the phone with Tommy.” Ella set Sofia down so she could go to Alfie.

“I figured that much.” He replied sympathetically.

She walked around to stand by the sink. Ezra gave her a gummy smile, squirming a bit because of the cold water on his toes. Ella grabbed a towel to give to Alfie so he could dry Ezra off. “I just don’t know what to think anymore.”

“About what, love?” He asked, shutting off the sink and taking the towel from his wife.

“Just…everything. Tommy was going on and on about how things used to be. I mean-I understand where he’s coming from. He spent all that time looking toward the future, looking at what he could have instead of appreciating what he did have. Now he regrets it because look at everything that’s happened. We’ve lost so many people. But…I like what I have now. I can’t look to the past anymore.”

“I hate to say it, but your brother’s gone and dug his own grave, hasn’t he? He wanted power and this is what it gave him. The man doesn’t know when to quit.” Alfie wiped off Ezra’s feet even though the toddler gave him a bit of a hard time, kicking his legs and giggling like mad.

“But we know when to step away, right?” Ella asked quietly.

Alfie set Ezra down so he could dry his hands off. “What’s the matter, love? Talk to me.”

Ella wrapped her arms around herself, thoroughly shaken by the world around her. When once she had been so fearless, she was becoming aware of how chaotic things could become. “I’m scared that we’re going to lose everything we’ve worked for.”

“We’re not gonna lose anything. What are you afraid of losing?” Alfie wasn’t looking to ridicule his wife, he saw the fear in her eyes, and in turn, it worried him. One of his primary jobs was to comfort her.

“I’m afraid of losing you, I’m afraid of losing the twins, I-I’m afraid of losing my sanity, Alfie.” Her voice broke. “I never expected any of this to happen. Th-this has all gone too far and I can’t take it anymore.”

“It’s alright love.” He embraced her, pulling her to his chest.

“It’s not alright, Alfie. I’m not going to give you up because of the things Tommy does. But there are things in this world that I can’t stop.”

Alfie was starting to pick up on the root of her worry. After all, Mosley was just one man. They could deal with individuals, gangs even. But when there was some sort of movement, with an unknown amount of people following? Well, they couldn’t exactly fight off the world, could they? Even if Tommy Shelby liked to think he could. “The world we’re living in, s’not ideal, is it? But there are more people who are willing to fight this than are willing to stay quiet.”

“How do you know that?” She asked.

“Because I fought in a bloody war for the sake of this country.” He reminded her. “I don’t doubt that we’d do it again if we’re threatened again.”

“But they’re here, Alfie. There are people in Britain who would rather see you hung than fight for you.”

There were things that Alfie could brush off. He could brush off her brother’s disdain for him. He could brush off the slurs that Darby was so fond of calling him. He could even brush off that he was shot in the eye. But he couldn’t brush off his wife’s concern for him. “What would you suggest we do then, love?” He asked softly, gently petting her hair.

“I think we should just go somewhere else.” She whispered. “We can go to America, we can put this behind us.”

“There are fascists in America, El. There ain’t a place on this Earth that’s pure.” He told her truthfully. “America might be further away, but it ain’t much different.”

Ella couldn’t argue with that. She knew that it didn’t matter how far she went. It didn’t matter if she changed her last name from Shelby. She would always be involved in Tommy’s game. It was her birthright. Something would always bring her back.

“Mumma.”

Ella drew away from Alfie so she could scoop Ezra up. “I won’t lose them.” She whispered. It had been painful enough to lose her twins before they were even born. But to lose Ezra and Sofia after she had bonded with them? Ella knew she would never be able to come back from that.

Alfie nodded. “Well, we’ve got more than enough money to retire. We can sell the bakery, sell the flat in Camden. We can stay here for the rest of our lives.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know. It’s a scary world, but you know we can make it work. It’ll be alright. I promise.”

~~~~~~~~~~

For the next few years, Ella lived her life very removed from her family. That wasn’t to say she never saw them. She made a habit to keep in touch but wouldn’t involve herself in any business matters. She was vocal about Tommy’s mental state but there wasn’t anything anyone could do. It was all in his hands. And he continued on as the soldier he was.

Lizzie and Polly confided in Ella often, if only to make sure they weren’t going crazy because of Tommy’s behavior. But they also respected that Ella was raising her own family and had more than enough good reasons to keep her distance.

For the most part, she and Alfie remained at Margate with the children. Retired and happy to be retired, Alfie was content staying by the ocean. They returned to Camden for special occasions or to see friends and family. But Ella felt much more comfortable at Margate. Going back to London was just another reminder of the trouble brewing. There was unrest, not just in the city, and not just in the country. It was across the continent and Ella felt like everyone was just holding their breath, waiting for the powder keg to explode again.

Outside of the city, however, she felt much more removed from it all. She could truly enjoy her life as being a wife and mother. She had gained the peace she had always looked forward to.

As the twins grew, their personalities started to blossom and it was such a lovely thing to see.

Sofia was a rambunctious little girl who loved the outdoors. One of her favorite things was to trawl the shoreline with Alfie by her side so she could find little sea critters in tide pools. Or sometimes she’d crouch in the garden, hunting for bugs and earthworms. A day without getting her clothes stained with dirt or covered in sand was not a day well spent in Sofia’s eyes.

Ezra was on the shyer side. He became very bashful when talking to people he didn’t know well and would cling to Ella when they were visiting others in Camden. But he was curious in his own way. Often times, he would have long discussions with his father, simply asking endless questions about how things worked. Where the sun went at night, how did clocks know the time, how did the record player work, why did Cyril have a tail and he didn’t, how come birds fly, how big is the moon. Any little thing would pique his curiosity and he would rush to Alfie for information.

Trouble was, Alfie wasn’t too sure how to answer his questions most of the time. There were some things he could explain, but most of Ezra’s questions were beyond his expertise. It was a blessing, then, that Ezra learned to read at a very young age. He absorbed books like a sponge and it was hard to get him to stop reading and go to bed.

Their differing personalities positively enchanted Ella. Despite how difficult motherhood was, she was so happy to take the journey. Every day, her children surprised her and gave her another reminder of how blessed she was.

It was a difficult balance, trying to keep her children safe while still allowing them to have a relationship with their kin. It was easier to have them around the people from Camden. They grew up with the other children of Ella’s friends and came to know the people they would consider like aunts and uncles.

But with Birmingham, Ella was very cautious. She understood how easy it was to be swept up into the Shelby Company Limited. Her cousin Michael was a great example. Although raised outside of the family, once he was back in, there was no going back. Ella refused to allow her children to be roped in. Perhaps she was being over-skeptical of her own family. But she was willing to be over-cautious rather than let her guard down.

Still, she allowed her children to attend parties and holidays with the Shelby family. It was tense, at least in Ella’s shoes. She watched her brothers like a hawk whenever they were around the twins.

~~~~~~~~~~

One bright summer afternoon, while celebrating Finn’s birthday at Arrow House, Tommy came over to his sister.

She was sitting in the shade, watching her children play with their cousins on the lawn. Cyril and Anthea were running around with them, just as happy. Alfie was talking with Polly a bits away. The two had grown a well-formed relationship of respect. Polly liked that he had taken care of Ella all those years and Alfie appreciated Polly’s sanity.

Tommy took a seat beside his sister and pulled out a cigarette. He coughed a bit as he lit it.

“Y’know, some people are saying smoking is bad for you.” She said. “Maybe you should cut down.”

“Lots of things in life are bad for you.” He replied and took a drag from the cigarette anyways.

“Charlie looks so much like Grace now.” Ella did everything in her power to avoid arguments at family functions. She knew there was no point, nothing she could do would change anyone’s minds especially Tommy’s.

Charlie was kicking a football back and forth with Karl, trying to keep the ball from Anthea. He was so grown from the little toddler that he once was. He was nearly a teenager, had grown like a weed, and indeed was nearly the spitting image of his mother.

“He’s been asking about her,” Tommy told Ella. “He knows Lizzie isn’t his biological mother, so he’s been asking about Grace.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That we lost her before he was old enough to remember her. I gave him all the photographs I had of her. I don’t know what else to do.”

“I don’t think there’s much else you can do.” Ella shrugged.

The siblings went quiet for a moment. Tommy smoking and Ella watching the children play.

“Do you trust me, El?” He asked out of nowhere.

“Trust you?”

“Yeah.”

She glanced over at him to gauge whether he was trying to get a rise out of her or not. But he seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say. “Why are you asking that?”

“Because it seems like anytime I’m near Ezra or Sofia, you’re looking at me like I’m about to kidnap them or feed ‘em to a lion.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t even say that.”

“So, you completely trust me, then? I’m just overthinking things, aye?” He challenged.

Ella crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. “I don’t want to have this conversation with you.”

“You’re kin, Ella. They’re kin. Fuck it, even Alfie is kin by now. You really think I’m going to bring them harm?”

“I trust that you want what’s best for everyone. I trust that all those years ago, you made a conscious decision to help this family. I trust that maybe you didn’t anticipate all of this, and if you had known maybe you never would’ve done any of it. I know you’re a good man, Tommy. I know the person you were growing up. I just…I wish you would quit this. I thought so many times that this would be the one thing that would make you stop. But every time, no matter what happened, you kept at it. I know that if you don’t stop, you’ll be killed. And if that’s something you accept then…there’s nothing else I can do.” She sighed heavily. “But I have to protect my children from that fate. I know you don’t want this for our kids. You said so many times that if we had children, they would never grow up the same way we did. We were supposed to be the ones to stop the cycle, Tom.”

“I know.” He said in a rare tone of assent.

“I’m scared,” Ella admitted, trying to keep her composure for the sake of the party. “I’m so fucking scared of everything in this world now, Tommy.”

Tommy had always known his sister to be fearless. Now it seemed that motherhood had brought up new fears in her. Maybe because she knew what it was like to grow up poor in a dangerous neighborhood. She was familiar with guns before she even went to school. She’d seen death and violence at an early age. It was only a natural instinct to want better for her children. But it didn’t mean she had to have such a crippling fear of everything. “Things are gonna be alright, El.”

“That’s what Alfie says, that’s what everyone says but I’m not blind!” She exclaimed. “I know that it’s only a matter of time ‘fore…”

“Before what?” He asked gently.

Ella shook her head. “It’s a cycle, Tommy, it’s always a cycle. Do you know what I prayed for every night while you and Arthur and John were in France?”

Tommy could only imagine. She was so young back then. “I don’t-tell me.”

“I prayed that you three would all come back home safe. And when you did, I prayed that you’d all find nice women and settle down. I prayed that you would all have good lives and be at peace. But then I saw you at the train station and I knew that would never happen. The things you saw over there, the things that happened…I know why you three changed, I get it. But I never anticipated what would happen after that.”

“I know.”

Ella looked down at her hands, almost too tired to continue going around in circles with him. Facts were facts and the past was the past. “Do you think we’re going to go to war?”

Tommy nodded. “Yeah.”

She swallowed and chewed on her lip. “And that doesn’t scare you?”

What else could he say? His nightmares were growing more severe, the shovels were getting louder.

“It terrifies me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

After Finn’s birthday party, Ella felt a little more forgiving toward her family. Maybe if they understood her anxiety, she could trust them a bit more. She also knew that there was no use arguing with Tommy. Both of them understood what it felt like for their sanity to slowly trickle away. They understood what it felt to have the world on their shoulders. They were too alike to blame one another.

One night, back in Margate, Ella was coming in from bringing Cyril and Anthea out. She shrugged off her coat and hung up the dog leashes. Anthea bolted to Ezra’s bedroom while Cyril hobbled down the hall. The bullmastiff was getting up in age but still had the same docile demeanor he had when she had met him for the first time in London as a pup.

Ella gave the old dog a pat. “Good boy.” She said softly and followed him into Ezra’s room where Alfie was reading a bedtime story to the twins.

“My armor is like tenfold…”

“No, Smaug is still talking so you’ve gotta do the voice!” Ezra protested.

Alfie chuckled. “Alright, alright.” He cleared his throat and began to rumble in a deep, menacing voice. “My armor is like tenfold shields, my teeth are swords, my claws spears, the shock of my tail is a thunderbolt, my wings a hurricane, and my breath…death!” He read from The Hobbit dramatically.

Sofia and Ezra laughed, delighted by all the voices their father did for every book he read them. It was commonplace. Alfie always read to them even if he struggled with the strain on his one good eye and often got headaches.

The eight-year-old twins were always insistent that he read to them, and Alfie wasn’t exactly complaining. He loved their rapt expressions as he read. Sofia often laid on the bed, petting Cyril or Anthea as she imagined the scene her father was describing. Ezra cuddled up close to Alfie in the crook of his arm so he could try and read along with his father. Sometimes he’d stop Alfie and point to a word he didn’t understand, asking for the definition.

Sometimes, Ella would sit in just to spend those last few moments of the day with her family. But that night, it had grown too late.

“It’s late, my loves.” She interrupted.

Sofia looked up and pulled a pout. “Nooooo, mummy it’s not that late!”

“It’s summer!” Ezra chimed in.

“It is quite late.” Ella walked into the room.

“Mum’s right.” Alfie dog-eared the page in the book and began to untangle himself from the children, Ezra on his arm and Sofia sprawled over his legs.

“But dad hasn’t finished the chapter,” Ezra whined.

“S’a long chapter, mate.” His father stood and helped him under the covers. “We’ll pick up on the rest of it tomorrow.” He promised. “Not much left of this book anyhow, don’t want to go storming through the rest. Best we take our time ‘n savor it, aye?” He scooped Sofia up so he could bring her to her bedroom.

Ella tucked Ezra in and kissed his forehead. “Goodnight my love.”

Cyril took his place in his bed on the floor of Ezra’s room. It was remarkable because the old dog liked sleeping in the little boy’s room. Ella guessed it was because Ezra spent so much time inside reading with Cyril snoozing beside him on the sofa. Meanwhile, Anthea chose to sleep in Sofia’s room. She was very fond of the little girl who always took her out for adventures outside.

So, Anthea followed them as they brought Sofia across the hall. She hopped up on the bed and curled up by Sofia’s feet.

Alfie and Ella kissed her goodnight before retiring to their own bedroom.

Ella sank into bed as Alfie got ready for the night.

“Y’know, I like the voices you do too.” She commented.

“Aye?” He chuckled.

“Your dragon voice is very nice.”

“Nice?” He grinned and tossed his shirt to the side. Striding over, he grabbed his wife’s ankles to tug her down the bed.

She stifled a squeal and giggled. “Alfie!”

“Hush now. Don’t go waking up the whole house.” He murmured in a low voice and began to creep up her body until they were face to face.

“Or what? You’ll eat me up?” She teased; her heart started to flutter in her chest. After years of being together, Alfie still never failed to make her swoon. It felt like every night she fell in love with him all over again. Whether they made love or she simply just fell asleep in his arms.

He laughed and captured her lips with his. One hand pressed into the bed while the other lightly grazed down her side before resting on her thigh.

When he drew back, she wove her fingers into his hair and pecked his lips a few more times. “I love you, Alfie Solomons.” She murmured.

“And I love you too, Ella Solomons.” He replied, looking down at her with so much adoration in his eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

August 1940, the Solomons family traveled out to Small Heath. The twins’ birthday had been a few days earlier but they were now going to celebrate with Ella’s side of the family.

It was a strange time to be celebrating anything. The continent was at war yet again. It had been almost a year since Britain declared war and started to mobilize. Ella got horrifying flashbacks off the time her brothers had been at war. It was so difficult to fathom that they would live through a repeat of the Great War. But this time, eyes were turned to the next generation. The generation that had been too young to fight, now they were ready.

Ella urged Polly to do everything she could to keep the Peaky boys off the front lines. But it was futile, not with how headstrong they all were, and not with the draft initiated.

Now they could all only hope this war wouldn’t last as long as the first one did. They could only hope it wouldn’t be as gruesome and wouldn’t claim as many lives.

“Erdington then Castle Bromwich,” Arthur muttered under his breath as he stood by the kitchen counter, drink in hand.

“They’re trying to get a better target.” Tommy agreed with a grim look.

“Enough.” Polly shushed the men, pointing a cake knife at them. “No talk of the war, not tonight. Let the children be children.”

“Sorry, Pol,” Arthur mumbled.

Of course, the war was on all of their minds. It was nearly impossible to ignore it.

Polly brought the two cakes over to set in front of Sofia and Ezra. As she lit the candles, the family gathered around the table and began to sing Happy Birthday.

Ella was ready with her camera to take a picture of them as Alfie stood behind them, with a proud look on his face.

But the moment didn’t last long.

A loud explosion rocked the very ground and was almost immediately followed by a high pitched siren that had become so common to hear in the cities.

The men who fought reacted the quickest. Alfie grabbed Sofia and Ezra by the hand and hurried them to the cellar doors. Polly gathered the rest of the children as Arthur hurried them all along. Ella set her camera down on the table and blew out the birthday candles so they wouldn’t catch anything on fire. Tommy shut the lights off in the house, making sure everything was off upstairs as well.

Once dark, he glanced out the window.

“Tommy, c’mon.” Ella urged and grabbed her brother by the arm.

The two headed downstairs where the rest of the family was hiding out from the air raid.

They knew it was a possibility it was a false alarm. There had been dozens. But there was no telling either way.

“Mummy!” Sofia wailed.

“I’m here, I’m here.” Ella hushed her softly and gathered her into her arms. Alfie held her and the twins close, gently soothing them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t a false alarm. Bombs shook the city with such intensity that everyone in the cellar was praying silently or out loud. It felt like they were down there for days when it was mere hours.

No one could sleep that night. In the morning, Ella left the house, she couldn’t listen to the radio anymore. She walked down to the Bullring and found it in ruins. The buildings had been gutted and ash was covering the ground.

It was nearly impossible to fully comprehend. People around her stood and stared at the scene in shock as well. Some were crying, others were too lost to react.

Ella was in such a state that she didn’t notice Tommy standing next to her for a good while. When she did, she glanced up at him.

He saw the same scared little girl who asked her older brothers not to go to France. She was too afraid they wouldn’t come back. She was still there, the scared girl who was afraid of what war would bring her family.

“I’ve got a few leads on houses in the countryside. Plenty of space for you and the kids.” Tommy said quietly.

“We have Margate.”

“Alfie wants to stay away from any city or town. Anything that might become a target. The country is the best option.”

“You spoke to him?”

“Last night.”

Ella’s stomach was in knots. “Okay.”

He nodded. “Stay in Margate until then.”

“We will.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Alfie was still at the flat with the rest of the family when Ella returned. He was sitting by the radio with Arthur, both of them silent. Ezra was laying on the carpet, drawing while Sofia sat on Alfie’s lap.

Arthur turned the volume down a bit when his sister came in. “Alright, El?”

“Yeah, I think we’re going to go back to Margate.” She said quietly.

Alfie nodded. “Sof and Ez go get your things, yeah?”

The kids got up to gather their things as Alfie stood up from the armchair. “Did Tommy talk to you about our plan?”

She nodded. “Yeah, he did.”

“That’s okay?”

“We need to keep them safe.” She concluded. “Anyway, we can.”

“Okay.” He kissed her forehead and rubbed her shoulder.

~~~~~~~~~~

It didn’t take long before Tommy bought the Solomons a place in the countryside. A lovely little home with a sprawling garden and plenty of space for the twins and the dogs.

He saw them off at the train station. Most likely, it would be some time before they saw one another again. Knowing Ella, she would keep her children in the safest possible place until they were guaranteed safety in the outside world. Tommy knew he had to respect that.

“Bye Uncle Tommy.” Ezra and Sofia chimed off, each giving him a big hug.

“Be good for mum and dad, aye?” He said gently. “Make sure you give everyone a call once and a while, okay?”

“Okay!”

“Tom.” Alfie gave his brother-in-law a hearty handshake. “Thanks, mate.”

“Of course.”

Ella swallowed her tears as she hugged Tommy next. “Thank you.”

�� “I should’ve done this for you when you asked all those years ago. When you wanted to be free and safe.”

“I never would’ve met Alfie if you did.” She pointed out with a tearful smile.

“I guess so.” He chuckled and let go of her.

“Right, ready then?” Alfie helped the kids up into the car of the train then held a hand out to his wife.

She nodded. “Ready.”

-The end

//Thank you to everyone who stuck around for this long! It was so hard to end this but I leave the rest up to season 6 and see how things go from there. Huge thanks to my tag lists. If you’re interested my masterlist of all my oneshots and series are pinned to the top of my blog and my requests are open.I’m currently working on a new Alfie series so stay tuned. In the mean time I have a lot of Alfie one shots with more on the way as well as plenty of Tommy content.

Thank you again!

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @giftofdreams @biba3434 @kimmietea @karmezii @enrapturedbythemoon @vampgirl1997 @tarafaithe @evelynshelby

Tag list: @deaflikehawkeye @octaviareina @mylovelykelsifer @doubletriplepowerbomb @ramblingbaby @fuseburner @kaetastic

Masterpost

PB Masterlist

96 notes · View notes

archadianskies · 4 years

Text

Whumptober Day 23

Exhaustion + Sleep Deprivation → part of the MT-RK900

Whumptober Masterlist | 23/31 of RK900 short stories ↳ on Ao3

Tags: Post-Pacifist Best Ending x Exhaustion x Sleep Deprivation

{Character sheet + bonus art here, and here. }

It starts small, starts as barely noticeable symptoms that can easily be mistaken for something else. Nothing is easily mistaken to him, nothing is ever dismissed casually, not when he deals with people’s lives on a daily basis. That includes the lives of his colleagues too, and today, specifically, it involves the lives of his human colleagues.

“Dr Fitzpatrick, you are exhibiting the initial signs of influenza.” He tells his senior, the Director of the trauma unit and his attending leader for the shift. “It is best to take precautionary measures and time off to recuperate whilst removing yourself from possibly infecting others.”

“What?” She blinks at him, brows creased and lips pursed in a frown. “It’s been a long shift, that’s all.” He says nothing, though his expression must say a lot because her frown deepens. “You’re sure?”

“With adequate care you will recover much quicker and stop the spread amongst our colleagues, than if you were to continue working and possibly, quite rapidly, infect others.” Ronan says evenly. “Influenza season is already underway, we are treating more and more patients everyday and we have had three deaths already.”

She gives him a long hard look, searching his face for some sort of reaction before she sighs tiredly. “Are there others on the team you think might have it?”

“There are four possible nurses, one clerk, and two registrars also exhibiting early signs.” Ronan informs her and she groans into her hand, rubbing her temples.

“It’s not up to me to give others time off, you know.”

“I know. But you can speak to the right staff, and I can give them my findings.” He nods.

“We’re run off our feet already, and you’re rostered at Jericho for the next three days!”

“I can change that. Androids are not susceptible to influenza, and aside from the cold weather affecting some of the older models, we weather winter well.” He glances at the door. “If you can help arrange it, I will stay on for the week and use mainly a team mostly made up of the other android nurses here, minimising the risk of infection amongst the staff.”

“Ronan, you- that’s insane! No one can work an entire week, especially not in trauma!”

“No human can, but I am not human.” Ronan reminds her gently, and he knows she is tired and she knows he is counting on this. She relents, shoulders sagging.

“Four days. Not seven. Four, and I will aim to be back by then.” She points her finger at him accusingly. “Don’t you dare take on more than you can handle. You’re the best trauma surgeon I’ve ever worked with, so god help me if you run yourself ragged because you’re too damn nice!”

So it begins. After careful negotiations the ration rises from five human nurses for every one android nurse, to two humans per one android. Ronan assigns various amounts of memory in his processing core to take over the clerical duties, and the E.D. phone is now answered by an ST300 temporarily stepping in from reception. This means she can answer the call and feed the information directly onto his HUD for ease of triaging. He keeps patient charts in a digital folder, and medication schedules, and theatre bookings.

He utilises programming that would normally be used for listing mission objectives and keeping tabs on the status of other soldiers in his battalion, for good instead, for saving lives and managing their care. At the seventieth hour mark, one of the android nurses pass him a bottle of thirium and he drains it, belatedly realising his levels are below optimum given how fast he is burning through it due to the high number of processes he is running. No matter. He will continue.

At the eightieth hour, he receives a concerned message from Simon while he is operating on a stabbing victim. The knife penetrated into the victim’s small bowel and it is a race against time to repair the damage. He manages to send Simon a quick reassuring message that yes he is fine, but will not be able to come home for some time yet. Dr Fitzpatrick had said four days but he knows it will not be four days. He will need longer because the humans will need longer. It is alright. He is an RK900, CyberLife’s latest cutting edge android. He can manage.

As predicted, Dr Fitzpatrick does not return after four days. No matter. Ronan powers on, temporarily rotating out the last of the human nurses as a precautionary measure as a surge of new influenza patients floods the hospital. Humans are woefully unprepared for the season due to a lot of factors, be they socio-economic or just plain ignorance. There was a pandemic his father lived through, with many wild tales of humans simply ignoring even the basic, primitive safety measures attempted. It does not surprise Ronan to see so many victims this season either, given all that Hank has told him about those ‘unprecedented times’.

There is no time to stand under the charging bay downlights. There has been a shooting and there are multiple victims en route to the hospital. And hours before that, there had been a multi vehicle crash on the highway. And hours before that, there was a case of food poisoning at a children’s party which meant Ronan had to call the paediatric registrar for extra help. There is never a good time, and so he has to be conservative about power usage to ensure he can still handle the workload safely.

“Your hair is white.” One of the nurses whisper to him as they’re scrubbing up for yet another surgery. Ah. His stress levels must be high. He hasn’t checked- he turned off his notifications ten hours ago.

“I am functioning adequately. It is only cosmetic.” He reassures them with words, and he’s glad there’s a mask over his mouth because he hasn’t quite mastered how to give reassuring smiles to match.

“You’ve been on call for five days, nearly six now.” They’re brows crease in concern and beneath their mask Ronan knows they are frowning. “You’ve given all of us an hour break every eight hours to ensure we have enough time to charge adequately. You’ve done this for all android staff except yourself!”

“There is no other android qualified for surgery.” He reminds them, flicking through the patient’s stats and passing them on to the surgical team. “So I cannot rest.”

On the first surgery on his sixth consecutive day as the trauma surgeon on call, Ronan finds that the bulbs in the surgical downlights have been replaced with UV charging lights. The same nurse who raised concerns earlier gives him a somewhat stern, no-nonsense look.

“So you can charge while you operate.” A compromise, he realises, and a very kind one too. He gets to work, and he feels the tension unwind from his shoulders, his battery core soaking up the charge as the lights bear down on him. It’s not quite stasis, not quite reprieve from the onslaught of duties, but it’s close.

“Simon?” Dr Anthea looks up from her tablet, blinking in surprise as the Jericho leader stands in the doorway of her office. “What can I do for you?”

“Ronan is still at Detroit Metro.” The PL600 chews his bottom lip, wringing his hands together anxiously. “It’s been six whole days straight and he stopped answering my messages on the fourth day.”

“Yes he’s temporarily removed himself from our roster to manage Detroit Metro ED while the human staff recover from the flu.” She sighs, shaking her head. “He’s very much like you, you know: he’ll work himself ragged for the sake of others.” Not quite the answer Simon hopes to hear, she’s sure, but it’s the one she’s giving because she’s right. She’s heard the tales from Professor Joshua. She knows during Jericho’s early stage, Simon nearly died keeping everyone safe and functioning.

“I just- I’ve left so many messages at reception and though the receptionist assures me she’s passed them on, I can’t help but feel like he literally won’t stop unless he’s physically unable to keep working.” Simon gives her a pained look to which she can only reply with a cocked brow.

“Like you, Simon?”

“Well- alright, yes, like me!” Simon huffs, and it coaxes a laugh from her as the PL600 looks torn between embarrassment and determination. “You are the only android surgeon still qualified to work at human hospitals. To work at that human hospital.” He says it quietly, with caution, because they both know that was a different part of her life. Not an unpleasant one, definitely not, given she deviated out of empathy, out of kindness, but still a different chapter now put behind her. She has the qualifications because she never bothered to give them up like the other medroids. Sentimentality, perhaps, because Detroit Metro had been her home for so very long and to still see a valid ID badge gives her a little spark of joy whenever she opens her drawer.

“Please?” Simon of the Jericho Four is pleading with her and she knows she cannot deny him a single thing, lovely and courageous and prone to martyrdom as he is.

It’s been eight days, twice the number of days she thought she’d need, but she’s feeling strong and healthy and definitely not weighed down by any symptoms anymore. Damn that android and his perceptive, persuasive ways. She both hates and loves how he’d been right, and yes he’s been running an incredibly tight ship here in her absence, though she wonders which other staff he’s rostered on to replace him because obviously he hasn’t been working the entire eight days straight. Right? Surely not. Obviously not. She warned him she’d be Very Cross if he worked more than four days.

“Nicola?” She turns at the voice and there, right there is Medroid Anthea. The surgeon she shoved into an ambulance with as many android nurses as she could find when racing through the unit after that horrible announcement androids had to be surrendered to the police. Not on her watch, no damn way.

“Anthea.” She smiles, though a little puzzled. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, you’ve worn my best surgeon down to his bones here so I’m coming back as a favour, just so he gets rest.” There’s a pause as she lets that sink in.

“Are you telling me Ronan’s been here the entire time?! All eight days?!” She nearly explodes with anger and Anthea cocks a perfectly arched brow in that gesture she hasn’t realised she’s missed seeing so much. They made such a great team.

“Why do you sound like you didn’t know this?”

“Because I didn’t! I’ve been on sick leave, recovering from the flu! Oh that boy, honestly!”

“Simon’s here to drag him home, and I’m here for his shift.” Anthea smiles as she clips her ID onto her scrubs. “Just like old times?”

She’s smiling so hard her cheeks ache. “Yeah. Just like old times.”

Simon can’t even stay angry with him. The anger just seeps out of him the moment he sees how exhausted Ronan looks, his hair stark white meaning his stress levels are at their peak given the weather isn’t cold enough to activate his tundra camouflage. He’d demanded his stats and the RK900 had given them with great embarrassment and Simon realised he’d been so very close to just shutting down to conserve what pitiful charge he had left. Honestly.

“You’re mad at me.” Ronan says quietly as Simon ushers him inside the apartment.

“I was.” Simon hangs up their coats before wrapping his arms around his waist and pressing his cheek to his chest. “Couldn’t stay mad, though. I know why you did it.”

“I had to help.”

“I know, love. I know.” Simon sighs, looking up at him fondly. “Because you’re a good, kind person and a wonderful colleague.”

Ronan says nothing, only offers a small smile before leaning down to bump his nose against his fondly.

“Right.” Simon declares with a nod, stepping back, grabbing his wrist and tugging him to their bedroom. “I’m putting you under the lights for a six hour charge and you are not leaving the bed a second earlier.”

“Yes, doctor.” Ronan smiles tiredly, pausing only to press their lips together in quiet gratitude before he lays down and closes his eyes.

#rk900 #simon pl600 #simon900 #Detroit: Become Human #whumptober #annie writes: dbh #yes i ship anthea and nicola #they can be doctor wives

7 notes · View notes

somefantasticplace · 3 years

Text

MISTER AND MISTER

We asked comedians Vic and Bob the same questions in separate rooms. Then we compared their answers…

HERE for pictures.

What are the rules in your relationship? Is there a line that you'd never cross?

Vic: We've never needed to have rules - apart from who makes the tea next. We never speak to each other on the phone unless it's to say, 'I'm not coming in today,' or 'Will you bring some milk in?’ We have completely functional phone calls because we see each other every day. We live about 10 miles away from each other. We're very medieval in that we do all our writing with a pen and paper. Bob tends to hold the pen more and write things down more, but that's entirely down to my idleness. I have to do the drawings because his drawings are indecipherable.

Bob: If we don't want to work, we don't have to and we never make an issue of it. We never phone up and say, 'I'm really sorry, I've got to do this or that.' We just say, 'I'm not working today. See you tomorrow.' We're both quite unassertive, so there's no obvious dominance. It could be [why neither of them is the straight man]. We compromise - it's unspoken. We talk about most stuff, but not sexual things. I don't know why that is. You always imagine that everyone else does. If he's been out with a lass, I'll say 'So how did it go?' I don't really ask anything like, 'Did she have nice tits?'

Tell us a secret about the other.

Vic: He's got an anal dysfunction. Let's just say there's some kind of angle involved. He backfires.

Bob: He collects a percentage of his used condoms in a jar and keeps them. He does! Last time I saw it was in his house. So there you are!

What surprises can we expect in the new BBC TV series of Randall & Hopkirk (Deceased)?

Vic: I think the best bit is a very camp psychedelic episode, set in a big toy shop, with giant puppets and evil mannequins. it's got that late-60s Avengers feel. I fly through the air a lot. I was hurled down a corridor by a flaming man [no need to swear- ed]. No, he was on fire. It's always good working with Tom Baker. When we're together we camp it right up. He even gives me a kiss - it's quite full on and I wasn't expecting it. He was telling me something really close up and he finished off by grabbing hold of my face and going mwwwwwww. I was pretty startled. You don't think, 'Oh, he's a good kisser!' You think, 'What's he doing?'

Bob: There's one bit where we're in a jungle and Derek Jacobi is in a wheelchair with his face peeled off; Dervla Kirwan is on a sex machine (a punishment machine that gives women orgasms continually until they hate it); Emilia Fox is having a fight with a huge lady prison officer; and I'm being beaten up by two huge men. It's a lovely little tableau.

Hopkirk (Vic) is Randall's (Bob's) spectral minder. Who would you choose as your spirit guide?

Vic: Don Johnson from Miami Vice because he'd be suave. Or Michael Knight from Knight Rider. Or Peter Glaze [of Crackrjack]. He was quite short with little round specs and he'd look good if he appeared behind a bush in spectral form.

Bob: it would probably be quite good to have Jim [Vic's real name is Jim Moir]. He'd do anything you asked. I'd get him to spy on people and report back. I think he'd Iove it. I don't suppose he could carry a camcorder, but I'd like to see images from D-grade celebrities’ homes and Jim would be up for doing that. I'd send him to spy on Anthea and Grant. Could it be true that no one watched Anthea's show? I take no pleasure in that. I just couldn't believe her viewing figure was zero. You'd think Grant would have tuned in, though.

Who has the better sense of style?

Vic: Bob has his own particular sense of style, which I admire. He’s a very clean man, but he wears dirty clothes. I admire that because he pulls it off. He sometimes buys unsightly shoes and I'll say, ‘I think we should burn them.' I've burned a lot of clothing and taken photographs of it. I took a photograph of a pair of old woman's shoes on fire beneath a standing stone with a pool around the bottom. I had eight copies printed; I'm going to frame them and offer them out at Christmas.

Bob: I have no sense of style and I get a lot of abuse for it. But I'm beginning to think that I'm the more stylish man because I have no style. I don't buy anything. This is all bought for me by my girlfriend [points to his chunky sweater and scuffed jeans]. I hate male perfumes, male jewellers. I hate walking into a room and the first thing people see is your suit.

Vic/Jim has said: 'People can't seem to understand that Vic is just a character I play.' Are they two different people?

Vic: It just goes back to the fact that not many people can pronounce Moir [rhymes with lawyer]. I changed my name because I was only going to do one night - and I thought it was right for that night. 'Vic' is when I'm on TV.

Bob: I think Vic and Jim are one and the same.

Who would you least like to be chained to a radiator with?

Vic: Terry Waite. Or Donald Duck. I don't like the way he looks, I don't like the way he speaks. His attitude is all wrong. And his nephews! If they were chained as well I'd slit my throat. Eat them? I'm not sure anyone's ever eaten a cartoon yet.

Bob: Bubble from Big Brother. I'd probably irritate him - it wouldn't be a good mix. I think Vic would pick Bigfoot out of Bigfoot And 7he Hendersons - that big hairy thing.

You wake up one day to discover you are women. What kind of women would you be?

Vic: Probably much the same as the men that we are. Vaguely interesting. I don't think we'd be smart. Eclectic. I'd be wearing Victorian clothing, a high-necked, long, black dress, looking like a widow. Or Miss Havisham in Great Expectations. Dusty and dowdy.

Bob: I'd be the same as I am. I’d be a mummy. I’d be like Nigella Lawson, but anonymous. Jim, he would be like Ulrika.

Complete the following: I’d die if I ever had to… again.

Vic: …live.

Bob: I couldn’t face doing the conveyancing on a house again. I used to do that in another life.

How do you make your kids laugh?

Vic: Stupid walks, fart jokes – they always win. I can’t fart to order, but I can belch to order. Words always make kids laugh. You’ve got to get on their level and sing things like, ‘There’s a woman on a bike, wike, thike, nike, fike, like.’ They love it.

Bob: Repeating a non-word such as ‘uballah’ over and over, very loudly – that seems to get them going. Or walking like a monkey.

What would you never, ever lend the other?

Vic: My car [a Jaguar], as he’s always crashing cars. The interior of his car [a Lexus] is like a council tip. When we were filming, we had a boot sale and put everything from his car on a trestle table. There was cat litter, one shoe, a bra, plants, food, jam – everything you could possibly imagine - stashed away. He doesn't have his cars long. I'd say it takes him about an hour and a half to fill one and perhaps two hours to wreck it.

Bob: My dog and my cats. He'd be useless. He'd probably feed them the wrong stuff.

How do you know when he's down and how do you help him snap out of it?

Vic: I ring up Middlesbrough Football Club and tell them to pull their finger out. He doesn't know I do this. He gets into a terrible depression if they aren't doing very well, but that's the only time he does get depressed. He always cheers me up with his cheeky grin.

Bob: I don't bother, he's always down, so there's no worries.

Who has the better body?

Vic: My body is turning into what it was like as a young boy - there's nothing there really. Bob's is very manly - a big hairy chest, broad and brawny. I'm in pretty good shape. I do a lot of walking. But Bob's in better shape than he's ever been. He has this secretive world where he does a lot of digging. He moves gravel around and stuff like that.

Bob: We fluctuate. You'll see photo of him sixth months before and he'll be as trim as a tuppence. But at this moment in time, I might be able to top him. One thing Jim does is put weight on his face. If he's had a Christmas where he's scoffed and drank for a week, it all goes on his face.

If you could send the other on a course, what would it be?

Vic: Fly-fishing. I think he's got a secret wish to be a fisherman. We've been fishing about twice in 10 years. I think it's something he'd be into. I think he'd also benefit from learning how to draw. I would imagine his children can draw better than him.

Bob: An assertiveness training weekend. He came into work yesterday and said, 'The builders are after me for money.' I said, 'Have they done owt?' He says, 'Not that I can see.' So I said, 'It's very difficult, Jim, but when they phone up, if they haven't done the kitchen, the dining room and the bedroom, at least say, "Could you have the kitchen finished by five?" before you give them the cash.' He says 'Yeah, I'll try and get something out of them.' So he phones the builder and says, 'So you want some money? I'll put the cheque in the kitchen drawer.' He couldn't do it!

You’re in a room full of smart, beautiful women. Who do they gravitate towards?

Vic: Neither of us, I'm convinced. They'd probably turn their backs us. Maybe they'd gather around Bob first because they'd want to mother him and I think that's the first urge of a group of beautiful women in a room.

Bob. Jim. He's sassy. He's a single man and there's an air about him. You wouldn't notice me walking into a room.

Could you order for each other in restaurant?

Vic: Definitely. He'd have what you consider old person's food - tongue, potatoes and cabbage, and a steamed pudding with custard, with tea or a lager. If he chose for me, he'd go for something more obscure. If there was something odd on the menu, I'd try it.

Bob: Jim always has the most bizarre thing on the menu. He likes to try things. He'd order me potatoes.

If you were invisible for a day, where would you hang out?

Vic: Can I breathe underwater or be ethereal? I'd float over the capital and blow down chimneys and through windows at quite high speed. I wouldn't be that interested in spying on anyone. I might like to creep into a tiger's cage or maybe get inside an apple. I wouldn't find anything interesting in being a peeping Tom. I'd rather spy on a cat than a person.

Bob: I'm tempted to say at Grant and Anthea's again, but the truth, of course, is that I'd hang around wherever in 24 hours you'd see the most nude women.

How far would you go for friendship? Would you: a) lend him your underpants; b) give him your kidney; c) help him on the toilet?

Vic: a) I wouldn't want to wear his underpants. Have you seen the state of them? b) I'd give him my kidney, depending on how many I had spare on my plate. He'd enjoy it. c) I would help him on the toilet, yes, if I had to.

Bob: a) Yes, I'm sure I would. b) Can you survive with only one? I'd think about it. c) Yes, definitely.

What is the other's most irritating habit?

Vic: He would probably say blowing his nose on his clothing. But he quite often leaves some marmalade or something on the front seat of his car, so, when you get in, you really need to put a towel down first.

Bob: Not buying drinks.

What's the most endearing thing he's ever done?

Vic: Just being him really. He always makes me laugh. We're not present givers. We ignore Christmases and birthdays.

Bob: There's lots. He bought me a very rare record, which surprised me. It was an original copy of Free Live! He always looks after me. With the odd lives we have, we do have to look out for each other. It's one of the stabilising things about being in a double act. You can't start being poncey because you've got the other person with you. You can help each other out.

What scares you?

Vic: I've got a terrible fear of heights. Before I pass out, the sky comes in and I start ducking.

Bob: The thought of my children getting hurt. You see something on the telly and think, 'God, if that were them, I couldn't bear it.'

Do you go on holiday together?

Vic: We do. We've been off on our own a few times - we've been on motorcycling holidays, we've been camping. We're probably quite insular. We act like children.

Bob: On holiday, he's a bit too busy for me. He can't sit down. We're in a cafe and I just like watching people. He'll be saying, 'Have you finished your fag? Come on!'

If the partnership ended tomorrow, what would you both be good at?

Vic: I'd probably just paint pictures. I think he'd like being a gardener or maybe do up houses.

Bob: I'd like to be a gardener, if I was financially able to just garden. I can't act, so I wouldn't go down that line. Jim does it already, but I suppose he'd like to paint.

What sort of old people will you be?

Vic: I will sit in an old people's home, staring out of the window, listening to a distant Alsatian. I've often imagined myself sitting on a park bench with a dusty novel. And a bottle of milk. If they stop putting milk in bottles, I'll be cantankerous and lead the march to Trafalgar Square to reinstate bottles of milk. I'd imagine Bob would be very much the same, but he'd be sitting on a dusty chair with a bottle of milk watching the TV - anything that's on. He's a channel hopper.

Bob: Quite traditional, really: nice tweed suits, brogues, lonely. Together would be nice. We would probably be... [sighs at the inevitability] in a pub.

Former solicitor Bob Mortimer (42) was born only a few months and a few miles apart from Vic Reeves in Middlesbrough . They didn't meet until 1986 when Vic was performing at the Goldsmith's Tavern in London. Vic thought Bob was 'quite quiet' but it transpired he was eating a macaroon and didn't want to talk with his mouth full. Bob lives with his girlfriend Lisa Matthews and their children Harry (4) and Tom (3) in Kent .

Vic Reeves (42, James Roderick Moir to the Inland Revenue] lives in Kent with his wife Sarah (though they are separated) and their children, Alice (8), and Louis (4). It’s just down the road from Bob, at whose house they write every day. The two have had many series on TV including Shooting Stars, Families At War and Bang Bang It’s Reeves & Mortimer. Vic has also published a book of his paintings, sunboiledonions (Michael Joseph, £12.99).

Eve

Nov 2001

2 notes · View notes

uppastthejelliclemoon · 3 years

Note

Tumbletta for the OTP ask? Or, if that's already been sent, Miela/Coricopat?

Tumbletta

Coffee shop AU: Who is the barista, and who frequents the coffee shop? Easy!! Just look at the Coffee Shop AU @queen-with-the-quill wrote a while back! Hestia is the barista and Tumblebrutus frequents the coffee shop with Mungojerrie! He goes there to visit Hestia to be a good friend 😌(liES)

Highschool/College AU: Who is the straight-A student, and who’s the backrow slacker? Tumblebrutus is the straight-A student who has to tutor dancer Hestia when her grades fall behind because of competitions and rehearsals.

Rivals to loves AU: Who takes their rivalry seriously, and who is half in it just to push the other’s buttons? (going off of the above question because I cannot resist a nerd/jock pairing, and this is a dynamic I’d love to explore in a short with Tumbletta because I think it’d be adorable) Tumblebrutus just wants a good rivalry, dammit, but Hestia takes after her rockstar dad, and just loves seeing him blush whenever she gets to flirt with the pretty nerd.

Enemies to lovers AU: Which one switches sides? OH THIS CAN GO BOTH WAYS OKAY SO!!!! Henchcat Tumble AU, but it happens way earlier: Instead of Jellylorum and Asparagus finding Tumblebrutus and Pouncival, it’s Fang, Macavity’s second-in-command. Fang ends up raising the two as henchcats (not as his sons), and later on, Tumblebrutus and Hestia have their encounter, it’’s a very “Kiara and Kovu”-type moment, Tumblebrutus would absolutely switch sides for Hestia. OR Going off of another AU that @queen-with-the-quill and I came up with a while ago where Hestia and Jubilee were henchcats of Macavity’s, I can see a different take on that AU where Hestia ends up leaving Macavity’s side for her sister and Tumblebrutus. Either way, they both leave Macavity’s side for the Jellicles and there’s a happy ending!

Soulmate AU: Who is eager to meet their soulmate? Who absolutely does not want to meet their soulmate? Tumblebrutus would be ECSTATIC to meet his soulmate. He sees his parents together, how happy Jellylorum and Asparagus are together, he got to see the moment that Alonzo and Cassandra met each other, and that’s all he wants. He wants to have that happiness. He’d grow up dreaming about the day he’d get to meet them, about what he’d wear, what he’d say, where’d they go on their first date, he couldn’t wait. Hestia wouldn’t want to meet her soulmate. She’s seen that soulmates don’t always work. Her grandmother left her grandfather, and they were soulmates. Her mother was her fathers’ soulmate, and she died, leaving them with a broken soulbond, even though they managed to pick up the pieces. Her aunt was her biological father’s soulmate, and he broke her heart. Hestia’s seen soulmates fall apart and leave, so she’d be terrified.

Single parent AU: Which one is the single parent? (Alt. if they’re both single parents: Which one is open to starting a new relationship from the start? Which one is never planning on finding love again… Until they meet the other and are instantly smitten?) Hestia’s the single mother of Charon, and Tumblebrutus is the single dad of Anthea. Their kids meet at daycare, and it’s actually through their brothers that they end up meeting. Ares and Pouncival invite their families to dinner so everyone can meet, and that’s where Hestia and Tumblebrutus meet and eventually hit it off quite well. Charon and Anthea are delighted to see one another, and rush off to play, while Hestia and Tumblebrutus keep a close eye on them while they chat. Ares and Pouncival watch their sister and brother closely, and not-so-subtly give each-other a victorious high-five.

Doctor AU: Which one is the longsuffering doctor? Which one is the patient? Hestia is the Very Tired Doctor, and Tumblebrutus is the patient who broke something because he was doing a stupid trick that his brother dared him to do, and he makes her laugh by telling terrible jokes, and asks her out for coffee once she sets his arm, and she signs her name on his cast, and writes her number right below it.

Bodyguard AU: Who is the bodyguard? Who are they protecting? Which one is secretly pining for the other? Pffft you act as if I haven’t already written this storyline in my head for the unpublished Mafia AU👉👈. Tumblebrutus is Hestia’s bodyguard in the AU, and they’re both crushing on each other, and Tugger, Mistoffelees, and Serafina are 100% supportive, and Hestia’s siblings and Plato and Pouncival tease the two relentlessly about their crushes.

Pirate AU: Who is the pirate? Who is the member of the royal family who did not sign up for this? 😌I’ve got two AUs for this 😌Pirate Hestia and Prince Tumblebrutus who is captured by evil pirate Macavity, then rescued by the very Pretty Pirate Lady and her crew, and is Not Mad about it at all OR (the one that’s currently in the works) Pirate Tumbllebrutus and Mermaid/Siren Princess Hestia who find themselves working together to free Tumblebrutus and his crewmates from their captain, Growltiger.

Childhood best friends AU: Which one was super obviously in love with the other the whole time? Who was oblivious until they were older? Well, this one is different... since they’ve been friends for so long, the fact that they’re in love romantically was surprising, and obvious to everyone around them except for Tumblebrutus and Hestia. They’re both absolutely oblivious to the fact that the other is in love with them once they’re older, and doesn’t want to ruin their friendship by confessing. Because they’re idiots.

Mielicopat

Coffee shop AU: Who is the barista, and who frequents the coffee shop? Coricopat as a quiet, shy barista, and Miela as the bubby, 8 am customer who comes in every single morning and orders the exact same thing. Coricopat quickly has her order memorized, Tantomile and Rumpleteazer 100% tease him about it, it’s basically just mutual pining the entire time until finally Rumpleteazer writes Coricopat’s number on Miela’s coffee cup before he can do anything.

Highschool/College AU: Who is the straight-A student, and who’s the backrow slacker? okay but here me out... I know it’s not the usual vibe for Cori but... skater Cori... I think it fits him very well... so that’s what I’m going with. And Miela’s the straight-A student that he secretly has a massive crush on and Miela wishes he would because she thinks he’s really cute and really cool but they’re both very dumb and do not realize it.

Rivals to loves AU: Who takes their rivalry seriously, and who is half in it just to push the other’s buttons? Oh, they both love pushing each other’s buttons. Their rivalry would be the kind that the other one thinks it’s a real type of rivalry, but it really isn’t.

Enemies to lovers AU: Which one switches sides? Miela would switch to Coricopat’s side, whichever side that would be. She’ll side with those she loves no matter what, and that’s her biggest flaw, but if Coricopat’s on one side, and she’s on the other, once she realizes that she loves him, she’ll switch sides almost instantly.

Soulmate AU: Who is eager to meet their soulmate? Who absolutely does not want to meet their soulmate? Miela’s very eager to meet her soulmate and share all her interests with them, like her bees and her flowers. She’s got so many things to show them, and she can’t wait until their first meeting so she can learn all about them. Coricopat’s extremely nervous about meeting his soulmate. He’s worried they won’t like how quiet he is, or that they won’t like the things that he’s interested in, no matter what his mother tells him.

Doctor AU: Which one is the longsuffering doctor? Which one is the patient? Doctor Coricopat, Miela is the patient who comes in due to injuries she gets on the farm. Coricopat becomes increasingly concerned and decides to go to her farm one afternoon and ends up seeing her in her natural element (flowy hair, Miela laughing as she’s holding a lamb, the whole nine yards) and boom, the boy falls, and he falls hard.

Bodyguard AU: Who is the bodyguard? Who are they protecting? Which one is secretly pining for the other? Coricopat is Miela’s bodyguard, and it’s 100% mutual pining. Miela absolutely complains to her best friend, Rooster, about her bodyguard because it’s absolutely not fair that he’s that kind and considerate, while Coricopat complains to his sister and best friends that it’s not “professional” for him to be crushing on the person he should be protecting.

Pirate AU: Who is the pirate? Who is the member of the royal family who did not sign up for this? Pirate Miela and Prince Coricopat go on an adventure to save his sister 😌

Childhood best friends AU: Which one was super obviously in love with the other the whole time? Who was oblivious until they were older? Miela had the biggest crush on Coricopat as a kid, and Coricopat was hopelessly oblivious. He didn’t realize it until they were older, and once he did, he was absolutely embarrassed, but they had a good laugh over it.

#liv's writing corner #hestia the hearth cat #miela the beekeeper

3 notes · View notes

mycrofts-gunbrella · 3 years

Text

Caring is the Greatest Advantage- Mycroft Holmes x Reader (Part Five)

Word Count- 3921

Morning had come around a lot quicker than you had hoped it would, the sunlight peeking through the curtains and birds singing outside making drifting back off an impossible task. Though you felt well rested, you simply just didn't want to move anywhere any time soon. Last night had begun with Mycroft shyly placing his hand on your hip as your back pressed close to his chest, but this morning had ended with Mycroft on his back and you with your head resting between his chest and shoulder, hand crossing over with fingers hooked over the pyjama's pocket. You'd never expected to be the type to wake up earlier than Mycroft Holmes, particularly not two days on the bounce, but you wouldn't complain. He looked so peaceful as he slept, the sunlight turning his auburn hair far more ginger, his freckles on his nose matching. You slowly reached one arm backwards, blindly feeling around for your phone on the bedside table and reading through your messages. You grinned seeing a text from Greg and had to fight the small laugh that threatened to escape you.

'Hey, just thought I'd check in on you both and see how you're getting on. I hate to feel pushy but we do really need to start that paperwork, today ideally. Figured I'd pop round later if it's alright- I need a sodding nap first though. Spent the majority of last night receiving phone calls about mysterious activity around St James', load of dodgy cars sending people away, loads of papers.. don't suppose you saw any of that down your way did you, makes life easier?"

Your fingers typed a response- 'Uhh..guilty as charged.. Myc was in jeans and a Who top, daren't be seen by the public..I'll get him to fix it when he's up x'- a grin playing on your face. Yeah okay you felt a little bad, but Greg had dealt with worse. After pressing send, you scrolled further through your notifications, spotting one from John. Nothing major, just checking in and inviting you both over for late lunch, mentioning briefly how it'll do Sherlock some good seeing his brother, even if he doesn't believe it himself- evidently also receiving a message from Greg as he also explained how it would make Lestrade have to do one less visit for paperwork if you popped over a little earlier. Before you could type an answer, you felt Mycroft shift beneath you, stretching out the arm that wasn't trapped beneath your body.

"Morning Sleeping Beauty." You teased, turning your head and placing a small kiss on the Holmes' chin. Mycroft blinked, rubbing his eyes and offering you a 'good morning' in response as he eyed up you typing on your phone.

"Needed to be whisked away to catch a criminal mastermind already?" He asked, sitting up a little as you moved to give him a little more space, his arm still loosely tucked behind your back, though his torso now free.

"Your deductions in the morning are lacking.. though close. Mastermind, but not criminal. John and Sherlock have invited us to late lunch, Greg's popping over to start the first part of paperwork handling, only the basic stuff this time round, so figured it would make it easier on him only having to go to one home before we left." Mycroft breathed deeply, fingers raising to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"I think I'd have rathered the criminal." He spoke, already mentally planning the afternoon, the conversations he would likely have, the way Sherlock would behave. What if he still hadn't forgiven him? It was surprising enough that you had let him off so easily, but Sherlock was different. Sherlock was a Holmes, and someone of whom already had feudal tendencies with Mycroft, it was bound to end terribly. As though you had read his mind, you moved your hand to take his from his face as you noticed his fingertips whitening as he pinched harder.

"Hey, it'll be fine. He doesn't blame you, he's been far too silent for that to be the case. From the way John sounded, it actually seemed more like he was worried about you, though you know he'd never admit that." Mycroft hummed in response, not being able to find the right words to say before reaching over and grabbing his own mobile. "World ending yet?"

"Not yet. Though with any luck, quarrels could happen before lunch." He mused, one side of his mouth raising slightly in a playful smirk.

"Mycroft you can't wish for conflicts amongst empires to get out of a meal with your brother."

"Can't I?" He raised a brow.

"Anthea wouldn't allow it anyway. We're on strict instruction to not go into work for the next couple of weeks, nations be damned. Lunch sounds far more appealing too." You slid yourself out of bed and grabbed one of the bags from Anthea that you brought upstairs last night, taking a handful of clothing items and tucking them under your arm.

"But it isn't lunch, is it? It's LATE Lunch, settled approximately around 3pm, too late for lunch, too early for dinner. It's impractical by any means; you starve yourself at real lunch so you do not ruin your appetite, and then by dinner time you're hungry once again. And if you eat at both of those times as well as the late lunch, your feeding schedules become on par with a bloody Hobbit." You rolled your eyes and headed to the bathroom. "Though you may be more accustomed to such choices given the height similarity between yourself and Mr Brandybuck."

"Cheeky sod, not all of us have glorious Holmesian legs. I'm sure you'll survive a few hours.. Oh, you also owe Greg an apology." You chuckled, opening the message back up and tossing your phone in the general direction of Mycroft's lap before going to get dressed. After reading the message, you heard Mycroft let out a laugh from the other room, the rare kind that you knew made the sides of his eyes crease and his head tip back slightly in amusement; you were sorry you missed it.

Leaving the bathroom, you couldn't help but notice the silk pyjama clad man standing mindlessly in front of his open wardrobe, glancing over each individual item of clothing. Wandering behind him, you moved up on your tiptoes and peered over his shoulder at the rows of suits. You were still dressed relatively comfortably in a pair of skinny jeans and a t-shirt, which you felt was appropriate for the later meal that would likely be somewhere like Angelo's- but you equally knew that Mycroft's idea of 'comfort' lay within his three pieces, pocket squares and oxfords.

"Don't panic, I'm not going to begrudge you of your precious suits today. You deserve it after actually going through with my wardrobe choice for you.. I didn't actually expect you to do it." You laughed, squeezing his shoulder fondly. "We slept in late again, there's barely any morning left." You commented, glancing over at the clock that read 10:53am. "Can I tempt you in Elevenses, Mr Baggins?" You grinned, your Lord of the Rings reference not being missed by Mycroft. He cast you a playful glare, fighting the urge to childishly poke his two fingers up at you. "What? Not judging my bedside manner this time?"

"It is useless to meet revenge with revenge; it solves nothing." He quoted Frodo without hesitation, bastard probably already planned that you'd quip back with something smart and already armed himself with Shire related comebacks. You, in contrast to Mycroft, did have the tendencies to become childish and did opt for the two fingered response, an adoring smile unnaturally paired.

Not many people got to know of Mycroft's little nerdy side, and you took pride in being one of the few that did, though you took more pride in him for being able to easily reel off the quotes. Though he had told you before that The Lord of the Rings trilogy had been his favourite of everything you made him watch, then when he read the books? You wouldn't hear from him for hours at a time while he binge read through them for the tenth time round, and of course you had noticed the varying editions of the three books on his bookshelf in his personal office, rather than lining the shelves in his small library room. If anything, it just made him more endearing.

Though it was nothing compared with his love of Doctor Who. Bless his heart, you had taken him to watch David Tennant's Richard II a few years ago for his birthday and he was insistent on waiting behind after the performance to catch David leaving and got him to sign his special edition box set of his DW seasons. He even had a photo taken with him, his expression being easily comparable to the likes of a child who just got a puppy for Christmas- and, much to his dismay, the photograph had had a prime place on your desk at NSY since the event.

You made your way downstairs, calling out something about making omelettes and leaving Mycroft alone to get ready. His fingers skimmed across the expensive fabrics, tugging out an olive green suit and red tie and pocket square to match. The smell of the food you were preparing began to fill his nose, making his stomach growl as he rushed to the bathroom to get dressed. After removing his pyjama top, Mycroft caught a glance of himself in the mirror, prodding at the pudge of his stomach that settled just over his pyjama bottoms, before sucking in flat and looking again. Maybe he should forego the omelette and just wait until later.. another growl.. okay maybe just a little, just so he didn't raise suspicion. He sighed, stomach relaxing back to its natural state before finishing his morning routine, tugging his trousers up a little higher than usual to tuck away the offending belly fat.

Mycroft had always suffered with his weight, he knew that. He also knew of his past, how he would skip meals, or spend hours upon hours on his treadmill, or the time he was under Doctor Chinnery for just shy of three years following his habits of completing his meals with his fingers down the back of his throat over the toilet just after his job promotions exceeded and he found himself in much higher rankings- public appearance being far more important than any personal preference. Though his eating disorder had improved, the years of therapy didn't miraculously improve his self-confidence. It was one of the many reasons he preferred inviting others for dinners, or at the very least having his days to himself when he knew he would be going out later in the evening. Spontaneous meals out like the one he would be attending in a few hours, or having somebody at home with him while he waited for said meals threw him off balance completely- his usual routine of fasting beforehand as to not appear rude or raise suspicions when he ate in public being disturbed significantly. You knew of his past, deduced it, actually, and had been nothing but supportive, trying your best to convince him for years that he was perfectly healthy and encouraging him to eat better, to actually consume meals. He was thankful, of course he was, but it didn't help his insecurities around you, no matter how welcoming you had been or however many compliments you gave him. His body was covered in stretch marks and areas of loose skin from his weight loss over the years, his chest hair, though scarce, was a coppery ginger and his body was covered in so many freckles he looked like an explosion at a dot to dot factory. It led him to remember the other reason why he had never previously attempted to pursue a relationship with you; if he was disgusted and horrified at the appearance of his nude body then what on earth would you think when that time eventually came around? He daren't even try to imagine your face. You'd worked with Sherlock long enough to have seen him wander around naked and Mycroft had to admit that his brother at least had a body worth parading about in the nude, then there was Gregory who, despite not having an exactly chiseled body, still had the rugged good looks and toned chest- a physique that clearly represented the physical aspects of his occupation- there was no doubt you'd compare him to them and he would come up short every time.

"Myc? You gonna be long? Yours is going to be freezing!" Your voice had knocked him out of his thoughts and he quickly shrugged on the rest of his clothes, straightening his tie in the mirror and plastering on a small smile as he headed downstairs and into the kitchen.

"Apologies.. the cufflinks failed in succession to cooperate at first." You had eyed him suspiciously, knowing that Mycroft had worn enough suits in his lifetime that he could probably find a way to put one on to completion in 5 minutes in the dark with oven mitts on.

"I know I've been so against the suits, but I have to admit that you look incredible.. I think that one's my new favourite." You commented casually, placing a quick kiss to his temple as he sat at the table. "That colour is lovely." He quirked a brow.

"New favourite? You've had old ones?"

"Obviously." Imitating Sherlock. "Charcoal pinstripe with that light blue shirt- brings your eyes out wonderfully... and your bum." You winked, positively enjoying the pink that dusted the man's cheeks, and the way he would open his mouth to speak and then close it before any words came out. In his defence, he was really not used to receiving such compliments. And in your defence, you weren't particularly used to giving them, not like that anyway. You'd blame Greg, he was a terrible influence and an incredible flirt- using his charm to at the very least try and make you laugh when you had shitty days.

You lay his plate in front of him, a coffee to its side, before beginning to tuck into your own meal. You had learned early on that if you didn't wait until Mycroft was able to eat then he likely wouldn't eat at all. While drinking his coffee fairly happily, you hadn't missed that the vast majority of Mycroft's breakfast was still on the plate, cut in smaller pieces and rearranged to appear as though he had eaten more than he truly had. Frowning, you didn't press- knowing better than to point out his behaviour and just being thankful he had eaten anything at all (about a third of the omelette and half a slice of toast if your judgements were correct) but had elected to keep an eye on him. You finished your own food in silence before crossing the cutlery over on your plate and beginning to speak.

"I figured if we left now we could have a bit of time for you to go through the first set of paperwork, Greg should be getting there in the next 10 minutes or so, and then by the time we finish and have a cup of tea it'll be time to go out." You suggested, taking Mycroft's plate to clear away after he had sent a nod to show he was finished. He made a small groan at the need to go at all, but soon acquiesced, sent a text for a car and stood to go to the front door. Tugging on a hoodie, you opened the door and took a step back, the wind shooting in your face and making you scowl. Mycroft made an amused sound and offered you the scarf of his that you had worn last night. Rather than taking the garment, you stood and waited for him to wrap it the same expert way that he had the night before. "I also text Greg to run by my flat and grab my coat so I'll be able to stop stealing your expensive scarves soon.. though this one feels so lovely I may text him again to leave it on the tube." You laughed, stepping back outside once again and walking with Mycroft to the end of the road where a car was waiting. Mycroft had wanted to respond, to make a comment about how he didn't mind letting you wear his things, how he actually quite liked it. But he stayed silent, offering a small smile instead and a soft hand at the small of your back. Mycroft opened the door for you, climbing in after and settling against the plush seats of the lavish car.

As the car began to move you tensed a little, a thought popping into your head.

"Myc.. does Sherlock know yet? About us? I might have hinted at it a little when I spoke to Lestrade earlier but I didn't press.. I just.. I didn't know if you were telling people." You asked awkwardly. Christ it made it sound like you were in some forbidden relationship. Mycroft's jaw clenched a little.

"I wasn't aware it was secret knowledge, if that's what you are asking Y/N. In response to your question, no. I haven't spoken to Sherlock at all since.." He trailed. "And I am not the sort of man to walk into a room and actively announce that kind of thing. But you should know that he will likely deduce it the moment we walk through the door being as you are wearing my clothing, your hair smells like my shampoo and your skin still has traces of the scent of my soap. So if you didn't want anybody to know, then I strongly suggest we rearrange our plans for this afternoon." Who was he kidding? Of course you didn't want people to know that you were actually together now- you would look ridiculous being such a pretty young woman with a man like Mycroft in tow. You opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off. "If you are going to say you could argue the soaps then it would simply be futile, he knows I have your regular brand at your disposal; he'd know you used mine in the form of... sentiment." The last word felt wrong on his tongue now, knowing you had hoped to keep your.. relationship.. behind closed doors. Mycroft Holmes was a very private man, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't want knowledge of your relationship to be at least semi-public, having felt a little giddy when you'd chosen to cross that line with him.

"What? No, I wasn't going to talk about the sodding shampoo." You grinned, reaching a hand over to place on his knee. "Jesus Myc, I asked because I didn't know if YOU were comfortable with people knowing. I'm pretty sure everyone inside that flat knew I fancied you the last few years, I'd proudly walk in and show that my pining eventually paid off. I just know you have appearances to keep up and I didn't want to ruin that, or embarrass you in front of Sherlock." For what seemed like the millionth time in the last few days, your words surprised Mycroft. He felt his jaw loosen and he took a breath, moving only to briefly place his hand over yours for a small squeeze and moving back again. You didn't expect him to say much, he was Mycroft Holmes, not Romeo Montague, but the small smile you sent back his way let him know that you understood his thoughts. The drive to Baker Street was only 10 or so minutes from Mycroft's home so you soon arrived in no time at all, the slick black car smoothly pulling up outside number 221.

"I can only hope my dear brother deduces our relationship correctly and doesn't make a vast attempt to embarrass me in front of his peers.. again." Mycroft knocked on the door, his words casting you back to a Christmas you had all shared a couple years ago.

It was a small gathering, consisting of the pair of you, the Baker Street boys, Greg and Mrs Hudson, and a few weeks beforehand, after multiple arguments of whether or not presents should be shared, Mrs Hudson had come up with the wonderful (terrible) idea of secret Santa which, incase you wasn't aware, isn't a fun game when played with two Holmes' that knew everybody's present and Secret Santa before the packages were opened. You had pulled Mrs Hudson and couldn't have been more thrilled, neither could she when she opened her new tea set- a simple floral design decorated its sides, but she was thankful no matter the pattern, the last teapot having been found at the hands of Sherlock housing human eyes. Conveniently enough, Mycroft had pulled your name and elected to subtly buy you a personalised travel mug for work. After you had opened it, Sherlock had scoffed, muttering something along the lines of "Mycroft isn't that shit at buying presents. He bought you a necklace at first but felt too embarrassed to give it to you in such a public setting and panic bought that cup." Continuing on about how Mycroft had put a lot of thought into your original gift and how it was unusual and how it "obviously" meant he favoured you and was attracted to you. Mycroft had left shortly after that, not making eye contact with any of the silent people in the room and climbed into the back of his car, but you had followed suit and clambered in after him- easing the tension by ignoring Sherlock's allegations and giving him the envelope that you had in your pocket. You had told him you had bought him something special anyway, even though he wasn't who you were supposed to buy for, because you cared for and appreciated him- he had opened the envelope slowly and his eyes widened, that rare smile appearing on his face when he was presented with the Richard II tickets. After your exchange Mycroft had given you the necklace anyway, spouting derogatives about his brother's deductions as he did so. It was a small silver chain necklace with a sparkling silver pendant that, upon closer inspection, you had noticed was a police badge.

You smiled fondly at the memory and instinctively placed your hand above your sternum, feeling the small piece of metal beneath your clothing that you hadn't taken off in two years. You turned to face the man beside you a little more, placing a hand on his shoulder and reaching up on your tiptoes to place a lingering kiss on his lips, moving back only when you heard the latch unlock in front of you, and noticing the ever so slight pink tinge to Mycroft's bottom lip from the lip balm you had put on earlier. "That should make it easier to get it right." You commented, fighting the small grin from your face as you noticed Mycroft standing in the same way, lips parted slightly from where your own had been moments ago, a matching pink dusting his cheekbones. The door opened revealing a smug looking Sherlock.

"Be careful Mycroft, you'll catch flies like that if you aren't cautious enough."

172 notes · View notes

fearidescent · 4 years

Text

Code Lyoko: Transistorized

I’ve made a post earlier about how a hypothetical Code Lyoko reboot could use some of Transistor’s elements, but the elements I mentioned (monsters and weapons) would likely cause copyright infringement if these concepts were straight up copied. So I’ve been thinking about what other elements of Transistor this reboot could use, and I’ve come up with the following.

Spoilers for Code Lyoko and Transistor under the cut, obviously. Also spoiler warning for Psycho-Pass and Puella Magi Madoka Magica.

So the first thing I came up with was what XANA’s master plan was. In canon it was a bit unclear; likely to take over the world or destroy humanity, but then what? This is the first thing I updated.

Reboot XANA’s master plan is to convert all of humanity into processing power for itself. It wants to do this via forcing humans into the scanners to Lyoko, then sapping away their consciousness via the Scyphozoa, then returning their soulless bodies to earth, take out their brains (which can still function, just not support a human consciousness anymore) and hook them up to itself. Think like the Sibyl system in Psycho-Pass.

Originally, this XANA was created by an organization which the Men in Black are enforcers of. This organization is either France-based or USA-based, and it intended XANA to be used as a (somewhat extreme and definitely unethical) kind of war machine. So originally, XANA had a limiter that it could only attack the people of a set country (or set of countries) once set loose. However, once Franz Hopper discovered that he was working on a program with this person, he removed this limiter and uploaded the limitless XANA to a drive, and fled with it to the city where Kadic Academy is located, which also housed a supercomputer, originally intended as a facility for people to be scanned. Without Lyoko, this would be enough for XANA to sap people’s consciousnesses.

So now there are two things for Franz to do: first, make sure that the Men in Black cannot access this particular site, and second, to ensure that XANA is left considerably less powerful.

For the first thing, he constructed a sort of terminal, which continuously scans the internet to find information on the current Men in Black, particularly their looks. This terminal also controls the elevator with a face scanner thingy, which scans the faces of the people who want to access the elevator. If a face is identical to the face of a Man in Black, the person with that face will be barred from the elevator. (Also, this means that only one person can enter the elevator at a time, before the doors are shut to the next person.)

For the second thing, Franz constructed Lyoko, as a sort of prison for XANA. He also created the Towers on Lyoko as a way for potential administrators to Lyoko to interact with the real world on a much larger scale than they normally could. However, there was a bug in this program, which allowed XANA to also access the Towers. Franz began to work on solving this bug, but it was at this point that the Men in Black discovered where he was hiding out.

He also discovered that the Men in Black had discovered a way to “posses” people (the Spectres), but these possessed people also had a very specific brain wave pattern. He then installed a brain scanner thingy to the terminal, which prevented the possessed people from being able to access the facility.

Soon after, the Men in Black managed to abduct Anthea. Now Franz was really starting to get nervous. His administrator function was still buggy, in that any being who became an administrator lost their memories and became unable to return to Earth (he found this out by experimenting on the pets the family had*. Classy action, Franz). So he decided that, while he himself would not become an administrator, Aelita would, so that she wouldn’t be completely helpless on Lyoko. He deemed that staying in the real world would be too dangerous for her.

(*Also, the earlier monsters are based on these pets. It’s only when XANA gets powerful enough to access the internet that the monsters become more monstrous.)

He also updated the terminal to scan the internet for information specifically related to the organization the Men in Black belonged to. He then virtualized himself and Aelita, and then the terminal shut the supercomputer down, only to activate it again when that organization was disbanded, or when an outsider (i.e. not a Man in Black) turned it on again.

Ten years later, enter Jeremy Belpois, who turned on the supercomputer, activating Lyoko and XANA again. However, due to another limiter Franz installed on XANA, the program was considerably less dangerous. It could still increase in power via the Return to the Past function, however, this function can also only be accessed via the terminal, by a non-possessed, non-MiB person.

(The way this power increase works is kinda like how Madoka from PMMM got more power potential any time Homura rewound time. The hypothetical power XANA had in the timeline that got cut short by the RttP got transferred to the new timeline (albeit with a not insignificant loss, so that XANA’s power doesn’t get doubled every time the RttP was used). This is at the cost of XANA being unable to use any power during the time the RttP rewound.)

So Jeremy discovers Aelita, without memories and with an inability to go to earth. He starts working on a way to recover at least Aelita’s ability to return to earth, so they can turn of the supercomputer and neutralize XANA again. With the help of his friends, Yumi, Ulrich and Odd, he battles against XANA’s activated Towers.

(As for why Franz Hopper didn’t rematerialize himself, he took a while to recover his consciousness after the ten years the supercomputer was turned off (administrators do not have this problem) and by the time he recovered, XANA had already messed with the rematerialization ability. Jeremy had no idea Franz was still around until the end of season 2.)

Also, due to XANA’s power loss engineered by Franz, it is unable to construct the Scyphozoa and use Spectres until season 2. After this, it starts to chase Aelita to reconstruct her ability to return to Earth without the Code Earth. Obviously this is not with the intent to let Aelita live a normal life on earth, so Jeremy and co try to protect her from the Scyphozoa until they find a way to reconstruct Aelita’s rematerialization ability without XANA immediately possessing her. So that is basically the plot of season 2.

Season 3: due to the administrator privileges it retrieved from Aelita’s mind, XANA is now considerably more powerful, though still only able to affect reality with the help of Lyoko’s Towers. It starts to construct Replica’s without the Lyoko Warriors’ knowledge, and starts to try to destroy Lyoko so that the Lyoko Warriors can’t interfere anymore. It’s towards the end of the season that the Lyoko Warriors decide to have William join them. Obviously this goes wrong, but XANA decides not to erase all of William’s consciousness, just enough to make him a puppet, but still enough left to make him able to more effectively manipulate the Lyoko Warriors. (Also, William’s also an administrator now.)

Season 4: due to figuring out how administrator privileges work, Jeremy has given Yumi, Ulrich and Odd these privileges as well (which also comes with an outfit upgrade). They start hunting for the Replica’s, but on the Replica’s they are unable to access the privileges and return to their normal forms.

Hope this didn’t turn out too rambly (oh, who am I kidding, it totally did) and that if you read it until this point, everything is at least clear enough. If you want to ask questions about this au, just send me an ask or reply to this point. Obviously if I want to really write this au, I need to sit down and think about it a lot more, but your questions may be able to help me flesh things out.

#code lyoko #code lyoko au #code lyoko transistorized #mal writes some shit #long post

4 notes · View notes

holidaywishes · 3 years

Text

The Light Beyond The Stars VI

part vi: could it be me?

Summary of series: When Malcolm is young, he dreams of a place where he could run off to and leave his life behind. When he meets Cassandra, his perspective changes and his dreams only include her.

Summary of Chapter: As people continue to fall to the sickness ravaging the town, Apollo and Cassandra realize that it is in fact a plague; Cassandra fears that her anger toward her father is the cause behind it.

Warning: Talk of death/dead bodies (as was the case during plagues during the “dark ages” or Medieval Times that this series is taking place in, especially with the lower class) and angst.

Author’s Note: I want to first say, I love that some people have been liking this story because I love writing it and with each new idea I put into a chapter, the more excited I get about continuing the story. Next, I want to say that I’m trying to keep things as historically accurate for the time period as possible while also still keeping things in a “magical realm” but if there is anything that doesn’t seem to match up with the era that the story is set in (Medieval times is what I’m basing it on but I guess more specifically The Dark Age and that is mostly because of the Black Death) feel free to message me to correct me or feel free to message me with anything because my asks are always open! Keep reading if you like, keep enjoying if you do and stay golden, loves! <3

masterlist

the other masterlist

Cassandra’s P.O.V

As you watched the town succumb to the illness, some much quicker than others, you realized you’d seen this before. Long ago, when your father had tried to heal a small town who was suffering from what seemed like just a common cold but soon became a plague that consumed the town and the village nearby.

“Father?” you asked as he stood over an ailing patient

“What Cassandra?” he snapped

“This has happened before, hasn’t it?”

“Not now, Cassie” he sighed

“Your powers--” you started, only to be stopped by your father’s angry arm dragging you away

“You do not talk about magic here!” he growled

“You’ve done this before!” you challenged, “with those people in that village years ago. They were sick but you made them sicker!”

“That’s not what is happening, Cassandra. That was complicated...”

“How was it complicated?!”

“CASSANDRA! These people need help!” he yelled, “they don’t need your hypotheses”

“If this isn’t that.. then...” your mind ran rampant with thoughts you couldn’t control, forcing you to look at the people around you; coughing until their bodies were limp, some with sores around their mouths, and skin turning black as coal.

“Cass?” your father said to you as you began to back away from him, “Cassandra, come here...” he urged but you had already turned on your heels and began to run away. As you continued to run far away from the hospital, tears streamed down your cheeks.

“Could it be me?” you thought to yourself, “has my anger for my father really spread so quickly and infected so many?” You shook your head, continuing to run through the dense woods, trying to get rid of the awful thoughts in your head when suddenly you ran into someone, both of you grunting at the feeling of bodies crashing into each other

“Cassie?” Malcolm’s voice cut through your fear, bringing a smile of relief to your face

“Malcolm!” you sighed happily, quickly embracing him in a hug. When you pulled away, you were finally able to see him, to see that he had succumbed to the illness as well. Not him, you thought, please not him.

“You look well, healthy,” he corrected, “how’s your family?”

“Malcolm...” you replied, tilting your head in concern, “how long have you--”

“It came on quickly,” he answered, not allowing you to finish your sentence, “After Charlotte passed, and Francis kicked me out -- banishing me to the barn, as if I didn’t spend most of my time there anyway --” he scoffed, “I was in the square when someone coughed near me. Three days later, I was sweating and vomiting all hours of the night. ” He stopped to cough heavily, the crackling in his throat concerned you and even brought a tear to your eye, “you should probably keep your distance...”

“We need to get you to the hospital, to see my father. He will help you...” you pleaded

“No,” he coughed again, “I can’t let you bring me there. I don’t want you getting sick.”

“Let me help you, I’ll be fine. I promise. I’m not going to leave you here...” his body soon begun to fall to the ground and he agreed to your request, draping his arm over your shoulder so you could help carry him into town. You hadn’t realized quite how far into the woods you’d run until it took nearly an hour to get back to the infirmary and you noticed blood trickling from the corner of Malcolm’s mouth, “Malcolm?” you called softly to him to keep him awake

“Cassandra?” you heard your father yell in concern when he saw you burst through the door with Malcolm. You pleaded to him with your eyes, hoping he wouldn’t hold his feelings for the boy against him, “bring him here” he gestured to an empty bed before glaring at you and you cowered in front of him, training your eyes back on Malcolm

“Is he going to be okay?” you asked

“You need to leave” your father insisted

“What? No!” you challenged

“He’s right, Cass,” Malcolm said, another cough escaping his throat and blood covering his lips, “you have to go. I’ll be fine. You got me here, that was all you needed to do. But, now, you have to go and keep yourself safe.”

“I can’t just leave you here. Alone. Not like this.” You whimpered

“You have to” Malcolm said weakly

“Listen to him, Cassandra...” your father urged, forcing you to look up at him to find an angry stare looking back at you. You squeezed Malcolm’s hand once, as if to say ‘I’m sorry’ before running out of the infirmary; crashing your back against the wall and crying as you fell to the ground. The more you thought about how sick everyone was becoming, the more you were forced to look at the events when, suddenly, your father’s face flashed through your mind.

“You forget that as easy as it is for us to heal, it is just as easy for us to… spread the illness ourselves.” His words whispered through your head and you could picture the way his face contorted into an expression of fear and worry. You knew that look, he’d given it to you when he told you to stay away from Malcolm. Like he knew that you’d disobey him and he just wanted to protect you. Like he knew that you were the cause of this plague ravaging the village, moving throughout the country, but he couldn’t help you. Even if he tried. There was nothing that you could do; your anger had turned to fear and it seemed to only make things worse as a woman collapsed in front of you and the blackness of her fingertips crept slowly up her hand. You found your way back to your home, the small cottage you and your father were staying in, and pleaded for the illness to stop

“Or, please,” you begged, “let it take me instead”

“It’s not that simple, Cass,” Anthea surprised you when she spoke as you hadn’t realized she was there, “you can’t just expect everyone to be cured if you die. Especially if you die from the same disease.”

“Why not?” you cried

“Because they will still have symptoms. Symptoms that others have died from, quickly and painfully. Those symptoms would not and could not just vanish without a trace. There are rules”

“Rules?!” you shouted, angry tears brimming your eyes, “rules for this? For people dying?!”

“FOR US!” Anthea shouted back, “We are Gods, little girl. Our rules keep order and balance to these mortals lives. They’re sick, that means they must, inevitably, die from their illness.”

“No...” you whispered

“Yes.” she stated harshly, stepping toward you while her gaze stayed on you, “your power was tied to your anger for your father and your feelings for this boy. Those feelings, that anger, led you to the darker side of your ability to heal.”

“I’ve never healed anyone! How was I supposed to know how any of this worked?!” you yelled

“You weren’t,” she said simply, causing your eyebrows to crease your forehead, “not yet anyway. You have much to learn and this boy was a distraction. One you didn’t need and one your father didn’t want for you.”

“This isn’t Malcolm’s fault”

“I suppose it’s Apollo’s?”

“If he hadn’t--”

“Hadn’t what?” she interrupted, “caught you falling in love with Malcolm? Looked into his future? Tried to keep you away from this mortal who you could never truly love? What? If he hadn’t have been a father to you, then people would not be dying?”

“Stop” you whispered

“You can’t fix this, Cassandra. Stop whining about it and accept this fate. His fate.”

“STOP!” you yelled, the lights around the two of you flickering as your anger grew, “he cannot die. I won’t allow it.”

“It’s too late, deary.” A voice snickered from behind you, sending a chill down your spine. Uncle Hades.

“What?” you replied quietly, not turning around just yet, your eyes catching Anthea’s expression as she looked at the God of the Underworld for you

“His fate has been met. Rather... it will be soon. He was too far gone, girl, when you got him to the hospital. Coughing blood, fever as high as fire, his lungs so full he couldn’t breathe. Don’t be sad, dear girl, saying goodbye to you was all he wanted.”

“I didn’t say goodbye...” you whispered, slowly turning to finally face your Uncle, “he didn’t say goodbye either.” The realization hit you like a brick wall and you began your long journey back to the hospital only to find it bleak and barren when you returned. Inside, the smell of death soaked the air as bodies lay in beds and makeshift beds alike. You covered your nose as you tried to find Malcolm through the corpses strewn around but when you found him, you could see why Hades had come to taunt you. You dropped your arm from your mouth slowly so you could speak, trying your best not to react to the smell, “Malcolm?” you whispered but he didn’t respond; tears fell from your eyes. You sat next to him, holding his cold hand in yours and told him you were sorry, for not being there for him, for being the cause of his own sickness and the sickness that took his sister, for bringing this plague onto this once peaceful place. You knew his life could’ve been great, you’d seen it -- but not the same future that your father had seen. The future you saw showed a man with a family, a son and a wife he loved very much. You saw him smiling and making others smile; his life had meaning. You couldn’t deny that you had also seen what beheld him if he took a darker path but that wasn’t the Malcolm that you knew. “You have to live, Malcolm...” you whispered once more, leaning closer to the boys ear. You couldn’t let him die and fade away into nothingness, where no one would remember him, it wouldn’t be right. When you laid your head on his chest, you felt a faint rising of his chest - shallow but there, - and listened for his heartbeat. He’s alive, you thought to yourself, it took you only a second to think of the actions you could take, not considering any consequences that would come. But he was on the brink of death, his thread so soon to be cut and his fate to be met, that you could not waste any more time. You laid a gentle kiss to his lips, lingering long enough for life to fill his lungs once more, and waited for him to open his eyes and see you again, “I love you, too...” you finally spoke the words you weren’t able to say weeks prior and hoped he’d heard it

“Cassandra...” your aunt’s ethereal voice spoke sweetly beside you, pulling your attention away from the boy in front of you

“Aunt Aphrodite...” you whispered

“This boy... he was fated to die”

“He was still alive” you argued

“But he was fated to die.” She countered gently and you knew that it must mean you had stepped on some kind of plan; an action your grandfather would not be happy with

“I couldn’t let him die, Auntie...”

“I understand,” she whispered, “but I am not like my father or siblings. They do not understand love nor second chances. Especially not as it pertains to mortals. You will have to explain this to them...”

“They won’t hear me,” you scoffed, “if I stand in front of them, they’ll already have made up their minds.”

“Maybe your grandfather will show you more kindness than you think”

“Can I just wait here? For a moment longer?” you scrunched your eyebrows together as you pleaded

“I’m afraid not, Cassandra.” She guided you out of the hospital and back to Olympus where you were met by the council, including your father, Apollo, and your grandfather, Zeus, while Aphrodite took her spot.

“Explain yourself!” Hades was the first to shout

“You know the rules!” Athena shouted next

“Well what do you have to say for yourself?!” Ares growled from where he sat and you could swear you felt the ground shake

“ENOUGH!” Zeus shouted, quieting them all in an instant, “we will let the girl speak and then, only if I request your opinion, will any of you speak.” You took a deep breath before you caught the disappointing stare of your father, “Child, what is the meaning of this action you have taken?” You looked at all of the Gods and Goddesses in front of you and tried to find something they’d understand in what you did but each one you looked at was fuming with rage and you knew you’d already lost. So, you looked back at Zeus and began your pitiful explanation

“He still had life in him,” you started, “it was faint but it was still there. I would never have broken the rules of bringing back someone from Hades. I swear,” you pleaded, “He was on the brink of death but that means he was on the brink of life as well. He deserved to continue his life. The life I know he will lead.”

“How do you know he will lead a meaningful life?” Zeus asked

“I saw it. He is to have a family, a baby boy.”

“Future’s can change. They can be altered.”

“I know but I believe in Malcolm. I have always believed in him and I would’ve... it would’ve been cruel for me to let him die. Fated or not.”

“Cassandra,” he spoke calmly and you dropped your gaze to your feet, “I can tell you love this boy. This mortal boy. While I respect your feelings, I don’t believe you were in the right frame of mind to make this decision”

“Wha--”

“Your feelings for the mortal clouded your ability to think about the repercussions of your action to save him from death.”

“Grandfather, please” you begged

“Your father told me he forbade you from seeing this boy and you disobeyed him, is this true?”

“I--” you stammered, before agreeing reluctantly, “Yes.”

“You were... intimate with him?” You couldn’t believe your ears but you also weren’t shocked at his brazen question that you were forced to answer

“Yes” your eyes trained back onto the ground in shame

“So saving his life, even on the brink of death, was a decision based on disobedience and lust.”

“No!” you argued, shouting as pathetically as you could manage; not wanting to anger the council, “I saved him because it was the fair thing to do.”

“Silence.” Zeus continued, standing up to give his sentence and you looked at your father who had now tensed his jaw as he awaited the fate of this boy as well, “I could take away this boys life that you recklessly gave back to him. Or I could punish the both of you”

“Both--” you furrowed your brow

“The boys family is gone. The little girl, Charlotte, succumbed to the illness in its infancy. The father, Francis, drank himself to death after his daughter died. Malcolm is alone. And he will stay that way until he finds the family you are so eager to have us believe he finds...”

“I don’t understand?” you questioned

“Since you disobeyed your father’s wish to not see the boy, he will not see you. You will no longer exist to him. If ever the two of you are in the same space, you will be nothing but air to him. Or just a face he doesn’t recognize. He will love you, for eternity, as he did before he died. But he will never see you again and, eventually, his love will turn bitter.”

“No, no, no, wait. Let me say goodbye!” you yelled, running toward your grandfather

“I can’t do that”

“I saved him because that is the ability my father was given. Because it is in my nature and just because you don’t understand that, because Malcolm is mortal, doesn’t mean that he doesn’t get closure.”

“Closure?”

“If I leave without saying goodbye and I cease to exist to him, I don’t know what path he will take. Losing everything so suddenly, especially a love you never thought you’d have, will ruin him. It will break him. And I can’t allow that.”

“If you are the only thing that keeps him on a meaningful path, then how do you expect us to believe that he will end up where you saw him?” You thought about his question for a moment, considering all the answers but only one thing came to mind

“Because there is good in him.” You could see Zeus contemplating your answer for a moment before eventually agreeing to your terms, yet, it all felt... wrong. Like someone was waiting to cut you off at your ankles before you could see Malcolm reach his potential. But you got to say goodbye. Like you’d asked, like you’d wished and that was nearly all you could hope for.

Malcolm’s P.O.V

You woke up surrounded by corpses. The scent of death filling your nostrils and the echo of stillness bouncing off the hospital walls. You swore you heard Cassandra’s voice while you were slowly dying but when you ran out to find her, she was nowhere to be seen. Her voice continued to echo in your ears, the words I love you, too, being among the most prominent and you needed to find her. To kiss her. To take this second chance you’d been given and run away to Neverland like you’d planned when you were both so innocent and full of dreams. But as you continued to search for her, you found no trace. It was as if she disappeared but you could still smell her and hear her. She must be here somewhere, you thought to yourself as you ran to the square that had now become a disposal site for decaying bodies as had the entire town. You waited at the steps of her home in hopes that she would return and embrace you tightly but, when she did come home, she appeared to have tears in her eyes while her father followed closely behind her.

“Not now, boy” he spat at you, cutting Cassandra off so you wouldn’t get to her first

“Why can’t I talk to her?” you asked, furrowing your brow as you tried to get a look at Cassandra

“Do you ever listen when adults are speaking to you?” he chided, “I said not now. She will find you when she is ready to talk.” You waited for that day as if it held some great prize and, to you, it did. Seeing the girl you loved was the only prized you’d ever want to win but it was beginning to feel painful. You’d started doing magic tricks in the square again, hoping that she’d find you there like she did that first night but, because of the Plague, there was never anyone around. Which meant she wouldn’t be either; Her dad said she’d find you when she was ready but you were beginning to think that she wouldn’t ever be ready.

“Malcolm?” her voice finally lilted toward you, your back turned to her as you walked down the cobblestone streets of the town.

“Cassandra!” you replied gleefully as you ran to her, “where have you been?” You wrapped your arms around her as tightly as you could, without hurting her of course, but felt that she wasn’t hugging you back, “is everything okay?”

“I have to talk to you” she said, her eyes not rising from the ground

“I have to talk to you, as well,” you started, “Cass, I was dead. But you brought me back!”

“What?” her head popped up quickly and her eyes raced to find answers across your face

“I heard your voice, when I was in the infirmary...” you said, furrowing your brow slightly at her reaction, “you said you loved me...”

“You heard that?” she whispered, turning away from you before you could respond

“Is it not true?”

“No, of course it’s true. I do love you, Malcolm,” she sighed, “and you have no idea how happy I am that you’re alright”

“Because of you” you smiled, turning her around so you could hold her hands, noticing her eyes brimming with tears

“Things have gotten complicated...” she whimpered

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t stay here...”

“Cassie?” you scoffed

“We’re leaving,” she finally confessed, tearing her hand from yours, “that’s why I haven’t found you. I’ve been packing our house for the last few days.”

“I don’t understand. No, you can’t j-j,” you stammered, “you can’t just leave”

“I don’t have a choice. My father is allowing me to say goodbye to you as I fear I will never see you again”

“Bu--”

“I’m so sorry. I wish I did not have to leave you this way” she interrupted, a stream of tears making a perfect line down her cheek

“Then don’t leave. Stay here, with me,” you begged but she shook her head, her cries turning heavy now, “you don’t have to go with him. Stay”

“I can’t.” She heaved, her breathing harsh as she cried and tore herself away from you, “I have to go. He’s my father. My family”

“But I love you and you love me, doesn’t that mean anything?” Her eyes squeezed shut and you finally felt her pain, this hurt her as much as it was hurting you

“Of course it does but I don’t have a choice this time,” she whispered, taking a step toward you to lay a hand to your cheek, “I need you to do me a favour. This will be all I ask of you”

“Anything.” You replied, leaning into her touch

“Fall in love.” She said softly, fresh tears falling down her cheeks, “one day, you’ll forget about me and you’ll find someone who makes you feel whole again. It may seem difficult to imagine now but I know that you will. Don’t be afraid to fall in love again”

“You’re the only one I’ll ever love” you countered

“Don’t.” she whispered, her hand still resting on your cheek as tears continued to fall, “I know you will do wonderful things and you will live a long and happy life. So, please, for me. Fall in love, get married, have a child. Live this life you’ve been granted”

“What if I can’t?”

“You can,” she smiled, “I believe in you. I will always believe in you, Malcolm.”

“Please, don’t go.” You attempted to plead once more

“I wish I could stay. Promise me, Malcolm,” she repeated, “promise you will fall in love again. Promise me you will do wonderful things. That you’ll stop playing tricks but never lose that magic in you. Promise me you’ll be the person I know you are meant to be.”

“Do you promise to always believe in me?”

“Always.”

“Then I will promise you to all that you ask of me.” You held her hands in yours as you agreed to her wishes, dropping your head to look at the ground in a sort of defeat you’d never quite felt before. Just as you felt a tear trickle down your cheek, she wrapped her arms around you and brought you close to her, whispering her final goodbye in your ear.

“Cassandra,” you heard her father call from the end of the street where the two of you stood, “it’s time to go.” She pulled away from the hug, only slightly, to lay a soft kiss on your lips. You could taste the salt from her tears but the sweetness on her lips overpowered it all. You wanted to keep her there, as she was in that moment with you. Keep that kiss so she’d never leave but her father calling her once more forced her to break the kiss

“I love you, Malcolm.” She whispered, your hand instinctively holding on to hers as she walked away, your grasp loosening until she was just out of reach

“I love you, too.” You whispered back but she was already gone.

#OUAT Peter Pan #Peter Pan #Peter Pan fic #Once Upon A Time Peter Pan #Robbie Kay as Peter Pan #OUAT #Once Upon A Time #Peter Pan series #masterlist #the other masterlist #this chapter has a lot of COVID vibes

3 notes · View notes

mystrade-reading-club · 4 years

Text

Vote for your favourite St Valentine fic

There is so much love for - and between - our Minor Gov’t Official and his Detective Inspector, you lovelies will probably have a difficult time choosing. Give it your best and vote on Discord.

A matter of perspective by @7-percent, NR, 1k Mrs Hudson ships Mystrade. She’s made a plan to bring them together on Valentine’s Day and roped in Sherlock and John to help. It seems like the perfect romantic moment, but is there something more to it? A short fluffy Mystrade with a tiny hint of Johnlock.

I Love You In A Song by @sherlock-nanowrimo, T, 30k It’s Greg’s first year at uni, and he’s eager to make friends. Meanwhile his little sister misses him, so he records youtube videos of him singing and playing guitar for her. Mycroft is in his second year, still having trouble connecting with people. He discovers Greg’s videos, and is drawn to him despite his vow to put his work first. Then one day they meet, and their subsequent friendship sparks months of pining and misunderstandings, while also helping them understand themselves better.

Bonfire Heart by @jessieblackwood, M, 45k Greg Lestrade is the Senior consultant cardiothoracic surgeon in charge of heart transplant patient, Sherlock Holmes’, care. Mycroft is Sherlock’s mysterious older brother and a prominent member of the governing board for the private hospital Greg works in. Detective Inspector John Watson is Sherlock Holmes’ partner but Mycroft seems determined to keep John and his brother apart. Greg must juggle his own problems with those of his patient in order to make sure Sherlock’s anxieties are settled but what is it about Mycroft that rings alarm bells in Greg’s head? Can he thaw the Iceman’s heart and help his brother to recover, and even save Mycroft from himself?

Bah, Humbug...A Mystrade Valentine by @Tammany, G, 2k

It's mushy. It's fluffy. It's probably going to do bad things to your insulin resistance. But it could be worse. After all, Mycroft and Lestrade don't do Valentine's Day.Really. XD

Mycroft's Special Day by @merindab R, 1k It's not always easy having a birthday on Valentine's Day

Diamond In The Rough by @bigblueboxat221b, T, 4k Of the pile of secret Valentines on his desk, two stand out to Greg for very different reasons. One is more straightforward than the other, but neither is exactly what it seems.

Valentine Ambush by @justusmice, M, 3k There's a dinner and some romance. Neither of them had quite expected it. Anthea, as always, is to blame.

Wednesday by @anarfea, E, 7,5k Greg and Mycroft have been seeing each other (neither of them calls it dating) for several months when Greg asks Mycroft on a date on Wednesday. Not ‘Valentine’s Day,’ even though it is, because Greg doesn’t want to spook Mycroft by appearing overly sentimental or romantic. Mycroft spooks anyway.

On the Market by @nattylineinumbrellas, T, 8k Or five times Greg failed at dating and one time he really, really didn't. With another lonely Valentine's Day looming, Greg Lestrade decides it’s time to get back in the dating game. He’s out of practice, though, and even with Sally acting as wingman things are not going smoothly. But is it just bad luck, or does someone perhaps have a vested interest in keeping the detective single...

Together Forever by @sanguisugaao3, E, 12k Greg takes Mycroft to the pub, and the evening takes a not quite unexpected turn...

The Mystrade Valentine Calendar

Draw me like one of your French Girls by @theuniverseisrarelysolazyemmy, T, 7.5k After Sherrinford, Mycroft can't cope. At all. When he finally emerges from his shell again, he encounters Greg in the last place he would expect...

I Don't Normally Bother by Topicabo, E, 5k Mycroft doesn't really do Valentine's Day. But he'll make the exception for Greg.

The Dating Habits of a Minor Government Official by MagicaDraconia16 , G, 2.5k A government official, even a minor one, always knows exactly what he wants. And what he wants . . . does not include them trying to date somebody else.

Without Reservations by @crushedrose Black_Dawn, G, 10k Instead of a happy Valentine's day, Greg and Mycroft broke up, now a year later they need to face their mistakes...face each other, find Sherlock and deal with their feelings.

Where or When by shadowed_sunsets, T, 25k His entire life Greg Lestrade has had the ability to help people find their perfect matches, whether they will be platonic or romantic partners. It's a gift that has been passed down in his family for generations. The one thing his gift isn't useful for is helping Greg find his own perfect match. He thought he was happy, and that his life was going as well as he could hope for. That he should be satisfied with what he had. Then he met the Holmes brothers, and well... everything changed.

One Little Word by lmirandas , G, 7k Love. Amor. Amore. Lieb. Amour. 恋. One little word, with so much meaning in many languages. In a world in which you can only utter or use the word to refer to your soulmate, Mycroft Holmes hopes one day he will hear that word from someone else. A Mystrade Soulmate AU.

The Scrapbook by brooklyn09, NR, 1k Now in their 80's, Greg and Mycroft look back on Valentine's Days from their past. Years later, after their natural deaths, their niece Rosamund finds a scrapbook, a testament of their love for one another.

Greg Gets His Man by Anglofile , E, 3k It's Valentines Day. Can Greg Lestrade become his best friend's valentine?

"Happy Valenversary, Gregory" by Saratonin, E, 3k When you're married to the British Government holidays and anniversaries may get rescheduled. Crabbiness will probably ensue.

Valentine's Delay by @bryntwedge, 8.5k Greg is upset he's alone for Valentine's day, and decides to get drunk to drown out the sorrow. Lucky for him, Mycroft is indulging in his secret attraction by watching Greg through the CCTV and comes out to help. Drunk confessions and a confusing morning after ensue.

The Uncommon Case of the Missing Page by BlueFruit, T, 2k Greg is solving a big case without any help from Sherlock, but he needs time. Mycroft is reading the news and he doesn’t like them. What can bother the most powerful man in England?

Don’t say something stupid (like: "I love you") by @ylc1, T, 2k Mycroft is not upset. There’s nothing to be upset about, really. So what if Inspector Lestrade has an actual date on Valentine’s Day? It’s not like he has any real claim on the man. And yet-

7 Days to Valentine's Day by @holysnowflake, NR, 10k On 7th February the 17-years-old Mycroft Holmes opens his locker and finds a mysterious note.

Written In The Stars by @siriusblue T, 1k Greg Lestrade always thought he was the romantic one but after twenty-five years of marriage, Mycroft can still surprise him.

#28 Doing something ridiculous by 221_french_bee , G, 3k Greg has been helping the gardener at the Holmes house, and Mycroft hadn’t been able to tamper his attraction for the teen as he ogled from his windows. On Valentine’s Day, when Gregory arrives on this motorcycle and asks to speak to Mycroft, he is hopeful their romantic relationship is finally taking its first steps. But will Sherlock’s shenanigans keep them away from each other? John is amazed, Sherlock is a little brat, and both Greg and Mycroft are pining idiots!

It's Not That Important by @theartstudentyouhate, M, 2.5k They've finally gotten together... on the evening of the 13th but can they spend Valentine's day together and is it really that important?

A Devil of A DI by @wingedwhale, E, 3.5k Mycroft discovers what Greg Lestrade truly is.

A Bundle of Love by RayBen, E, 8.6k Greg realises there is something missing in Mycroft's life and he wants more than anything to see him receive it.

Next Year by @lavenderandvanilla T, 2k “I’m telling you, we’re jinxed.” “Gregory, don’t be ridiculous.” “Well, what would you call it? We’ve not had a good Valentine’s Day yet.” “It’s merely coincidental that we’ve not had a Valentine’s Day that would be considered perfect.” “I’m sorry, what is it you say about ‘coincidence’?” “You have me there. Fine, the fates are against us. We should simply give up.” “No way. We’re going to show Cupid and have a perfect Valentine’s Day.”

Never Call It 'VD' by HumsHappily, G, 3k Venereal disease (Noun): a contagious disease (such as gonorrhea or syphilis) that is typically acquired in sexual intercourse — compare std. Abbreviated as ‘VD’ Relationship (Noun):the way in which two or more concepts, objects, or people are connected, or the state of being connected. Valentine’s Day (Noun): The damn thing that started all this, dammit. Also see: Gregory Lestrade struggles to figure out a gift for the man who has it all.

A Valentine's Comedy of Errors by @antheas-blackberry, NR, 1k It's Valentine's day, a day for lovers to indulge one another. Sometimes it doesn't always go to plan.

The Suit by @ohsocyanide , E, 5k Greg only ever wore the suit for one reason.

Secret by @sumeragisakura, E, 7k It’s Valentine’s Day and Greg’s got an extra case on his hands.

Not To My Knowledge by @bigblueboxat221b, G, 4k Greg discovers nobody has ever courted (wooed? chased? pursued? had designs on?) Mycroft. He sets out to do so - with Mycroft's permission, of course.

Sometimes, The Direct Approach Is Best by MsLadySmith, T, 1k Mycroft Holmes may be an expert at the subtleties of diplomacy, but when it comes to romance, he’s woefully ill-prepared. Enter DI Greg Lestrade.

The Magic of the Night by @chriscalledmesweetie, M, 525 Greg knew there would be consequences for the trick he pulled on Valentine’s Day; he only hoped he was correct in his prediction of what form Mycroft’s “revenge” would take.

The Best Part by @emimagine, G, 1k Greg makes this Valentine's Day one Mycroft won't forget.

Move by @justonemore11 , M, 8.5k In which Greg and Mycroft enter the London property market and narrowly manage to avoid being crushed by centuries of urban decay and renewal, and decades of family baggage.

By the Sea by brooklyn09, M, 1,5k Greg is missing Mycroft on Valentine's Day. Mycroft has some surprises in store.

Fixture by @Spooky831, G, 1k It's the first Valentine's Day after Sherrinford.

This Year's Love by @notjustamumj, G, 301

Flowers for Mycroft by @arlenejp, G, 2.5k The giving of flowers and their meanings. Mycroft is unaware of who is doing the giving and how the meaning of the flowers applies to him.

Valentine's Magic by @chriscalledmesweetie, G, 578 Greg has a trick up his sleeve this Valentine's Day.

#mystrade #mystrade reading club #vote #voting #st valentines day #st valentine

31 notes · View notes

icannotseemyself · 5 years

Text

Prompt

Prompt: Soulmate fic where Sherlock deletes his first name because he hates it so much. But then he meets John, and hopes that he’s the same John on his wrist, and gets upset when John’s wrist says William. And then the two of them are just being idiots, pining for each other, until Mycroft steps in once he realizes Sherlock deleted his first name.

DISCLAIMER: This is the first fanfic I’ve ever posted here on this site, especially of Johnlock. Also, this is inspired by @fangirllibrarian. I will also answer any questions I have about personal headcanons I’ve written in there in the comments.

From a young age, William Sherlock Scott Holmes has despised his name. Not the Sherlock part, or even Scott, but the William. What felt like half of the kids in his year (more like 7, but STILL) shared the name, and Sherlock wanted to be different. Not different like everyone else saw him different (the odd child with the smart mouth and flapping hands), but original. So at the age of 7, old enough to make decisions on his own, Mummy, he changes his name, and only goes by Sherlock Holmes. His parents were upset at first (we picked that name for a reason, honey), but Mycroft humors him, and that’s enough. Eventually, everyone calls him Sherlock, and he no longers holds onto that 7-letter name, throwing it away in one of his Mind Palace’s many trash compartments. Later, he’d refer to this as deleting, but until the age of 13, he’d called it binning the useless information.

As he gets older, he observes those around him, watching as the pressure for the damn names to match becomes more and more severe. He knows the name written on his wrist, in small, cramped handwriting. John. Of course, of the Johns he’s met over the years, none have been memorable, and none had the name Sherlock written on their wrist in his loopy handwriting. By the time he graduated secondary school and had started his degree in chemistry, he stopped looking and caring, more focused on everything else around him.

He started wearing long sleeves to cover his track marks, and by happy accident manages to ignore the name as well. John may as well be another stranger on the street.

People he knew when he got high got clean for their soulmates. Sherlock found that preposterous. When he did get clean, it was for himself. Shortly after, as per the deal, he began his work as consulting detective for New Scotland Yard.

And he was fine. He was Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. No John, but perhaps it was better that way. Who knew how this John would change him, for the better or for the worse. He banished the thought of the name from his mind, and focused on the Work.

Until the day he met John Watson. Even during their first meeting, Sherlock had felt a… spark, a connection, he didn’t know what to call it. All he knew was that his heart got a bit jumpy when John smiled at him, and a warm feeling burned his chest everytime John did something that amused him.

They never really talked about the soulmate thing. John deflected any possible hint at him being anything other than a rigid heterosexual, and Sherlock had shot him down, despite his heart telling him not to, that night at Angelo’s. Sometimes, when Sherlock’s alone, he kicks himself for what he said. “Married to his work.” What a stupid thing to say.

So John never asked, and Sherlock never told (though Sherlock himself hoped), and Sherlock never asked and John never told, until one day, Sherlock had just returned from a case alone (John had work) to find John passed out in his chair. It was obvious that John was waiting for him. A half-empty cup of cold tea sat next to the chair, and a book layed on the floor, where it had fallen out of John’s lap.

Sherlock smirked to himself, and after relieving himself of his coat, manage to lift John up without waking him and carry him to his own bedroom. As he tucked the older man in, John’s sweater sleeve rose up slightly, and Sherlock caught a glimpse of the name written. William. Not Sherlock.

Disappointed and depressed, Sherlock left the room quickly, not wanting a potentially waking John to see him upset. Now it was never an opportunity for him. John would probably be happy with this William. And Sherlock… Sherlock would move on. Not find another John, because Sherlock didn’t believe in another John. He just wanted his John.

The next morning, John awkwardly thanked Sherlock for moving him to the bed, and Sherlock said nothing.

Mycroft stopped by one afternoon, while John was at work, and Sherlock had no cases. The usual banter had no bite to it, Sherlock noted, and Mycroft was quick to agree.

“And the good doctor? How is he?” Mycroft asked.

“Fine,” Sherlock said, if a bit too quickly. Mycroft’s eyebrow rose.

“Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.”

“I’m aware, Mycroft.”

“And yet you still care about him. I understand, believe me, Sherlock I do. I believe you taken a peek at the name. I would have thought you’d been delighted.”

“Why would I be delighted in my flatmate’s soulmate? He hasn’t even found him.”

Mycroft rolls his eyes. “Dear lord, you truly are dense.”

“Am not,” Sherlock retorted. Mycroft just rolled his eyes again, tapped his umbrella on the ground, and turned to leave, before turning back.

“Oh, mummy’s insisted you come over for supper. Something about a family announcement.”

“Send me an email, Mycroft, I’m busy.”

“I think this is one you’ll want to be there for. Perhaps I’ll even bring John around. If Mrs. Hudson reminds you of our mother, then I can’t imagine what Mummy will do when she meets your… friend.”

And with that Mycroft left Sherlock to ponder this, formulating his plan in his mind.

Once John finished his shift, he quickly strutted out of the hospital. Today was the day. Maybe Sherlock wasn’t William, but William would certainly never be Sherlock, and John was tired of pining. He was going to confess his feelings and be done with it all.

Of course, this plan was ruined the second he saw the black town car parked at the kerb. John contemplated not getting in, before thinking of the famous Holmes wrath. Better now than later.

When he stepped in, he expected Anthea/Lenore/Calliope at his side. Instead, it was the elder Holmes brother himself.

“Can I help you?” John asked as the car began moving.

“Indeed,” Mycroft stated. “I’ve deduced that you’re finally going to tell Sherlock how you feel.”

John didn’t want to know how he’d deduced it. “Yes. What?”

Mycroft smiled slightly, before turning serious and monotone again. “And your soulmate? What of him?”

“My soulmate is none of your business.”

“My brother is always my business, and if you intend to break his heart, I don’t pretend that you don’t know what I can do to you.”

“I understand perfectly. Yes, I’m not running around with Sherlock on my wrist, but I’m running around with him on my mind, by my side, and in my heart. William will understand.”

Mycroft, seemingly satisfied with this proclamation, sat back in his seat.

“Where are we going?” John asked, noticing the buildings outside turn from the office and apartment buildings of central London, and instead become the large estates and homes of Belgravia.

“You’ll find out,” Mycroft said.

Eventually the car rolled to a stop in front of a large house with a large garden. Mycroft led John inside, where John was greeted by two people who shared resemblance to the man he loves. Sherlock and Mycroft’s parents.

Jean-Louise and Arthur Holmes doted on him practically from the minute they stepped foot in the house, and Mycroft took the opportunity to take a few secret pictures to incite Sherlock into joining the party. Indeed, a mere 10 minutes later, Sherlock waltzed in unceremoniously, coat slightly dripping, as it had started to rain, as it often does in London.

“Sherlock! I didn’t know you were coming!” John said, turning towards him.

“You… you didn’t?” Sherlock said, turning to Mycroft. Mycroft just shrugged.

Quickly, Mycroft managed to usher them all into the living room, and suggested Sherlock show John around.

“He doesn’t need to look around, we won’t be here long.”

“Sherlock, don’t be rude.”

“I wouldn’t mind a look around, actually,” John interrupted, looking at Sherlock. “If you’re willing.” Sherlock just rolled his eyes and walked away, obviously expecting John to follow him by the look back he conspicuously made before climbing the stairs.

As Mycroft entertained the parents on the lower level, Sherlock made quick work of showing John around. He did pause, however, when it came to his room.

“This is yours?”

It was messy, but messy in the Sherlockian way 221B was always messy. Pictures of various experiments, composers and scientists.

“It’s weird.”

“It isn’t,” John argued, turning towards him. “It’s wholy and entire you. Sherlock, there’s something I was planning on saying tonight before your brother showed up. I know I’ve always denied any and all attraction for the same sex, but I’ve found that you are the exception. Despite everything that I’ve said, I like you a lot, and would like to take this relationship from flat-mates, friends, colleagues, to something more. If you’re open to it.”

Sherlock’s heart was jumping, screaming for joy practically. “John, I-- I don’t know what to say. I mean, I like you too. A lot. Probably way too much. I’ll admit, there were days when I would beg for the John written on my wrist to be yours.”

“I sense a but.”

Sherlock’s heart sunk as he remembered seeing John’s wrist. “But, I saw yours. I’m sure you’ll be very happy with William, and I don’t want to be the reason you don’t find your soulmate.”

“Sherlock--”

“I’m sorry.”

Sherlock turned away and practically ran down the stairs towards the door. Unfortunately, Mycroft stopped him.

“There’s something you both should know,” Mycroft said, loud enough that John, who’d made it halfway down the stairs at some point, could hear. “At first I was confused myself, but then I realized. Sherlock, you’ve deleted something rather important about your past.”

“I don’t have time for games, Mycroft. What?”

“While my name is completely original, your birth name is not Sherlock. In fact, Sherlock is your middle name.”

“What?” Sherlock asked. John was also confused, probably more so.

“It’s obvious, Sherlock, really. You “deleted” as you so eloquently put, that your birth name, and the name that your soulmate would carry on his wrist, is William.”

A pause. Time seemed to freeze for a moment. Sherlock’s eyes lit up.

“Say that again.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes, less enthusiastic about repeating himself than Sherlock usually is. “You were born William Sherlock Scott Holmes.”

A smile broke out on Sherlock’s face, and before anyone could do anything, Sherlock turned and closed the gap, standing so close he could feel the heat of John. “I don’t take back anything I said up there. William would truly be lucky to have you.”

“Come here, William,” John said, throwing his arms around Sherlock’s neck and pulling him in. For first kisses, this was by far the best one.

#johnlock #sherlock #sherlock holmes #soulmates #soulmate fic #fanfic #not beta read #first kiss #mycroft and greg #mycroft x lestrade #john watson #autistic sherlock #william sherlock scott holmes

83 notes · View notes