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calumcest · 4 years

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i took a walk with my fame down memory lane (i never did find my way back) - chapter seven

[ao3]

yes i missed last week but i have a good excuse i was in hospital when i was supposed to be posting we’re back on our scheduled bullshit this week also sidenote can we please appreciate that i have actually stuck to this schedule for nearly TWO MONTHS ?? i’m actually dead gassed w myself i really should do this with soulmate au maybe once britpop is finished i will replace monday evenings with soulmate au. do not hold me to that though i work on whims

of course i must thank my lovely @tirednotflirting who has been suffering in this document with me as i struggled through this chapter i cant lie to you sam your little comments and just knowing that you’re watching me suffer feel like a little pat on the head thats like gwarn you can do it so thank u for that <3 and also this chapter owes the life i have forcibly breathed into it to @kaleidoscopeminds who listened to me scream about it for like half of today and helped me navigate part of it i hope i have done it some slight justice

Michael insists that he knows a great local chippy, but when he turns into yet another residential street with no shops in sight after a good five minutes in the freezing cold, Calum frowns.

“Thought you said it was local?” he says.

“It is,” Michael says. “Never said it was local to me, though.” Calum stops, and stares at him.

“Are you serious?” he demands, edged with a little uncertainty, because he’s not quite sure whether they’re there yet, not after one conversation, and Michael laughs, bright and loud. It makes Calum’s stomach flip, and he’s not quite sure whether it’s pleasant or unpleasant, or maybe just because he’s absolutely fucking starving.

“It’s not far,” Michael promises. “Two minutes, tops.”

“This had better be the best fucking fish and chips I’ve ever had,” Calum grumbles, shoving his hands into his pockets and nosing into the collar of his coat. Jesus, isn’t London supposed to be warmer than the north? He’s not inhaling all this pollution for nothing.

True to Michael’s word, though, another street-and-a-half later they’ve made it to the chippy, and Michael shoves the door open with his shoulder, pushing it far enough that Calum can make it through before it swings shut again.

“Fuck me, it’s warm in here,” Calum mutters, pulling his hands out of his pockets and stretching his fingers experimentally, wincing as that horrible burning sensation of a sudden temperature change shoots through them.

“It’s what, maybe fifteen degrees?” Michael says, amused. “What sort of a fucking Australian are you?” Calum glares at him instinctively, and then falters, because he’s still not sure exactly where he stands, but Michael just laughs, turning to the menu.

“They do a good battered sausage,” he tells Calum, who reaches around into his pocket for his wallet as he blinks up at the prices. Fucking hell, two quid for a bag of chips? And Noel and Liam want to move down here?

“Who the fuck goes to a chippy and gets a battered sausage?” Calum says, scanning the menu, and frowning. “Where are the mushy peas?”

“The what?”

“The mushy peas.”

“What the fuck is that?” Calum tears his eyes away from the menu to stare at Michael.

“What the fuck are you on about?” he says. “Y’know, mushy peas?”

“Is that some kind of northern thing?” Michael asks, and Calum frowns. Surely not; mushy peas are a fucking staple of a fish-and-chip dinner, aren’t they? What the fuck do they eat down south if not mushy peas? Mushy capers, or something?

“Can’t be,” Calum says, still frowning, turning back to the menu. “What the fuck else do you eat with-”

“Hang on a minute,” Michael interrupts, frowning. “Is that- is that Liam? ” Calum cuts himself off abruptly, blood running cold.

What?

“What?” he says, and hopes Michael can’t hear the way his heart is in his throat, spinning wildly on the spot and trying to follow Michael’s gaze.

“Over there,” Michael says, sounding mildly intrigued and moderately confused, and nods in the direction of a table in the corner.

Sure enough, there, frowning down at his chips as he shakes out a sachet of ketchup and says something indecipherable to Noel, who’s sat opposite him - Calum would know the back of that head anywhere, sees the top of it enough with the five inches he has on him - is Liam.

Fuck.

Shit.

“D’you want to go over?” Michael says, and Calum swallows.

What the fuck is he supposed to say? He can’t imagine no, because I’ll get kicked out of my band, and you might get murdered will go down well. It doesn’t really matter, though, because his hesitation is an answer in itself.

“They don’t know you’re here, do they?” Michael’s voice is a little heavy, a little bitter, and a little sad. It makes Calum’s stomach curl in on itself, like it’s trying to make itself too small to feel anything anymore.

“They know I’m here,” Calum says. “Just- not to see you.” What’s the point in lying? That’s been the whole point of him coming down here, hasn’t it? Stop lying to Michael, start lying to Liam and Noel instead. It’s like Calum has a limited amount of honesty to go around, can’t keep himself in one piece, has to hand people little parts of himself so they won’t see the full thing. It’s fucking exhausting, especially when he hasn’t got booze or drugs to numb the pain of the pieces he keeps chopping himself into. Maybe it would have been easier if he’d stayed in Manchester, if he’d said no when Michael offered his phone number.

(But, Calum knows, somewhere in the depths of his ragged soul, that no matter how many worlds there are out there, no matter how many parallel universes, there could never be one in which he could say no to Michael.)

“Why?” Calum can’t help but bark out a short, humourless laugh at that as he turns around, heart beating wildly, praying Liam hasn’t seen them.

“They’d fucking kill me. And you.” Michael glances over at Liam again, frowning slightly, and then looks back at Calum, confusion lacing the green-blue of his eyes, like he’s trying to work out what Calum really means by that. Calum thinks he’s been pretty fucking clear, isn’t really sure what Michael’s searching for in his eyes, until Michael opens his mouth, and says:

“Are you ashamed of me?” Jesus. Does Michael really want to do this here? In a fucking London fish-and-chip shop?

“No,” Calum says. “Can we- can we do this somewhere else? Just-” he cuts himself off, and Michael purses his lips, considering, and then sighs, nods, and heads for the door. Calum nigh on fucking runs after him, speedwalks out and halfway down the street until he thinks they’re a safe enough distance away, and then stops, letting Michael round on him.

“Why haven’t you told them?” Michael asks, and Calum can see all the hurt swimming in his eyes and thinks fuck, not now, not just when I’ve got you again.

“They’re-” Calum stops. He’s not really sure how to phrase it. Fucking cunts is probably the closest he can get, but then he’d have to try and explain why despite that, despite the fact that neither Liam nor Noel have a rational bone in their bodies, Calum loves them, and would do anything for them. “Not exactly reasonable, when it comes to this shit.” Michael raises an eyebrow.

“‘Not exactly reasonable’?” he echoes. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Calum shrugs, a little uncomfortably.

“They take this whole Blur-Oasis thing very seriously,” he says, and Michael frowns.

“They do?” He sounds surprised.

“Don’t you?”

“No,” Michael says. “Damon thinks it’s a fucking laugh.” Calum almost groans. Fucking hell, isn’t that just brilliant? He gets stuck with the mental northern lads who can’t take anything seriously except the one thing they don’t need to, and Michael gets the sensible southern boys who’ll listen to reason and probably hold hands while they do.

(Calum wouldn’t change it for the fucking world, though.)

“Well, Noel and Liam don’t,” Calum says. “I’d get chucked out of a window if they knew I so much as thought about you.” Michael stares at him.

“They’re mental,” he says, incredulously. “They’re absolutely fucking mental. What is this, fucking Montagues and Capulets?”

“That’s what they’d have you believe,” Calum says, shoving his hands back in his coat pockets. Michael blinks.

“Jesus,” he says, after a moment. “So they don’t even know we’re talking?” Calum can’t help but bark out a short, humourless laugh at that.

“No,” he says. “No. Noel would- and Liam- no. No.” His stomach churns as a number of thoughts flash through his mind - Noel and Liam screaming at him, kicking him out of the band, never speaking to him again - and he shakes his head, half to try and clear his head of the thoughts and half to emphasise just how much Calum can’t tell them.

“So, what, I’m your dirty little secret?” Michael sounds a little bitter about it, and Calum can’t really blame him, but that doesn’t stop his heart twisting a little in his chest at the tone of his voice.

“I- look,” Calum says, a little desperately. “This is my life, Michael.” Michael inhales deeply, doesn’t exhale, just looks at Calum, weighing something up in his mind. His eyes are a little sad, a little angry, heavier and older than Calum remembers them ever being. It sends a tiny shiver down his spine, but for the first time the irrefutable evidence of Michael changing doesn’t make him feel a little queasy. Instead, it’s oddly thrilling, seeing the new self-assuredness and confidence with which Michael makes his decisions, no longer based purely on a split-second emotion. It drives home that Michael’s different, now, that things aren’t the same as they were back then, but in a way that makes Calum think maybe different could be better.

“Alright,” Michael says eventually, on a long exhale. “I- okay. I get it. They’re your band, right?” He pauses, and then smiles, a little sheepishly. “And to be honest, I haven’t told anyone you’re here today, either.” Calum blinks at him.

“Hypocrite,” he says, but it’s soft, tentative, no heat to it. Michael grins all the same, and it just about manages to reach his eyes.

“Hey,” he says, protesting a little. “They at least know we’re talking.” Calum hesitates.

“What’ve you told them?” he asks. Michael shrugs.

“Just that we’ve spoken on the phone a few times,” he says. “I mean, it’s not like I could avoid it, after Graham picked up your call on my birthday.” Oh, shit. Yeah.

“Oh,” Calum says. “Yeah. I forgot about that.”

“Yeah,” Michael says, grimacing a little.

“Did he ever tell Damon you locked him in a bathroom?” Michael laughs, bright and a little surprised, like he’s taken aback that Calum remembers that.

“No,” he says. “But for the price I paid, he’d better keep his mouth shut about everything I ever fucking do for the rest of my life.” Calum raises an eyebrow, and Michael grins, properly this time, and shakes his head.

“Wouldn't you like to know,” he says, and takes a step back, walking back into the stream of people that have been passing by.

“Oh, c’mon,” Calum says, falling into step with Michael, who just laughs again. “You can’t say that and not tell me.”

“I’m not telling you,” Michael says. “I take this Blur-Oasis shit seriously, y’know? Can’t be fraternising with the enemy." Calum throws him a sharp glance, but Michael’s still grinning, eyes sparkling with something a little mischievous that reminds Calum so much of the Michael he once knew that he falters, almost trips over his own feet.

“Is that why you’re trying to starve me to death?” Calum says, testing the waters. Michael snorts.

“You were the one that wanted out of the best fish and chip shop in London, my friend,” he says, mock-snootily. “Luckily for you, I’m feeling particularly magnanimous today, so I’ll take you to a good Italian place.” Calum raises an eyebrow.

“Magnanimous?” he echoes. “Since when do you know words that long?”

“Damon’s rules,” Michael says. “Have to learn at least five new words a week, and a spelling test on Sundays.” Calum blinks at him.

“Really?”

“No, you fucking idiot,” Michael says, a little incredulously, a lot amused. “Jesus, don’t they do sarcasm up north?”

“Better than most,” Calum says. “It just sounds like something Damon would do, is all.” Michael laughs, turning to grin at Calum over his shoulder as he pushes the door to a small Italian place open.

“He did make me read Siddhartha before he let me join the band,” he admits, and Calum makes a noise of triumph.

“See?” he crows, and Michael just laughs again, and Calum thinks the warmth stealing over him really has nothing to do with the central heating in the restaurant.

-------

They spend a leisurely hour or two in the restaurant, talking about absolutely nothing of import, skirting around anything that seems like it might get a little too serious, and Calum’s grateful for it. His carbonara tastes all the creamier when Michael starts pointing out passers-by, commenting on their frowns or their fast walks or their hideous coats, making Calum grin and splutter into his drink with every wicked and quick comment he makes. It’s almost like the old days, has the same sharp wit and ease that Michael’s tongue has always been good with, but is a little more refined than then, has something more mellow to it, like Michael’s no longer trying to impress Calum or keep him by his side. It’s oddly heady, actually, the new sheen of confidence that polishes all of Michael’s words before they leave his mouth, makes Calum lose his focus every once in a while as he just stares at the easy self-assuredness held in Michael’s shoulders, until Michael waves a hand in front of his face and says Earth to Calum, a small smile playing at his lips, a slight glimmer in his eyes. Calum can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed, though, still knows Michael well enough to read the smile as a pleased one, the glimmer as charmed, and just grins back, trying to stop his heart from jumping from his chest to his throat to his feet to his stomach and back again.

It’s already getting dark by the time they head out of the restaurant - fucking December, honestly - and they take their time walking back to Michael’s house, wandering down side street after side street as Michael tells Calum about the difficulties he’s been having with his neighbour. Calum just listens, nodding and sighing and calling the neighbour a cunt in all the right places, and by the time they’re back at Michael’s house, it’s fully dark, the two of them bathed in the harsh orange light of the London streetlights.

“When’s your train?” Michael asks, digging in his pocket for his keys and sliding them into the lock.

“I, uh,” Calum says. “Didn’t book a specific one.” Michael raises an eyebrow at him over his shoulder as he unlocks the door, then steps inside and holds the door for Calum to walk in.

“Why not?” he asks, flicking the light switch on, and Calum shrugs, busying himself with pulling his shoes off.

“Wasn’t sure how long I’d be here,” he says. Michael just hums at that as he kicks his own shoes off, like he’s mulling it over.

“When are Liam and Noel heading back?” he asks, and Calum shrugs again, a little more tense this time.

“Don’t know,” he says. “Probably no later than six. Liam’ll want to be on the piss by nine.”

“Not much else to do up there, I s’pose,” Michael says, a little flippantly, heading into the living room, making Calum frown as he follows.

“There’s plenty to do,” he says, a little indignantly, and Michael turns back, throws him a slightly-amused look over his shoulder.

“Proper Manny boy now, aren’t you?” he says, settling down on the overstuffed armchair opposite the sofa again, curling his legs underneath himself. Calum sits down on the sofa, stretches out for a moment to try and crack his back, and then settles back against it with a scowl.

“It’s home,” Calum says, surprising himself with the sincerity with which the words are saturated. Michael cocks his head, and Calum knows what he’s thinking. When did Sydney stop being home to you?

“D’you not ever miss it?” he says, but he only really sounds curious. Calum shrugs.

“Not really,” he says. “I only really- uh. Miss the people.” He averts his gaze, tries to stop his cheeks heating up. He’d almost said I only really miss you.

“Luke and Ashton are flying over in January,” Michael says. “You should come down and see them.” Calum swallows.

“Depends when,” he says. “Think we’re back over in America in January.” Michael frowns.

“You’ll be at the NME awards, though, won’t you?” he says.

“Well, yeah, but so will Noel and Liam,” Calum says, and Michael’s face falls. Only fractionally, so slight that if Calum weren’t instinctively tuned into Michael’s frequency he would have missed it, but he is, so he doesn’t.

“Oh,” Michael says. “Yeah. Right. Well, I know they’d love to see you.”

“Mm,” Calum says, a little uncomfortably. He hates this, doesn’t want to be in a position where he has to pick his old life or his new.

“I told them,” Michael says, and he sounds a little apologetic.

“Told who?”

“Luke and Ashton. About us, y’know. Talking again.” Calum’s stomach flips. Right. So now the entirety of Blur and two of his friends from five years ago know, and his own best friends don’t. Brilliant.

“Oh,” he says, and Michael has the dignity to look a little ashamed.

“They were happy,” he offers, like it’ll assuage any of the guilt that’s bonded itself so tightly to each one of Calum’s blood cells he barely remembers what it’s like to walk around without their heavy burden weighing him down. “They’ve been asking after you.”

“Oh?” Calum says, and hopes Michael doesn’t hear the thickness of his voice.

“Yeah,” Michael says. “Luke’s finished his pilot training, now. He was in Japan the same time as me, so we went for a coffee.”

“How’s he doing?”

“Good,” Michael says, “yeah, good. Misses Ashton when he’s away, but.” He shrugs, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Not sure what else he expected, becoming a pilot.” Calum huffs out a laugh, a little bitter, a little amused.

“And Ashton’s a teacher?” he says, and Michael nods. “What does he teach?”

“RE, I think,” Michael says. Calum snorts, but it’s sort of fond.

“Sounds like Ashton,” he says, and Michael grins.

“At least he put all those fucking books about Buddhism and that to good use,” he says.

“D’you remember when he tried to make us all read the entire Bible?” Calum says, and Michael laughs, short and bright.

“I remember him being beside himself when we just circled all the verses about masturbating,” Michael says, and Calum finds a laugh punched out of him by a sudden memory, surprising him with its intensity.

“D’you remember Luke made it through the entire Old Testament?” he says, and Michael’s smile grows, and he nods.

“The things love makes you do,” he says, grinning, and Calum’s smile falters.

Yeah. Love can make people go to the ends of the Earth for each other, or make someone read the entire Old Testament, or maybe even make someone lie to their best friends and put their entire career on the line. Calum doesn't want to think about that.

(It can't be that, anyway. It just can't.)

Michael seems to sense the change in Calum’s mood, because he shifts a little uncomfortably and clears his throat.

“Are you staying home for Christmas, then?” he says, and Calum blinks, and nods.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Is Mali coming?”

“No,” Calum says. “Can’t stand a cold Christmas, she says.” Michael smiles, a little wistfully.

“Took me a while to get used to,” he says. “Fuck me, the first time it snowed? ”

“Oh, God, I know,” Calum says, a little more fervently than he’d intended to. “I thought it’d be all soft, y’know? Liam fucking saw to that misconception. Turned up at my house with a bunch of pre-made snowballs, the prick. Looked like I’d got battered in a pub brawl, or something.” Michael snorts.

“No one ever mentioned how slippery it is, either,” he says.

“Or how nasty it is when it melts,” Calum agrees.

“Or how wet it is in your hair,” Michael says. Calum raises an eyebrow.

“It’s water,” he says. “You could’ve worked that one out for yourself.” Michael rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

“Fuck off,” he says. “Where’s the Aussie solidarity?”

“Gone as soon as you insulted Manchester,” Calum tells him, and Michael laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“S’pose there are a few good things about it,” he concedes, eyes glittering. “One, in particular.” Calum swallows.

“Oasis are pretty good, yeah,” he says, and Michael's eyes flash with amusement.

“Pretty subpar bassist, though,” he says conversationally.

“Is that so?” Calum says. Michael looks at ease, relaxed and sunk back into his armchair, smile on his face and eyes lit up with laughter, but Calum can’t help but feel hesitant, a little afraid to lean too far into the comfortable familiarity of the conversation. What if Michael changes his mind?

"Mm," Michael says. "Personally, I think they just keep him in for his looks." Calum raises an eyebrow, tries not to let the way his heart's just skipped a beat show on his face. It doesn't mean anything, he tells himself. It's just Michael's sense of humour.

"What, with Liam in the band?" Calum says, and Michael scrunches his face up.

"He's too pretty for me," he says, and then unscrunches his face again and raises his eyebrows. "Mind you, though, I wouldn't say no if-"

"You fucking would if you know what's good for you," Calum tells him, and Michael laughs.

"Would I?" he says, eyes gleaming. "Think I'd need a more tempting offer." He's looking at Calum in anticipation, like he's expecting a certain response, and it makes Calum swallow - twice, because his heart doesn't know how to behave.

"I'll see what I can do," he says, and Michael grins at him.

Right answer.

-------

The journey back home is uneventful.

Michael had kindly forgotten to inform Calum of just how much of a rush hour rush hour really is in London, meaning he has to wait for three tubes to pass before he makes it to the edge of the platform, and then has to spend the two stops back to Euston shoved uncomfortably against the glass that divides the seats from the door area. At least it’s only two stops, though, he tells himself, tumbling off the train with a bunch of serious-looking commuters, half of whom seem to be headed back to Manchester. Calum’s train is already packed when he gets on, even though he walks all the way to the end so he won’t have to walk far when he gets to Piccadilly, and he ends up having to sit next to a family of three, an exhausted mother scolding her two young children and trying to get them to sit still. Calum offers her a small smile, wishing he’d brought a book or his Walkman or something, and settles for staring blankly out of the window to the other side of the four-year-old girl on his left, trying to make out shapes in the inky darkness of the night so he doesn’t have to focus on his thoughts.

It turns out not to matter much, though, because even when the train’s whipping through the countryside and the children are still kicking up a fuss about something or other, Calum can’t focus on anything at all, zoning out entirely and feeling a bone-deep tiredness seeping through him, gluing him to his seat. He prefers it that way, though, prefers that he doesn’t have to feel anything but an echo of guilt for a while, lets it steal over him as he closes his eyes and tips his head back against the seat.

He must fall asleep for a while, because it feels like no time at all before a bustle of commotion wakes him up, and he finds everybody on their feet, patting their pockets and reaching for coats and bags. He blinks a few times, rubs his eyes, and then stands up, fumbles around in his pocket for his ticket as he files out of the train with everyone else. It’s surprisingly cold in Piccadilly, and he draws his coat around himself as he swerves around the mother and kids to beat them to the barriers, shoving his ticket in and stepping through. It feels like another threshold, like he's crossing back from a dream world into the real world, and he tries not to think about it too hard as he heads out to the bus stop.

The bus journey back home is cold and expensive, and by the time Calum gets home he thinks he might be in danger of losing a few of his limbs to the frosty air. It’s toasty warm inside the house, though, and there’s a plate of chicken and rice covered in cling film waiting for him on the kitchen counter, and Calum sticks it in the microwave, listens to the muffled sound of the TV floating out from the living room as he waits for his food to finish before taking it out to the table.

The sound of the microwave dinging seems to have alerted his mum to his return, though, because no sooner has he sat down at the table than she's appeared in the doorway.

“Where’ve you been?” she asks, leaning against the doorframe.

“London,” Calum mumbles, through a mouthful of chicken and rice, and scoops another forkful in, just for good measure.

“To see Michael?” Calum falters, and then nods, averting his gaze. His mum sighs, loaded with something heavy that Calum decides he doesn’t want to pick apart. “And?”

“And what?”

“What happened?” Calum swallows, and shovels another loaded forkful of food into his mouth.

“Nothing,” he says, and hopes she’ll attribute the way he winced at the evasiveness of his tone to the fact the food is really fucking hot.

“Calum,” she starts, in that I’m about to give you a lecture voice that only parents (and Noel) can really manage, and Calum swallows again, chokes a little as the un-chewed food almost gets stuck in his oesophagus, and shakes his head.

“Don’t,” he says, a little sharply. “I’m twenty-two, mum.” She sighs again, a little exasperated this time.

“I know, but you’re still my kid,” she says. Calum inhales deeply, and closes his eyes.

He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want to have to explain every single tiny movement he makes, not every time he comes home. He doesn’t want to be monitored whenever he comes or goes, doesn’t want to have to answer to anyone. He’s not used to it anymore, not after so long on tour; he’s used to crashing into hotel rooms with a bagful of white powder and a body full of booze, one or two or maybe even three loud and brash Mancunians in tow, vision hazy around the edges from the weed he’s just taken a few hits of, used to sleeping three hours on a bus and waking up in a different city to the one he’d fallen asleep in. It feels oddly claustrophobic, now, coming home. He loves it, loves seeing his mum and his dad and eating proper meals and getting to potter around the house and go down the pub with Liam, but he’s outgrown it as a lifestyle. He’s too big for that little room upstairs, now, too big for this two-up two-down, maybe even too big for Manchester.

“I’m going to look at houses,” he blurts, before he’s even thought about it. A flash of something crosses his mum’s face, but she schools her features into something encouraging before he has a chance to really interpret it.

“That’s a good idea,” she says. “You’re old enough to be gone, now.” Calum nods, and brings another forkful of food to his mouth.

“In London,” he adds, and his mum blinks at him for a moment.

“Well, I suppose it makes sense,” she says, sounding far too brisk, like she’s forcing it. “That’s where the music industry is, isn’t it?” Calum nods.

“Noel and Liam are moving down, too,” he says, and she raises her eyebrows.

“That’s a recipe for disaster,” she says shrewdly, and Calum shakes his head.

“No, not together,” he says.

“Oh,” she says. “Well. You should probably still look for somewhere further away from them.” Yeah, he probably should.

(He won’t, though.)

“Yeah, maybe.” He’s almost finished his plate of food, wishes she would fucking leave, so he doesn’t have to have the rest of this conversation with her. She seems to get it, though, just sighs again, and pushes herself off the doorframe.

“Let us know if we can help with anything,” she says gently, and Calum throws her a tight smile as she leaves.

He’s not really sure where that came from. Okay, he’s been thinking about moving out for a while, but not in any concrete way; it’s very much been conceptual, something that he thinks he should probably do, but hasn’t been bothered to think about beyond that, something that’s stayed very firmly at the back of his mind. It feels right, though, he realises. He’d sort of thought it would be frightening, something that he was doing because he felt he had to rather than because he wanted to, but he feels oddly settled after saying it to his mum, like he's been making do in the dark and now he's turned on the light. It'll be good for him, he thinks, to live on his own.

Plus, he thinks, as he scrapes his chair back from the table, gathering up his plate and cutlery, Liam could probably do with a set of eyes on him, couldn’t he? And the fact that Kentish Town is close to Camden has absolutely nothing to do with it.

-------

Calum’s woken up at ten the next morning by a knock at the door.

“Mm?” he mumbles, not entirely sure whether he’s actually awake or not yet, and the door opens a crack to reveal his mum.

“Noel’s on the phone for you,” she says, and throws him a significant look that he chooses not to interpret. What the fuck does Noel want at ten in the morning?

“Tell him I’ll call him back,” he says, and she purses her lips.

“Tell him yourself,” she says, and tosses the handset at him. He squawks, flinching to avoid getting a hunk of plastic to the head - she’s never had the greatest aim - and then picks up the receiver that’s landed (painfully) on his forearm.

“What?” he says, rubbing his eyes.

“What were you really doing in London?” Jesus Christ. Straight to the fucking point.

“Running errands.”

“Bullshit.” Calum sighs.

“What the fuck d’you want me to say?” he says tiredly.

“You looked like you’d seen a fucking ghost when we came over,” Noel says.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you, was I?”

“You knew we were going to be in London. Liam says he told you.” Fuck’s sake.

“London’s a big fucking place, though, isn’t it?” Calum says. “Still didn’t expect to see you there.”

“Cut the fucking shit, Calum. I know who lives in Camden.” Calum’s blood runs cold. Shit. He should have known that they would have seen them in the chippy, should have made Michael leave faster, hide his face, turn away, anything. All it would have taken would have been one errant look from Liam, and the cat would have been out of the bag.

“Why the fuck are you so convinced this is some kind of conspiracy?” Calum bites out. Fight fire with fire, he thinks. Works for Liam, doesn’t it?

“I’m going to give you one chance to be honest with me,” Noel says. His voice is dangerously even, too controlled, that sort of wound-up serenity he gets a minute before he explodes, and Calum can’t even swallow, can’t get anything past the lump suddenly in his throat. “Were you or were you not seeing Thom Yorke?” Calum stops.

What?

“What?” he says. “No, I- what? What? I don’t even fucking know the bloke.”

“You spoke to him at Glastonbury, didn’t you?” Noel says, utterly hostile. Calum blinks.

“That was- that was six months ago.”

“So?” Noel sounds like he’s bristling. “First Blur, now Radiohead? Are you just working your way through our competition? Were you fucking him too?” There’s a bitter edge to his voice, and Calum’s mouth drops open as he tries to process what Noel’s accusing him of.

What?

“What the fuck?” Calum says incredulously. “I’m not fucking Thom Yorke. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You’d better be fucking certain about that, Calum, because-” Noel starts warningly, but Calum cuts him off.

“Jesus Christ, Noel, I’ve spoken to him once. I don’t know where the cunt lives. Why the fuck do you know where he lives?” There’s a pause.

“Alright,” Noel says, still tinged with suspicion, like he can’t quite let go of the idea that Calum had snuck to London to visit Thom fucking Yorke.

“You’re fucking insane,” Calum says, and doesn’t stop the derisiveness from leaking into his voice. Who the fuck rings someone at ten in the morning to accuse them of sleeping with a random bloke they haven’t seen in months? Noel’s acting like a fucking jealous ex, or something.

“I’m insane?” Noel says, a little coldly. “You’ve got previous, mate.” And yeah, that’s fair enough - more than fair enough, because Calum is going behind Noel’s back, is betraying his best friend and his band - and the thought of it makes the guilt chase the anger out of his veins, makes him slump back into his pillow and rub a hand over his eyes.

“Christ, Noel,” he says wearily. “You need to stop taking this shit so seriously. Let the music speak for itself.” Noel barks out a laugh.

“I take it seriously because none of the rest of you do,” he says.

“Just fucking relax,” Calum says.

“I’ll relax when I’ve made my millions,” Noel says. “Until then, you can get your fucking arse in the studio and make me some money.” Calum rolls his eyes.

“You snort all your money away,” he says.

“So?” Noel says. “Just have to make me more, then, won’t you?” Calum can’t help but huff out a laugh at that.

“You fucking idiot,” he says, but the smile playing at his lips makes it come out fond, and when Noel laughs this time, it’s soft and pleased.

“Aye,” he says. “But I’m no Liam.”

Well. He’s got a point.

-------

Christmas comes and goes without much fanfare, which is just how Calum likes it, and what he needed after all the months of touring.

He gets up early, yawning and rubbing at his eyes as he slaps a hand on his alarm clock to shut it up, and spots a tiny little stocking at the foot of his bed, despite the stern look and the you’re almost twenty-three, Calum, you’re too old for stockings his mum had given him the night before . He grins, stifling another yawn as he empties it onto his bed, collects the little chocolate coins that spill out and unwraps the small present to find a little travel-sized bottle of his favourite aftershave. It makes him smile, that even though he’s a fucking rockstar in the making now, his mum still buys him aftershave, and he tucks the little bottle into his still-packed suitcase so he won’t forget it when they leave for Scotland on Boxing Day.

His parents are both already up when he gets downstairs, showered and dressed and ready to help with cooking dinner, and he throws his dad a quick merry Christmas before heading into the kitchen where his mum is humming along to the tune blasting from the radio.

“Morning,” he says, and she whips around, throws him a cheery smile as she puts something in the oven. “Thanks for the aftershave.”

“What d’you mean, thanks?” she says, a twinkle in her eye. “Do I look like Father Christmas?” Calum tuts and rolls his eyes, presses a kiss to her cheek, and reaches for the carrots she’s been peeling.

“What needs doing?” he asks, and she smiles at him, starts telling him that after he’s done with the carrots he should get some sprouts out of the freezer, please, and then fetch some of that wine from outside - the good wine, mind, Calum, and I know you drank the really good wine and thought we wouldn’t notice - and Calum just grins sheepishly, nods along to what she’s saying as he slices up the carrots, hums along as she switches to talking about Janet and how she’s got a baby on the way now.

He’s halfway through chopping potatoes when the all-too-familiar drum beat of Supersonic starts up on the radio, a little fuzzy from the static. He starts, his heart lurching with adrenaline, and turns to his mum.

“That’s us,” he says excitedly, but she’s already reaching for the volume on the radio, turning it up and beaming.

“That’s you, isn’t it!” she says, sounding even more excited than him. “I like this one, actually. It feels very optimistic.” Calum bites the inside of his cheek, looks back down at his potatoes to try and stop himself laughing. Yeah, it was written while Noel was high as a fucking kite on coke; no wonder it sounds optimistic.

“I like it too,” he says, grinning as Liam’s voice starts filling the room, raw and velvet and a little grimy, just how Calum likes it. Only fucking rock ‘n’ roll star there is, now, me, Liam would say, if he were here, and Calum would roll his eyes, and Noel would probably cuff Liam upside the head, and Bonehead would laugh, and Tony would shake his head and look the other way. God, Calum loves his band, loves their dysfunctional dynamic, loves every bit of the coke and the booze and the fighting and the laughing and the tiny moments of peace where Liam’s curled up against him, fast asleep, and Noel’s throwing him an exasperated but fond look from across the room.

( You don’t love it enough to be honest with them, though, a little voice in his mind tells him, but he pushes it into the back of his mind with as much force as he can muster. Not on Christmas. He deserves one day without guilt, however much of a cunt he’s being.)

They ring Mali after dinner before the Queen, because it’s pushing on for time back in Sydney and his dad sagely points out that she’ll be too drunk to hold a proper conversation once it hits midnight. She’s already well on the way there, shouting and laughing merrily down the phone, but it just makes them all laugh, makes Calum’s heart ache a little bit, but not in a way he particularly minds. He misses her, but he knows he’ll see her soon enough.

After an already fairly lengthy catch-up, his mum wants to speak to her about something to do with her rent which neither Calum nor his dad particularly care about, so they head into the living room and start sorting out potential VHSs to watch that evening. They’re in the middle of arguing about whether or not Blackadder is an appropriate Christmas show when Calum’s mum appears in the doorway, holding out the phone in her hand.

“Mali wants to talk to you,” she says, and Calum scrambles to his feet, grabs the handset off her and heads into the kitchen, hoping his mum won’t follow, will let the two of them have a moment of privacy.

“Hello?” Calum says, throwing a glance over his shoulder to check his mum’s not following. Sure enough, she’s tutting at his dad, telling him Blackadder isn’t a Christmas show, David, be serious, please, so Calum turns into the kitchen, doesn’t bother turning the light on, just leans against the counter in the dark.

“How’s my baby brother?” Mali asks cheerfully, and Calum grins, and shakes his head.

“I’m good,” he says. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Heard you on the radio today,” Mali says, and Calum’s stomach flips. They’re playing Oasis in Australia? Fucking hell.

“You did?”

“Yeah. Sounds really fucking good, actually.” Calum grins.

“‘Course it does,” he says. “It’s me, innit?” Mali laughs, bright and tinny in his ear.

“You’re spending too much time with those Gallaghers,” she tells him. “Where’s my shy little brother got to?”

“Gone with all the coke and booze,” Calum says, and Mali snorts.

“Fair enough,” she says. “How’s the rockstar life treating you, then? Number one album, isn’t it?”

“Fastest-selling debut album in British history,” Calum says, and Mali whistles lowly.

“Am I supposed to be impressed?”

“Yeah, think so.”

“Alright, then, I’m impressed,” she says flippantly, and Calum huffs out a laugh. “What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?”

“Y’know, fame, and all that. Sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll. Although I’d rather not hear about the sex, if it’s all the same to you.” Calum snorts.

“Good,” he says, “it’s good. Weird, though, getting asked for autographs, and that. Touring’s strange, too. But it’s good. And I’m glad I’ve got my band with me.”

“Good to know someone’s glad,” Mali says. “I bet the rest of the world aren’t glad to have those two delinquents running wild. Mum and Dad don’t know about the number of hotels you’ve been kicked out of, do they?”

“No,” Calum says warningly, “and they’re not going to find out.”

“No, no, I’ll toe the line, Cal,” Mali says breezily. “For a price.”

“Get fucked,” Calum says, but he’s grinning.

“C’mon, you must be fucking loaded by now,” Mali says, but she’s grinning too, just trying to wind him up. “I mean, you played Glastonbury, right? That was a big fucking lineup. Pretty much anyone who’s relevant was there, if my boss is to be believed. She might just be saying that because she was there, though.” Calum’s face drops.

“Yeah,” he says, and bites his lip. He should tell her about Michael. She knew, back then, knew better than almost anyone, and she should know now, really. “I, uh,” he starts, and then licks his lips, and swallows. Mali just waits, though, knows him well enough to know that it’s going to be something important, and Calum takes a deep breath to steady himself. “I saw Michael.”

“Clifford?”

“Yeah.” There’s a pause.

“I wondered how long it’d take,” Mali says, and she sounds a little mournful. It makes Calum blink, makes him frown as he thinks - more than a little upset - what the fuck? She knew?

“You knew? About him being in Blur?”

“‘Course I knew. I’m in the music business, aren’t I? I’m in Australia, Cal, not on the fucking moon.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Mali sighs.

“I was trying to protect you,” she says. Calum grits his teeth.

“Would’ve protected me more if you’d warned me before I ran into him at a fucking awards show,” he says.

“Shit,” Mali mutters, and Calum makes a yeah, fucking right sort of noise. “What happened?”

“Liam and Noel nearly fucking skinned me alive,” Calum says.

“With Michael, I mean.” Calum hesitates.

“Nothing,” he says. “Until Glastonbury.”

“What happened at Glastonbury?” Calum stares down at the floor, digs his thumbnail into the countertop behind him.

“Bumped into him,” he says. “And then he rang me a few days later. And then we- uh. We started calling. And I went to his house last week.” Mali’s silent for a long, long moment, so long that Calum would think that she might have got disconnected if it weren’t for the sound of her breathing, slow and considered in Calum’s ear.

“Oh, Cal,” she says, and the words come out sad and heavy. “Are you- are you…?” She trails off, clearly not sure how to phrase it, but Calum knows what she’s asking. He closes his eyes, brings a hand up to rub over his face, and shrugs, even though she can’t see him.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t know. Maybe. Not yet, though. But maybe.” Mali sighs again, sounding more sober than she has for the entire call.

“What do the rest of them think?” she asks. Calum swallows.

“They don’t know,” he admits.

There’s a pause. A long, long fucking pause, and Calum sort of wants to just hang up, sort of wants to laugh and say joking, just kidding, can you fucking imagine, wish I could see the look on your face, but he doesn’t. He clenches his fist, waits it out, and eventually Mali exhales heavily.

“That’s a dangerous fucking game,” she says, and Calum can’t help the humourless laugh that escapes him at that. Doesn’t he fucking know it.

“Yeah,” he says. “I just- I can’t tell them. They don’t understand.”

“Even Noel? He was always the reasonable one, wasn’t he?” Calum snorts, and it’s bitter.

“Not when it comes to the music,” he says. “And-” he cuts himself off, biting his lip. He hasn’t told anyone about him and Noel, not even Mali, because it didn’t matter at the time, and as soon as it started to matter, he had no one to tell. But it’s pertinent now, isn’t it, and it’d probably be a weight off his shoulders, so he takes a deep breath, and says: “And, uh, I fucked him.” There’s another pause.

“You- you fucked Noel?” Mali doesn’t quite sound like she believes him.

“I- well-” okay, she doesn’t need to know that technically Noel fucked him “-I mean, yeah. Years ago, though, like, three years ago. But- y’know.” He winces, cringing at his own words.

“Fucking hell, Cal,” Mali says, sounding a little awed. “You’ve made yourself a right fucking mess, haven’t you?”

“I know, I know,” Calum groans, tipping his head back. “It- it didn’t matter, y’know, it was just a one-time thing, but now with Michael back in the picture…” he trails off, and Mali sighs again.

“Does Michael know?”

“No.”

“Jesus, Cal, are you honest with fucking anyone in your life?”

“I- yeah, I just- look, it’d be presumptuous of me to tell him,” Calum says. “We haven’t- we only just made up last week.” Mali hums, a little disapprovingly.

“Well, I suppose,” she says, but she still doesn’t sound too happy about it. “You’ve got to tell your band, though. I’ve seen bigger bands fall apart for less.” Calum’s stomach flips. He knows that, and he knows full well that they could fall apart for less. But he also knows that he’s too far deep with the lie, now, could maybe have got away with the months of sporadic phone calls but hammered the final nail into his coffin in a chic house in Camden, that if he tells them now it all comes crashing down anyway.

“I can’t,” he says, and he hears the desperation in his own voice. “I can’t, Mali. I’d be-” he doesn’t even want to think about it. A life without Oasis, fine, whatever, he can go back to fixing fences and walls. But a life without Noel? A life without Liam? Calum can’t even stomach the thought of that, let alone the prospect of it being a reality. “I can’t. I can’t lose them.”

“What the fuck is the deal with you and those two?” Mali says, a little exasperated, because she knows he doesn’t mean Bonehead or Tony. “They’re nothing but trouble.”

“They’re my best friends,” Calum says, which is a bit of an understatement. Liam’s more of a part of the fabric that makes up Calum’s soul, but it feels a bit dramatic to say that out loud.

Mali’s quiet for a moment, and then she sighs again, long, heavy, resigned.

“Be careful,” she says gently. Her reluctant seal of approval.

“I’m trying.” Mali hums.

“Give my love to Mum and Dad,” she says. “I’m going to get high as fuck and try to forget that someone in my family has fucked Noel Gallagher.” The ghost of a smile crosses Calum’s lips at that.

“Night,” he says. “Love you.”

“Love you most, Cal.” There’s a click, and then she’s gone, nothing but the sound of Calum’s ragged breathing and his racing heart swelling in the silence of the dark kitchen.

Calum sets the phone down on the counter, then inhales deeply, staring up at the ceiling. Mali’s right. He’s made himself a right fucking mess.

Well, he thinks, a little bitterly. Merry fucking Christmas, eh?

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#malum #5sos fic #5sos fanfic #5sos slash #5sos fanfiction #its 23:59 i'm posting it on monday it counts #also i've been vibing so much w electronic music lately if anyone listens to that i want more recs #i'm big into vaporwave/synthwave/ambient/trip hop/big beat/acid house atm #but i'll try anything #also been very keen on the stone roses...what an album #as in the album. sugar spun sister has my whole heart

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onthesandsofdreams · 5 years

Note

Fictober 30 - Steve x Diana

Prompt number: 30. “I’m with you, you know that.”Fandom: Wonder Woman (Post- Movie)Pairing: Steve x DianaRating: GWarnings/Tags: Mentions of War & Temporary Character Death

In Dreams. Read @ AO3

Diana feels a bit lost after defeating Ares. She’s done the job she had set herself out to do, but navigating the fallout is far more difficult than what she had imagined. Even with the help of Etta, Charlie, Sameer and Napi, she misses Steve keenly.

Diana remains in London after the war. It’s Etta who offers a room in her house, and it’s also Etta who comes up with a solution for Diana’s lack of papers. Etta produces both a birth certificate and a marriage licence.

“I’m not sure about this,” Diana says, clearly uncomfortable with the lies. “It’s not that I’m not grateful, but it feels wrong.”

“I know honey,” Etta pats Diana’s hand in a comforting manner. “But you will need identification now, and well, now you’ll have it and it will help with your life here now.”

“Thank you Etta.”

And that had been that. Etta had also helped Diana get a job alongside her, with Diana’s gift of languages, she had been welcomed with open arms. And life proceeded quite nicely along.

*****

Then it happened one night. Diana bid Etta good night and goes to bed, sleep comes easier than normal, and she dreams. She dreams of a forest, completely surrounded by mist. Diana can barely distinguish the trees and there’s not much visibility, then she hears some footsteps.

“Diana,” A voice she knows and has missed calls out to her.

“Steve?” Her own voice is shaky, tentatively hopeful. “Is that you?”

Then Diana watches as Steve Trevor emerges from the mist. As young and as handsome as she saw him last. There’s no wounds on him, no scarring that would hint at the manner of his death.

Steve gives her a wide grin, “Hey Diana. It’s me.”

“Oh Steve!” Diana rushes to him and wraps her arms around him. Steve’s presence is solid in her arms as she feels him wrap his arms around her. “I miss you so.”

“So do I,” Steve says and then kisses the top of Diana’s head. “But I am here now, even if it’s only in your dreams.”

“How? How is it possible?”

“Your uncle, apparently.” Steve says in an amused tone of voice. “You know, Hades. He’s letting me come and visit you in your dreams. But I had to wait a bit.”

Diana’s eyes widen in surprise and her jaw open falls a little. “Hades?!”

“Yup,” Steve is still smiling at her. “Apparently a thank you for Ares.”

“Praise Hades, then. I am grateful that I can have you here, even if it’s only in my dreams. I am glad that he didn’t take you away from me, at least not entirely!”

“No, and I’m going to be here for you. As much as I can.”

Diana kisses him with all the love she has for him and he kisses her back. They don’t let go of each other and spend the rest of the time they have together talking. They talk until Diana’s vision begins to blur.

“You must be waking up,” Steve informs her.

“I don’t want to go just yet.” Diana says.

“Love, I won’t be going anywhere. I’ll see you again, quite soon in fact. So go, live your life and then tell me about it.”

With that, Diana’s vision goes black and she wakes with tears on her face. But she still smiles, knowing she can talk to Steve and that he is not completely lost to her. She lives.

*****

“I was thinking of changing my line of work,” Diana says during one meeting with Steve. “A museum, I’d like to do that.”

“It would suit you,” Steve agrees. “And there’s no more wars to worry about.”

“Indeed. And spy work is not something I want to do.”

“Understandable.”

With Steve’s encouragement and Etta’s blessing, Diana gets a job in the Victoria & Albert Museum. She relishes the change, even if it’s only to file archives, she has to start somewhere and honest work is good work.

*****

“How’s Etta doing?”

“Oh! I almost forgot to tell you about it. She’s dating this really lovely woman, quietly of course - I still don’t understand why they can’t love publically - and she’s very happy.”

Steve gives her a sad smile, “They should be able to, they’re not doing anyone any harm. But I’m glad to hear she’s happy.”

“Yes, I hope the day comes when people can love who they love without shame or repercussions. The suffragettes are still fighting for the vote, and I have marched with them on occasion.”

“Good on you Diana, keep fighting the good fight.”

“Thank you Steve.”

*****

“Napi has gone back to the States, said that he had work to do there.”

“Must miss it,” Steve smiled sadly. “I would’ve thought he’d remain in Europe. But home calls, I guess.”

“Charlie’s back in Scotland, he still doesn’t know what he’s going to do, but he also wanted out of the army.”

“Good for him,” Steve agreed. “He should take care of himself.”

“Sameer is traveling, he’s not sure what he’s going to do. So he’s traveling to see what to do.”

“Well, I hope he finds something. I know how it can be, to be a bit lost without direction.”

*****

And so time passed, Steve and Diana met each other in dreams. They spoke about life - or in Steve’s case - his previous life. And then.

“There’s another war brewing,” Diana spoke with a heavy heart. “Germany is being led by a horrid man, I’ve been hearing lots of talk of a war. People are trying to prevent it, but… I feel like it’s useless.”

Steve had been silent. “I am sorry Diana, I wish there was anything I could do to help you.”

“I killed Ares and now I feel like it was for nothing. But if war starts, I will fight again, I won’t abandon this world. I just wish I understood the need for it.”

“Because men make choices,” Steve said smiling sadly. “And some of those choices are terrible for many, good for few. Humanity is too complicated.”

“I know that now,” Diana responded. “I just wish war would not come at all.”

*****

“The things they were doing,” Diana sobs as Steve held her in his arms. “They were people! It was absolutely vile. The horrors they suffered, entire families gone and now… I have so much rage inside of me.”

“I know sweetheart,” Steve rocks her gently. “Your heart is far too kind and noble for you to turn away from helping others.”

“Thank you,” Diana gave him a watery smile. “For just holding me.”

“I love you. I don’t want you to feel alone. Because you never are.”

*****

“I’m moving to Paris.” Diana says after the war is over. “I’m thinking of trying for a job there.”

“Paris sounds nice,” Steve agrees, head on her lap. The sun shines in the meadow they found themselves in. “Great food.”

“Of course you’d mention the food,” Diana says with a laugh.

“Well, in my defense, I do miss it.”

Diana smiles down at Steve. “How come we always meet in places like these?”

Steve shrugs his shoulders, “I don’t know. But as long as I can see you, I won’t complain.”

“Me either, I just found it curious.”

*****

The dreams keep coming and the years keep passing. Diana is happy to still have Steve in her life, in any way she can. So, she doesn’t question it, she enjoys the little grace Hades has given her.

And then she mourns. Charlie passes one day, she attends his funeral in Scotland, prays that Hades has mercy on him. She visits Etta and her friend is older and grey, and Diana’s heart clenches, because she now knows that sooner, rather than later, she will lose her and Sameer. Napi writes on occasion, but she doesn’t know about whether he’d live or pass on.

“Charlie’s gone,” Diana tells Steve.

“I’m sorry Diana.”

“And Etta and Sameer won’t be far behind.” There is sadness in her voice.

“That’s the life of a common man, Diana. We live, we grow old and pass on.”

“Time flew by and I barely noticed.”

Steve says nothing, just holds her close.

*****

In the blink of an eye, it’s 1958.

One night that Diana meets with Steve, he looks tired and sad. “What troubles you,” she asks him.

“Nothing much,” Steve says with care, voice calm and composed. “Only… something is happening Diana and I - I won’t be able to see you for a while.”

Diana’s head snaps up and looks at Steve with wide worried eyes. “What do you mean Steve?”

Steve fidgets and looks away. “Part of the deal with your uncle, is that I can’t tell you. But… I will be gone for a while. I’m sorry.” Steve holds her face in his hands. “I want you to know this: I’m with you, you know that.” Then he removes one of his hands and places it gently above her heart. “No matter what Diana, I am in your heart, be strong until we meet again.”

The next morning, Diana wakes up weeping.

*****

A month passes and then another and there’s no sign of Steve at all. Diana doesn’t dream about him, she weeps and begs to the Gods, but no answer ever comes. And Diana mourns Steve Trevor for a second time.

Time crawls slowly this time and Diana doesn’t know what to do. She has few friends from work, so she dedicates to work and to save people. Throws herself into both things with all her being.

Diana keeps living. She’s not sure how, but she does. When she least expects it, her laughs come easier, she rests better, she feels lighter. Life is better.

*****

It’s 1984 and there’s trouble in DC.

Diana sees the news of a woman calling herself Cheetah, she’s been wreaking havoc in DC and no one has been able to catch her.

So Diana takes leave of her job and books a flight to Washington. Once there, Diana begins making patrols at night, always careful, always on the lookout. Stops a couple of robberies, helps the people she can while she’s there.

But so far, no success in spotting Cheetah.

One morning, the phone in her room rings. “Hello?” She answers.

“Miss Prince,” The receptionist voice comes clear. “There’s someone in the lobby for you. Says his name is Steve Trevor.”

Diana freezes, it can’t be. Steve is dead and gone. “I’m going down,” she says and hopes the receptionist doesn’t notice her voice shaking.

“As you wish miss Prince, have a good day.”

Diana puts down the receiver with shaking hands. She takes a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. In the end, she just shook her head and walks out of her room. Time to face whomever was calling themselves Steve Trevor.

The elevator ride seems to go much too slow for her tastes. The doors open in several floors and Diana resists the urge to simply jump down from the stairs. And then they reach the lobby. She exits the elevator with her head held high. And there, standing tall and chatting with the receptionist, is a figure she knows too well.

It’s Steve. Her Steve.

“Steve?” Her own voice sounds strange in her ears.

The man turns and yes, without a shadow of a doubt, Steve Trevor is smiling at her. Bright blue eyes sparkle, the same smile she has missed, same blond hair. “Diana!”

Diana rushes towards him and Steve meets her in the middle. She holds onto him and feels a sob wreck through her. “You’re back,” her voice is shaking and tears are now falling freely. “Gods have mercy, you are back.”

“Yeah,” Steve’s voice is shaky also. “I’m here now love. Sorry to make you wait.”

Diana takes a step back and grabs Steve’s face. He’s crying too. “It doesn’t matter,” she says. “You’re here now, oh I missed you so.”

“I love you,” Steve says through his tears. “I love you so much and now, here we are. And now we have time.”

Diana chokes a laugh. “I love you too. And I’m glad you’re back. You’re not going to go away are you.”

“No,” Steve says gently. “I’m alive. I was reincarnated, I won’t leave your side anymore. Until I die again - hopefully of old age.”

“That is good to hear,” Diana smiles. “That is very good indeed.”

“So,” Steve winks at her. “How about a date?”

Diana beams at him. “Of course.”

Steve bows and offers his arm and Diana takes it. “Then, let us go and have some fun. And then you can tell me of everything that I missed.”

“And you must tell me everything. Counting my uncle is letting you, that is.”

Steve grins, “Oh, I can tell you now. I just couldn’t tell you before I came back and I had some restrictions, but now, we can be together. C'mon on, I hear there’s a good French bistro nearby and quite frankly, I miss French food.”

Diana laughs and follows Steve to the door of the hotel. Outside, the sun is shining and Diana thinks it has never been brighter.

#fictober19 #wondertrev #diana x steve #steve trevor #diana prince #wonder woman fic #post canon fic

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rossmccallsqueen · 5 years

Text

Homework (Professor!Gwil AU Smut)

Pairing: Professor!Gwil x Reader

Summary: You and Professor Lee had been a thing the entire semester. Except one night when you forget to do the homework, he got a little upset with you. You knew you would be punished.

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: SO MUCH SMUT, Daddy kink, dom!gwil, a little bit of dom!y/n if you squint hard enough, lots of dirty talk, semi public sex, unprotected sex (always wrap it before you tap it folks)

Requested: No, but I got some good inspiration from some pictures this week. Dedciated to my wife @borhap-socials :)

It was taking everything in you to go to your last class of the day. It was a night class, and you always dreaded going. You were tired and the lights always got turned off which meant it was even more likely that you were going to fall asleep. But there was a reason you always went, and you could never tell anyone what it was.

Your friends knew you had a man, but you’d never tell them who. If you did there was a high chance you would be kicked out of college, but it was the thrill that got you. The fact that anyone could find out at any time turned you on, which is usually why you went to class. You didn’t sit too close so you wouldn’t give it away, but close enough that he would still look at you a lot.

After class, you always had your time together. He loved it, you loved it. Sometimes you’d wear something a little low cut and tease him a little bit, just to make it interesting. He’d always figure it out because who gets dressed up to go to a night class? Almost no one, that's who. You sat down next to your one friend in the class once you walked in as you did every week.

“Did you do the homework?” They asked.

“What do you think?” You said back. You never did the homework, you didn’t have to. But they didn’t need to know that.

“Do you ever do the homework Y/N?”

“Sometimes. Depends on if I want to take a nap or not.”

“You always want to take a nap.”

“That is exactly my point.” And that’s when he looked at you. His eyes burned into your soul like the sun and made you feel like your clothes were on fire. He could do that to you just by a look.

“You know you stare at Professor Lee a lot Y/N.” You heard your friend say next to you. You barely heard them if you were being honest.

“What else would I look at? We’re in class, he’s the professor.” You hoped your lie would cover for you. When you looked at your friend you saw them nodding in agreement and you breathed a sigh of relief. You’d been reading The Picture of Dorian Gray for the last few weeks, and you’d finally be discussing it in class today.

“Alright now that everyone who wanted to come today has shown up, get out your books. We’ll be discussing The Picture of Dorian Gray today.” Even when he was teaching his voice was sexy. The classroom filled with everyone getting out their books, waiting to be told what to do next. You would think a classroom full of college students would know what to do after that but your classmates seriously made you worry sometimes.

“Alright let’s see who really read the book.” You watched as his eyes scanned the class, looking to draw someone out and ask them a question. You thought making eye contact would help you avoid it, but nope.

“Y/N. Dorian’s scandalous behavior shocks his peers, yet he remains welcome in social circles. Why? What is Wilde suggesting about “polite” London society?” You looked around and the entire class had their eyes on you. And you were screwed.

“Ummm… Well, Dorian is seen as very attractive…” You muttered. You already knew you’d be paying for it later.

“Didn’t read did you? Points will be deducted for this. Does anyone else have an answer to this question?” Professor Lee scanned the rest of the class and found a more than willing student. He seemed satisfied with their answer, but his eyes remained on you. He was mad and he wasn’t exactly hiding it. He’d never really been angry with you before.

The rest of the class you tried to avoid his gaze whenever possible. His nostrils were flared and he was pacing. Although he never stopped teaching, he always talked about the book. Never wavering for a second. When class was over, you knew better than to get up and leave. You acted like you couldn’t find something, telling your friend you’d see them later. One by one, everyone else left. And then it was just the two of you.

For the first few minutes, it was just silence. Pure silence. He stopped looking at you but kept pacing. You needed him to say something, you definitely didn’t want to be the first one to speak.

“Would you like to talk about why you didn’t read the book?” He asked.

“Well, I thought I was an exception to homework Gwilym.”

“Everyone needs to read the classics.” He walked over to the classroom door, closed it, and turned the lock. You definitely wouldn’t be going home for a while. “And now I think you deserve to suffer some consequences don’t you?” You gulped and nodded.

He signaled for you to come up to the front with his fingers.

“STRIP. Right. Now.” He commanded, and you did so. You were completely naked in front of an entire classroom and completely at his mercy. He walked up to you so close that you could feel his hot breath on your face. It made your skin jump like someone was trying to light a match. Just standing there naked in front of him already made you wet.

“Now bend over the desk, and show daddy how sorry you are. I think 10 spanks should suffice, what do you think?”

“Yes Daddy.” You bent over and leaned your elbows on the desk. He brought his had forcefully against your ass, knowing he left a red mark.

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU PRINCESS.” He yells, and it echoes.

“FOUR. FIVE.” And you counted the rest. As soon as he was done he brought you up, turned you around, and pressed your lips against his. He began sucking love bites anywhere he could reach while you undressed him. At the very least, both of you deserved to be naked. And you knew there was still more to come. Once he was naked he rested his forehead against yours.

“I think you still owe Daddy an apology. Sit up on the desk. You think you deserve this cock? My thick juicy cock? Or these fingers?” He held his hand up in front of your face and wrapped it around your neck lightly. Not enough to cause pain or harm, but enough to let you know that he meant business.

“FUCKING BEG FOR IT BABY GIRL. YOU HAVE TO BEG FOR DADDYS COCK.” You knew exactly what he wanted.

“I need your cock so fucking bad Daddy. I want you to slide it into me nice and hard and stretch me open with it. Please fuck me, Daddy, I want it so fucking bad. Fucking fill me with your load like you mean it.” You’d brought him down so he was eye level with you, begging right into his ear.

He was practically panting with need. He growled and kissed his entire way down your body. He stopped at your breasts, taking as much of one as he could into his mouth.

“Daddy fucking loves your tits baby girl.” Teasing one of your nipples between his teeth, he brought his hand up to your core and started playing with your folds. You were so damn sensitive and you didn’t even care. Gwilym brought his lips against yours, hungrily capturing your lips but thrusting his fingers into you at the same time.

His fingers seemed to hit that sweet spot inside of you, and it felt absolutely wonderful His fingers thrust in and out of you at a rapid pace, while his thumb flicked over your clit.

“FuCK DADDY, SHIT. JUST LIKE THAT.”

“You like that baby girl?” He looked you dead in the face, pausing for a second. Suddenly you were very aware that you were naked on your professor's desk as he was about to fuck your brains out. You could feel your orgasm building and Gwil showed no signs of stopping. His thumb pressed deeply against your clit and it automatically sent you over the edge. You came all over his hand… and the papers sitting on his desk.

“I guess whos students won’t be getting their papers back…” You joked, and Gwil leaned down to kiss you. He made you cum once, and he was going to do it again.

“You ready for me Princess?” You nodded eagerly, and he pulled you up. He shoved all the papers on his desk off of it onto the floor and turned you around so you were back leaning against your elbows. Your face gets pressed against the desk and he doesn’t waist any time getting his cock inside of you.

“You take my cock so fucking well Princess. Holy shit you’re so tight? Why didn’t you tell Daddy that you needed a good fucking baby girl? You know Daddy lives to please his princess.” His tone was low and deep, causing you to grab onto his desk for some kind of relief or friction. He pounded into you relentlessly, getting at just the right angle to make you see stars.

The sounds of both of your moans echoed throughout the room. Gwil had never fucked you this hard before, and to top it off he was doing it on his desk.

“FUCK DADDY. SIR YOU FUCK ME SO WELL. FASTER, YES RIGHT FUCKING THERE. I SAID FUCKING FASTER DADDY.” You were practically screaming against the desk. It didn’t take Gwil any extra instruction, and he began a frantic new pace. He leaned over you and pressed kisses all over your back while his cock was throbbing inside of you.

“Feel my cock inside you baby girl? That’s it, clench around Daddy’s cock. YES JUST LIKE THAT BABY GIRL. I WANT YOU TO FUCKING SCREAM WHILE IM FUCKING YOU. I want you to taste my cum while it drips all over your face. You think you’d like that?” He was yelling so loud and you fucking loved it. You almost forgot that there was a possibility that other people could hear you but you didn’t care. All you wanted was for Gwil to fuck you like he was.

He loved seeing you bent over like this, completely at his mercy. The harder he drove his cock into you, the more you felt the desk move.

“I’m so fucking close princess, keep clenching around daddy.” You could feel your orgasm approaching as well. Just a few more thrusts and you were seeing stars you came so hard. Your breathing was heavy, but Gwil was still thrusting into you like there was no tomorrow.

“Daddy is close princess, where do you want my cum this time?” He said as he continued his thrusts.

“My mouth Daddy, I want you to cum all over my face!” You moaned at the sudden loss of Gwil inside of you, but turned yourself over and got down on your knees. It didn’t even take a few strokes before Gwil was cumming all over your mouth and face. You swallowed what you could, knowing he loved that. What you didn’t get, you cleaned up with your fingers and rubbed it on your breasts. He delighted in seeing his cum all over you.

“Fucking hell baby girl, you’re learning aren’t you?” He helped get you up and wrapped his arms around you, bringing you against his chest.

“Does this mean I’m excused from homework now?” You asked with your puppy dog eyes looking up at him.

“Homework? What homework?” He began kissing your neck again, and you had a feeling this wasn’t the only time you’d be doing it tonight. “You’re coming home with me tonight. As soon as the building is clear.

No homework and a sleepover? You definitely didn’t mind coming to class anymore.

-------

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#professor!gwil #professor gwil #professor gwil au #gwilym lee #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee x reader smut #au #smut #gwilym lee smut #professor gwil x reader

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theauthorunicorn · 5 years

Text

Probability of Love at First Sight | Shawn Mendes x Reader

Authors Note: You missed your flight to meet the one fated for you for less than a day.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2900 plus words

Reader

I sighed deeply as the ground staff told me that my flight pushed back ten minutes ago. Great! I called my mom saying that I’ll be coming late and promised to catch the next available flight. I can hear her over the phone with a disappointment sigh that I can’t help her with the things we needed to prepare for tomorrow.

I managed to moved my flight just enough to join my mom in London. I’m flying from New York and my flight will be leaving approximately eight hours and fifty-nine minutes from now. I considered hanging outside the airport to pass the time but I’m afraid I’ll be stuck with the traffic again.

*****

Shawn

My plane left me. I’m flying to London for my concert tomorrow night but due to over consumption of alcohol last night, I catch my plane to London leaving New York without me on board. And now, I have to wait more than eight hours before my new flight. Andrew told me to stay in the airport with low profile. Let’s see if I can do that.

Not that I’m complaining, but, the thing about crowded place, like for example, airports might get a little messy with someone like me who, fortunately, sold out some albums and luckily had a huge fan based. I looked around to see some place to stay here without attracting attention.

I found a spot.

*****

Reader

I made myself comfortable enough to a tiny corner in the gate that my flight will be using for boarding later this day. I spotted a book lying on the airport bookstore and had double price at it was in Barnes and Noble, I bought it. I didn’t have a choice.

I should have catch my flight earlier.

*****

Shawn

My phone is running out of battery and I’m looking for a place where no one will recognize me and a plausible stranger that might be generous enough to lend me a charger without freaking out that Shawn Mendes is asking to borrow a charger.

I was thinking about Starbucks but it’s a no. The lounge too, but, I can’t stay there without anyone noticing I’m there. Also, I can’t buy a charger because it’ll make me interact with someone who’ll probably realize it was me in a store. So, no.

I found a spot near the boarding gate with not more than twenty people occupying but there’s a girl reading a book with her air pods on to the corner.

I hope she have a charger.

*****

Reader

I started reading my new book and I’m in the fifth chapter when someone tapped my shoulder lightly. It’s a guy who I did not recognize but he seems familiar, he smiled lightly and spoke, “Please don’t freak out or shout or do anything that could catch an attention.”

Hearing that, I’m freaking out a little bit but I managed to contain it, he looked nice though. I removed my air pods and placed my boarding pass across the page that I’m reading as a bookmark. I looked at him, confused, “Well, it’s freaking creepy that your asking me not to freak out.”

“Do you know me?” he asked instantly.

“Am I supposed to know you?” I asked politely but in a sarcastic way.

He sighed, “Don’t you recognize me?”

“No.” I said plainly furrowing my brows.

*****

Shawn

“Great!” I scoffed. She seems real, acting she didn’t know me, but, it’s weird because I can see that we’re at the same age based on her choice of clothing and the book she was reading. She was about to open her book again but I stopped her by touching her hand accidentally.

“That was way more creepy, dude.” she mumbled.

“I’m sorry,” I smiled reassuring her everything is good with us, that I’m a good person, “by any chance do you have a charger? My phone battery is about to die.”

She looked at me blankly, still confused and opened her bag to pull out her charger and slowly handed it to me.

“Thanks, what time is your flight?”

She opened her book and said without looking at me, “I’m trying my best not to call security because you’re acting like a creep shit,” she whispered, “just use my charger you’ll have plenty of time to use it.”

*****

Shawn

Two hours passed she’s still reading her book, she’s halfway through it. She smiled, scoffed and laughed some point of her book, she looks beautiful. And I think she really mean that she didn’t know me. I smiled at that thought.

My battery was finally full and I returned her charger to roam around the airport to kill the time. But, I didn’t instead I sat beside her wondering what words I may use to caught her attention. With her air pods on it’s nearly impossible.

I glanced at her several times as the time tick by.

“Hey.” I asked her.

“Yeah?” she asked me.

“Aren’t you hungry?” was the only words I managed to utter. What the hell is happening.

She looks at me with a smirk on her face, “I actually do and thinking to ask you the same question. I’m heading to Starbucks to grab some coffee and some snacks.” she stood up. “Do you want anything?” she offered.

I’m stressed that what I should be doing and asking is what she’s doing right now. “Yeah, a coffee and anything that can be eaten to pass out the time.”

“Okay.” she smiled a walk away from our bench.

“I should be the one getting us food.” I stutter

“Nah, let me be. Stay here and guard up our premises.”

*****

Reader

“Can I have a name for the drinks?” the barista ask me.

I usually say Y/N and smiles but this time I wandered what name should I give. “Can you put something like ‘stranger’?”

The barista laughed, “Weird one.” she started scribbling it against the cup. “Any food to pair up?”

I approached him with our drinks. He bit his lips as he smiled. It is an unnecessary act to do and I feel offended.

“Thank you -” he mumbled as he grab the drink I handed over me, he furrowed his eyebrows probably asking my name and he looked into his cup, “Stranger?” he laughed at that.

“It’s better not to know our names.” I confessed, “I may and might know you and probably get embarrassed that I’m sitting next to..” I stopped thinking who he might be, “the prince of some country, a presidential son, senatorial son, an heir to a big company, I don’t know.”

“So you think, I looked like a prince?” he started questioning.

I shrugged my shoulder.

“A presidential son? A son of a senator or even an heir to a big company.” he laughed at those. Usually, I’ll get annoyed with this but unexpectedly I wasn’t. I, in fact enjoyed this little conversation.

“And I’m flying in a commercial plane?” he finished his thoughts.

“I don’t know, probably you had a biggest argument with your parents. And opted you to use your private jet and probably cut your card access, so you have a little less cash right now, but it’s still a lot of cash. So that’s why don’t bother to pay the drink that you just had. It’s on the house.”

He laughed so hard that he’d thrown his head to the back.

“Wow, that’s a good one.” he complimented my words, “Unfortunately, no, I still have an access to my private jet,” he said jokingly, “my cards are still here,” he pointed into his wallet, “but I don’t have any cash right now so thank you for the drink.” I giggled as he said it, “Yeah, it’s true, especially the last one.”

We talked for a little bit and he excused himself to use the bathroom.

*****

Shawn

I washed my face with the warm water running into the sink. I am drowned with her laughter and her wholeness. I didn’t want this to end. I hope her flight doesn’t leave so soon.

“So what did you do for living?” I asked her as I took the seat beside her.

“Are we getting comfortable to each other now?” she joked.

“That’s the goal.”

She laughed a little, “Do you want a make up one or the real one?”

“The one you’re comfortable sharing will be good. Because, I’ll believe everything you’ll say right now. But preferably the truth.”

She brushed her hair, “How should I say this that you’ll believe me? Hmm ..” she hummed. “I’m an editor to a publishing company.”

“That explains everything of me being a prince, with no jets to use, blocked credit card.” we laughed in unison.

She smirked, “How about you?”

I’m a singer, I write songs, I have albums, I have a concert tour this year. I’ll be traveling a lot.

“I - traveled a lot. For work.” I managed to say.

“Are you a vlogger?” she started scanning me, “but you don’t have a camera.” she pouted. “You looked so familiar.” she stared at me, “Nah, never mind.”

“Your flight isn’t leaving yet?” I asked softly.

“Do I bore you right now?” she asks leaning her face inches away mine.

“No, I was wondering how many more hours I get to spend with you.” I confessed.

*****

Reader

“Actually, I missed my flight earlier.” I told him. I still didn’t know his name but probably I’ll ask him as soon as my flight started boarding or his, whichever comes first.

“Me too.” he said. “It’s like this was meant to happen.”

I laughed lightly, my heart is beating faster and my breath is catching it’s rhythm.

“Did you know that people who meet in airports are seventy-two percent more likely to fall for each other than people who meet anywhere else.” I quoted.

“Really, how did you know that?” he asks me seriously fixing his gaze to my eyes.

“I’ve read it. How come you didn’t know that as per say you travel for a living?”

He shrugged, “Probably I haven’t met her with my previous trips. But, I think have met her already.” then he flashes a smile that could take away my pain.

*****

Shawn

I talked to her every possible thing that came across with my mind. She looked so beautiful every time she smiles, shrugged and most especially when she laughed. I noticed she only had a small backpack, a brown paper back and a black coat as her gear. I wonder where she was going to because I wanted her beside me as soon as where in the clouds.

“How many days are you traveling away?” I asked her softly wanting to caressed her hair against my palm.

“A week, less or more.” she answered, “you?”

“A month, probably longer.”

“You’re traveling to?” I finally had an urged to ask her this question.

It made her laugh again, I love that she laughed at little things she find funny. Her genuine laughter made me fall in love with her at this time. God, I love her already even if I didn’t know her that well.

“You know what, I might give my name and phone number to you later as soon as my flight will start boarding. Patience.”

“Oh, so it’s a deal.” I confirmed to her.

*****

Reader

Thirty more minutes until boarding. His eyes looked tired but he still talks and casually touches my hand in slight way. I’m loving this even if I’m hurting.

“I hope you’re traveling somewhere for your work not for your boyfriend.” he confessed as his fingers caressed against my arms slowly. He have the looks in his eyes that he meant every word he said.

“No. Actually, I’m seeing my mom and -” I stopped with an eerie silence to my mind, “my dad.” I smiled faintly.

“Good, because did you know people who meet in airports are seventy-two percent more likely to fall for each other than people who meet anywhere else. Just like us.” he confessed. “I think I’m falling for you.”

I chuckled, I wanted to say I’m falling for you too but I didn’t, I just smiled at him savoring his touch.

“My flight will start boarding thirty minutes from now.”

“Mine will be any time soon too.” he continued.

*****

Shawn

She smelled like cucumber. Her skin is so soft. Her lips are endearing. Her voice is so sweet. Her laugh is genuine. She loves books. I want her.

“Flight 3846 bound to London is now ready for boarding.” the announcement echoed the waiting lounge. I sighed sadly looking at her. “That’s my cue.” I told her, stopping my fingers running from her arms.

I saw her face with joy, “That was mine too.” she said.

“You’re flying to London?” I asked her.

“Yeah.”

*****

Reader

We walked towards the boarding gate as he intertwined his hands unto mine. It made me smile. I haven’t known that delaying my arrival to London may be a good idea. Maybe it’s all fated to happen, like what he said.

“Mr. Mendes, Ms. Y/L/N.” the flight crew greeted us.

As soon as we stepped on board we both go to separate direction to the cabin. I’m going to the right, he’s staying in left. Our hands still intertwined separated slowly.

“We didn’t have a seat together.” I reminded him.

“Don’t we?” he acted shocked by it.

I turned away from him finding my seat in the five rows from the front and settled myself to my seat next to the aisle. I’m seated with an middle-aged woman.

I was placing my things according to where it should be long. I also asked a flight crew to hang my coat and dress so it won’t crumple. I needed to have a dress change before the plane arrives in London.

A silhouette of man stand beside me, smiling, it was him. I still didn’t know his name but surely heard his last name earlier.

“Ma'am,” she said to the woman next to me, “is it okay to swap seat with you. This girl right here is my girlfriend and we didn’t end up seating together since the flight was so full and we’re like so far from each other. So, I was asking if it’s okay from you to transfer over there,” he pointed his seat, he’s on the first row left side of the plane, “it’s still a window seat with more comfortable space in front of you.” he smiled sweetly at her after explaining what he wanted and he did just label me as his girlfriend.

The woman beside me agreed, he helped her with her bags to transfer from his seat. After five minutes or so, he’s beside me with his things and settled himself to his new seat.

“I did ask the flight crew for this. They agreed.” he immediately defended himself.

“Did you just call me your girlfriend?” I asked him.

“That was a decoy, but, yeah, I just did. You’ll be soon. Hopefully. That’s why I needed your first name now, because, we happen to know our last names.” he said confidently. “Does my surname looks good with your first name?”

Y/N Mendes. I thought. It fits perfectly.

I didn’t answer him, instead a shook my head to let the thought leave my brain.

*****

Shawn

After couple of hours in the flight. We didn’t have enough talks. She’s now rested in my chest, synchronizing her breath with mine.

“I’m traveling today to London to attend my father’s funeral.” she took a deep breath as she told me the reason why she didn’t seem so excited to arrive there.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” I kissed her temple to assure her everything will be alright.

*****

Reader

We’re almost there.

He’s still asleep. I made my way to the comfort room to change my clothes before the seat belt sign is on for my father’s funeral.

“On behalf of your captain and the entire crew, I’d like to thank you for joining us on this trip and we are looking forward to seeing you on board again in the near future. Have a nice day!” the captain said over the aircraft’s speaker.

I had to buckle his belt without waking him up. He must be tired from our travel and I didn’t want to wake him from his good sleep. We arrived at the airport and I made my way out faster, I had a funeral to mourn. I didn’t even say my goodbye to Shawn.

*****

Shawn

I woke up to an almost empty plane with my seat belt still buckled on and she’s long gone.

I noticed her book lying to the seat next to mine with sticky note and my name scribbled on it. She finally know my name.

I grabbed it opening the first page. With a written note all over it.

Shawn,

You looked so familiar. Believe me I didn’t know it was you until your passport dropped accidentally before the plane landed. I had to check your name and didn’t wake you up you needed the rest. I’m sorry for leaving you behind here, I have something to catch up, you know that already. Thank you for everything. I’m so happy that for a brief moment of time we’ve became part of seventy-two percent of people who likely fall in love in airports.

I hope to see you soon somewhere, Shawn. I adore you. Good luck to your concert.

P.S I took us a picture in my phone and your phone so that we can’t forget each other and remind me that this wasn’t only a good dream,that this happened actually, a reality.

Love,

Y/N

#shawn mendes imagine #imagine shawn mendes #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes #shawn #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes x you #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes one shot #probability of love at first sight

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virmillion · 5 years

Text

Ibytm - T minus 48 seconds

Masterpost - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - ao3

Words: 2,053

Logan hisses gently as he pulls the bowl of popcorn from the microwave, setting it on the counter as fast as he can manage to shake the burning feeling from his fingers. “Popcorn’s done!”

“Great, now come pick a stupid show already, so I don’t feel like I’ve wasted my Friday,” Virgil calls back. Remembering to check his pride this time, Logan scoops up the bowl with two objectively safer napkins and peers around the corner of the kitchen wall.

Virgil’s head just barely peeks over the top of the couch, a tuft of pale purple hair sticking out opposite the rest. Beyond him is a daunting list of movies and shows scrolling beneath the Netflix logo. A fifteen second trailer loops for the movie Wreck-It Ralph, but Virgil stubbornly refuses to press play. The tuft of hair vanishes as Virgil leans forward and clears off a space on the table for the popcorn bowl.

“Careful, ’s hot,” Logan warns, dropping the bowl on the open spot.

“Noted.” Virgil, after acknowledging Logan’s words (which really ought to be heeded), proceeds to completely ignore them in favor of grabbing more than a fair fistful and popping the whole mess in his mouth. “Ha her he hah king?”

“You want to run that by me one more time?”

Virgil swallows around the lump of butter and grain with a grimace. “What’re we watching?”

“Great question. No more scary movies, you’re cut off from those, but that’s about our only parameter.”

“Puh- leez, it’s not my fault you couldn’t get to sleep last week. You’re the one that kept me up with nervous texts, ’member? I would’ve expected you to be grown up enough to survive watching Nightmare on Elm Street . Guess I was wrong, if laser tag was anything to go off of.”

“Laser tag was barely two months ago, and already you’re having delusions about my lacking bravery?”

“Hey, hey, you’re the astronaut in training here. I’m not the one with explicit and express intent to fly a hundred hours of pilot-in-command aircrafts before I turn twenty-seven.”

“A thousand hours, or three years of related professional experience. And if I want to break any records, it has to be before I’m twenty-six. Try to pay more attention when I lecture you about my internship next time.”

“I have to endure a next time?”

Logan shoots Virgil a pointed look, the effect of which is lost to the popcorn kernel lodged between his right molars. He prods at it with his tongue.

“In my defense,” Virgil continues, “this is pretty much the longest a relationship of mine has ever lasted.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?” Logan isn’t quite sure where all this bravado came from, but it’s doing wonders for keeping his voice even, so he won’t jinx it by digging deeper right now.

“It’s faster to say ‘relationship’ than ‘that dorky guy who hangs out at my apartment every Friday night to make fun of movies because we have nothing better to do as self-respecting adults,’ but I’ll gladly switch to that absurd and overly expository title if you prefer.”

A pout tries to crawl onto Logan’s face, which he promptly ignores. “Point taken. Did you pick a movie yet, or are you just that obsessed with watching a pixelated handyman smile on your television screen?”

“Neither. There’s no good bad movies left on here, so at this point, we’re better off watching something one of us has already seen—”

“Out of the question.”

“—watching nothing—”

“No thank you.”

“—or binging a series show.”

This gives Logan a moment’s pause. “That could work.”

“Right, because watching half an hour of an unending show every week without fail is how I want to spend my next three years’ worth of Fridays.”

“Well, why not?”

“What would we even watch? There’s, like, no serializations that normal people haven’t seen. Everybody’s watched The Office —”

“I haven’t.”

“— Brooklyn 99 —”

“I haven’t.”

“—and Parks and Rec .”

“I haven’t.”

Virgil slams the remote gown on the couch and gapes at Logan. “You haven’t seen Parks and Rec? ”

“Have you even been listening to a single word out of my mouth?”

“You are an absolute monster. You disgust me. We’re through, no more movie nights. I can’t hang out with someone whose true colors are so monochromatic.” Logan is not entirely certain whether Virgil is kidding at this point. “I’m kidding.” Logan is not entirely certain whether Virgil is about to add the caveat ‘mostly’ to that statement.

After an uncomfortably long silence wherein Logan looks absolutely anywhere that isn’t Virgil, the speakers proudly announce the sound of Leslie Knope introducing herself to a small child playing in a sandbox. “This isn’t very funny,” Logan murmurs. “I mean, what child would say they were having a moderate amount of fun and somewhat enjoying themselves to a stranger? I suppose I might if prompted, but still.”

“Shut up ,” Virgil hisses, “this part is hilarious, stop talking. ”

“Ha ha,” Logan says dryly. “I love watching drunks hide in swirly slides. Ha.”

“Shut up. ” This command is accompanied by Virgil swatting at Logan’s shoulder.”

“Well, hey, can’t we skip the theme song?” Logan is almost hoping he’ll say no, just so these movie nights can be that much longer. Series show nights, now.

“Nope, out of the question. Skipping the intro is cheating and an act of cowardice to the nth degree. Be quiet and enjoy the upbeat music.”

A few weeks later, Logan finds himself enjoying watching the theme song. Maybe it has something to do with how they’re sharing one bowl of popcorn, their fingers brushing against each other every so often, rather than Virgil hogging the whole thing for himself. Maybe it’s how their knuckles linger when they reach in at the same time, neither pulling away instantly, but neither vocalizing what’s happening. Maybe it’s how, when Virgil is distracted by people assuming Leslie is dating Ann, he absently lets their fingers link together loosely, too intentional to be a thoughtless mistake. When the scene shifts to some guy named Anthony waving, they both yank their hands away from each other. Logan swears he can feel his nerve endings burning.

Upon the premiere of season two, the distance between them has closed ever so slightly. Rather than being at opposite ends of a three cushion couch, Virgil leans on one armrest and Logan arranges himself on the next cushion over. And if Logan’s fingers wander over to Virgil’s when Leslie marries the two gay penguins (despite the popcorn being well out of reach on the table), and if they hold on long after the credits for the episode have passed, well, that’s nobody’s business but their own, isn’t it?

When the Galentine’s day episode rolls around, Logan has abandoned all pretenses of slowly inching closer, instead taking Virgil’s hand as soon as they’re both seated with their respective mugs. Both cheap water steepings from a broken keurig, of course, but at least they’re enjoying them together. Well, enduring, enjoying, same difference.

“Hey, that’s what you said the first time we went to the museum together!” Logan exclaims, watching the sweater swap moment between April and Andy. Okay, so he doesn’t really exclaim it, per se, so much as say it suddenly and without warning—it’d be rather difficult to literally exclaim it, what with his head resting heavy on Virgil’s shoulder and all.

“Oh, right, on our first date, you mean?”

“Our first what?”

For those of you keeping track at home, yes, Logan has managed to go about six months without realizing that their first date was, in fact, a date.

By the time Chris asks Tom and Jerry to come up with a new logo for the department, Logan is literally sitting in Virgil’s lap with an arm slung around his shoulders. You might liken the position to that of a koala, but then again, Logan didn’t ask you. Full disclosure, they started watching more than one episode a week somewhere along the line, but this was spurred in some part by the need for background noise while they packed everything Virgil owned into a small mountain of cardboard boxes.

“Something to celebrate the occasion?” Logan asks tentatively, holding up a bottle of champagne. This kitchen certainly looks much nicer than the last one, but the leniency of adding paint to these walls was a buffer Logan had sorely missed at Virgil’s old place.

“If you want,” Virgil replies, craning his head over the back of the couch. “But you’re paying damages if you spill it all over my clean floors.”

“Well, duh, I’m paying half the rent, of course I’d fund repairs.” Logan holds back what more he wants to mention, still wary of the sore spot surrounding Virgil’s careers.

“In that case, plop your butt down on the couch we need to replace—speaking of which, we need to figure out a day to descend on IKEA for some upgrades.” Virgil pats his lap and gestures toward the screen—longer and thinner, purchased with some of the funds they’d pooled from their respective savings when picking a place together. “Now, c’mon, we’re about to see the squad go to London. I know you’re all about the architecture over there, aren’t you?”

“As if you even need to ask.” Logan grins, plopping himself down on top of Virgil and whistling along with the theme song.

Living together, unsurprisingly, does wonders for powering through the last couple seasons at a much more efficient pace. In what seems like the blink of an eye, Logan is watching the futures of the main squad playing out as they do one last project, and it’s not a stretch to say he’s holding back tears. As the credits fade to black and The Office pops up as a recommendation to watch next, Logan lifts a hand to his cheek and is baffled to find it come away wet.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Virgil murmurs, slipping an arm around Logan’s back and rubbing circles on his arm. “This is the worst part, I know. You’ve never been this attached to fictional characters before, huh?” Logan hiccoughs. “Yeah, I got you, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

Between shuddering breaths that aren’t quite laughs, Logan manages to get out, “It’s like the end of an era. I don’t know, I mean, it’s really over.”

“Oh, I know, sweetie,” Virgil mumbles, pressing his lips against Logan’s hair. “It just means moving on, and I’ll be here for you through it all.” Slowly but surely, Logan’s hiccoughs turn into giggles as the ridiculousness of the situation dawns on him. Why should he be getting so emotional over the end of some tv show? He literally went into this knowing the series would have a finale. He says as much to Virgil.

“True, but we sank a couple years into this tradition. You’re allowed to mourn a tradition, even if you think it’s silly. There’s no rules for what you can or can’t grieve, and even if you lie to yourself enough to believe there are, I’ll be here to help you through it.”

“First off, you can’t spell believe without ‘lie,’ and second, there’s no such thing as a free lunch, hon. What would you get out of dealing with nonsense emotions?”

“Besides knowing I get to wake up every morning to see your face?” Virgil pretends to ponder this for a moment, only breaking into a grin when Logan elbows him in the side—not intentionally, mind you. It’s more of an effort to bury his nose in Virgil’s neck, but unfortunately for Logan, Virgil is ticklish right around there. He laughs loudly and announces, “I want the moon.”

“The moon?”

“The moon, spaceman.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll bring you the moon. Is that all?”

“One more thing.”

“One more thing besides the moon, you mean?”

“Well, yeah, you have to know how much the moon costs.”

“How much does the moon cost?”

“The stars.”

“The stars?”

“It’ll cost you the stars.”

Logan shakes his head and smiles, wrapping Virgil in a tight hug and drying his eyes against his boyfriend’s sleeve. His words are no doubt muffled, near unintelligible, but he’s sure Virgil can make it out well enough. “Okay, love. I’ll bring you the moon.”

#labhwrites #mine #i'll bring you the moon #ibytm

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fenrirlives · 5 years

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So after getting some feedback here and from some gacha folks on discord, the overall picture I’m seeing here is that people had a much larger problem with the way Minase wrote a lot of the servants and their interactions than the concept of Agartha in general. I also see alot of people base their dislike on the JP version, which I can’t really comment on because I don’t speak the language and I’m not a fan of basing opinions on possibly biased translations for or against the subject matter

tl;dr, I liked it a good deal! Hated the repetitive dialogue, but the blended fictional worlds, Megalos, and a bunch of other things were really to my liking! I view it as a cool singularity with a sloppy ending and sloppier dialogue. Not as good as Shinjuku, but leagues better than Septem, London, or Orleans on my chart.

also as far as villain servants go, Columbus goes in my “What a douche, I love em!” shelf of fame right next to Mebd and Teach. I mean look at this dude!

Truly Rider is best servant class in all respects! (also his artist is great go follow!)

Addressing the elephant in the room first, I was really confused at the whole misogyny complaints. I saw a few people who found the tyrants to be sexist in concept, while others took more issue with Fergus’ interaction with Scheherazade, or how Fergus as a character was treated overall.

I don’t imagine there are THAT many people who see the kingdoms as the problem, as they never came off as a commentary on gender to begin with, and context shows that they wouldn’t even work as commentary since all aspects of them are either A) fabricated in regards to the non servants, or B) altered by Scheherazade’s Noble Phantasm in regards to actual servants. If anyone saw them as the writer’s take on gender roles, I think it’s unintended.

People taking umbrage with Fergus and Sche, I can understand a little more, as alot of that is a symptom of the repetitive dialogue that plagues this whole singularity. Fergus’ message near the end is one that I agree with (living in constant fear of death isn’t living at all, and using your trauma as an excuse to generalize or hurt other people is unacceptable), and I was a big fan of how the end of his quest to become a good king is realizing he’s just not meant to be one.

The thing is, character arcs are carried by their dialogue, and having Fergy either repeat the same crap about training/not hitting women or break the pace of a scene to internally monologue about the philosophy of a kingdom really did no favors. I also wished that his revelation about there being strong women was something someone else told him instead of something he just randomly remembers when the time is convenient, because that makes his whole “younger self” aspect kind of meaningless outside of not letting him be playable. Medea and Medusa lily were far better examples of how one goes about writing these younger servants and their relation to the knowledge of their future selves.

I think it would’ve worked better to use Adult Fergus instead, and have him show new levels of discomfort both with the situation in Argartha, and with his own behavior when first interacting with Sche (thereby betraying her expectations and reason for summoning him by actually being more thoughtful and reserved than she initially expected) . Maybe have him focus more on male camaraderie with Columbus and the resistance than sleeping with women, as I don’t imagine he’d have much interest in cell dividing zombies with fabricated personalities, even if he doesn’t know that’s what they are yet!

Now, Scheherazade is actually my favorite character from this singularity besides Wu. I love stories that have trauma & behavior developed from trauma (rather than principle built upon trauma) as an antagonistic force. Having to perfect your craft of storytelling to survive for over 2 and a half years while also suffering abuse and captivity is nothing short of awful, and the fact that this attracts the Demon Pillar to her and allows them to work together is really interesting.

I did dislike the fact that she seemed more affected by her infatuation with Fergus than his encouragement to find strength and pride in her storytelling, and see her nature as a heroic spirit as a boon to it, rather than something to fear. It feels like a big flaw of her character in FGO, which is that DW can’t decide if they want her to be a shivering leaf that hates fighting, or a sly beauty that subverts authority with her tales. Ideally these two aspects should be combined, but it comes across as inconsistent since there’s no solid in-between to give that transition more nuance.

That being said, I think the folks that label Fergus’ speech as inherently sexist are kinda missing the forest for the trees. No amount of headcanon or fan interpretation changes that he’s a character highly motivated by carnal instinct, and the fact that it’s the lense through which he tries to argue against Scheherazade’s viewpoint is pretty consistent, though the afore mentioned issues with his dialogue makes his sudden shift back to being horny on main jarring and could be fixed by him always being adult Fergus. I can at least appreciate that the story brings up the clumsiness of his words and that even if they get the message across, the flaw in delivery means that Scheherazade will not indulge him on his terms, even if she’s grown just a tiny bit out of her old mindset (plus everyone calls him out so it’s not like his attitude is treated as being “good”, just that it’s not all there is to him). Bottom line I love both those characters, and Agartha left them both in a place where I’d love to see more about them and their relationship explored!

Drake/Dahut was unremarkable (though I was a huge fan of the character design, and I wish DW would make that a skin for Drake). The concept of Ys and her being a creepy rapist/murderer using Drake as her puppet was interesting, but she really didn’t get screen time needed to do anything with that. Wu Zetian on the other hand, I felt was really fun!

I would’ve liked to see her more before the confrontation while we were in the Nightless city, but her speech about working her way up from nothing to becoming a ruler through sheer tenacity, contrasted against the lady that tries SO hard not to let it show that she likes being doted on really clicked with me. All in all, she definitely swiped Gorgon’s spot as the 4 star servant I’m gonna use that ticket on later in the year!

Penthesilea and Megalos had the highlight of the singularity. Nothing was cooler than fighting a bunch of Amazons as those two clashed overhead, and despite almost losing that fight due to a string of Penthesilea’s intrusions hitting my team, I actually wish they did more damage at this point because I wouldn’t even be mad (fyi Colombus actually got killed by Penth during the Megalos fight and I couldn’t stop laughing).

Now if we’re talking about parts of Agartha I absolutely hated, that’s Phenex with a bullet! Besides his bossfight being the most drawn out and irritating thing ever, the fact that both him and the Pillar in Shinjuku don’t fight us in their more humanoid form feels like such a waste. These are supposed to be 4 (5 counting ccc) Pillars that had enough independence gained to run away from Goetia, so the fact that they still look like pillars and never become those human forms when we fight them seems like a real dropped ball here when it comes to visual storytelling and Story/gameplay integration.Also, after how radical Shinjuku’s final fight was, Agartha really didn’t do much to sell Caladbolg finally going off in the middle of the fight (the poison of Wu’s NP was a nice touch at least!)

so yeah, I had quite a few problems here, but I always regard the art and media I consume on a component basis, and for me, the lows here really couldn’t beat out the fact that Agartha was this really cool combination of fabricated settings with tyrannical rulers facing off against a villain masquerading as a revolutionary hero, with a Nightmare monster appearing anywhere at any time, and our heroes seeking to find out which of these figures was the one truly responsible.

This was always the strength of the Remnants imo, taking looser concepts that normally don’t fly in Nasuverse fiction, and using it to twist the rules of servants through singularities in a way the original seven didn’t outside of Camelot and Babylonia. It wasn’t as great as those two by a long shot, but at the end of the day, It’s left me quite excited for Shimosa, which I’ve been told is the hypest Pseudo Singularity out of the bunch.

It sucks that this singularity gets such a bad rap when it has so many cool and interesting things in it, but if people dislike something, then there’s nothing for it. As for me, I’d give it a B- on an F to S scale, with Camelot still sitting at the absolute top for me. Anyway, Happy 4th of July tomorrow if you celebrate it, and here’s to EoR 3 and Shirou eventually getting in the game (lmao nope)

#Big opinion words #no hard feelings here if you disagree!#I wish Scheherazade was higher tier man #I wuv her lots #Also Hydras are annoying and I wish something else dropped that Wine dawg

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theuniversitychallengereview · 5 years

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UC 49.7-49.10

Every so often I manifest an incoherent plan to stop watching YouTube, borne out of some inchoate idea to do with productivity, but then I’ll watch a video so mundanely profound and inspiring that gives me more of a creative boost than any amount of time I would save by not watching 20-minute explainers on Game of Thrones lore. On this occasion that video was this, on the toolbox fallacy.

Simply, as the Passion of the Nerd puts it in his video, its the idea that one can’t do (x), until one has (y) - or, the lie one tells oneself in order to put off doing something, whatever that something may be. In my case, as is so often the case, the (y) is time. I haven’t written a blog for early two months, and in that period I told myself repeatedly that I was just waiting for that big long stretch of time where I could sit down and get everything done at once.

But that never happens, and the longer you go without starting, the bigger the pile gets, so eventually it becomes impossible to get through everything at once without a parcel of time so monstrously huge it is terrifiyng in its own right.

And thats where the fallacy comes in - you don’t need everything to be perfect in order to get started, and once you’ve started, you don’t need everything to go perfectly either. You just need to start. So lets get started.

Episode 7 - Jesus, Oxford vs Manchester

I live in Manchester now (aside: before I got my job here I applied for a PhD at ManUni with a guy called Dr Kiss, a sliding doors moment which could have resulted in my failing to qualify for a University Challenge team for a record eight times in a row, assuming it was a three year doctorate), which should make them my second team, but to be honest they’ve probably held that title for a while anyway. Like Michael Schumacher in his glory days, or Roger Federer in his prime, the University of Manchester produced consistent levels of supreme performance in the Challenge between 2005 and 2014 that gained them many fans, myself included.

They reached nine out of ten semi finals in that time, and brought the fight to the Oxbridge duopoly with four series victories. Jesus haven’t had anywhere near as much success in the Paxman Era, but won the penultimate Bamber series against Imperial in 1986.

Manchester are mascotted by a bee, the buzzy symbol of the city; and Jesus are sponsored by a jumper? Thats what it looks like anyway, it might just be a bit of draping with the college logo on it. A lot of the Oxbridge teams do this, but there may as well be nothing there because its pretty half assed.

Its the Jumpersquad who unravel the night’s first clue, with Cashman taking the ten points for the Cashmere Collective. Manchester equalised with the next Starter, and moved into the lead with a full set on the third. A delightful picture round on Premier League football team finishing positions followed, but Manchester could only manage one (I took the hat-trick, naturally). I always enjoy it when the setters put the sports questions into inventive UC formats.

The Mancunians would get into triple figures before Jesus could build on their opening points, but two Starters in a row got them out of the quagmire, and a third, the music round, brought them within thirty points again. However, they were helped out a little bit by Paxman allowing ‘They Must Be Giants’ in place of ‘They Might Be Giants’. I guess accuracy doesn’t matter as much when its merely pop culture.

This would prove the end of Oxford’s comeback though, as Manchester surged ahead with eighty five of the next hundred points to seal the victory with plenty of time to go. They must have known they had it in the bag as well, because at this point they sat back and let Jesus race for a high scoring loser spot, which they may well get.

Final Score: Jesus, Oxford 145 - 185 Manchester

Episode 8 - Durham vs Trinity, Cam

Durham reached the semi finals last series, the third time they have done so since they won their only title of the Paxman Era in 2000, having also claimed a Bamber Trophy in 1977. Trinity won under Jeremy’s stewardship in 1995 and 2014, along with a victory in 1974, making this a match-up between two of only three teams (the other being The Open University) to have won the Challenge in both of its iterations.

Adding further weight to the not-so-mythical myth that Durham is a surrogate for Oxbridge, the Northern team have also got a jumper-y object as their mascot (at this point I have realised that there is a proper word for what those things are, but I’m in too deep with this jumper thing. Is it just a banner? A sigil?). I’m glad to see that Trinity have tried though, and are proudly displaying what looks to be a hand-knitted bear (possibly Sooty from Sooty and Sweep?).

Durham charged out of the blocks with four of the first five Starters and ten of their first twelve bonuses. Trinity would have to wake up soon if they didn’t want to get blown completely away. Fortunately they heard their alarm clock when it next went off and in the blink of an eye they were ahead.

Wait, surely not... *checks notes* No, I was right first time round, following a 90-20 opening stint, Trinity went 80-0 to turn the game on its head. Now it was Durham’s turn to feel shell-shocked, but they took the next Starter and we were level again. A hundred each. The game was being played like rugby, with one team smashing forward until the momentum could be stopped, at which point the tide would flo the other way. Scintillating quizzing.

The turnovers started coming faster, with a frenetic back and forth developing. It was Trinity who finally managed to stamp their authority on proceedings, opening up a significant lead with only a few minutes remaining. Durham would need to work even quicker than in the early stages to add further topsy-turviness to this topsy-turvy match, but they couldn’t manage it. A brief spurt at the death may however be enough to drag them into the play-offs.

Final Score: Durham 145 - 200 Trinity, Cam

Episode 9 - LSE vs Courtauld Institute of Art

Like I said in the introduction, the longer you leave something before starting, the more difficult it is to start because of how much you’ll have to do once you start. Another issue with this blog in particular, is that the more you have to do at once, the more difficult it becomes to not just write the exact same things over and over again. If I do one per week then even if I do repeat myself word for word then I don’t realise because seven days if far too long to remember anything for, and ignorance is bliss etc. With a big batch like this one then it becomes painfully obvious how many times I use the word Starter, even if it is somewhat necessary.

Oh well, lets start with a recap of the two teams previous appearances... LSE made the final in 1996, losing a high-scoring match against local rivals Imperial. They made the semis two years later, and the quarters in 2009, meaning that they’ve been elimiated at every stage of the competition apart from the second round. For Courtauld, it would be a success to be knocked out at that stage, having lost their only two matches, in 2015 and 2018.

Courtauld took the first points of the evening with the amusing fact that the Nobel Peace Prize hasn’t been awarded on a number of occasions due to a lack of deserving recipients (could they do the same with the British Prime Minister?). LSE fumbled a science starter, leaving the board (in this case the circuit board which makes up the buzzers) wide open, but Courtauld can’t even guess, which amuses Paxman no end - “they don’t study a lot of that [at an art institute], do they?”.

They know Shakespeare though, and take the picture Starter on one of his ‘lost rhymes’. The match ambles on slowly, at a far more leisurely pace than last weeks (a good thing about this batching is that I can reference the previous games with the confidence that I’ll be understood), and its Courtauld who are ambling slightly faster than their London counterparts.

With a few minutes remaining, LSE decde to give it a go, with Engels cheekily waving Paxman on after another science Starter was left unanswered. I just spent about fifteen minutes trying to make a gif of this, but the websites kept crashing and the one I did make was only loading as a picture here. So if you can just imagine it that would be great.

Final Score: LSE 90 - 145 Courtauld

Episode 10 - Goldsmiths vs Southampton

Goldsmiths lost on their first Challenge appearance, and made it to the second round last year, the only other time they’ve made it to the televised rounds. If they continue their current trajectory they’ll make it to the quarter finals this time out, which is the furthest their first round opponents Southampton have made it in the Paxman Era, in 2014.

The Southampton mascot, a fluffy deer, has fallen off of the table between the middle players and has consequently gained some camoflague so you have to squint to figure out what it is. I don’t know if it was placed there on purpose, or if they simply didn’t notice that their mascot resembled that scene from Bambi. Goldsmiths have a teddy bear who is wearing graduation robes, indicating that they award degrees to cuddly toys - where will the liberal agenda take us next?

Paxman informs us that Goldsmith’s Sibley hails from the same Canadian town as human PA system Eric Monkman, and when he introduces himself you can detect a similar lilt to his accent, but without the sense that you’ve accidentally sat on the volume button.

It is he who takes the first Starter of the evening, and indeed the second too - perhaps he does bear some more relation to his noisy neighbour. Goldsmiths took two more on the bounce to go 70 points clear. They were unlucky not to be further ahead, having guessed wrongly between both York and Leeds and Southampton and Portsmouth on the picture round (with no other clues its pretty hard to tell the difference between 20 miles on an unannotated map).

Maybe it was the mention of Southampton (and its misidentification) that woke the Southern side up, but they claimed their first points on the next Starter, along with two bonuses on the Lake District that I knew too, but only because I was literally in Windermere at the weekend.

Once they’d figured out that you need to buzz in and answer questions in order to win the game, Southampton were actually pretty good, and their confidence seemed to grow with every point they put on the board (in this case the circuit board which makes up the - hang on, I’ve already done this one, haven’t I? See, I told you this whole repeating malarkey was difficult), and they polish up two of three bonuses on haikus which describe chemical elements (I missed the explanation of the question format when I watched this the first time, so was astounded that they had even been discussing anything with any conviction. “Just doing your job holding plants together. No fireworks, no fuss”. I mean, what is that on about?)

In fact, just as Southampton remembered how to play, Goldsmiths forgot, and they only managed to shake themselves of this malaise twice more for the rest of the match, allowing Southampton to canter away, mostly unchallenged.

Final Score: Goldsmiths 95 - 175 Southampton

Phew! That was a big one - well done if you made it all the way to the end. I still have two more to catch up on, but I haven’t even watched those episodes yet so I’ll just do them as regular posts, hopefully tomorrow.

I’d also like to give a huge thanks to Tough Soles who are supporting me on Patreon! (sorry for falling so far behind - I’ll catch up soon)

#university challenge #bbc2

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7-seas-of-bri · 5 years

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In The Future -- A Roger Taylor x Reader Fic [part 3]

Read the Past Parts Here! Part 1 Part 2

Here’s the next part for you amazing people.

I hope you all are enjoying it !!

A few days go by and you do most of your internship work from within the walls of your flat. Nothing exciting, just revising statements getting sent out to venues, reviewing album art, and making calls to ensure tour dates are booked in advance. You loved it though, you felt as if you were apart of something.

You haven’t seen Roger since the day in the recording studio, and for that you’re glad. It has given you space to revisit the past events.

Yes, the trauma still haunts you to this day, and, yes, Roger still reminds you too much of that night, but you decide that these facts cannot get in the way of your work. Just because he’s around doesn’t mean that you have the right to pretend he’s not. You have to try to move past it and see him as a coworker.

As you review yet another statement, you’re phone rings from the end table near you. Picking up the phone, a familiar voice greets you.

“Hello, is Y/n there?”

You shifted on the couch sitting in a more comfortable position with your legs laid out across the length of the couch. “Hi there, yes this is y/n,”

“Awesome, this is Brian, from the band?” he asked, hoping you recognize him and he doesn’t sound like a lunatic.

“Of course,” you responded, smiling at his carefulness. “What’s up?”

“The boys and I are catching lunch this afternoon to hang out before going to the studio tonight, any interest in joining us?” he asked.

You mulled the question over in your head. Going to lunch means you have to be with Roger, means you have to talk to Roger. You snapped out of your thinking; the past events cannot keep you from making friends.

“I’d love to!”

“Great! We’re meeting at the diner down the street from the studio. See you there in an hour?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,”

Hanging up the phone, you gather your papers into a neat pile set out for later when you work on them again. Feeling nervous yet again to meet the boys, your stomach knotted up. You wish you didn’t have a physical reaction when anxiety took over your thinking.

It’s in these moments you wish that Gracie was living with you. She was your rock, your support system and always knew how to talk you off the edge when your anxiety struck like it has. She lived in Manchester now, working a job between school years. You knew this was best for her, to get experience just as you are, but you longed for the experience of sharing a flat as you did last summer.

You change, putting on an outfit that showed you tried instead of staying in your lounge gear that you had been wearing that morning. Grabbing your keys, you exit your flat, knowing that it was going to be a long walk in order to make it to the diner in time.

Upon entering, all four boys are already seated, viewing the menu and talking about upcoming shows.

“The show this weekend needs to perfect,” Freddie said. “Gotta prepare for that American tour,” he grinned at even the idea of having a tour outside of London pubs.

At that moment, the boys noticed you entered. You received three smiles and an unreadable look.

Brian got up and gave you a hug. “It’s so good to see you, y/n! Come sit, we saved you a spot,” he motioned to the open space in the booth between him and John.

“Thank you,”

Taking the offered seat, you picked up a menu and started looking at it yourself, realizing you had a strong craving for dumpling soup. Freddie continued his thought on the gig and turned to you.

“You’re coming to the gig, right y/n?” he asked, you suddenly had four sets of eyes on you.

You haven’t been to a concert in a while, not since the pub a year ago. Ironically, the band you were going to see perform next was going to be the same as the last.

“I haven’t been to a concert in a long time,”

“Hasn’t been to a concert in forever and you get a job with a band?” Brian asked, smirking. “Got something against concerts?”

You laugh, it’s uncomfortable. “Not a huge fan of crowds,” you answered honestly.

“You still must come, though, you need to see your favorite boys in action,” Freddie smiled.

“Favorite boys? That might be a little overstated,” you grinned.

Freddie placed a hand to his heart and fakes as if he’d just been shot. “Y/n, darling, I’m hurt,”

“Please come?” John asked from next to you.

Yet another offer that caused your head to spin slightly.

“I’ll be there,”

Brian, John and Freddie’s smiled. You looked over every single one of their faces before landing on Roger. He seems happy you’re coming, but his reaction was unlike the others. He’s hard to read, you notice, something you’ve always been good at. You couldn’t help but wonder if he remembered.

The rest of the lunch passed with small talk about the band, and about you. You tell the boys about your college experience in the states, something that they all seemed jealous of. You tell them about your childhood in London and about Gracie. You learn things about them, how John barely goes by John and instead prefers Deacy and how the boys called Jim Beach, Miami. Freddie insisting that his given name was much too boring. You couldn’t help but enjoy your time with them. Jim, excuse you, Miami, was right, you were going to love being around them.

“So we have to be at the studio in a half an hour, I think I’m going to run home and grab some things,” Brian said, looking at input from the other boys.

“Same here,” Deacy responded.

“I think I’m going straight to the studio,” you added. “It’s a long walk back to my apartment and it wouldn’t make sense to go there then come right back,”

“Wait, you walked here?” Brian asked.

You shrugged. “Yeah, it’s my only mode of transportation,”

Freddie shook his head. “Next time you go anywhere, give any one of us a ring, you don’t need to be walking that long way when we all have perfectly good cars,”

Smiling, you nodded, feeling happy that these boys were already becoming good friends in the short time you met them.

“Roger, didn’t you say earlier you were heading straight to the studio?” Brian asked the oddly quiet drummer.

“I mean, yeah,” you sensed the hesitation in his voice. “I could give you a ride, y/n,” Roger offered.

“You really don’t have to-”

“What did I just say?” Freddie interrupted. “You don’t need to be walking, we can give you a lift,”

“Alright,” your mouth tugged up in a small grin, attempting to hide your discomfort.

The five of you stood after a few more moments, leaving a tip and heading out. On your way out to the lot, you follow Roger to a small car, one that you know well would be leagues out of your price range. It’s painted white with it’s top down.

“Nice car,” you commented.

He laughed a bit. “Thanks, been saving up for it for a long time,”

Roger jumped into the driver's seat as you slid into his passenger side. The air was extremely warm for May, and that relieved you. The light shirt your wearing wouldn’t fare well for your comfort in a topless car if it were cold outside.

The first few minutes of your drive were awkward to say the least, neither of you talking.

You decided you needed to get over whatever was holding you back.

“What are you guys recording tonight?” you asked, breaking the silence

Roger still wouldn’t meet your eyes from under the sunglasses he threw on upon entered the car. “Back half of the album,”

His short answer was a bit disheartening.

“This must be really exciting for you guys, getting to record an album and all,”

For the first time since meeting him, a smile tugged at the edges of his lips. “You could say that, we’ve been wanting this for a long time,” he paused, seemingly wanting to add more to his comment. “We were under the name Smile for a long while and then when we met Jim. We changed our name and started to really get to work on what we wanted to accomplish,”

The name suddenly rings a bell, that’s why you didn’t recognize the band name before you met them.

“Wait, I think I may have seen you at a pub about a year back,” you answer, not knowing why you decided to reveal that information to him.

“No way,” he said excitedly, his tone becoming more friendly as the two of you continue to converse. “That’s amazing, do you remember what you thought,”

Do I remember?

Suddenly flashbacks of the night started to protrude your thinking.

Don’t struggle, princess.

No, stop.

You’re going to enjoy this.

Please.

Bet no one’s ever touched you like this before.

Make it stop.

You turned to Roger, and see him waiting for an answer. His face becoming more and more unreadable the longer you take to respond.

“I remember I thought you guys were going to make it big, but I don’t remember much else though. I believe I was pretty hammered that night,” you lied.

You couldn’t tell if he liked your answer, it was almost as if he could see through the lie you told.

Deciding he doesn’t recognize you from that night, you let out a relieved sigh. Maybe you will be able to work through this without him knowing, maybe you can try to forget. But the memories continued to pry at your brain.

Roger didn’t say anything else for the remainder of the ride and you believe your change in demeanor is the reason. You can’t lie to yourself, the thoughts of the night caused you to shrink down a bit, even to turn away from him slightly it. It was rude, no ignoring that, but you couldn’t help the reaction you had to the thoughts.

The both of you enter the studio and head towards the booth. Not wanting to sit alone with only the company of the soundboard, you followed Roger into the booth setting the work you brought along with you on the small table that was in there. Roger didn’t seem to notice, or care, that you followed him. He immediately moved towards his drumkit and sat down.

“What’s the first song you guys are recording?” you asked him, attempting to start writing down an agenda for the night. You wanted to focus on anything besides the memories. As soon as you began talking, Roger purposely started playing his drums. You scowled at his actions. “Roger?” you asked a bit louder than last time.

He stopped. “Sorry princess, can’t hear you over the drums. I’ve got to practice,”

Princess.

You thought he was finally warming up to you, but guess not.

You didn’t know if it was the stress of what was buzzing through your head, or what it exactly was, but a small strand of you snapped when he muttered that one term of endearment that will never be the same to you.

“No Roger, I need you for thirty seconds,”

He was shocked at your assertiveness, something he had yet to see out of you. “Alright boss, what can I do to make your day easier?” the sarcasm apparent in his voice.

“I just want to know the lineup of the songs you will be recording tonight” you huff, wanting to be able to do your work and move on.

“If I tell you that, will you answer one questions honestly for me?” he asks, raising a cocky eyebrow at you.

“Fire away,”

“Why don’t you like me?”

You were caught off guard by the question. “I don’t think I know what you mean,”

Roger chuckled at your cluelessness. Have you been that rude to him?

“I mean,” he stared. “Since the first day I met you here, you have barely looked my direction while talking to the other boys as if I’m not there. When I reached out to shake your hand upon meeting you, you pulled away quicker than I have ever seen. Also on the drive over here, halfway through our conversation, you completely checked out, seemingly not wanting to talk to me any longer,” he paused, collecting his thoughts. “Look, you seem like a nice girl and all, I just want to know how to make this more civilized,”

Roger’s eyes meet yours as he aimlessly twirls a drumstick in his right hand.

I’m here to help, I promise that awful man is gone.

“I didn’t realize I was being rude,” you offered back as an apology. “It’s just…” you trailed off. You wanted to be honest with him, maybe the honesty would help fight back some of the thoughts you’ve been having. But you didn’t want him to see you as that helpless girl he may or may not remember. He thinks you’ve only just met for christ’s sake.

“It’s just, what?” Roger asked, catching you again from within your own head.

It’s now or never.

“So you know how I mentioned that I’ve seen you guys at a pub before?”

Roger nodded, letting you continue.

“Well, something more happened,” you couldn’t find the words to phrase it.

He looked confused. “What do you mean something more?”

“I mean--”

You heard the door to the studio bust open. Whipping around, the remaining three boys, led by Freddie, came trotting in excited to record.

Roger gave you a look asking you to continue but you shook him off. This was a horrific and embarrassing truth for the two of you to hear, you didn’t need the other boys worrying about it.

You sigh and college yourself. “I’ll get the music set up for you boys, I just need the list of songs you’re going to record,” you let them know, handing the piece of paper to Freddie for him to scrawl down the list. When he returns it to, you turn around and give Roger a soft smile before returning to the booth and starting to set up the music.

Miami came into the studio not long after you sat down.

“Thanks for getting things started for me,” he commented, sitting down by you.

“It’s really no problem, Jim,” you said. “Or should I say, Miami,”

Miami gave you a sideways look paired with a grin. “So the boys told you about my nickname?”

You giggled. “Yeah, yeah they did,” Even just thinking about lunch with the boys made you smile.

He smiled at you. “I’m glad you and the boys are getting along, it makes me happy and assures me I made the right decision with you,” he returned to the board, messing with a track the band was recording. “I will warn you though, I wouldn’t suggest getting caught up with any one of them, work relationships are hard enough without any added stress from any flings or relationships,”

Miami didn’t look up when he said this, he kept his eyes on his work. You didn’t understand where he was coming from, but as far as you know you’d never see any of the boys this way. You work with them, plain and simple.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you answered. “Just good to make some new friends,”

“I’m glad,” this time he did look at you and placed his hand on your shoulder. You never thought you’d be able to adjust to a new job this quickly, it’s only been a few days and you already feel like one of them, a feeling you weren’t expecting to feel at all. “If you want, I’ve got the rest of this held down tonight. You can head home for the night and work on things there if that’s more comfortable for you,”

You considered his offer, but the music the boys were making was too encapsulating for you to pass up. “I think I’ll stay for a bit longer, to hear the music and all,”

Jim nodded, smiling. “They’re good, right?”

“Yeah, really good,”

Observing the boys play was something you would describe as show-stopping. Their energy and passion came through their instrument when each one of them hit a note. You couldn’t stop yourself from looking at Roger, though. For the first time since you met him, you were able to look at him without memories bombarding every thought. He looked off though, as if something was bothering him. You hoped it wasn’t you.

After a song or two, you decided to leave, calling it quits for the night. When you returned home, the fact that you were alone hit you hard. Hard enough for your brain not to shut off for hours. You sat alone in the darkness, with nothing but you and your terrible, terrible thoughts.

The boys finished recording around 11.

“Does anyone want to grab a drink with me?” Freddie asked the group.

The other three all chimed in agreement as they exited the studio.

The boys all left their cars at the building for the pub was a mere five-minute walk from the studio. Freddie and John got slightly ahead of the Roger and Brian as they discussed the setlist for the show that was, now, only two days away. They were pitching ideas as to what they wanted to play, and what they wanted to introduce to the crowd before the album came out.

Roger was lost in thought, wondering what it was you wanted to tell him before the boys interrupted you earlier. In those few moments, Roger realized that he had been an arse and saw a side that you hadn’t shown yet. It was a vulnerable one, one that Roger felt lucky to see. He knew none of the other boys had seen it yet, but it made him wonder what caused you to do so.

Brian took notice to Roger’s thinking. He’d known Roger for a long time, and this introversion was something that only showed when something was really bothering him. If anyone could read Roger, it was Brian.

“What’s got you caught up?” Brian asked out of the blue.

Roger, surprised by Brian’s question, frantically started to find a way to talk himself out of the situation. Whatever he had to tell you was a secret you only wanted him to know, but he wasn’t sure if he could escape this conversation without telling him what he knew.

“Nothing, mate. I’m fine,”

“You’re not,” Brian observed. “Did something happen between you and y/n before we came in?”

Roger shook his head causing his blonde hair to shift. “You could say that,”

“What was it? If you don’t mind me asking,”

Roger knew that if he could trust anyone with information, it would be Brian, but he didn’t know what information he had to share. You didn’t tell him anything. It was the lack of information that was causing Roger to think.

“The problem was nothing happened,” Roger answered, leaving Brian confused. He continued. “When we were in the car together, she talked about a time last year when she saw us perform, she didn’t realize that she was working for us because of the name switch,”

“That’s awesome, what a coincidence,” Brain butted in, but when he saw the look on his friends face, he let Roger continue.

“But when she spoke about it, she got all quiet and seemed to regret saying anything,”

“Why is that?”

“That’s the issue. When we were in the recording studio she went on explaining that something more happened that night besides just her seeing us perform. Then when you guys came in before she could tell me and she wouldn’t say more,”

“What are you thinking happened then? You don’t remember her?” Brian asked, trying to help and find you an answer that you are searching your head for.

“That’s what I don’t know, I don’t remember. I knew she seemed familiar when we met her the other night, but I don’t recall anything specific about her,”

“You don’t think--?”

“I don’t know, I’m notorious for not remembering every girl I hook up with,”

yikes, Roger.

This could make things interesting.

Thank you all for reading, and I truly hope you enjoyed !

Reblogs, likes, comments, messages and asks are always majorly appreciated. Come and talk to me about the story, what do you like, what do you think is going to happen?

If you’d like to be added to the taglist, send me an ask/message, I’d be happy to keep you updated!

READ PART 4 HERE! (x)

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southhavendaily · 5 years

Photo

SOUTH HAVEN’S CELEBRITY OF THE MONTH OUR MALE CELEBRITY OF THE MONTH IS: BEN HARDY!

For our first Celebrity of The Month we have chosen Ben to be our first male celebrity! We got to hang out with this great guy for a few hours and ask him some cool and juicy questions at A Girl and A Diner, not to mention those damn good milkshakes, but those weren’t the only thing stirring!

Read Ben’s Questions Below!

So Ben let’s get this out of the way before we get into the awesome questions. Hi love, how does it feel to be SHGOSSIP’S very first celebrity of the month?!

- i’m completely starstruck if you want the honest truth. i feel extremely thankful for everyone who voted for me. i didn’t even think that i would win — that cole bloke seems really radical. like, have you seen him on riverdale ? a bloody genius he is.

Alright now for some juicy stuff. We know there are many gorgeous celebrities around South Haven, can you name someone you might have your eye on?

- well aren’t you guys just the cheekiest ? i think that a lot of people in this town are gorgeous, you’re entirely correct on that. i do have my eyes on someone, someone that you all know pretty damn well, but i’m not sure if i want to disclose that right now — want to keep you all on your toes.

You’ve been in SH for quite a while right? How has it been for you? And why did you come here?

-i have been in south haven for a while — almost two weeks to be exact. it’s been absolutely fantastic. frankie really seems to enjoy it here, the weather is beautiful, and of course i get to see gwilym and joe on an almost daily basis — which is always a bonus point. i came here mainly for the atmosphere. london is always so drab. it’s all raining, the sun barely shines, and you can’t go anywhere. i had been to california a few times for some small projects, and always welcomed the idea of moving there — but didn’t want to leave my family. after i finished working on another project, i had a couple days to roam around sunny cali before my flight — and that sealed the deal. almost two months later i found myself selling my flat, working out papers, and then making the final move downtown.

Now some cool and fun questions. Do you think you could settle down in SH? Maybe have a couple of kids, get married, blah blah blah?

- i think i could. i’ve always liked the idea of domesticity. the idea of being with somebody — actually being with them, waking up to them, cooking dinners, and ending days wrapped up in one another’s arms as a movie flashes on a telly screen. although i’m not entirely sure about kids. frankie, my beagle, is enough of a handful as it is.

And lastly, let’s get a little personal. You were mentioned in the gossip with your buddy Mr Joe Mazzello, and there were speculations there might be something more going on there.. Will you describe it a bit more for us in detail?

- cheeky buggers you all are. what can i really say about joseph ? he’s my absolute best friend. have you seen him in ‘ bohemian rhapsody ‘ ? that man is a bloody genius. he brought such a dimensional take on john deacon — i couldn’t even tell him from his real life counterpart apart sometimes. to answer your question, maybe ? maybe not. i don’t kiss and tell. what i can tell you though, is that he is moving into my tiny, little flat, and i couldn’t be more excited to share this experience with him — even if that includes that godawful cardboard cutout taking purchase in the corner of my bedroom.

QUICK FACTS & FAVORITES

FAMILY: frankie ( pet dog ), ruth and michael jones ( parents )

PETS (if not do you want some?): i just have one dog who’s named frankie, but i definitely want like, fifty more dogs.

FAVORITE SPOT IN TOWN: the city centre library, hands down

BEST FRIEND IN SH: joe mazzello &&. gwilym lee ( duhhhh ! )

BEST FOOD PLACE: the main street bakery, downtown

CELEB’S LIFE YOU WANT: harry styles — i mean, that bloke is livin’ large

BEST DATE PLACE: probably the cozy little coffee house located in city centre — i mean, sure, there’s very limited seating, but it’s super intimate and the fireplace that they have constantly lit provides the absolute best mood lighting possible.

TO US

Recommended Song: i bet you’re expecting me to give a really cliche answer, and give you a queen song — which i am, because i love being predictable. ‘ back chat ‘ by queen hands down. it’s such a banger. but if you’re expecting something not so cliche, then ‘ promised you a miracle ‘ by simple minds is way up there as well.

Quote To Live By: “ live moves pretty fast. if you don’t stop and look around once in awhile, you could miss it. “ — ferris bueller

Recommended Movie: bohemain rhapsody — c’mon now ! go see it ! it’s great, and i promise you ‘ i’m in love with my car ‘ doesn’t make an audible appearance !

Thank you so much Ben for settling down with us into some juicy questions! You will great bragging rights for a month on being the best celebrity of the month! Now I’m just going to head out to the downtown bakery while jamming some queen in my headphones! Until next time, stay juicy!

Xoxo South Haven Daily.

#shgossip: celebrity of the month #b.hardy

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mundieoriley · 5 years

Text

Always | Sherlock x Oc Part Two

Author's Note: Hey everyone! I’m officially back from the dead! Sorry for my unannounced falling off the face of the Earth! This is another request made by my dear friend. She requested a part two for Reichenbach and here it is! I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!!

Thanks so much!

Mundie

Part One is linked under masterlist on my profile page

John Watson’s fists clench, most certainly from the impulse to punch Sherlock in the face again. “And have you told Claire you’re back from the dead?”

Sherlock lets out a long suffering sigh and gives John a disdainful look to mask the sharp prick of guilt. “John, I’ve only been in London a few hours.”

John’s already pink face turns a more deeper red under the light cast by the restaurant they stand outside of and Sherlock deduces that John is (obviously) not happy with his answer. Then Mary takes a step forward and lays a calming hand on Watson’s arm. John’s shoulders loosen a bit, his hands unclench, and his face goes back to a mostly normal color. The expression, however, doesn’t change much.

“Well then,” Mary says with a sweet and conspiratorial smile. “I’ll just take John home and you can go say hello.”

Sherlock looks at Mary, his eyes narrowing imperceptibly.

Guardian Shortsighted Catlover Clever

Romantic Linguist Nurse

Filing deductions and conclusions away to be taken out and looked at later, Sherlock merely nods and finds his eyes drifting back over to John.

Watson, body language closed off and still irritated, takes a step closer to Sherlock. “I hope you’ve thought up a really good apology for her, Sherlock.”

He hadn’t. As a matter of fact, for what feels like the first time in his life, Sherlock Holmes has no idea what he’s going to say. But he doesn’t admit that of course.

“Obviously.”

John stares him down, unimpressed. “If I don’t hear that you’ve gone and seen her by tomorrow night…”

“Yes, yes, you don’t have to threaten me,” Sherlock says as he gestures with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “Off you pop.”

John turns with one last warning look and hails a cab.

“You’re worried,” Mary says as John jogs down the street to open the cab door. Sherlock’s gaze cuts sharply over to Mary, any answer becoming lodged in his throat. She merely smiles that smile of hers. “And I would be, too.”

With that, she turns and gets into the cab with John.

Sherlock stands there on the sidewalk for a long time, his mind racing.

***

Walking back up to 221B after two years of being away awakens feelings in Sherlock’s chest, feelings he’d rather not deal with, thank you very much. He can almost hear Mycroft’s insufferable voice “Sentiment-.”

“- is not a disadvantage, Sherlock.” He can hear the tones of her voice, catch the smell of her shampoo; Lavender. A calming scent. “It just means you care.”

Sherlock opens the door, still half caught up in his mind, and Mrs. Hudson’s ear piercing shriek as he steps over the threshold reminds him of where he is. It takes a while to calm her down and even longer for the scolding to end. By the time she’s done, Mrs. Hudson is in tears again and pulling Sherlock into a hug. His back bends awkwardly as he gingerly pats her shoulder, but he can’t deny that it feels-

“It’s okay to feel, you know.” There she is again, speaking softly to him from the back of his mind, just as she always has.

Mrs. Hudson insists on accompanying him upstairs and helping clean up.

“Just this once,” she says as leads him into the apartment. “I’m your landlady, not your housekeeper.”

The joy in Mrs. Hudson’s voice betrays her true feelings on the subject.

Sherlock stands in the middle of the room and takes it in and Mrs. Hudson bustles

around opening drapes and moving partially packed boxes. Other than a few minor things, 221B is practically the same, if not dustier. Only…

As he steps further in the room and his landlady puts on some tea, he notices things are missing. John’s coat, usually throw across the couch, the doctor’s well used mug, normally on the coffee table and-

Sherlock tries to force his train of thought in that direction to stop when it drifts over to Claire. How her books, normally scattered around the apartment or stacked in small piles next to the couch and Sherlock’s chair aren’t there. He can’t help but notice how her favorite blanket isn’t left in a pile in his chair either. He can almost see her curled up there, wrapped in the blanket with a book in her hand, the only one he doesn’t mind sitting there.

What on earth is he going to say to her?

The hours pass as he ponders this, moving from the spot to spot in the apartment, pacing, picking up his violin and immediately setting it down again. Mrs. Hudson left long ago, having cleaned up quite a bit and leaving Sherlock with a fresh pot of tea. He hardly noticed when she left, too caught up in his mind to hear her leave. He’d sit down in his chair, only to grow instantly restless and shoot right back to his feet. He tried standing by the window and deducing things about passersby, but he’d only see someone with a coat like Claire’s, or a hairstyle that reminds him of her. He’d try starting an experiment, only to lose interest almost the moment he picked up a beaker. Sherlock plopped down on the couch and tried to enter his mind palace, but she’d made herself right at home in there as she has everywhere else.

Claire stands over him when his eyes flick open. He merely stares at her from his spot on the couch, at a loss for words. She smiles at him, such a soft smile, and leans down, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, her lips centimeters from his ear.

“You can’t do this forever, Sherlock.” Her voice is silken and familiar and it stirs that feeling, that tightening in his chest. “You can’t run forever. From me, or your emotions.” She shifts her weight back enough to look him in the eye. “You know me and you know my feelings haven’t changed.”

Sherlock stares up at her, itching to do something, to say something. But what?

She smiles at him again and runs a hand through his curls. His eyes flutter for a moment, before he lets the impulse take him, Sherlock reaches up and draws Claire closer.

“I love you.” Someone says.

He doesn’t realize he was the one who spoke until-

Sherlock jerks back into the real 221B, the shock yanking him from his mind palace. He sits up and looks around, immediately noticing that night has fallen again.

“Oh, bollocks.” Sherlock shoots from the couch and paces with feverish intensity back and forth, his phone a leaden thing in his pocket. John will have called Claire by now, as a matter of fact, she may well-

He freezes when he hears the creak of the floor board just outside the door. Soft footsteps, footsteps he’d recognize anywhere, begin to retreat. Sherlock bounds across the flat and yanks the door open and calls out without thinking.

“Claire.”

She halts and Sherlock drinks in the sight of her.

She’s wearing her favorite coat with the fraying hems and the missing button, third one from the top. Her hair is down, longer than it was when he last saw her; It reaches the bottoms of her shoulder blades in soft waves. He wants to run his fingers through it.

Sherlock takes a few steps closer to her, noticing the stiffness in her shoulders and the way her hands clench at her sides, knuckles white. He wants to smooth away the tension and feel her hand in his.

He stops a little ways from her and says her name again.

Slowly, she turns and they look at each other for the first time in two years.

There are dark bags under her eyes-

Not sleeping Nightmares

and there’s that furrow in her brows when-

Stressed Working too hard

she’s upset. Her jacket isn’t buttoned and it’s slightly askew-

Hurried Over John called

like she didn’t care enough to straighten it. The shirt underneath is wrinkled-

Slept in it No clean laundry

and Sherlock notices it’s her favorite one.

Needed comfort.

His eyes drift back up to meet hers again. They’re wide and beginning to water and Sherlock can see the disbelief, in her eyes, and in the way her jaw has dropped a bit as she takes him in. Slowly, she reaches out, her hand shaking almost imperceptibly. Sherlock remains completely still as her hand flattens on his chest, just over his heart. She must be able to feel how it races, she must be able to see in his face the emotions, too many and too chaotic for Sherlock himself to discern, that are boiling over in him.

Claire draws her fingers back, a sharp exhale leaving her. “You are real.”

Then she throws her arms around him.

He remains frozen for several moments, then he catches up with his mind. Sherlock wraps his arms around Claire and squeezes a little. Her face is pressed to his shoulder and he can feel her shake with silent sobs. His heart wrenches as he holds her and a small voice, perhaps his conscious, tells him he’s the cause of this.

You hurt her.

Claire’s grip on his jacket tightens spasmodically, sending another pang through Sherlock. All he can do is hold her tighter and hope he hasn’t destroyed his relationship with one of his very few friends. Although, his feelings go deeper than that, much deeper and that scares him, but-

It’s also exhilarating, allowing himself to feel just a little more.

Because of Claire.

They stand there in the hall together like that for a while, Sherlock doesn’t know how long; he doesn’t care enough to notice the time.

Finally, Claire slowly peels herself away from him, wiping at her eyes. Sherlock resists the impulse to pull her back against him again and instead shoves his hands in his pockets and he looks at her. Claire dries her hands on her coat, avoiding eye contact for several more moments as she sniffles. She’s embarrassed, Sherlock deduces. He can’t recall a time she’s cried in front of him, perhaps that’s where her embarrassment stems from. There’s no reason she should feel self conscious of letting him see her like that.

Sherlock has just opened his mouth to tell her as much, but Claire looking back at him and lightly touching his face silences him. “John must have been angry with you,” she says as her fingers lightly trace the bruising on his face.

He represses a shiver. “Are you?” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them.

She searches his face for several long moments. “I was, for a while.” Her hand retracts from his face and instead rests on his shoulder. “But you don’t do things, especially something like that-,” Sherlock doesn’t miss the way her face tightens. “-for no reason. Where have you been all this time?”

Sherlock’s hands come out of his pockets and he takes the hand resting on his shoulder between both of his. “Dismantling Moriarty’s web.” He traces the shape of her fingers. “You must understand why you had to think I was dead.” Sherlock struggles to keep the desperate edge out of his voice. “Any involvement from your or John would put you both in more danger than you’ve ever dreamed of.” He squeezes her hand, searching her face and, to his great relief, he finds understanding there. She gives him that small, soft smile, the smile that always manages to disarm him so completely. “I missed you.”

Her expression softens even more and her other hand covers his. “I missed you too, Sherlock-.” Her thumb runs over his knuckles, warm and soothing. “-more than even you can realize.”

Her face is glowing, Sherlock notices, glowing with warmth and something Sherlock couldn’t recognize before he met Claire. Something Sherlock feels coiling in his chest and warming his soul.

Love.

He remembers the graveyard and the words he heard Claire speak, remembers how he longed to go to her then. He didn’t know what that feeling in him was then, but he does now.

Love.

The words, those three simple words, pulse in his mind, louder and more insistent. They long to be spoken, he can feel them boiling over in his throat, showing on his face and in his eyes. And he doesn’t care, there’s no Mycroft mocking him in the back of his mind, only Claire and her kindness and warmth and understanding.

Sherlock Holmes, wielder of stone cold logic, opens his mouth and speaks the most sentimental and emotional words he ever has in his life.

“I love you.”

The biggest and brightest smile of all appears on Claire’s face and she reaches up and takes Sherlock’s face between her hands. “Sherlock….” He leans down, inexplicably magnetized to her. She rests her forehead against his, their breaths mingling between them . “I love you too, always.”

A new door opens before Sherlock in his mind’s eye, leading to a new future filled with love and friends. Claire waits on the other side with John and Mrs. Hudson and even Mycroft behind her. Sherlock walks through that door without hesitation.

He pulls away from Claire just enough to see her eyes, to take in their color and expression, before he kisses her for the first time

#sherlock x oc #PartTwoofTwo #MundieORiley #Request

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imaginemycroftholmes · 6 years

Text

@grand-admiral-luna

“No one can know about her,” Moriarty fussed to his loyal sidekick Sebby, the Terror Tiger, looked unfazed by the declaration from his boss.

This wasn’t something new to him considering their gigs as superheroes for the greater part of London.

As Pyro Professor and Terror Tiger they constantly battled with the evil masterminds such as Ice Man, Purple Pirate or even worse, tango with their favorite henchman, Captain Action.

It was always a game of cat and mouse as the lone duo tried to rid the city of their influence and control while managing to evade arrest. A deed, most annoying slow considering Mycroft Holmes aka Ice Man had his hand in the pockets of every major business and authority.

To have their own sibling Eurus as their mole was a blessing the city couldn’t afford to lose as she had a watchful eye on both her brothers evil schemes.

“Boss, if the Ice Man and Purple Pirate haven’t caught onto our real identities by now then I don’t think we have to worry about it,” Sebby rationalizes to Jim, “I mean they still won’t come to terms that the Holmes brothers are villains so why worry about us?”

“Because if they figure out who we are our families will be in danger,” Jim stresses, “They could be used as bait or worse!”

This isn’t the first time that Jim had gone off like this about his sister _____ after a difficult foiling of the dastardly duo but this is one of the few times it was too close for comfort.

However, being an orphan of war Sebastian can’t imagine what it feels like to lose someone but if its anything by the way Jim acts he know it can’t be good.

Not one of them could figure out why or how ______ kept ending up near their battles but it was starting to put Jim on edge and when Jim is on edge then he’s crawling up his back with complaints that makes him want to claw off the backs of the infamous Holmes brothers just to make Jim stop crying.

And he just got his titanium claws resharpened just for the occasion.

Watching and (tuning out) his boss’s ramblings about keeping his sister safe Sebastian turns his attention to the big screen showing off the city’s zones praying for a distraction when a cellphone rings.

“I’m holding out for a hero! I’m holding out for a hero until the morning's light..”

If it wasn’t for the fact that Jim was surrounded by some of his most dangerously sensitive bombs-the ones that only required just a light pressure to set off- Sebastian might have found it funny how he fumbled for his phone to answer it.

With his cat-like reflexes he swooped in to drag the the nervous man from dropping his device on what would be an instant death for them both and answered the phone for him.

“Hello?”

“Sebby,” comes an excited voice from the other line, “It’s great to hear you! How has the canning business going with you two lately?”

Sebastian winces both at the moniker that ____ picked up from her brother and the fact that she still believes that lie.

How anyone believes that lie is beyond him but then again, people still can’t believe that Sherlock Holmes is the Purple Pirate DESPITE WEARING THE SAME OUTFIT EACH TIME BUT ONLY PURPLE. THERE’S NO MASK TO OBSCURE HIS FACE OR HAIR BUT WHEN HE TRIES TO SHOW PEOPLE THAT THEY THINK HE’S “CRAZY”.

But thanks to his ever witty and not good with lies on the spot partner the first thing that came out of his mouth for their nightly activities is starting a canning business and they’re in a relationship.

Needless to say, this puts a damper on his dating life but for the life of him Sebastian doesn’t have the heart to cheat on Jim for fear of _____’s private version of “You hurt him and I’ll make sure you have a 4 year slow death in the backyard tool shed back in Sussex where no one can hear you scream.”

If ______ is anywhere near as bad as Moriarty Sebastian doesn’t want to be on her bad side.

“Yeah, its going great _____,” Sebastian says convincingly while shooting a glare at Jim who is piteously trying to reach for his phone, “So what are you up to sunshine?”

“I’m so glad you asked,” she continues with enthusiasm, “You see, I met this guy...”

“You met a guy you say,” Sebastian parrots loudly knowing good and well that it would send her brother into a rage.

“A GUY?? WHO IS HE?? SEB! GIVE ME BACK MY PHONE!”

It really shouldn’t bring Sebastian as much joy as it does but Jim jumping desperately to retrieve his phone but it does and he continues to torment him.

“So what? you want me and Jim to meet him,” Sebastian carries on causally like Jim isn’t trying to scale him.

And failing.

“Yeah, actually. I’ve kinda been seeing him for over 2 months now and want him to get acquainted with you guys because I might be bringing him home for Christmas this year,” she states with more confidence than her brother wearing spandex tights.

“Ya know that’s a pretty big step in a relationship right?”

“I know,” _____ agrees, “But this guy is just so right for me that I don’t feel like its too big of deal.”

‘Yeah I know,” Sebastian concedes, “But you know that your brother is going to have kittens right?”

“Well, that’s why I want you to come with. Nothing can settle someone down like their spouse am I right?”

“Spouse...right...”

“Speaking of which is my brother around?”

Looking around and finding that Jim had skunked off somewhere was alarming.The guy never gave up that easily which was why he was the Purple Pirate’s favorite target.

“I think he may have ran to the loo-” Sebastian tries to say before an image of terror, Moriarty running full speed with one of his guns toward him with a battle cry of “GIVE ME MY PHONE” being heard throughout the hide out.

“No, wait! ____, here he is,” Sebastian cries as he throws the device at Jim and runs for cover.

The phone is quickly caught by Jim who purrs his hellos to her and then promptly hangs up.

Sebastian doesn’t have to turn around from his hiding spot to know that its Moriarty standing behind him. His voice is dark and deadly as he leans closer.

“You tease me like that again when ______ is calling and I’ll clip those claws permanently.”

“Yes boss,” Sebastian responds carefully knowing that when Jim is in one these moods that his life can very well be in forfeit because for all of Jim’s silliness he was a damn genius with an affinity for violence and murder.

He could only shudder of what horrors Moriarty would unleash if he had not been on the side of angels.

“So, when are we meeting him?”

“Next Tuesday at 6″, Jim spats coldly, ‘And you had better not make us late.”

“You know that’s not my faul-” Sebastian says defensively until he sees the look of murder in his boss’s eyes. “I mean, sure boss,” he corrects himself, “are you going to use Eurus to spy on the bloke?”

“Of course I am! Why wouldn’t I want to know the scum who’s shacking up with my sister? I want to know who he is, what he does and what he shits to see if he’s good enough for her! I wanna maul the guy with all the dirt I have on him so he’ll fuck off and leave us alone.”

Poor guy Sebastian thinks as his boss stalks off to Skype Eurus he can’t be all bad if ____ likes him.

XxXxXxX

“YOU.”

“Believe me the feeling is mutual.”

“Guys, can we settle down please! We’re in a public place!!”

“You gotta be kidding me.”

Here, sitting before him in the flesh in one of his bespoken suits, is the Ice Man at one of the nicer restaurants in London acting like he’s an honest to God good man beside Jim’s sister.

Like the guy hadn’t tried to murder them last week for foiling their slave labor camps in India or tortured them on occasion.

And to make matters worse his hand is on _____’s thigh, oh my God Jim is going to murder him before the waiter even arrives.

________ has her hands up as is to stop her brother from launching himself over the table to fight and pronounces quickly, “I can explain!”

Well this would explain why Eurus couldn’t find information on him Sebby muses as the air becomes frigid.

Crap, its one of Ice Man’s classic moves Sebastian thinks as other civilains begin to feel the icy sting.

“Explain what,” Jim spits out venomously, “that this monster brainwashed you into thinking that it loves you? That not even you can recognizes that he’s the Ice Man, the man responsible for the poverty and waste in our country? That he’s so evil that members of his own family are trying to end his tyranny?”

“Jimmy!”

“Now you see here, you two-bit genius,” Mycroft interjects, “I may make up causes and strife for my own gain but my love for ______ is one of the few things from me that are true.”

“Bullshit! You’re just using her to get to me!”

“Why would he want you when you already have Sebby,” _____ cries.

“I’m not gay!”

Sebastian can already see their waiter in the distance looking far too nervous to approach the shouting match that was their table so he shooed him off with a “come back later.”

Realizing that this would not only lead to a needless blood bath but to unmasking their identities to the public Sebastian tries his attempt to at least save this meal.

Tapping his glass to get their collective attention Sebastian starts,” Shut the hell up, you guys are causing a scene.”

Pointing at Mycroft accusing Jim begins to mouth out, “But he started-”

“I don’t care who started this I told you to shut up!”

He looks around the table at the lot of them.

______ looking confused and hurt that anyone would accuse Mycroft of anything less than sainthood, Mycroft torn between tearing ____ away with him like the villain he is or staying to suss out any evil intent toward her and Jim seemingly five seconds from ignoring the command to maul the Ice Man outright.

Praying to whatever deity that cursed him into a situation like this Sebastian began. “Look, we can’t outright believe that Ice Ma-I mean, Mycroft has the best intentions toward you _______-”Only to be interrupted by Jim’s HA!

Giving Jim a glare Sebastian continues, “However, JIM, we also can’t lawfully say that Mycroft’s feelings aren’t true because we aren’t mind readers.”

“I bet I can find us one on Craigslist!”

“Jimmy shut the hell up,” ______ hisses before gesturing for Sebastian to carry on. “So, my proposal is that we, Jim and I, monitor you two just to make sure that you’re safe.”

“But I’m 32,” ______ complains, “I’m too old for a chaperone!”

“Listen, I’m doing what I can _____. It’s either this or Jim’s going to try and murder Mycroft when you’re not around. It’s a compromise.”

“As if he could after all this time,” Mycroft snidely remarks.

“Maybe I just didn’t have the right motivation,” Jim counters getting squared up.

“Promises, promises,” Mycroft teases as he gestures for a waiter,” Besides we both know who the better genius is.”

“Yeah, your little sister.”

The air was becoming increasingly frigid to the point where Sebby was sure that he would have to evacuate people from the premises until _____ leaned onto Mycroft’s shoulder, melting away the frost.

“Guys, guys! Let’s stop the banter and eat! I’ve been dying to try this menu for ages,” _______ says cuddling Mycroft’s chill into submission.

“Anything you wish ______,” Mycroft says fondly in a way that makes Jim’s skin crawl.

Later after the bill was (fought over) and paid for _____ hung back with him while Mycroft and Jimmy went to “talk” about some ground rules in private.

“Sebby, why do Mycroft and Jimmy hate each other,” she asked innocently, “I know they never went to school together and Mycroft rarely leaves his office so how would they know each other enough to despise one another?”

Cursing his boss and this ridiculousness of their town Sebastian states, “We’re rival canning companies.”

“Oh, well that makes sense.”

Listen, I’m not the best at superhero/villain names so cut me some slack.

#sherlock au #villain au #villain sherock #villain!john #good guy!moriarty #good guy!sebby #good guy!eurus #villain!mycroft #mycroft x reader #mycroft holmes #bbc sherlock #sherlock

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qqueenofhades · 6 years

Text

the tangled web of fate we weave: xix

aaand yes, we’re back. for reasons, and also emotions.

part xviii/AO3

Lucy leaves the hospital the next day. This is not nearly as straightforward as it sounds, starting with the fact that the nurse who arrives to check on her in the morning is extremely alarmed to find a very large, grubby, banged-up man on the bed next to her, and is on the verge of calling for security until Lucy hastily reassures her that it’s her husband. It isn’t clear if this makes the nurse any more favorably inclined to him – there’s a distinct element of so where were you yesterday, champ? in her eyes – but she is a professional and thus does not say so aloud. Flynn goes off to find Amy and the boys while the nurse checks Lucy and says that it’ll probably be all right for her to leave by noon. They still recommend she takes it easy. Bed rest for a few more days, nothing strenuous, no spicy foods.

This is nice advice, but Lucy has to wonder how well it will fit into her life, as whatever they are going to be doing against Rittenhouse definitely seems likely to fall under the heading of “strenuous.” Still, that’s a problem for later. When Flynn and the others return, all looking pale and sleep-deprived (also something that’s going to be a feature of life going forward), they take care of Lily while Lucy gets into the shower. She feels slightly more human when she gets out, if barely. Then it’s time for breakfast all around.

When that’s done, everyone yawning over their dispenser coffee and trying to promise that they’re good, they’re totally good, Lucy looks around at them and feels an odd warmth. They’ve finally skipped over the awkwardness of not really knowing each other, and seem to have jumped into the part where they’re going to be a team, or a ragtag little family, or – well, she doesn’t know, but after what happened with her mother yesterday, she’s hungry for it. Wyatt is puffy-eyed and slightly giggly from having stayed up all night standing guard, Rufus says he’s good with kids since he helped out with his baby brother, and Amy is making faces at Lily. Lucy herself is tucked into Flynn’s side, since she can’t foresee herself wanting to be more than six inches away from him except as necessity demands, and he looks down at her with a weary, adoring expression that she feels to her very bones. Then he says, “Right. We have to get out of the hospital without me possibly getting arrested.”

Well then. Sweet moment over, back to the reminder that your other half is a very attractive and recently prolific felon. Lucy groans as she pushes herself out of her nestled spot against his ribs. “There could be some of their people on the front desk,” she agrees reluctantly. “I told – Mom – to clear out with all her minions, but there’s no real way to know if she did or not. Did anyone see you come in?”

“They pretended they didn’t,” Flynn says, with a certain amount of satisfaction. Frankly, if you were a security guy on graveyard shift at a municipal hospital, getting paid peanuts and not wanting to deal with this shit at three AM, you probably would just pretend you didn’t see that roll on by either. “But again, we can’t be sure.”

“Okay,” Rufus says. “Wyatt’s told me a little, but what exactly is Ritten – ”

Flynn makes a ferocious shushing motion, and Rufus shuts his mouth like a trap. “Tell you later,” Flynn says curtly. “Not here.”

Rufus eyes him, as it’s clear that he still hasn’t quite gotten over his first impression of Flynn from the date crash in London last year. Then he says, “Okay, we’ll go down with Lucy and get the car. You sneak out the service entrance, which I figure is well within your abilities. No punching orderlies or anything like that. Which of us is the least of a road hazard at the wheel?”

“I can drive,” Amy says, rubbing her eyes discreetly. “Are we going back to the house, Lucy?”

“I – I guess so.” It makes her uneasy, but she can’t think of anywhere else, and if their own home is unsafe, they’re already screwed. “Flynn, Lily, and I will ride with Amy. Rufus and Wyatt, you can follow us in your car. Though Rufus, you probably have to get to work, so – ”

“No, it’s all right,” Rufus says. “I’ll sort that out later. I want to know more about what’s going on here, anyway.”

With that, once the doctor has come to give Lucy the all-clear and various aftercare tips (Flynn hides in the bathroom until she’s gone), Lucy and Lily get to ride out of the hospital pushed in a wheelchair by Amy, Wyatt and Rufus stroll down a few minutes later, and Flynn is left to Mission Impossible his way through the corridors without anyone getting a good look at him. It is a tense few minutes as they sit near the service entrance in Amy’s car, with Lucy worrying about the fact that she obviously has not brought the infant car seat. Lucy stares at the hospital dumpsters, until her dearest love comes sneaking through them, opens the passenger door, and swings in. “All right,” he orders. “Let’s go.”

Amy raises an eyebrow, but pulls out, obeying the speed limit conscientiously for the duration of the drive home. They turn into the driveway of Flynn and Lucy’s house and park, wait until Wyatt and Rufus pull up to the curb, and then Flynn and Wyatt make the other three stay back as they check to be sure nobody’s in there waiting for them. Once they’ve checked from the outside, opened the door cautiously and gone in to recon, and finally emerged to report it safe, everyone is allowed to enter.

Lucy carries Lily up to the mostly finished nursery and tries to think if there’s anything they desperately need that they’ve forgotten. There’s not really space in the house for everyone to stay too long; there’s a futon couch, and enough room on the floor of the study to squeeze in an air mattress, but it’ll get tight quickly. It might be nice to have several extra hands to help with the baby, but Amy, Wyatt, and Rufus didn’t sign up for part-time surrogate parenting duties. They could still decide not to have anything to do with the Rittenhouse stuff either. Lucy doesn’t think they will, especially Wyatt, but the choice has to be offered. If so, it might be safer to stick together.

Flynn goes immediately to take a very long shower, Wyatt crashes on the futon, and Rufus goes out to make a supply run for groceries, diapers, and more coffee (they’re going to be going through a lot of that). Amy likewise lies down for a nap, and Lucy sits on the bed with Lily, both of them dozing in the morning sunlight, until Flynn finally emerges from the bathroom, dark hair standing up in damp cowlicks and towel draped around his neck. He’s wearing a white undershirt and pajama bottoms, and with some of the filth washed off, it’s clear that he took a serious pummeling. There are bruises on his face and shoulders, as well as several cuts on his hands and arms, and an uglier wound, clumsily patched up, on his chest. Lucy sucks in her breath, an instinctive reaction, and Flynn glances over. “It’s – it’s all right,” he says, gruff but gentle. “I’ll live.”

Lucy supposes that both of them have been through the wringer in different ways, and beckons for him to come join her on the bed. He eases himself down next to her with a groan, as she lifts her arms. “Do you – want to hold her now?”

Flynn hesitates, looking down at his sleeping daughter, as if fearful that he will take her and she will wake up and start to cry. That he will destroy her peace somehow, as seems on the verge of happening with everyone else, and he seems about to refuse again. But looking at Lucy’s face, he changes his mind, nods once, and lets her hand Lily to him. He settles the baby’s head awkwardly in the crook of his arm, gazing down at her and barely seeming to breathe. He puts a hand on her, which is almost half as long as she is, and brushes the backs of his fingers very lightly over her dewy cheek. His breath catches, then catches again. He closes his eyes hard, a shudder running through him from head to heel, and seems briefly and completely lost. Then, without opening them, he starts to hum. Deep and tuneless at first, then a little more melodically. Some kind of lullaby, Lucy thinks. She doesn’t know. It doesn’t need words.

She smudges the back of her hand over her eyes as well (damn hormones) and doesn’t say anything until Flynn has fallen silent. Then, as it’s something that’s been on her mind since last night, since what he told her about Rittenhouse escalating the war, and everything else that’s at stake for both of them, for everyone, she can’t hold back. “Garcia,” she says. “Garcia, I need to ask you something.”

He opens his eyes and looks at her. “Yes, Lucy?”

Lucy takes a slightly shaky breath. “About – what happened the night before we went to Philadelphia. With you and the – the other me. The – ” She is going to have to get used to saying these kinds of things. “The future me. Doesn’t the fact that I somehow make it to warn you about Rittenhouse, to travel back to you – doesn’t that mean we win? That I – I survive?”

“It might,” Flynn agrees. “It doesn’t mean I do.”

That hits Lucy in the chest like a punch. She didn’t think of that, even as it’s blindly obvious that she should have. Her imagination conjures the picture much too quickly. Some future version of her, having lost the man she loves in the war, yearning to see him one last time and to ensure that everything happens as it needs to – is this the price, then? She beats Rittenhouse, but loses Flynn? Surely she can’t just be setting him up as a sacrificial lamb, especially if her older self knows that they’re (as good as) married, they have a daughter, they are soulmates and kismet. Or does she know anyway that he’s going to die doing this, and still decides that it’s a risk that they have to take, a price they have to pay? Making the call that her personal heartbreak is worth it in the name of a larger cause? Jesus, who is this future Lucy? Does current Lucy even want to be her? Is this, is anything worth that?

Sensing her distress, Flynn shifts Lily to the other arm and reaches out to take her hand. “You didn’t say how we knew each other in the future. Or anything about me. I don’t know.”

“But you – ” Lucy’s voice chokes, and she has to stop. “You know me very well by now. Thinking back – how old did I look? Did I say what year I was from?”

“No, again. You were determined that you couldn’t interfere, and I didn’t want to know anyway.” Flynn is managing a remarkably matter-of-fact tone about all of this. “I would say you were late forties, maybe early fifties. You age well,” he adds, with a flirtatious glance sidelong. “A few silver hairs and some smile lines suit you.”

Lucy takes a moment to absorb that. “You two – we? – slept together, though. Didn’t you.”

Flynn doesn’t deny it, even as his mouth curls in a crooked smile. “I can’t believe you sound jealous.”

“Yes, well,” Lucy says, with as much as dignity as she can muster. “It wasn’t really me right now, was it?”

“It’s still you, though,” Flynn points out. Time travel relationship ethics: they’re a bitch. “So yes, perhaps we’re still in an intimate relationship in the future, or we were. I noticed you had stretch marks. I didn’t want to ask if it was my child. Maybe – ” he glances at Lily – “it was.”

Lucy opens her mouth, then shuts it. She supposes that yes, having seen (apparently all of) her body in fifteen or twenty years’ time, Flynn might have glimpsed bits of the life that it’s lived, scars and wear and secrets. She both doesn’t want to ask and does. “What else?” she says, as if urging her past-future self to have been more helpful. “What did I say about Rittenhouse? You believed me enough to keep up the hunt. I had to have given you more to go on than just ‘trust me.’ Some kind of guide, or list, or – ”

“You didn’t,” Flynn says, as if apologizing to her on her own behalf. “You told me some places to start looking, I took notes. I lost all of those in the cabin explosion, though.”

“That seems like an oversight on my part.” Lucy’s critical tone makes him glance at her in amusement. “I should have written this all down, I should have been more organized. A journal, or – a planner, or something. Did you keep a backup?”

“I might have it somewhere,” Flynn says. “But not everything. I did make copies of some of the most sensitive parts, but without the context, without all my evidence backing it up, it sounds paranoid. Insane. We could try taking it to someone, but we don’t know if they’re Rittenhouse too. I still have a few contacts in the security branches – NSA, FBI, Homeland Security – but any of those could be compromised.”

“We have to get someone to at least look at it,” Lucy says. “We could testify. Wyatt too, he knows what they are. And Rufus – Mason Industries are the ones building the time machines, he has to know something. We could tell the government, we – ”

At that, she trails off under the look Flynn is giving her. “Unless you don’t think we should? But you just suggested that we take it to someone in the – ”

“Yes,” Flynn says. “One person, maybe, that could help us. I see no good to come of getting the entire federal government in on this, especially if half of them are Rittenhouse. They’re just as likely to want to use it themselves, or God knows what, if they didn’t ship us off to a secure psychiatric facility first. I used to work for them, you know. I know all the bullshit that goes on there. The government isn’t going to help us.”

Lucy wants to say that that seems to prune their allies quite thin at the get-go, even as she knows it’s a middle-class white woman’s privilege to call the cops and assume they’ll turn up on your side. She wants to ask Flynn how they’re supposed to find this one trustworthy person in a sea of self-serving bureaucrats or active Rittenhouse plants, but Lily stirs, fussing, and there are a few moments of distraction while Lucy tends to her, trying to guess what she wants. Newborns are just a lot of work. You have to put a considerable effort into not killing them, as well as dealing with them on one end or the other, or not feeling frustrated, especially as a first-time parent, that they can’t just tell you. Lucy has a passing moment of wishing she could call her mother, before it hardens in an even deeper rage. No. No.

She finally gets Lily settled, as Flynn – who has had not much sleep for two days, except for a few hours uncomfortably squashed on the hospital bed with her – quickly dozes off. Lucy doesn’t want to disturb him, and shuts the door to leave both of them to sleep, going downstairs as Rufus is returning with the groceries, which she takes. “I’ll put those away. You should get some sleep too.”

“You’re the one the doctor said was supposed to be on bed rest,” Rufus reminds her. “Really, it’s no problem. I’ve got it. You go sit down.”

“At least tell me how much it was,” Lucy says. “Let me pay you back.”

“I can afford it,” Rufus says, politely but in a way that makes it clear he doesn’t want to be handed money for being a halfway decent person. “Really.”

“I’m not trying to insult you,” Lucy says, somewhat uncertainly. “I just feel bad that you’ve been dragged into this, and we still don’t really know each other that well.”

“It’s all right.” Rufus hauls the bags into the kitchen. “I admit, I’m still not entirely sure what you see in Flynn, but as long as he isn’t kidnapping me, I’ll live with it. Like I said, I want to know more about what’s going on.”

“So. . .” Lucy hesitates. “You were asking about Rittenhouse?”

Rufus shoots her a brief, almost warning look. “Yeah.”

“It’s. . .” Lucy debates how to condense everything she knows about Rittenhouse into one succinct and consumable paragraph. Rufus obviously knows about time travel, he isn’t going to be shocked, but that’s different from knowing that he’s working to give ultimate power over time and space to a group of people who, by all appearances, have absolutely no business having it. She’s started to explain when Wyatt comes shuffling in, still looking haggard after his power nap, and they get interrupted. Then Amy returns, and then Flynn comes downstairs with Lily on his shoulder, and there are people, and Lucy feels the hostess’ obligation to manage them circulating through her small house, and she’s invited them there but she still wants to get away, and she starts crying in the kitchen, startling everyone. Then they all make her go up to bed, which she does, and sleeps for another four hours.

She finally wakes up in the middle of the afternoon, and would happily drop back under, but needs to start adjusting to what is certain to be an intermittent schedule on that front. Besides, maybe she’s done with the random crying jags, and she feels the ever-present need to be useful, so she gets up and pads down the hall to the study, where she can hear a murmur of conversation from behind the door. Sticks her head in. “Hey?”

Flynn glances up with a start from the computer, where he has a Skype window open, and holds up a finger as if to say one minute. Then he turns back and resumes speaking in rapid Croatian, which confuses Lucy as she tries to guess who he can be talking to. She can’t really understand the language aside from a few simple phrases and the occasional endearment, so she waits until he hangs up. Then she says, “Who were you talking to?”

“My old friend Luka.” Flynn stares at the screen. “In Dubrovnik. I had to warn him that Emma made threats against him and Lorena and Iris. Tell them to be on the lookout for anything strange. Are you all right? What are you doing up?”

“I couldn’t sleep for the entire day. Where’s Lily?”

“Amy has her. Downstairs.” Flynn spins around in the chair and takes Lucy by the waist, eyes soft and worried. “Are you sure you’re all right? You don’t usually cry like that.”

“It’s been. . . there’s a lot that’s gone on.” Understatement of the damn year, Lucy thinks. “I’m better now.”

Flynn’s hands stay on her hips, and she leans down to kiss him lightly. Obviously it’s not going to be anything more than that for quite a while, as she has six weeks or so of recovery, he’s still fairly hurt himself, and frankly, there’s a point just after having a baby where intimate relations with your husband ever again sound like a terrible idea. But Lucy still needs to be as close to him as she can, needs to touch him and reassure herself with his solidness, his presence. Perhaps they should go down and relieve Amy from aunt duty, but she also wants to hang onto this, her arms on his shoulders as they stay looking into each other’s eyes. There’s a pause. Then Flynn says abruptly, “That’s not all Emma threatened.”

“You said she didn’t kill you, but. . .” Lucy frowns. Mercy, to say the least, does not seem to be in that woman’s nature. “I’m grateful, obviously, but why not?”

“I think. . .” Flynn hesitates, as if knowing this sounds off the ranch, but they’ve gone well past the point where that really applies. “She tricked me and tracked me with a file titled in the date I saved your life. March 21, 2003. She said it wasn’t a random coincidence, and that I should see if I could figure it out. Well. I hope I’m wrong, but maybe I have. And – ”

Lucy frowns. “What?”

Flynn takes a deep breath. “I think she’s going to try to make it so that we never meet.”

“That we – what? That you – what, you don’t save my life? How could she – ” Lucy remembers that obviously they are dealing with time travel here, with things done that could be changed, and has to fight off a stab of vertigo. “How could she do that?”

“Go back to that date, you mean?” Flynn says. “I don’t know if she could. When I asked Rufus in London, he said you can’t travel on your own timeline, you can’t go anywhere you already exist, so Emma couldn’t travel to 2003 in person. But there could be an exception, there could be something we don’t know about. You visited me in 2010, in a time you were definitely already alive, so we can’t entirely rule it out. But think about it. If Emma manages to change something, directly or indirectly, about the night of your accident, if someone else saves you instead, we never meet. I don’t have any reason to come back when I start investigating Benjamin Cahill and see your name in the file, because it won’t mean anything to me. Maybe I never take that assignment at all, or another one. In any case, we don’t meet, we don’t get together, we don’t investigate Rittenhouse, you never learn about Carol, you never send me off for two years to destroy crucial parts of their operation, we’re never here with the others planning to do something more. All the damage that’s been caused to them by us, by the two of us together. . .” Flynn stops. “It goes away.”

Lucy can’t answer immediately, because her chest is too tight with panic. She wants to say that this can’t happen, that the fact that they’re standing here, together, is proof that it doesn’t. It’s already over. That’s the good thing about even your worst days – they end, they go into the vault, and you get a fresh start tomorrow. The universe can’t go back and kick you in the teeth on that one particularly sucky day all over again. There’s no way to even get your words or your thoughts around the idea of that being upended, especially by a woman who clearly wants to destroy your life as comprehensively as possible, and Lucy presses a hand to her mouth, briefly thinking she might be sick. Flynn grabs at her arms. “Lucy?”

“I’m…” She swallows heavily, then sinks onto his lap, their foreheads touching. Fine, that worn old lie, doesn’t seem to cut it. “I really hope you’re mistaken.”

“Me too.” Flynn’s eyes remain grim and distant. “I’m not sure I am, though.”

Lucy opens her mouth to suggest they do something, they be proactive about this, but really, what is the action plan for “mortal enemy wants to permanently fuck up your life with time travel?” Rufus is not going to be a fan of destroying the machine, and it might cause even more problems for them if they try. They already did the Mason Industries break-in, they can’t really go back to that well without a serious upgrade and concrete assurances of success. Rittenhouse can still permanently separate them in any number of ordinary ways, after all. Anxiety bubbles like a poisoned spring in her stomach. Finally, hating the idea, but not able to dismiss it, she says, “What if you… if we… if Emma was dead, she couldn’t… she couldn’t do this, could she?”

Flynn raises his eyes to hers. “I would have killed her,” he says after a long moment. “At the cabin. But she made it clear that if she died, there would be assassination orders carried out – on Luka and Lorena and Iris, on you and Lily, on… I don’t know. There is no guarantee that those have been revoked. Killing her won’t kill all the other heads of the hydra.”

“So what?” Lucy’s frustration almost makes her voice break. “What do we do?”

“We have two choices,” Flynn says. “One, we change our names and move abroad, which might buy us a little time, but is no guarantee that we won’t be erased anyway – perhaps more, since it would give Rittenhouse a clear field to do whatever they damn well pleased without interference. Or we figure out how to fight them on the same level they’re fighting us. If they’re taking the war to time itself, maybe we have to do it too.”

“We have to – what?” Lucy stares at him. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

“If they’re planning to use it to erase us, why can’t we do it to them first?” Flynn shrugs, as if this is an entirely reasonable suggestion for a human being to make. “We know about David Rittenhouse. If the time machine works, why can’t we take it? Whether or not Connor Mason agrees. We go to the eighteenth century, and we kill him. That way, he never founds the society, it never exists, and so it can never hurt us. And – ”

“We don’t know that,” Lucy interrupts. The anxiety seems to be curdling into full-blown panic. “Killing him could have much broader implications, he’s very influential in the early development of America – one of his lectures is printed and given out at the Constitutional Convention, he’s a correspondent of several of the Founding Fathers. And if I’m in fact Rittenhouse on both sides, if that’s what brought Carol Preston and Benjamin Cahill together – if we kill him, do my parents ever meet? Do I ever exist?”

Flynn hesitates. Then he says, “America can survive the loss of David Rittenhouse and his fanatical cult. And if it can’t, maybe it’s not an America that deserves to exist.”

“Garcia.” Lucy grips his face. “Garcia, don’t talk like that, you’re scaring me, you’re scaring me. We are talking about – about hundreds of millions of people, of the vast majority of innocent people that have ever lived in this country, that could have everything they know completely changed, could have their entire existences ripped apart. I know Rittenhouse is terrible, I know they’re never going to stop, but – we don’t have the moral authority or any right to destroy everyone else’s world just to save our own. I can’t agree to this. I will never agree to this. That is not who I am, that is not the life I want for our daughter!”

“Do you want her to have a life at all?” Flynn demands. He gets to his feet abruptly, causing Lucy to slide off his lap, and stares heatedly down at her. “Because you said it yourself. Rittenhouse is not going to stop. It will be like this for whatever time we’re lucky to have left. But if we could destroy them, if we could fight for something worth it, we – ”

“You tried,” Lucy pleads, reaching for his hands, trying to take them in her own, but he doesn’t quite let her. “You tried for two years, you might have damaged them or hurt their ability in places, but they’re too embedded. There was no way that you could, as one man, possibly have done enough to – ”

“Exactly.” Flynn snaps his fingers. “They’re too embedded. Trying to fight them right now isn’t going to work, they’re too long-standing and too powerful. We’d have to get to them before they were installed, before the system protected them. If we could find the moments in history when their influence was just getting established, if we could target them then – ”

“You’re – what?” Lucy turns away, putting both hands to her head. “What are you suggesting? Time traveling to kill Rittenhouse members before they can – ”

“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.” Flynn’s eyes gleam with a hard, fanatic light. “If those are the rules now, then we should play by them. We could figure it out. You’re a historian, and you wrote your damn dissertation on how America was invented politically and the intentional dark sides in doing it, remember? The history thing your family has done – how do you know that wasn’t what Rittenhouse was training you for? We would make quite a team. Travel there, identify who needed to be taken out, and – ”

“And what?” Lucy wishes he would stop talking like this, would be the man she loves and the doting father, but now is one of the times when she is reminded that while Flynn may be a domesticated lion, he is not a tame one. He is a man who has been a soldier since the age of fifteen, who has done far more and far worse than he will ever entirely tell her, and just as her first instinct is to mediate, to compromise, to find a logical and reasoned solution, his is to fight. His settled life with her has been the exception, not the rule. “Put an infant carseat in a time machine? Warm up bottles of formula over the campfire? Even if I did agree to this idea, which I don’t, then what? Just let you go kill whoever in history you think might have been Rittenhouse, no matter who they are or what they’re going to do, so – ”

“There are sacrifices in war, Lucy.” Flynn remains unyielding. “They die or you do.”

“This is insane,” Lucy says weakly. She has to sit back down. “You can’t be seriously thinking about this, Garcia. You can’t – ”

“You were the one who told me about it! Who told me they had to be defeated at any price!”

“My future self, yes. That’s not me, that isn’t – we don’t know if that’s going to change as well, or if that can even be trusted, or – ”

Just as she can see that disowning her future self, this woman who miraculously appeared to him and made him return to her, the real reason their stars collided again and stayed, is hurting him terribly, there’s a knock on the door. “Hey,” Amy calls tentatively. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything, but Lily’s hungry.”

“Right.” Lucy tries to gather herself, still feeling shaken and sick, and goes over to open the door, take her unhappy daughter from Amy, and sit down to nurse her. Amy can clearly sense the tension in the room, and probably heard raised voices, as her eyes dart questioningly between them. Trying to forestall any questions, Lucy says, “We just – we just had a little disagreement, that’s all. It’s over, it’s fine.”

She can feel Flynn’s eyes on her, clearly thinking that it’s not over and it’s not fine, and doesn’t look up at him, focusing more than necessary on Lily. Amy shows herself out, which is probably a wise choice, as Flynn paces silently by the desk and it isn’t clear if he’s waiting for Lucy to be done with Lily in order to resume the argument. Lucy knows him well enough to sense that there’s no way he’s changed his mind about anything. In fact, the effect is most likely that he’s doubled down. He considerately holds his tongue until Lily has been burped, changed, and put down for a nap. Then he says, “Well?”

“Let’s go downstairs.” Lucy doesn’t feel up to round two, and with an audience, perhaps there’s less likelihood of it. “The others probably want to know what’s going on.”

Flynn makes a noise suggesting that the others can lead, follow, or get out of the way, but doesn’t actually say this aloud. They head down to the kitchen, where Amy, Wyatt, and Rufus are gathered around Rufus’s laptop and discussing something vigorously, but look up at their entrance. There’s a slightly awkward silence. Then Flynn says, “Just to be clear. Is everyone on the same page now, intelligence-wise? About Rittenhouse and what they’re planning? Because if someone needs to explain it again, it’s damn well not going to be me.”

“No. I think we’re. . .” Wyatt hesitates. “We know what’s going on.”

“Finally.” Flynn raises his eyes to the heavens, then glances at Amy. “Even you?”

“I’ve heard something about a time machine,” Amy says, determinedly offhand. “It sounds a little loopy, I’ve gotta say, but I’m willing to play ball. And I’ve learned that my mother has apparently been part of this evil organization, and lied to me and my sister for years, so. . .” She briefly trails off, then says firmly, “Whatever we’re doing, I’m in.”

Lucy looks at her gratefully and squeezes her hand, as Wyatt and Rufus make similar declarations. They then get down to brass tacks, arguing about who – if anyone – they should try to recruit to their cause, or trust with the information. They get nowhere until Wyatt says, “Listen, there’s someone I know in Homeland Security. She’s tough, she’s principled, she’s the kind of Untouchable that Eliot Ness would envy when it comes to her morals. I can’t see Rittenhouse being able to recruit her, and she worked with me a little on the Colombian cartel case, actually. She’s not scared of taking down big fish.”

“Oh?” Flynn says. “Who?”

“Her name’s Denise Christopher.” Wyatt glances around the table. “Lifer law enforcement. We’d need a little more proof than we have, but if we could get that, I could maybe approach her with it. I know most of it just got torched, but pull whatever backups you have, Flynn. Anything you can think of that shows that Rittenhouse is real and it’s dangerous. You had to have some stuff that you kept off-site.”

“A little,” Flynn says, rather coolly. “I’ll see what I can find.”

Lucy glances at him, as Flynn could have been a lot more difficult about that, but the fact of him agreeing so easily means that he’s fine for everyone to think this is their primary plan, can use Wyatt asking Agent Christopher as a smokescreen. Instead, he must still be attached to the “hunt Rittenhouse through history” full-out insane one, and she puts a hand on his knee under the table. He, however, does not look at her, keeping his attention on the conversation. When it’s decided that he’ll try to pull some proof and give it to Wyatt, and Rufus will carefully dig up whatever he can on the time machine and what Rittenhouse is doing with it, Flynn stands up. “All right. Well. It’s been very nice, but maybe it’s time for all of you to get out of my house now. Yes?”

Everyone gives him slightly askance looks, as if to say that they have been here trying to help Lucy, including while he himself was off doing God knows what, and Lucy hastens to thank them and reassure them that she will be in touch soon. Wyatt and Rufus leave in their car, but Amy asks if she can stick around. She doesn’t really want to go home and explain this to her roommates, and besides, a few extra hands can never really hurt where a newborn is concerned. She’ll sleep on the futon for a couple days and work it through. Of course, if Lucy and Flynn don’t mind.

Lucy says firmly that Amy is welcome to stay as long as she wants, especially since she knows that both of them are reeling from Carol’s admission much more than they have had any time to work through or accept. It’s an old tribal instinct to huddle up, circle the wagons, stick together until they work out what to do, and yes, any help with Lily would be nice. As well, any restraining influence on Flynn, or at least a second opinion to throw at him before he does anything really crazy, might be a plus. He hasn’t seemed as close to snapping since they got together as he does right now. Paces the kitchen, then announces he’s going to go out back and practice.

The obvious question is practice what – he can’t exactly target shoot in their suburban San Francisco backyard – but Lucy decides not to interfere. She goes upstairs and sits down in their bedroom, in the warm early-evening glow, next to the cot with their sleeping daughter. She stares at Lily and tries to burn it into her mind. Tells herself that she could never forget this, that this could never be undone. It’s here, it’s happening. It’s real. It’s safe.

(Is it safe?)

(She doesn’t know.)

(Oh God, oh God, oh God, she doesn’t know.)

Rufus is feeling worse and worse by the time he has dropped Wyatt off at their apartment, made an excuse about needing to run into work and apologize for playing hooky (Wyatt’s already distracted by the hunt, or he might have asked why Rufus couldn’t just text), and braved the rush-hour traffic to drive back to Mason Industries. As he parks, the weight of the small recorder in his pocket feels like a live grenade, and he can’t bring himself to get out of the car immediately. He doesn’t think this is the right thing to do. It might be the only thing to do, but that is far from the same thing.

After a pause, Rufus reaches into his pocket, pulls it out, and plays it back. When it gets to the part he hasn’t heard before, the part that it must have picked up while it was hidden in the study, he feels like his stomach is sinking through the floor. That, there, is pretty goddamn unambiguous. Flynn suggesting that they take the fight against Rittenhouse through time, Lucy being (understandably) horrified. It’s a crucial piece of intelligence, in one sense of the word, proof that Flynn has reached the last logical step that Rittenhouse did not want him to do. On the other, it’s a deeply personal argument between a couple who clearly loves each other more than anything and is horrifically torn on the best way to save that life and their newborn daughter, is faced with the monumental and impossible, and Rufus can’t listen to it all the way through. He clicks it off, feeling ill. Lucy has invited him into her home, keeps trying to be nice to him, let him stay in her hospital room after giving birth, made him part of their plans, and. . . he’s repaying her like this. Recording her private conversations with her husband, knowing that Connor is waiting to get this, presumably so he can hand it over to Rittenhouse and they can act accordingly. Rufus still doesn’t like Flynn much, but that doesn’t enter into it. This is just a matter of simple human fucking decency.

Finally, having not sorted out in the least what he’s going to do, he gets out of the car and locks it, striding across the lot. God, he hopes Jiya is gone for the day. After their abortive attempt at a date, they’ve stayed friends, but the time has never felt right to push for a renewed attempt at romance. Maybe it’s Rufus’s own guilt, maybe it’s not wanting to ruin what they do have, but either way, the shame of being caught by her right now would be too great. He puts his head down and walks fast.

Inside, the place is mostly empty for the day, everyone heading out to after-work beers and baseball games; the Dodgers are in town for three and Mason Industries has season tickets that anyone can use. Just one of the many perks of working here, but Rufus, for the first time since he got this job, doesn’t feel like it’s the greatest thing to ever happen to him. Maybe, in fact, the worst. The light is on in Connor’s office. He’s waiting. Oh God.

Dragging his feet, half-thinking he might not mind if Flynn did in fact burst in here right now and try something reckless, Rufus makes his way up. Knocks on the door, and waits. Then when Connor answers, he goes in. “Hey.”

“Hello, Rufus.” Connor puts aside the paper he’s reading and sits up. He looks grey-faced and strained, usually immaculate suit rumpled and bags under his eyes. He holds out his hand. “Please do tell me that you have it.”

Rufus pauses. Then he screws up his courage and says, “I don’t think this is right, Connor. I don’t think this is right, I don’t want to do it, and I’m not doing it anymore.”

Mason raises both eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

“This is wrong,” Rufus repeats. “This is wrong. These people trusted me, they invited me into their lives and their home and a very personal moment in their life, and – ” He stops, wrestling with the words. “Why would you make me do this, Connor? Why? If Ritten – ”

“Shh. Please. Shh.” Mason takes a sip from the glass on his desk, which – just a guess – is not Hawaiian Punch. “Don’t say that name aloud, eh? Officially, you still don’t know anything about it.”

“I don’t,” Rufus says angrily. “I don’t know anything about it, in fact. Just that they exist and they’re someone that even you are scared of, and I’m supposed to carry these recorders to anywhere they might be talked about. This is some real cloak-and-dagger crap, these guys sound like dicks, and I’m done. Find some other little spy, or – ”

“I can’t, Rufus.” Mason raises a hand. “You, as it happens, are the one on whom this task has fallen, and you – if you refuse, if you stop, things are going to get very difficult. For me, for Mason Industries, for you, and I would imagine, your family as well. I cannot protect you if you don’t play your role, do you hear me? This is an absolutely crucial moment, we cannot have interference, we have to keep Garcia Flynn out of the picture until the arrangements are finalized, and that’s that. Why this tender concern for him? The man crashed your romantic outing in London and threatened grave bodily harm to Jiya, I don’t think you – ”

“Yes, he did,” Rufus says. “And yes, it was a dick move. But there’s more to it than that. He’s a father now. His wife – well, basically his wife – just had a baby. There’s a family at stake, Connor. It’s not just him who could get hurt, it – ”

“Noble as this all is,” Mason interrupts, “if Garcia Flynn wanted to safeguard his child’s future, there were plenty of opportunities – still are, in fact – for him to decide against what he’s doing. I’m worried about other families, Rufus. Mine, yours, Anthony’s, everyone who works here, everyone who ever has worked here. You don’t understand how deep I’m in with these people, and what they can and will do if I spit the bit now. So please. I am begging you. Do you have the recording?”

Rufus pauses. Then he says, “I accidentally spilled some coffee on it. I don’t think it’s usable.”

“Don’t think it’s usable? Why don’t you pop it out now, and we’ll have a go?”

“It’s not,” Rufus repeats, more sharply. “It’s not usable.”

“And I am, Rufus, a man who has made a pretty penny or two in the field of technology.” Mason looks at him mildly, as if Rufus is intentionally playing stupid. “Do you really think I couldn’t resurrect a device from a little coffee spill?”

“It’s. Not. Usable.” Rufus folds his arms. “Is that clear enough?”

Mason continues to gaze back at him for a long moment. The tension crackles. Then he says, “Rufus, I likewise have to make myself very clear. I am expected to hand over that recorder tonight. If for some reason, if for any reason, coffee spill or otherwise, that does not happen, everyone here will be out of a job tomorrow. The funding will be pulled, the project will grind to a halt, everything that we’ve done, everything that we can still achieve, will be put on ice. This is an outcome which will make some people very, very angry, and they would not confine themselves to writing disapproving reference letters or going to find another lab to take the project. They would clean house, quite literally. You could wake up tomorrow with someone at your front door to see you, your mother, and your brother, and what they would do next – I don’t want to be graphic, but I must make you grasp what’s at stake. I understand your reservations. Believe me, I bloody do. You’re a good man – the best of us, perhaps, really. But do you honestly think that one child, one family is worth this? Garcia Flynn’s family? Are you going to stick your neck out this far for him?”

Rufus opens his mouth, then shuts it. An icy chill goes down his back. Connor’s face is deadly serious, and there is no reason to think he’s joking or being flippant. They continue to stare at each other. Connor looks like he might cry.

Rufus’s fingers have turned to blocks of wood. He reaches slowly into his pocket, and closes them around the recorder. It takes a long time, an absurdly long time, to pull out. Then, ignoring Mason’s open hand, he throws it on the desk, turns his back, and walks away.

It’s around ten o’clock that evening when Flynn’s phone rings.

They’re both in bed, since they’re new parents and therefore exhausted, and Lily has been put in her nursery for the first time. They haven’t been talking, just lying in each other’s arms and holding each other close, trying in a clumsy way to make up for the argument earlier, and Lucy has in fact fallen asleep, because she doesn’t move when Flynn lets go of her and rolls to grab the phone. It shows up as Unknown Number.

He hesitates. Then grabs it, swings out of bed, and steps outside the door. “Hello?”

“Good evening.” He doesn’t recognize the voice on the other end. In fact, he can’t even be sure if it’s a man or woman, because it’s been electronically scrambled in a way that makes it sound eerie and inhuman. “The name you’ve been looking for. It’s Wes Gilliam.”

“What?” Flynn demands, switching the phone to his other ear. “Who the hell is this?”

“Wes Gilliam,” the voice repeats. “You promised to tell Sergeant Logan. You are a man of your word. Wes Gilliam. Wes Gilliam. Wes Gilliam. Good night.”

With that, leaving him unsure if it was in fact a human or a prepared recording, the call goes dead, and there’s nothing but empty air on the other end. Flynn stares at it, badly shaken. Wes Gilliam. Yes, he promised Wyatt a name as to who was responsible for Jessica’s disappearance, his end of the bargain that involved Wyatt getting arrested on his and Lucy’s behalf, and he’s been trying to fulfill it. He’s just been distracted by other things, and this – and this –

(It could be a lie. It could be a fake. He doesn’t have to tell Wyatt, especially if the information turns out to be bad. Wyatt only spent – what, a few hours in jail? It’s not like Flynn owes him a great debt for twenty-seven years on Robben Island.)

And yet. That’s not the exact source of his hesitation. Flynn knows that if he does tell Wyatt, if he throws that grenade in the middle of everything, Wyatt will go off the rails, drop the Rittenhouse investigation, and become obsessed with finding who Gilliam is, bringing him to justice, and forcing him to tell him where Jessica is. If she’s still alive, and if not, how she died. Now that Wyatt knows there’s a time machine involved, even more drastic measures are not out of the question. It’s what Flynn would do – might in fact do, if it comes to saving Lucy and Lily – and thus he has no right, perhaps, to stop Wyatt from it. Especially when the name was promised. Especially when he doesn’t like Wyatt much anyway, and this would get him out of the way. There’s that.

But it’s Wyatt who knows this Denise Christopher. It’s Wyatt who – shaky as his standing might have gotten – still has a respected position in the U.S. military, and can open doors that Flynn can’t, even with his artificially erased rap sheet. Flynn’s last attempt to go head-to-head with Rittenhouse by himself ended up with all his evidence and work destroyed, and he was lucky to get away alive. Wouldn’t have, if Emma didn’t have something even more sadistic planned. Much as he absolutely hates it, he knows they need Wyatt’s help, at the very least. If he tells him now, Wyatt will quit the Rittenhouse hunt. And that means they might be dead in the water before they even get started.

(Flynn doesn’t have to tell him. Doesn’t have to tell him.)

Flynn stands there in the dark hall, still staring at his phone. If Wyatt does leave, it might make it easier to pull off his plan, at least as easy as it can be when it involves grand theft time machine. He knows that is not just something you can decide to do at the drop of a hat. It will take foresight, preparation, a list of the targets you need to hit and hit fast. You can’t just get in a time machine and take it for a drive to see the scenery. You need to know where you’re going, and what you’re doing, and everything else. The scale of project planning is off the charts. Is this what he’s going to commit his life to? He was thinking about asking Lucy to marry him earlier, before they got derailed by the argument. Not that there’s a real chance she’ll say no, or at least he hopes not. But how could he do this, how could he promise her forever, until death do them part, when they could be parted tomorrow? Or yesterday? Or ten years ago on a rainy March night, before they ever know each other?

Does that mean he should do it anyway?

Flynn glances down the hall at the nursery door. This is not something compatible with being a new father either, to say the least, and he isn’t planning to just vanish and let Lucy and Amy do all the work. But likewise, how can he call himself a good father if he doesn’t? He will die for Lily, he will kill for her, he will tear apart the entire world if she grows up happy and safe and untroubled by the shadow of Rittenhouse. He loves her in a way he only knew it was possible to love Lucy: the center and weight and gravity and fabric of his universe, the beat of his heart and the sinew of his soul. Losing either one of them, or both, would drive him mad. He’s not strong enough to stand this. Maybe it’s selfish after all.

From down the hall, he hears the covers rustle as Lucy turns over, must have woken and found him gone. Her voice filters through the darkness. “Garcia?”

“I’m coming.” Flynn turns and steps back into the bedroom, puts his phone on the side table, and slides into bed as she reaches up for him. He takes her in his arms, rests his chin on her head, and feels her melt into his chest. And in that, then, he doesn’t know if he can.

(Doesn’t know if he can tell Wyatt and risk destroying this.)

(Doesn’t know if he can’t tell Wyatt, and force him to leave, and go for broke.)

(Doesn’t know if he can wake up tomorrow, or any other day of his life, and not have Lucy here, like this, in the dark.)

(Doesn’t know.)

#lucy x flynn #garcy #garcy ff #timeless ff #the tangled web of fate we weave

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drinkupthesunrise · 6 years

Note

I mean it wouldn't even even really be much of AU, but definitely here for Wedge/Mon Mothma, long distance relationship, because that pairing has definitely been in my head.

To, what I’m sure is absolutely no one’s surprise, this got a little out of hand. Properly AU, because the only other fic I could think of was the love letters on I really want to write one day, and I want to do that justice. So instead of that, have something that is really very id-ficcy and contains too many feelings about having the person you adore live far away from you. (to be ao3ed later, I’m sure. now on ao3!) Also! Tagging @sassysnowperson and @harusamemosuke as the other people I’ve dragged onto this ship somehow.

Theymeet in the comments section of a blog post about D H Karver’slatest romance novel.

Lookingback, it’scertainly an odd start to a relationship. The fact that it goesanywhere is something near a miracle.

Butsix months later, Wedge spends almost his entire day in contact withher. She’sthe first person he messages when he wakes up, and the last person hetalks to before he goes to sleep. His friends are all highly bemusedby the situation, wondering why Wedge is now almost surgicallyattached to his phone, wondering who the mystery woman is.

Wedgedoesn’t have an answer to that.

Hedoesn’t really know himself.

WedgeAntillesMorning,Mon. Sleep well?

MonShit.…I might have worked all night.

WedgeAntillesIt’sstill morning? :DThothat’s not good, what on earth were you doing? Something importantenough to justify you being up all night?

MonInsome ways.I’lllive Wedge, this is hardly the first time.

WedgeAntillesIknow, but doesn’t mean I like it. You should take better care ofyourself.

MonAsyou keep telling me.Toobad I don’t actually have you to look after me.

WedgeAntillesPhysicallydragging you to bed is beyond me, I’mafraid.Gohave something to eat and then try and get a nap, okay Mon?

MonCan’tmake any promises, but I’ll try.

Hestill doesn’tknow much about the particulars of her life, what she does for a job,what her last name is, what she looks like. None of it matters,because he also knows her as well as he knows anyone else in theworld. He tries to stop himself falling for her too hard, knowingthat he’s only got a limited picture of who she is. But thefeelings are there, no matter how hard he tries to stop them.

Itdoesn’tmatter what she looks like, or what she does. He knows the truth ofher, and that’s all he needs to know.

Hesent her a photo of himself, seven months in. It’s a candid one thatTycho snapped, of him at one of their community activism events. It’sreasonably flattering, though he only meant to send it so she had anidea of what he’d looked like.

WedgeAntilles

WhatI did today.

MonIsthat you, on the right?

WedgeAntillesYeah.… why?

MonYou’revery handsome.

Wedgeremembers blushing. He remembers trying to wave her off, but she’dbeen quietly insistent on the truth of it. He’d asked for one in return, but she’d never sent one back.

WedgeAntillesSo.Look. No pressure, but my friends and I are coming to London in threeweeks for personal reasons, and I was just wondering – do you wantto have dinner?Iunderstand if you don’t, I know you’re busy.AndI’mjust some random guy off the internet.

Mon(Mothma? Unconvinced)Wedgeyou’rean important part of my life, not some random guy off the internet.Whenare you here? There might be something I can’tget out of, but I’ll try.

WedgeAntilles25thMay. It’s a Friday.Youprobably have better plans for a Friday than me.

Mon(Mothma? Unconvinced)Can’tthink of anything better than spending time with you, don’t putyourself down.I’llhave to check with my aide.AmI good to pick the restaurant? Where are you staying? What do youlike?

WedgeAntillesI’measy :D Surprise me.

Wedgetexts Mon throughout the day, though they are both busy, and thereplies are sporadic. As the day draws to a close, Wedge feels thebutterflies starting to form in his stomach.

He’snot nervous. Well, maybe a little, but it’s a thrill, not a deeprouted anxiety. He can’t quite believe he’ll finally get to meether.

Allhis friends know where he’sgoing. He leaves to his fair share of ribbing, but he really couldn’tcare. He makes his way down the escalators to the tube, cursing thelack of signal means he can’t text Mon, his usual strategy to dealwith his dislike of crowds and hustle and bustle.

Hedrums his fingers against the overhead rail as he waits for his stop.

Monhas picked a restaurant not far from the Palace of Westminster. Itmakes Wedge wonder whether he’sgot it right about her identity. He’s starting to think that it isn’ta coincidence she shares a name with the leader of the oppositionparty. He doesn’t really want to think about it that hard, hasn’tpressed because he doesn’t want to know. He’s trusted that she’lltell him what he needs to know.

Nowhe will find out anyway.

Heclimbs up from the tube, around the corner, checks his phone. He hasa text from her confirming that she’sthere. He sent her a photo, a selfie snapped off earlier that day, soshe knows what he looks like. He hopes that she’ll spot him.

Hepushes the door open. It’s more rustic than he figured, closer to apub than a restaurant. He glances round, looking for a woman at atable on her own. He can’t see one clearly. He moves into the tables,trying to look in the crevices.

“—Antilles?”

Ahand is at Wedge’selbow. It’s not a woman’s hand, it’s a man. He smiles warmly atWedge. “Yes?” Wedge replies.

“Mon’sthis way, if you’ll just follow me.” The man leads Wedge to atable behind a partition. There’s a woman sitting at the table. Awoman who is familiar.

Aclose crop of red hair sits atop a long, pale face. Her shirt – asalways – is white, with a single red and silver broach pinned to herchest the only spot of colour. Her mouth is pulled into a soft smile.She’sknown for her neutrality, her position as a figurehead, the unitingfront of her party. There are others who fight her battles for her.

“Youknow, you could have told me,” Wedge says, as he sits down. “Ihad my suspicions.”

Montucks a strand of hair behind her ears. She’snervous. “I didn’t want to scare you off,” she says. “Andthen… it just seemed easier to explain in person.” She smiles athim, and Wedge feels his stomach flip. Then she turns. “It’s okaySinjir. He’s clearly exactly who he says he is.”

Sinjir,the man who brought Wedge over casts an asparaging eye over Wedge. Hecrosses his arms. “Ifyou say so. He doesn’t look like a threat. Call me if you needanything.”

Heturns on his heels and leaves, and finally, Mon and Wedge are leftalone.

Fifteenminutes in, Wedge’sphone goes off.

“I’vegot to get this, sorry.” Wedge answers it, and lifts it to his ear,knowing that despite the caller ID saying Tycho, it could be any oneof his friends who’s decided to give him an out. If he doesn’tpick it up, they’ll all come down there. “Yes?”

“Hereis your fifteen-minute-emergency get out call, Hobbie is primed tomake up some Grade A bullshit if you need it.”

It’sWes. Of course it’s Wes. “Tell your boyfriend to stand down, I’mfine.” Wedge runs a hand back through his hair. “I’ll keep youguys posted on when I’ll be home, don’t do anything stupid whilstI’m gone.”

Wedgehangs up. He puts his phone back in his pocket. When he looks backup, Mon is giving him an odd look, one eyebrow raised. “Myfriends,” Wedge explains with a wave of his hand. “Promised tocall and give me a reason to get out of this if it wasn’t goingwell.” Mon’s eyebrow remains raised. “Their idea,” Wedge tagson. “I knew it would all be fine.”

“I’mglad you have friends who look out for you like that.” Mon’swords are soft. There’s an undercurrent that Wedge is familiarwith, having felt it many times himself. There’s only so much youcan do for someone who lives that many miles away from you. It’sreassuring to know that there are people in their corner, who can bethere for them when all you can offer is kind words down a line.

Wedgefights the urge to reach over and take her hand. “They’regood eggs. Pain in the backside too, but they’re good.” Wes,Tycho, Hobbie – they’re the best friends a guy could ask for,really. And then Wedge laughs to himself.

“What’sso funny?” Mon asks.

Wedgegets himself under control. “Youknow how we met? Talking about D H Karver’s novels?” Mon nods.“This is ridiculous, I’m warning you.”

“Goon.” Mon smiles again, and Wedge is determined to make her smile asmuch as he can that evening, because her smile is so delightful.

“So,it’s a pen name, we all know that. But no one knows who she is,she’s mysterious as fuck—” Mon laughs as Wedge swears without acare. “You know why? She’s actually my friend Hobbie.”

Monlooks at him for a moment, trying to decide if he’sserious. “Your friend Hobbie, the same one who took ten years torealise he was head over heels in love with his best friend, is famedromance novelist D H Karver?”

“Apparentlyso.” Wedge shrugs. “I only found out last week, when the guyswere interrogating me about you – sorry, I tried not to say toomuch – and Wes burst out into violent laughter when I told them howwe met.”

Monstares at him for another long moment, before her face crinkles upand she starts laughing. It’sjoyful and jubilant and Wedge can’t help but join in. He laughswith her, grateful that he’s with her in that moment, to see herreact and not to have to rely on the tools of text and emoji for herto convey her delight. “That’s amazing,” she says. “What acoincidence.”

Theyfinished eating long enough ago that they should probably be movingon. Dinner has been more delightful than Wedge ever even dreamed itwould be. At some point, he slipped over to Mon’sside of the booth to show her some pictures from his day, and henever left. He’s stayed by her side, the two of them brushingagainst each other constantly, sharing touch with ease.

Hewatches her. More than he probably should. He wants to remember her,the way her face lights up as she talks, so he can picture it later.If he looks long enough maybe he can commit her to memory.

Shepauses in the middle of her speech. “Sorry,I’m going off on one again.” She looks back over and Wedge iscaught staring.

Heducks his head, feeling as the heat covers his cheeks. “Sorry,”he mumbles. He doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable. Doesn’twant to be that guy, who can’t clamp down his feelings, who makesit weird.

“Youdon’t need to be embarrassed,” Mon says. She places a hand on hisknee, squeezing softly, and then runs her hand along the outside edgeof his thigh.

Wedgeis from a circle of touchy-feely friends, who live in each otherspockets and will fit four of them on a two-person sofa. But thisfeels different. It’snot some bullshit heteronormative nonsense, where it’s differentbetween a man and a woman, because Wedge is about as straight as awinding country road. It feels different because he wants Mon,because there is this connection between them, and Wedge hopes tohell and back he’s not misreading this.

Helooks back up at her. Her smile takes his breath away. He tries togather up the courage to say something, thinking if there is a momentwhere he could, it is now. But the words stick in his throat. Theuncertainty haunts him. He’drather things just stayed like this. He doesn’t know what to do ifshe disappeared out of his life.

“Wedge?”she enquires.

“It’sokay, carry on.” Wedge smiles back at her. He reaches for her hand,the one that’s on his leg, tangling her fingers in his. “I likehearing you talk.”

Theytalk a little while longer, and then Mon suggests a walk, around andalong the river. Wedge, who has no wish for this night to end, agreesreadily. Mon takes care of the check, despite Wedge’soffer to go half with her – she chose the place, she pays, that’swhat she says. He can pay next time.

Wedge’sheart jumps at the thought that there will be a next time.

Monmakes a striking figure in her long white coat. She’staller than him, and gains another inch or so from the low heels onher shoes. Wedge doesn’t mind that. He doesn’t have manypreferences when it comes to looks. Mon is an objectively lovelywoman – she’s not a classic beauty, but there’s something abouther features, her character, that makes people believe in her, towant to do anything for her. Wedge knows her better than that, andthe feeling only gets worse as you know the strength of her heart andconvictions.

(She’solder than him too. That doesn’t bother him either. His friendshave always says he’s an old soul.)

Theystep out, and there’sa chill in the air now that comes with the late evening. “You knowaround here better than I do,” Wedge says, looking at the way thewarm light from the streetlamps catches in her hair. “Lead theway.”

“Alright.”Mon offers her arm. It takes Wedge a moment to realise she’soffering it to him, and then he accepts it, linking his arm throughhers.

Theysettle into step easily. Mon points out relevant important landmarkswhen they pass them, but mostly they walk in quiet. She leads himround, and then down to Westminster Bridge. They stop halfway acrossit, pausing to watch the river.

“Idon’t like London much,” Wedge admits. Mon lives here, representsone of the many London constituencies, and he doesn’t know ifshe’ll take offence. “It’s too busy for me. But from here, Iguess I could.” It’s quiet, and he can see the stars above, andMon is by his side, and Wedge thinks that he’d like anywhere, ifonly she was with him.

“Theriver is one of my favourite places,” Mon says. Her hand rests inthe small of Wedge’s back. “Especially at this time of night. Icome out here sometimes, just to think. Spent a lot of time textingyou from this exact spot, actually.”

Wedgelifts his head up to the sky. “Irecognise the stars,” he says, finding the constellations the sameway he did in all the pictures she sent. He thinks of all those latenight messages, stray thoughts that crossed her mind, accompanied bya snapshot of her view. He turns his head to look at her, only tofind she’s already looking at him. “Thanks for sharing this withme.”

“I’vewanted to for a while.” Her fingers reach up, brushing Wedge’shair out of his face and behind his ear. As her hand pulls back, herfingers graze across the line of his jaw. Wedge wants to lean intoher touch, but it’s so fleeting, been and gone before he has timeto reach up and keep her hand here. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“WishI was here for more than an evening.”

“You’rewelcome to come back,” Mon suggests. “Or I could come and visityou. I’m sure I could find some excuses to be north of the border.”

“Notsure how welcome you might be, given how hard you campaigned for theunion.”

Monshoves him, playfully. “WedgeAntilles, don’t tell me you’re a nationalist.”

Wedgelaughs, leaning back into her. “Ifear politics may be a dangerous thread of discussion.” He shrugs.“Eh, I don’t have any stakes in that game. I’d like you tovisit. I’d like to spend any time with you I could. I’d certainlylike to see you more than once a year or so.”

“I’llmake it happen. Find a date. You’re really not that far away,really.”

“Scotlandmight as well be another country from London, honestly.” Wedgelaughs. “I’d take another date.” He pauses, when he realiseswhat he’s said.

Monmust catch his wariness. She reaches over, tangles her fingers inhis, and speaks before Wedge can backtrack. “Thiscan be a date, if you want it to be.” Her grip tightens. “I’dlike it to be,” she says, voice soft and sweet, and so utterlysincere.

“Oh.”Wedge gasps.

Shelikes him. She wants this. Wedge isn’tthe only one with a mess of feelings he doesn’t know what to dowith. This evening has been exactly what Wedge has wanted to think itwas.

“Iwant that.” The words are awkward, but Wedge reckons it’s ablessing that he gets them out at all. “I—” He forces himselfto look at her, to meet her eyes. “I like you. I’ve liked you fora while now. I just… I didn’t want to put that on you. But I’dlike to date you, very much.”

Thewords feel clumsy in his mouth. He hopes that he gets enough acrossthat she understands, the way she’salways understood him.

“Ilike the sound of that,” Mon says back.

She’ssmiling, and Wedge feels the tug of desire. He steps forward,bringing them closer. “Can I—” He inclines his head towardshers. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,”Mon says, before closing the gap herself.

Theymeet and it’sall Wedge has dreamed of, in those quiet moments where hisimagination got away from him. There’s nothing inherentlyspectacular about it, but it feels like home. It feels like they’vekissed a thousand times before, but no less exciting for that fact.

Itends too soon. Wedge pulls back to look at her. Two bright spots ofred colour her cheeks. Her smile is bright, reaching right up to hereyes. She looks giddy with it all. As is Wedge. He’sso happy right now, happier than he ever remembers being, filled withan infectious joy.

Andso he kisses her again.

“Idon’t want to go.” Wedge scuffs his feet along the floor, knowingfull well that he should be responsible. It’s late. He’s tired.His friends are probably starting to wonder if he is coming home thatnight.

“Well,you don’t have to.” Mon cocks her head at him. “You couldalways come back to mine. My sofa’s free, if you want it, or I’vegot an empty half of a bed.” She blushes, looking away, a littleembarrassed. “If you don’t think that that’s moving too fast.”

“Youdid point out we’ve basically been dating for six months or so, wejust didn’t know it.” Wedge reaches in his pocket for his phone.“I’d love to, I just should probably check that my friends aren’twaiting up to interrogate me – which they will be – and let themknow I’m fine.”

“Youdo that.” Mon squeezes his hand as he steps away. He dials Luke,given that it’s Luke’s flat they’re all crashing in. Also, Lukeis unlikely to give him the full dose of grief. If he’s the one whoactually picks up his phone.

Wedgelistens to the line ringing, and prays that his exceptional run ofluck holds. Luckily, it does. Luke lets him go with minimal fuss,thanks him for calling, and ignores the way Wes and Hobbie areheckling in the background. It leaves Wedge to turn back to Mon, witha wide smile. “I’mall yours,” he says.

“Excellent.”

Wedgewakes the next morning, in a bed that isn’this own, a warm body along his side. He blinks his way toconsciousness slowly, stretching out.

Besidehim, Mon mumbles a noise of displeasure, and nestles closer to hisside. She throws a leg over his thigh and an arm round his waist,determined not to let him go. Wedge lets himself lie back into it fora moment, enjoying the physicality of her lying beside him, knowingthat its absence will haunt him later. He runs his hand over her arm,tucks his nose into her hair.

Theylie like that for a while. Wedge doesn’twant to ever get up, to leave the comfort of her arms. But he has atrain to catch. “Mon.” He pokes the soft flesh of her upper arm,as deliberately as he can muster. “Mon, darling, I’ve got to getup. I’m booked to get out of London by midday, because past me wasan idiot who didn’t think this through.”

Shegrumbles, clutching him even tighter. “No.I’ll book you on another train. A flight. Whatever.”

Wedgeallows himself to consider it for a moment. To stay with her, in thisbed, ignoring the world and their responsibilities. It would bebliss.

Butthey’donly buy themselves some scant hours. Wedge has a number of thingsfrom his event yesterday that need wrapping up, and a weekend’sworth of chores to do. Mon has – christ, Mon probably has goodnessknows how many things she needs to do.

“Ican’t,” Wedge murmurs back at her. “Next time.”

Monuntangles herself from him. She stares at him, her red hair rumpledand falling every which way over her head. She’slovely like this, Wedge thinks, unguarded and completely herself.“Next time,” she says. “I’m clearing three days of myschedule and we’re not leaving the bed.”

Wedgelaughs, and ducks into kiss her.

Wedgeends up dashing across Euston station for his train, to where Wes,Hobbie and Tycho are all waiting in the first carriage for him. Theytug him on a moment before the guard signals for the train to depart.“Surehope your lady friend was worth it, Wedge,” Wes teases, as theymake their way to their seats.

“She’sworth the entire world,” Wedge replies, not caring what amount ofshit he gets for waxing lyrical over her. As they sit down, Wedgepulls his phone out of his pocket. He’s got a text waiting.

MonMothmaMissyou already x

Wedgesmiles softly to himself, knowing he must look lovestruck.

WedgeAntillesMissyou too.Ilove you.

MonMothma…you couldn’t have said that when you were here????

WedgeAntilles… sorry?

MonMothmaIlove you too.Callme when you get home safe.

WedgeAntillesIwill.

#islandbetweenrivers #wedge antilles #mon mothma #star wars #swfic #myfic #this is almost 4k oops #and honestly this was not meant to be this id-ficcy #that makes the second long prompt response in a row that has been id-ficcy #sorry y'all #i have too many feelings #(also for the record; i'm definitely not answering all the ones i've got for these in my inbox #but i'll try to get to some of the ones that catch my imagination the best)#i'd rather do a couple well than a bunch half assed basically #mine

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almost-sweet-music · 6 years

Note

Could you please do an imagine where it turns out that Damon's s/o is actually the Gallaghers younger sister? I'm sorry if I'm bothering you, I have a tendency to do that to people. 🌼🍒You're nice.

(Ending is a bit rushed, sorry about that I might change it in the future)

Happy birthday Damon 💘❤💓💙💛💗💕💕💜💛💟💞💚💘❤💓

______

As it turns out, dating a famous person is hard. It’s even harder when that famous person is in the middle of a band fight between two most popular groups at the time. It also doesn’t help that the group your significant other is in a fight with features two of your brothers and they don’t know about it.

But that was your life.

And your life was pretty damn hard.

Especially while being a Gallagher dating an Albarn.

Often you found yourself trying to find a reason for why you couldn’t hang out with Damon when you knew your brothers were in town. The possibility of running into either Liam or Noel or worse, both of them in a bar or even on the street was far too dangerous.

It hurt turning him down but having moved to London you managed to keep your last name a secret. You were younger than your brothers. Well, only a year younger than Liam but still they managed to shield you away from their fame and the consequences that followed.You also didn’t have the face that’d be similar to any of the two so you weren’t easily recognizable either. That way you could still live like every other person with a normal job and a normal love life without the name “Gallagher” looming over you.___

“What is it this time, Y/N?” You heard Damon’s voice on the other side of the line. Even though you couldn’t see his face you knew by the tone of his voice he was getting frustrated.

“Damon I… listen…” A deep sigh echoed in the phone. “Please, can we not do this again? Look, I’m not feeling too well and-”

“No, no, no. You can’t use that excuse anymore. I don’t believe it anymore. Get dressed cause I’m going to pick you up in… Ten minutes.”

“Damon…” you cringed at his statement.

“And I swear to god if you pretend you’re not home or you don’t let me in I’m gonna break your window, crawl through there and kidnap you.” You couldn’t help but crack a small smile after he said that.

“I live on the second floor, Damon…”

“I have my ways. See you in 10.” and with that, he hung up. You sighed and put down the phone.

The truth why you didn’t want to go anywhere or see Damon today was the fact that Oasis was supposed to have a concert in London the day after and your brothers were going to stay at your place for some time. They were supposed to come tomorrow morning and you knew exactly how you would end up if you met up with Damon tonight. Unfortunately, resisting his charm was to most very hard, to you….Impossible.

And so, In the end, you did start dressing up. You put on some nice clothes and just as you started putting on makeup as well you heard your doorbell ring. ‘That bastard…’ you thought. He was exactly right on time, as usual, when it came to you.

“IT’S OPEN!” you yelled and a couple seconds later Damon came in your bedroom.

“Still not ready?” He said rolling his eyes jokingly.

“You seriously need to give me a little more time than 10 minutes to get ready love.” You replied. He sighed and flopped on your bed.

“Where you wanna go?” He asked. You raised one brow as you were putting on eyeshadow.

“I thought you had an idea?”

“I don’t.” Damon got off the bed again and came up behind you. He snaked his arms around your waist and put his face in the crook of your neck, making you chuckle. “Just wanted to spend some time with my girl~” You laughed.

“Sure you did.” Damon gasped, faking hurt.

“You know how dare you. Of course, I want to spend time with you. Mind you, it’s you that always calls off plans and doesn’t want to hang out.” You sighed and put down the eyeshadow palette. You turned around and looked at your boyfriend sadly. His hands moved down to rest on your hips, tracing small circles on them.

“I…I know, I know…And..I’m sorry if it seems as if I don’t care about us. Really, I do. It’s just…” you stopped for a second. “Ah…It’s hard to put into words… maybe one day I’ll tell you.” Damon frowned and his grip on your hips tightened.

“Wait… What are you talking about? You’re not in trouble are you?” He looked straight into your eyes with deep concern painted on his face.

Fuck.

“Oh..God no Damon I’m fine.” He didn’t seem to believe that as the frown remained on his façade. “Seriously, baby… You don’t need to worry about me okay?” You gently caressed his cheek and smiled reassuringly. “I should’ve used better words. Now you’re going to worry for no reason.”

“Y/N if there’s anything that I-”

“Damon, stop.” You cut him off. “There’s just something I’m not ready to tell you yet okay? I will tell you what it is though. Just not right now. Forget about it, it’s really not that important.”

But it was important. Frankly, one of the most important things right now.

Of course, he had the right to know but the consequences scared you so much you just couldn’t.

He sighed. “…Okay. I’ll believe you for now but that doesn’t mean I’m not concerned anymore.” You smiled.

“Fair enough.”_____

Throughout the whole evening, you kept thinking of what you said just hours ago. Damn, that was close. You knew he was thinking about it too but as time progresses and as more drinks entered your bodies it all started to matter less and when you were coming back home at half past 11 at night nothing mattered at all.

You reached your doorstep, a wobbling, laughing mess drunk out of your mind. This was the first time in weeks you got to hang out with Damon like this and as usual, you went overboard.

He was smoking a cigarette. His favorite and one you in time got used to as well. You held his hand as you stopped before your door and swirled around like a drunk ballerina in high heels.

“I gotta go up.” You mumbled out.

“Can I go with you?” Damon asked throwing his cigarette on the ground and stomping on it with his shoe.

“Hmm…Nope.” you giggled.

“C’mooooon… Let’s have some fun huh?” He smiled and wrapped his arms around you sloppily. “I want youuu~” You bit your lip. Your drunk and your sober sides battled in your head whether you should let him or not but then his lips found your sweet spot on your neck and you were gone…

“Get up.”_______

A ring of the doorbell and your eyes shoot open. Momentarily you gasp and jump out the bed much to Damon’s disapproval and attempt to keep you in bed and preserve heat. Quickly, you put on a robe and close the bedroom door behind you as you jog to the front one.

You knew exactly who that was and you were definitely NOT prepared.

Your head hurt like a mother fucker. The pulsing pain was just everywhere and you don’t think you were ever this hungover.

You took a deep breath and unlock the door. Before you stood both your brothers with giant grins on their faces and big travel bags by their feet.

“Ayeee Y/N!!” Liam cheered pulling you into a tight hug. “Did we wake ya up?” You forced a smile and nodded.

“It’s nothing. I’m glad you did. Sorry I overslept. I got a couple drinks with friends yesterday.” Noel laughed.

“Well well well… Watch out for that, kid. You never know who you might end up with in the mornin’.” He and Liam laughed but all you could do is chuckle nervously. “We learned that the hard way. Seriously, never get drunk in fockin’ Manchester. You think you scored you wake up in the mornin’ and turns out ya shagged fockin’ Bigfoot.” You giggled.

“Yeah alright I don’t know what you guys are doing or where you’re going at night and frankly, I don’t wanna know.” You said with a smile.

“Just a warning girl, the Londoners ain’t better.” Liam added before he plopped down on your couch.

“I always had bigger standards than you two wankers ever had.” You pointed out.

You were about to go to the kitchen to get yourself some aspirin when you froze. To your horror, you heard the door to your bedroom slowly open.

Fuck. Oh FUCK.

You didn’t know what to do. Should you run there and lock Damon in so he doesn’t come out and see your brothers? But then they’ll know you brought someone with you last night and they’ll want to know who. Or worse, they’ll go and open the door themselves and god knows you won’t be able to stop them. But… if he does come out then…

It was too late.

“…What the FUCK is HE DOING HERE?” You squeezed your eyes shut the moment you heard Liam shout out.

You sighed and turned around. Damon was standing by the door to your bedroom, shocked and still ⅓ asleep. Both Liam and Noel were standing by the couch looking as if they were ready to murder him.

“DID YOU SCREW OUR DAMN SISTER YOU BASTARD?” It was Noel’s turn to raise his voice.

“God please don’t shout…” You pleaded, taking a step closer to them.

“Y/N what’s going on?” Damon asked now fully awake.

“I…” You didn’t know what to even say.

“Oh I’ll tell you what’s going on you fockin’ bastard-” You grabbed Noel’s arm before he could swing his fist at your boyfriend.

“NOEL STOP.” You shouted.

“This better be a fockin one-night stand Y/N.” Liam hissed.

“Guys can we… Can we please just sit down for a second?” You asked letting go of Noel’s arm. Hesitantly, they agreed.

—

“Care to explain what is going on here?” Liam asked. You were sitting next to Damon not sure what to even say.

“I… I wasn’t completely honest with all of you…” you started. “And…” You sighed and looked around. They were all looking at you. “Okay fine. Fine, you know what? Here’s the truth:” First, you turned your head in Damon’s direction.”Damon, Liam and Noel are my brothers. I am a Gallagher.” next, you turned to the two “Liam, Noel, Damon is my boyfriend. I’m sorry I’ve been keeping all of this a secret but I knew that this was going to end this stupid fucking way.”

Silence fell in the room. Both your brothers and Damon were shocked and speechless.

Oh no… You thought. You prepared yourself that someone will probably leave the room… But no one did.

“This… it's… it’s a bit shocking…” Damon was the first one to say something. You looked at him and nodded.

“Sorry…” You said weakly on the verge of tears.

“It’s shocking that you kept it from me for so long.” You frowned.

“Wait… What?” Damon sighed and grabbed your hand.

“Do you really think I would’ve cared? Y/N, honestly… I love you. I don’t care who you’re related to.”

“Yeah… and we…” Noel started “As long as you’re happy and he treats you right I don’t think we have the right to intervene in your relationship. Even though I’d just love to murder this cunt right about now for even holding your hand. ”

“It don’t mean we’re gonna like the guy…” Liam pointed at Damon “…or anything though. Just… we’ll try to tolerate him. But you fucker do one thing wrong to her and I’ll bash your fockin head in you bastard.” Damon scoffed, offended but you just laughed.

“I… To be honest I don’t know how to respond to that…” You giggled.

“I don’t blame you…” Damon growled but he softened up when you giggled again and side hugged him. “I’m going to go now Y/N. You have fun miss Gallagher and I’ll see you later yeah?” He asked smiling. You nodded.

“Yeah go, go.” You grinned.

When he was out the door both Liam and Noel immediately relaxed.

“Damn guys…he intimidates y'all that much?” They scoffed.

“That cunt? Never.” Liam growled, making you roll your eyes.

“Mhmmm…suuure.”

____

Later in the day you were on the phone with Damon.

“So that’s why you turned me down all those times?” He asked.

“Yep… they were usually in town for a gig or something. Sorry bout that.”

“No worries. I imagine it’ll be a little hard but I’ll try not to think that these dumbasses are your brothers…” You sighed jokingly.

“Oh c'mon Damon… you can handle it…”

“Yeah yeah… But you know what? I think that now that I know your last name is Gallagher and not Y/L/N like you lied to me, the best thing to do is you to marry me so you could be called something pretty like Albarn instead.” You rolled your eyes.

“Of course Damon of course…”

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