Even as a boy, Sherlock rushed through every obstacle with a determination that took his parents, teachers, and peers’ breath away. When he’d set his mind to something, it would take Mycroft’s sensible nature to convince Sherlock that not everything was feasible. Like trying to revive the frog he’d dissected, or to get permanent ink off their mother’s finest damask.
As he got older, Sherlock no longer welcomed his brother’s advice; Mycroft had after all abandoned him for university.
Sherlock never excelled at sports, though he was exceptionally good at running. He had to - if he wanted to avoid his bullies - who wanted nothing more than to shut him up by punching him, or waterboard him in the school’s filthy toilets.
He finally got a respite from physical brutality at Cambridge. The nasty comments that were thrown at him at predictable intervals almost bored him to death. So, when he was tired of interacting with them - deducing them and their petty lives - he retreated to his growing Mind Palace, where words like freak, faggot, and psychopath couldn’t reach him.
The running became a necessity again when he acquired a taste for drugs. Dealers - who wanted more than his money - often had a penchant for chasing their prey into dark alleyways, where they could have their way with the feeble addicts. Sherlock quickly learned which dealers to stay away from and which ones were relatively safe.
Eventually, he got tired of running. Everything was gloomy, even when the sun shone. Sherlock knew he was approaching the precipice he’d be unable to recover from once he’d toppled over it. He already had two overdoses under his belt, and a third one would ensure his demise. Not even Mycroft would be able to rescue him this time.
The night Sherlock had decided that he’d had enough of his miserable existence, he stumbled over a crime scene. To his astonishment, everything about it – the dead man, his shoes, the green paint on his forefinger, and a feminine keychain – fit together like a jigsaw puzzle in his mind. He listened intently to the police officers on the other side of the police tape, discussing among each other. None of them had reached the same conclusion Sherlock had. It was as if an instinct he hadn’t known he possessed had been released from its cage.
“You’re all wrong,” he told them.
***
In front of the fire of 221B, Sherlock reminisces back to that evening that altered his life. Lestrade – secretly, Sherlock still thanks a deity he doesn’t believe in that the man was on duty said night – had been tired of the relentless prattle from his colleagues that got them nowhere. He had challenged Sherlock to reveal his thoughts. Mere hours later, the murderer was caught, and Lestrade promised to call Sherlock whenever he was stuck with an impossible case.
“But I won’t even bring you a receipt from Costa if you don’t get clean first. You have an extraordinary gift, and it would be a damn shame to chuck that away because you’re bored.”
There was not the slightest sign of wavering in Greg Lestrade’s attitude, and Sherlock realised that the police officer had tons of experience with drug addicts; he’d clock the signs from miles away, so he acquiesced and texted Mycroft.
After the tedious rehab, Sherlock felt refreshed and ready to run again. There was always a criminal who’d try to escape, but more often than not, Sherlock outran them all.
***
Of course, when a battered and delusional ex-army doctor limped into Sherlock’s life, the great detective needed to recalculate (almost) everything he knew about himself. Paying attention to and consider another person’s feelings, were foreign to him. It was rather hateful that a growing sentimentality invaded him like an unwanted illness. But Sherlock couldn’t help trying to impress John whenever he saw fit.
The words: amazing, extraordinary, and fantastic, soared around the corridors of his Mind Palace like the alluring ignis fatuus. Sherlock waited for the other shoe to drop, which were bound to happen. Sooner or later, John would leave, his continuing praise notwithstanding. Right?
But no, John stayed, and Sherlock found himself remoulding his life. He changed his pace – John’s legs were abysmally short compared to his – and it befuddled Sherlock that it didn’t slow him down in the slightest. Having a companion by his side, who quickly became invaluable – a conductor of light – was more rewarding than he’d ever dreamt of. Truth be told, he’d never even considered it. No one willingly sought out his company. None other than John.
***
“What are you thinking about, my darling? You’ve been lost in your head for hours.”
Sherlock opens his eyes and blinks. Crouched beside his chair is John, looking just as lovely as the day they met more than a decade ago. The flames are accentuating the few golden strands left in the doctor’s hair, and Sherlock finds himself helplessly lost in cataloguing their location.
Summary: Annabeth stops Thalia and Percy from killing each other.
Read on ao3.
This was not the change of pace Annabeth expected.
When Thalia melted out of the pine tree on the border of Camp Half-Blood, it had been a dramatic moment, to be sure. A moment she never thought could have been possible until now. She was grateful that the fleece had worked, that her friend was back from the dead.
But now Annabeth had to contend with the fact that both Thalia and Percy were so at odds with each other that when they were in the same room, there were times when the very air crackled with anticipatory power. Just one twitch from either of them, and the tinder would roar into an all-consuming fire.
She wasn’t sure exactly what triggered the argument this time, or why Thalia had flown into a rage. All she knew was that one moment the dining pavilion was peaceful, and the other moment it was not.
Percy stood there by the brazier at the center of the pavilion, his dessert plate still half-tilted over the fire. Annabeth had watched him scrape part of his sundae into the flames, the best portion of it with the most chocolate syrup. He had an unreadable expression on his face as he did it. His brow furrowed in concentration as if he was thinking hard.
“Poseidon,” he had whispered.
It was normal, just like any other day at camp.
Toward the end of summer, things always turned out to feel a little mundane, especially after Percy arrived the year before. What with quest after quest with his name attached to them, and Annabeth wanting everything to do with them. She didn’t think too deeply about how she’d follow him everywhere, just to make sure he was still alive, still breathing, still the boy with eyes as blue as churning seas and as gold as the edge of the sun.
So, two weeks after the battle on the hill, and after Thalia had reappeared, offering food to the gods was just something they did. Something normal.
Until it wasn’t.
“What are you doing?” breathed Thalia. She never joined the line that led to the brazier before meals, never really acknowledged it beyond that first night when she frowned at the explanation as to why the campers did what they did.
This time, though, she stood there, fists clenched, mere feet away from Percy. Her eyes sparked as if they contained lightning that she was barely holding back.
Percy straightened, tilting his head. He pulled his plate back toward his chest. “What do you mean?”
Annabeth held her own plate tighter. The piece of cheeseburger she had meant to offer seemed to taunt her. She was supposed to go next.
“Do you see yourself? Offerings to the gods?” Thalia spat, shoulders shaking. “So they can feel omnipotent and all-powerful? I’d think better of you, Percy.”
The temperature dropped. The atmosphere felt heavy as if it was about to rain, and the distinct smell of ozone settled into the night. The other campers were quiet.
Percy narrowed his eyes. “Think better of me?” he asked. But his voice sounded strange, as if he were talking through water. Muffled, distant, waiting.
Thalia scoffed, and a spark of electricity ran through her fingers. “You of all people should know how they’ve treated us. You’re a child of the eldest gods, too,” she growled. “They use us like their own little messed up pawns on a chessboard. They only ever have us for glory. What do you owe them? Your offering to Poseidon is nothing to him, and it never will be.”
A girl at the Aphrodite table yelped. Her glass of water shattered into pieces, shards flying in all directions. A child of Apollo sprinted over, checking for injuries.
Annabeth took a step forward. “Percy—”
“It is something to him,” Percy snapped back. His eyes didn’t leave Thalia’s face. And now it was as if a hurricane had begun to build in his body, his muscles coiling in his arms, his eyes darkening with every second.
“You’re lying to yourself!” bellowed Thalia.
Lighting flashed in the sky.
“You don’t know anything!”
Annabeth could hear the distant crashing of the ocean’s waves. Not so distant anymore.
“I know everything! Poseidon is using you! You’re just a child wishing for something he doesn’t have!”
Percy dropped his plate, roaring as he grabbed the lapels of Thalia’s bomber jacket. Thalia shot her hands out to her sides, lightning crackling in her palms.
Campers started screaming.
She couldn’t take this anymore.
“STOP!” Annabeth yelled. In her desperation, she dropped her own plate, hearing it shatter as it impacted the marble ground. She shoved herself in between her friends, her chest heaving, her eyes burning. “Stop this!”
She was facing Percy, holding his shoulders, her fingers trembling and hot. She looked at him, this boy who said things to her she could never forget. This boy who would do anything for his friends. Anything for her.
And she hoped that he would see that she would do anything to stop him from doing something he would regret.
“Don’t hurt her,” Annabeth whispered. “Please.”
The storms in his eyes faded as quickly as they came. He held her hands, sliding them off his shoulders, and turned around.
“I’m going to the beach,” he said.
As Annabeth watched Percy leave, she turned to Thalia, too. Her friend looked on the verge of collapse.
“Don’t hurt him,” Annabeth pleaded.
Thalia looked guilty for a second.
A minute passed by in stillness. No one moved and no one knew what to do next. The ozone that had borne down upon them had dissipated.
It was Thalia who broke the silence first.
“I don’t understand it, Annabeth,” she said, voice low, words hesitant. “Why does he fight for Olympus when he knows that they just want to make him their champion?”
Annabeth could see the hurt in her eyes, the confusion. Her heart clenched.
She sighed, and her hands slid onto Thalia’s. She grasped her fingers, threading them together. “It’s not that simple,” she replied.
Annabeth thought of the Gateway Arch, of how the waters rose to meet Percy. Of how the nereid gifted him four pearls, of how he came back down from Mount Olympus with awe and sadness in his eyes.
Of how Tyson had protected Percy from Luke with a trident.
“I don’t think Percy is loyal to Olympus,” Annabeth said carefully. She paused to listen to the sea. “He’s loyal to Poseidon.”
Jinora had barely touched her feet to the ground when she had to catch Sister Meilin, who had stumbled from carrying too many laundry baskets. The acolyte had no sooner gotten herself rebalanced when a gust of youth surrounded her, relieving her of her entire burden before scurrying away to the laundry.
Bewildered but grateful, Meilin gave Jinora a wave, and altered her path, probably to go grab laundry from the White Lotus barracks.
With a chuckle, Jinora lifted herself up to Pepper’s back and collect her bag. Once the saddle was off and set out to dry, she scratched Pepper’s eyeridge and let her settle in for a nap or a snack. A quick glance around revealed that most of the herd was away, probably on training flights.
She started to turn, only to have someone - Rohan from the size of them - crush himself against her side in a surprisingly strong hug. The rush of emotion she had for her little brother surprised her, but she wiggled her arm out so she could twist a little and give him a better hug.
It was a little jolting to realize his head was almost to her shoulder already.
“I thought you wouldn’t be here until next week!” Rohan finally declared. “Aunt Kya is going to be here tomorrow, and she’s going to take me back with her to see Gran-Gran!”
His excitement was so infectious that she could only smile and squeeze him again. “I know. Dad told me in his letter. He says you’re going to stay about a month! I know that’s going to be exciting.”
Unexpectedly, his face crinkled in concern. “Amma said I might have to be careful. Gran-Gran is old and might not want to spar with me.”
Jinora tugged on his shoulder and brought him over to a low wall, where they sat close together.
“Gran-Gran can still watch you spar with Aunt Kya, right? And you remember those cousins we met last year, right? The ones that were her part of her father’s family? I think there are a couple who are about your age. I’m pretty sure there are at least a few who are benders, so you can probably play with them, too.”
He sighed and relaxed against her. She tilted her head over his and rubbed his shoulder.
The quiet lasted for all of ten breaths.
“Rohan!”
He jolted at the sound of Lin’s voice, knocking his head against her cheekbone and sending her reeling in the other direction.
She was still blinking and rubbing her cheek when Lin came sprinting by with the most distracted glance Jinora remembered seeing on her.
Chuckling for an entirely new reason, she collected her bag, rubbed her cheekbone again, and traced Lin’s path backwards to the family quarters.
Dinner would be in less than an hour, so the garden empty, but the door to the kitchen was propped open, and Jinora felt her stomach growl at the smell of her mother’s cooking. She grinned and propelled herself forward with a burst of bending, landing just outside the door, only to have an acolyte nearly knock her over with a bucket of water intended for the gardens.
“Oh, hi, Jinora! Sorry!” called the acolyte over his shoulder as he bustled off on his chore.
“Jinora? Get in here, wash your hands. I need some help,” came her mother’s voice from somewhere (the stove, probably) inside.
Shaking her head, she toed off her shoes and hung her bag and robes inside the door. She approached her mother, lightly draping her hands on her shoulders and placing a light kiss on the back of her head.
“Hi, mom.”
“I want to hear all about your trip, but we need to hurry up. Your father is giving a lecture tonight ahead of the eclipse next week. He wants to have enough time to take a walk before that.”
The next hour flew by as she fell right into place helping with the cooking and eating.
A rebellious Rohan glowered at the table full of dishes while Lin glowered at him, leaving Jinora to collect her things and slip out the way she had come.
She re-entered the women’s dormitory, looking for an open guest room. Every bed seemed to have a bag at the foot, a clear sign of prior claim. Even the chambers Korra typically used when she came for an extended visit were in use.
Her bag over her shoulder, she had just opened the closet of sleeping mats when Rohan ran by, his face an angry mask. She lifted a finger to speak to him, but Lin stepped up and said, “Let him go. He’s mad at me for making him scrub a pot three times. He can go cry in your mother’s lap for a little.” She folded her arms across her chest, then gave Jinora an appraising look.
“We’re really full this week with the eclipse coming. If you don’t want to be up all night with everyone making noise, you might go sleep in Katara’s healing hut. Or out with your bison, as if that would be a change of pace for you.” She scoffed lightly.
Jinora smiled. “I will be happy to sleep in a bed for a change.” She gave Lin a sidelong look. When Lin did nothing beside raise her eyebrow, Jinora smirked.
“Speaking of a change of pace, how does retirement feel? Are you getting more time with Mom and Dad?”
Lin rolled her eyes.
“Change of pace my…” Lin coughed on her words and started again. “I’m busier now than I ever was at headquarters. Your brother is a handful. And then there’s Meelo.”
Jinora laughed. “You love it. If you really wanted a change of pace, you’d be the one taking Rohan to see Gran-Gran.”
Lin shivered at the thought.
“Not a chance. Kya gets to earn her stripes with that one.”
They exchanged a look.
Lin gave her a soft smile. “I know you’ve had a long month. You thought it would be relaxing to come home, didn’t you?”
Jinora returned the smile, lifted her face to watch the clouds float overhead.
“If I’d wanted a change of pace, I’d be the one taking Rohan to see Gran-Gran.”
Lin clapped her on the back of the shoulder, and they parted for the night.
‘Have you tried speeding up?’ I snapped back too quickly. I bit my tongue. The Great Monk stared at me steady, with his deep, knowing eyes.
‘Ambition is a strength, but it must be contained. Too much of it and it overflows into greed and selfishness.’
I seethed and turned away. ‘What would you know?’ I muttered under my breath.
The monk narrowed his eyes. He took his staff and used it to touch my chin, raising my face to meet his.
‘Be careful, young one. You cannot let this mindset ruin you.’
I didn’t back down from his gaze. I stared at the old man, fire burning inside me.
‘Ruin me?’ I laughed but it was cold in my heart. ‘It’s the only thing saving me.’
‘It was the reason you were not chosen in yesterday’s ceremony.’
‘No, you were the reason I wasn’t chosen.’
‘You must learn to slow down, to hold what live gives you and then let it go.’
‘You think me reckless and rash. But there’s a difference between acting out and going after what I want.’ Sadness appeared in his eyes and that made rage flare inside me. ‘You won’t stop me,’ I cried. I clenched my fists on my lap and looked down. Angry at myself. Angry at how he let the silence grow and stretch around us.
‘I fear that outcome,’ he said, his voice brimming with pity. ‘Not for what it will mean for me—’ once again he used his staff to raise my eyes to his ‘—but what it will mean for you.’
He withdrew his staff and, where the warm wood had touched me, coldness appeared. It spread down my chest.
‘Go seek your master,’ he said, his voice hard and so unlike it was moments before. ‘You will meditate until the moon is full once more.’
I drew myself to my feet. He was still knelt before me.
‘One day you’ll give me that staff,’ I said.
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ‘I hope so.’ I turned to leave. ‘I would rather give it willingly than have you prise it from my dead body.’
Iiiiit's Friday, so you all know what that means! @flashfictionfridayofficial time!!!! As promised earlier today, I have some Valgrace for you all! This one turned out to have a different tone than I was going for (I was planning on something incredibly dialog-heavy and silly oops) but I wound up really enjoying the writing process! As a metatextual change of pace, we're gonna see the boys argue! Oooooohhhhhh! Also, pretty pretty pretty please check out this post if YOU would like to get a fic for Valentines Day! Anywho, fic time!
Word count: 1000
Ao3 Link
Jason’s boyfriend was mad. This wasn’t exactly breaking news or anything. Leo was, in a word, passionate. Most of the time, this translated into him caring so, so, so much about everyone and everything. He always strived to make the people around him happy, he worked tirelessly to make sure that everything worked. When he dedicated himself to something, he dedicated himself fully and completely. It was, genuinely, one of the things that made Jason fall in love with him, and it was one of the things that made him wake up every morning and fall all over again. But, like any good fatal flaw, it also had its downsides. When Leo allowed himself to love, he loved bright and loud and with his whole chest, and the one and only thing that could compare was his own fury.
Leo got mad at just about anything. He flipped off other drivers on the road, he shouted at TV characters, and he swore up and down at inanimate objects when they didn’t behave the way they wanted him to. Jason was even the victim of this temper on more than one occasion, and one time Leo had refused to speak to him all day because Jason had said something unkind about Leo’s homemade spinach puffs. In a dream. Fortunately, for as quickly as Leo’s temper flared, it would die down just as quickly. He’d go out of his way to give people access on the road, he laughed at jokes and celebrated victories when they came on screen, and, of course, he’d cuddle into Jason’s side and apologize for being stupid and trying to pick a fight over something that literally didn’t happen. Jason would always just happily accept the cuddles and kiss him, ready and eager to hang on for the next wave that was loving Leo Valdez.
Sometimes, though, Leo’s anger wasn’t a flash in a pan. It was a genuine fury that burned in his chest like the hottest of forges, tempering Leo’s rage into a blade. This anger was dangerous, it built and built and was capable of destruction. Jason didn’t see this side of Leo’s passion often, and it had never, ever been directed at him.
Until, possibly, today.
“I’m going to kill you,” Leo seethed, eyes bright over the deep purple bags they carried. “I was working!”
To be fair, Jason understood Leo’s fury and didn’t begrudge it in the slightest. Anger was the appropriate response when someone grabbed you in the middle of a project, basically stuffed you in a bag, then summoned an elemental horse made of stormclouds to haul you halfway across the country in the span of fifteen minutes. Especially when the someone in question was your boyfriend of three years, and even more especially when said boyfriend wasn’t even sorry.
“That project isn’t due for another month and a half,” Jason challenged. “I asked Nova.”
“Who the hell is Nova?”
“She’s your project partner, which you would know if you weren’t too busy stubbornly insisting on doing everything yourself to talk to anyone,” he snapped. He crossed his arms and tried to look as imposing as possible, which shouldn’t have been difficult, considering he was a foot taller than Leo and better than twice as wide, but Leo’s fiery soul, while beautiful, usually dominated any room he was in.
“Why do you care about my homework?” Leo demanded. “Last I checked, you were the one badgering me day in and day out to take this schoolwork bullshit seriously. What, now that I care about my stupid grade, that’s not right? What do you want from me, Jason?”
Jason considered puffing up and getting mad right back at him. That’s what wolves did, that’s what Roman warriors did. But that’s not what boyfriends did. So, instead, he sucked in a deep breath and relaxed his whole posture. He softened his face and gave Leo his best kicked puppy look. “I just want you to spend time with me.”
That wasn’t entirely true. The main thing Jason wanted was for Leo to get out of his workshop and sleep, maybe even eat. He hadn’t done either of those things for literally the past week, relying solely on Hephaestus’s gift (or, as Leo called it, Godly Go-Go Juice) to bypass his human needs in exchange for progress. But Jason was not above a little well-meaning manipulation to take care of the self-destruction-prone love of his life. Plus he actually wanted Leo to spend time with him, so it wasn’t even a lie.
Leo was silent for a moment, but Jason saw the instant his walls came crumbling down around his ears. “You’re a manipulative bastard,” he whined, his scowl of fury melting into a toffee-soft pout.
Jason’s face split open in a grin, and he opened his arms, feeling like he was going to start vibrating with joy when Leo settled right into them. “Does that mean you’re not mad at me?”
“I’m still a little pissed that you attacked and kidnapped me instead of talking,” Leo corrected. “But I also kinda get it.”
That was good enough for Jason, so he ducked his head and kissed Leo. “Nova said she could work on the project this weekend, and there’s no class on Monday. Do you think we could maybe stick around here? Change of scenery, change of pace and all. There’s a traveling fair in town.”
Leo’s eyes lit up at the thought of all those terrifyingly shoddy machines and easily exploitable games. Then he frowned. “Sure, but where are we gonna sleep? You know how I feel about bed security.”
“There may or may not be a hotel that may or may not be booked in our names.”
Leo barked out a laugh and tilted his chin back until it rested on Jason’s chest, and he was looking up at him with blatant, passionate adoration. “May or may not, huh?”
Jason didn’t answer, he didn’t need to. He just kissed him.
Summary: When Azula's bending does not return after the eclipse, she and Ty Lee flee to the western colonies to find answers. Ty Lee convinces Azula to take a break from her tireless research.
@flashfictionfridayofficial
While Ty Lee was working at the circus, she’d heard any number of stories about the western colonies, tales of a lover the contortionist abandoned in Yu Dao with its tea houses that traded jasmine for tears of the pyre poppy once the sun set and the knife juggler’s old gigs in the Jewel Port, where even the army commanders placed exorbitant bets on the underground fighting pits.
She had always known that she would wind up in these parts at some point but never expected that she’d be spending her days in the Jewel Port cooped up in a boardinghouse with a depressed princess and a smuggled stack of banned books. Azula had done little more than study and tremble since they arrived by boat after their midnight escape from the Caldera. Though it was nearly summer in the coastline colonies, without her firebending—which had failed to return like everyone else’s after the eclipse—the princess shivered constantly.
Ty Lee was fairly certain that the shakes had more to do with her frayed nerves and far too many skipped meals, but Azula could not be convinced that the proprietress Miss Nan wasn’t intentionally withholding heat to freeze them out.
When she returned from her rendezvous with Kanto—who was a far better smuggler than he was a flirt—with another stack of banned books and a paper sachet of fine cactus powder, the tea and steamed bun she had brought Azula hours ago still sat cold and untouched.
“Did he actually find anything useful this time?” Azula asked from behind a cocoon of blankets and a worn wooden desk.
“A few more books on dragon fire, two on lion turtles, and a firebending scroll written by some ancient avatar’s girlfriend. Ty Lee placed the new texts on the edge of the desk that was becoming overcrowded to the point of disarray before pulling the green sachet out of her pocket. “And a party favor.”
Azula huffed out a sigh. “Ty Lee, if this is for another one of those vile chakra unlocking concoctions, I swear—”
“No, it’s not that this time.”
“Then what is that stuff and what does it have to do with me getting my bending back?”
“Let’s just...call it a change of pace.” Ty Lee said as she tapped a small bump of the powder out onto the side of her thumb. “I think we could both probably use one. If you want.”
“Ty Lee, the Fire Nation is in the middle of a war—a war that we have now both effectively deserted, mind you—and I don’t have my firebending. You know this, and yet you’re asking me to snort some shady Earth Kingdom drug you got from a criminal?”
“Uh-huh,” Ty Lee said and then quickly snorted her small mound of powder. “And then we should go get dinner. I heard some of the girls around the port say that this new restaurant Kwong’s has really good roasted pigchicken. You haven’t been eating much, and I know that’s one of your favorites.”
“And it will taste better back in the palace after I figure out how to fix this.”
“I know, and you’re right. You’re always right, Azula.” Ty Lee closed the distance between them and leaned back against the desk. “But you still have to live in the meantime, to keep your aura strong.”
Azula scoffed. “More of this inane spiritualism.”
Ty Lee shrugged. “Well, if you think the spirits are what caused this, maybe a little cactus trip is just what you need.”
After a moment’s pause, the princess reached out her hand, palm up and open. It took everything in Ty Lee not to giggle as she took Azula’s hand and adjusted it.
“Just this once, since you insist,” she said with an expression that looked caught partway between a sneer and a pout. “But if I have a bad reaction and wind up dead, just know that you’re going down for treason.”
