#tcbefearless

Every clue he had rounded back to more questions. He had long since accepted that the story of their mother having consumption was false. There were far, far too many evidences to prove otherwise here in this house. But that left the question of what happened that fateful day wide open. Perhaps the most damning of this entire scenario was that Mycroft was practically begging for him to drop it. The promise of unraveling his brother was almost too exciting to dare lay their mother's death to bed. Besides, he'll be a good boy once this mystery was solved and put Cordona behind him. Return to London like their brother wanted. But he had never liked unsolved puzzles.

He had been sitting in a chair in front of the fireplace, tucked in a hall behind the stairwell, when he heard the door open. Jon was quick to point out that it sounded like the front door. "Good job, Jon. That is your first proper assessment today." An argument of him being snippy today. "Snippy?"

@tcbefearless

Orpheus had stopped dismissing the strange certainties that rose in him without explanation a long time ago. Some things he simply knew, even if he couldn't say how. A melody that came to his hands too easily, places that felt familiar the first time he saw them, dreams that felt like memories that were too distant to be his but too familiar not to be.

He didn't usually chase those feelings anymore, they were elusive, and experience had taught him that if he reached too hard for them they dissolved in his hand. But he trusted them. So when he saw her and something in him turned toward her with immediate, aching recognition, he didn't try to explain it away - but this time he didn't ignore it either. He simply stopped.

For a moment the rest of the world seemed to fall strangely quiet, dulled at the edges as his attention and fixed entirely on her. She was only standing there, and yet the sight of her struck him with the force of something long awaited. His chest tightened. Not with fear, not even quite with shock, but with the heavy, breathless feeling of having found a piece of something he had been missing for longer than he could name.

She was beautiful, but it wasn't just her beauty that caught his attention. It was something older. Something that felt like he had lived with for centuries and was branded onto his soul, a sense of knowing her that ran deeper than memory. As though somewhere within him a song had begun again after years of silence, soft at first, but unmistakable.

↣ VARIOUS QUESTIONS

If there was one thing that someone wanted to hear when it was decidedly not their day, it was someone pointing that out. Bucky wasn't a man who was quick to anger, despite everything in his life that would have made it very easy to be, but he didn't think he could be blamed for a little bit of frustration every now and then.

For example, the newly purchased coffee that now stained his shirt was very frustrating. It had been, as she'd so helpfully pointed out, a very long day, and sometimes a man just wanted a cheap cup of coffee. But sometimes that coffee had a mind of its own, didn't it? And sometimes, days like this could really make a man wish they'd never fished him out of the goddamn Alps.

“Reading. You do realize I’m capable of that, right?”

His hazel eyes sparkled with his teasing tone, looking up at her over the rim of his glasses with an arched eyebrow and his signature smirk. He shifted so there could be more space so she could join him — his hazel eyes moving back to the book back in his hands. Besides his auror training, he had been doing his own research about werewolfism and the rumors of a new potion being in the works for werewolves to keep their minds on the night of a full moon. He donated to the research for it the moment he had heard about it — but it was moving far too slow for his taste.

“Lils, you’ve always been good at potions. Have you ever created your own?”

"don’t shoot."

John steps closer, why was he not surprised by these turn of events? He should have known that it was her.

send through your window for my muse’s reaction to your muse climbing through their bedroom window.