#RE: THE LANGHAM. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-bau-quinjet · 4 years ago

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Walk Me Home

Chapter 3 of In Breakable Heaven! I don’t love this chapter, but it felt necessary. idk. Everything picks up in the next one!

Summary: It’s pretty much all in the title!

Warnings: confronting a cheating ex

Word Count: ~2200

“You really didn’t need to walk me home. I didn’t mean to make you leave earlier than you wanted.” You said as you walked next to Spencer.

“Trust me. I’m normally home by now anyway.” He replied easily. You shifted closer as you thought about the buildings surrounding your apartment complex.

“Where do you live?” You blurted out, unable to think of anything else to say.

“Oh, I live in Langham Apartments.” He replied. You thought about the name, recognizing it as you had toured there when you first moved to DC.

“Isn’t that North of Penelope’s though?” You said, double checking you were walking south toward your own apartment.

He sighed. “Yes… I know what you’re thinking. Your place is definitely not on the way to mine, but I didn’t want you to walk by yourself and I didn’t think you would let me walk with you unless you thought it was convenient for me. More than 70% of violent crimes happen at night, and midnight to 1:00 AM is the busiest hour for many of those crimes.” You stopped walking, turning him to look at you by grabbing his hands. “Thank you.” You said it with as much sincerity as possible, wanting him to know how much you really appreciate the action.

You dropped one hand so he could turn back around, but held the other as you walked down the street in a comfortable silence. You were still drunk enough to not think anything of the innocent act. A cat ran out in front of you, scaring you in your still tipsy state. You jumped into Spencer, with your hands grabbing his arm, and you pulled yourself closer to him. He laughed as he saw the source of your sudden fear. Shuffling past the feline, you didn’t make any effort to distance yourself from him. If anything, you leaned on him more as you grew tired throughout the walk.

You didn’t want to say goodbye as you arrived home. Spencer, being the incredibly intelligent and observant person he is, felt you tense beside him as you turned the corner and your building came into view. “Are you okay?” He asked as your grip on his arm tightened.

“Yeah, I just… it was a lot easier to think I would be able to get rid of all his stuff before actually having to look at it.” You replied.

You saw something flash across Spencer’s face before he stuttered “I, uh, I guess, I could, um, go up with you, uh, if you think it’ll help.” You turned to him, a small grin slowly spreading across your face.

“That would be amazing. I just don’t think I can be alone right now.” You were entering the elevator, pressing the button for the fourth floor before returning to cling to his arm.

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight in front of you as the elevator doors opened. You held tighter to Spencer’s arm as you realized it was Drew standing in front of your apartment door. He looked almost sad, but quickly shifted to anger as he glanced down at your hands around Spencer’s arm. “Drew, I don’t want you here. I want to move on from my life and pretend like you were never in it.” You could feel the tears pooling in your eyes, threatening to escape as you confronted Drew.

“I came to apologize, but obviously you already found someone to move on with. You were probably already sleeping with him.” Drew’s words felt like a whip hitting you in the face.

“How. Dare. You.” You spit back at him, the tears giving away to pure hatred. “You are not even the least bit sorry. God. You don’t get to yell at me for having a friend- that’s right A FRIEND, help me through the complete bullshit you’ve put me through. You are the one who cheated on me. On our fucking anniversary. You don’t get to spin this around and act like I’m a bad person for trying to forget you. Get the hell out of my apartment building or so help me god I will…” You trailed off, not knowing what you could possibly say that would intimidate him.

“You’ll what? You can’t do anything to me Y/N.” Drew’s eyes were cold and careless as he laughed at your rage.

“She actually can. She can file a restraining order.” Spencer started. “You see, I work for the FBI in a unit that specializes in catching the world’s worst criminals. We’ve handled our fair share of stalking cases. I will not hesitate to see you prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law if you so much as think about contacting her again.” Spencer’s eyes were hard. He was staring down at Drew as if he were invincible. You clung to him as Drew muttered “Yeah, whatever. Like I’d waste my time on her anyway” before leaving.

You forced a smile on your face as you walked into your apartment and looked at Spencer. You wanted to be happy that he’s gone, completely out of your life, but you just felt empty. You have experienced way too many emotions for one night and you know exactly what you need right now. Rushing over to your speaker, you turn it on and pull up your Taylor Swift playlist for when you are feeling everything all at once. What can you say, the woman really knows how to write emotions. As you hear the soft music of this is me trying begin to play, you sink into the couch and start crying.

Spencer shuffles over from where you left him by the door. As he sits next to you, unsure of what to do next. He’s not really sure why you put on this song. It sounds like it will only play into your upset state. You know you just need to flush yourself of the emotions before ridding your life of him entirely. Instead of asking about the music, he surprises both of you by pulling you into his lap and rubbing circles on your back. The small gesture is so kind that you start crying even harder, remembering how nice you thought Drew was. You aren’t sure how long you cry for before you eventually fall asleep.

Reid’s POV

Spencer wasn’t sure why he was so set on walking you home, but upon seeing your reaction to Drew standing outside your door, he’s very glad he did. He’s never really been an intimidating person, but there was some instinctual feeling in him to protect you. Not that he thinks you need protection. He just knows you are in an emotionally fragile state and the man who put you there just accused you of the exact thing he had done hours before. It was pretty messed up. Maybe that is why he threw all his rules out the window for you.

He really doesn’t understand the choice of music. Although, it does cover a range of emotions. The only thing he is completely sure about is that he never wants to see you this sad ever again. Maybe that is why he pulls you into his lap. You clearly need comfort right now, and it would be worse if he just awkwardly left. His barrier to touch has never been broken down so easily. It takes a lot of getting to know someone before Spencer would ever even consider shaking their hand.

The songs shift from gut-wrenchingly sad to sweetly reminiscent to seductive before he’s sure you’ve fallen asleep. Every time he tries to stop rubbing your back, the softest whimper leaves your lips. At least, that’s what he tells himself as he drifts off, dreaming about meeting you under happier circumstances.

Y/N POV

In typical fashion after a night of drinking, you wake up around 6:30 wide awake. As your eyes adjust to the dim light, you notice you are still on the couch, but now laying down, with Spencer’s arms still wrapped around you. He looks so adorable sleeping. You slowly untangle yourself from him, so as not to wake him up, before walking into the kitchen for some water. It’s always good to hydrate, even if you don’t ever feel the hangover.

You began thinking about what you could do to thank Spencer for everything he did last night. Not to mention you forced him to sleep on the couch. You settled on breakfast, but you knew if you started cooking you would wake him up. After finally deciding on a plan, you quickly get dressed. You grabbed your keys and left a post it on the door saying you would be right back, just in case he woke up before you returned.

You quickly ran across the street to your favorite diner. Not knowing what Spencer would like, you order pancakes, French toast, an omelet, two different breakfast skillets, a sandwich, and sides of bacon, sausage, and toast. While you’re waiting for the order, you walk farther down the street to the small coffee shop you frequent. Again, you could only guess how Spencer liked his coffee so you ordered your usual mocha with extra sugar, a cold brew, and a hot black coffee. After collecting your drinks, you make your way back to the diner to pick up the food.

It is a struggle to re-enter your apartment with all the food you just bought in your hands. When you finally push the door open, you see a confused Spencer sitting up on the couch glancing in your direction. He glances at the bags in your hands and his confusion only grows. With his help, you finally manage to set everything down on the counter. “Coffee?” You ask, gesturing to the cups.

“Which one is for me?” he chuckles. “Oh! Right, I got a few different kinds since I didn’t know what you’d like. You can just take your pick and I’ll grab one after.” You begin to unpack the food choices as he tries the first coffee. Almost instantly he gags.

“That one must be mine.” You say sheepishly as you take the cup from him. “That’s the usual response when people try my drink of choice.” He looks at you funny as he settles on a cup.

“Really? I thought that was a normal order. I just like my coffee different than pretty much everyone.”

You look at him as you take a sip of the drink, instantly spitting it into the sink that was behind you. “ew ew ew, that is black coffee. That is disgusting. Oh my god how can anyone drink that.” You chug some water to rinse the taste from your mouth. “Which coffee did you pick?” you ask as you grab the creamer and sugar to fix the monstrosity in front of you.

“The sweetest one…” Spencer looks almost shy as he admits how sweet he likes his coffee.

“Ahh, the mocha with extra sugar. That’s my go to.” You say as you dump the sixth spoonful of sugar into your dup. He stares at you in amazement as you finish stirring the now creamy looking beverage. “Much better” you exclaim after taking a sip.

“I have never met anyone who likes their coffee as sweet as I do.” Spencer has a dopey grin on his face as he looks at your cup. “It’s refreshing not to be judged for something so minute.”

“I know exactly what you mean! It’s so weird how people can think they are superior for some reason just because their taste buds don’t automatically reject the disgusting bitterness of unsweetened coffee. I mean, I’m still a perfectly capable adult even though I like sugary things. You don’t have to fit into some mold…” Your rant fades from your mind as you meet Spencer’s gaze. “Sorry, I tend to ramble.” You look sheepishly at the floor, immediately jumping into describing the foods you bought. “Now, as for breakfast. I wanted to say thank you for last night, but I wanted to make sure I got something you liked.”

You scan the array of food you’ve placed in front of you. “You can even feel free to have some of each if you want!” You say as Spencer just stares at you with a look on his face that you can’t quite place.

“You are incredible,” he says as he takes a seat and gets some food. You don’t really know how to respond to that, so you just grab some food for yourself as you sit down across from him.

Talking with Spencer during breakfast is so easy. It’s almost as if you didn’t have a major break-up less than 24 hours ago. All too soon, breakfast had come to an end and there are no more dishes to do or leftovers to clean up to stall anymore. Spencer grabs his bag and says “I should probably get going, I have a few errands to run.”

You let out a small sigh before responding “oh, yeah, of course. I wouldn’t want to keep you. Thank you again for everything yesterday. It was really nice of you.” Spencer shrugs before responding, “I just wanted to help,” turning and walking out of your apartment.

After locking the door behind him, you sink to the floor fully letting your strange mix of emotions take over. You just might need to listen to that playlist again, only now you’re feeling a range of emotions instead of just a range of sadness.

tag list:

@mac99martin @eevee0722 @l0ve-0f-my-life @haylaansmi @dinonuggets15 @laurakirsten0502 @green-intervention @burnin-passion

#spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #Criminal Minds #criminal minds x reader

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syms-things-5 · 4 years ago

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Clear The Area - Chapter Fifteen (Part Two)

**A Chris Evans Story**

Previous Chapter Here

Tags: @jennmurawski13 @kelbabyblue

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, strong language, generally a bit awkward

Notes: This is a long chapter, sorry. Any comments welcome, good and bad.

Chapter Fifteen (Part Two)

“Let me just bring up your booking here, one moment please.”

The lobby of The Langham was an ocean of grey and blue. The sun was shining brightly outside, the hottest day of the year so far, and it reflected in every surface of the space and accompanying bar. It was sparse on the usual detailing, instead preferring a minimalist approach; the check-in desk consisted of a mere iPad and one lily artfully growing from a tall, geometrical glass vase. Random art hung from all sides. One looked vaguely like a donkey, Sarah was sure. There was also what she thought was an ash tray balanced on a pillar to the left of where she was standing but she didn’t dare to investigate it any closer in case it cost the price of a small car.

It had the same over-perfumed odour as the fragrance section of a Macy’s. The tiled floor look so clean and fresh you could be forgiven for thinking it had only just been laid that very morning. Sarah felt a pang of guilt walking in wearing her scuffed Converse. She always felt so out of place in places like this. It was the kind of place she would run a mile from if she had the choice but Greg had an “in” with the manager and now here she was.

“So that will be four nights in our Executive Suite with Central Park view. You also have the bar allowance of $150 per night. You just need to take the elevator up to the 32nd floor and it’s the second door on your left. Would you like a hand with your bags, madam?” She motioned for the concierge to come over but held her hand up when she spied the puzzled look on Sarah’s face.

“I’m really sorry but I think there’s been some kind of mistake. I didn’t book a suite, just a standard double and I don’t think I pre-paid for any bar allowance. I didn’t even know I could do that to be honest.” Sarah chuckled awkwardly in an attempt to diffuse the tension but it fell on deaf ears. She handed the key card back to the lady, unsure of what else to suggest.

The lady showed practically no emotion at the possible mistake and simply took another look at her records before confirming that she was in fact correct with the initial room choice. “It’s definitely your suite, and...everything is paid for in advance. Could it have been made on your behalf? It looks like it was upgraded yesterday afternoon.”

Sarah wasn’t sure if she was asking her a question or telling her. She couldn’t believe she wasn’t biting her hand off but she hoped she hadn’t made some kind of horrific error her bank wouldn’t forgive her for. She could barely afford the double room she’d booked as it was and she’s sure the college wouldn’t have upgraded her without letting her know in advance. It made zero sense. They couldn’t have that kind of money going spare, putting students up in posh suites. She had no clue what could have happened.

Unless...Chris?

No, it wouldn’t be. He was less than pleased to hear she’d be away as it was. Except...well, who else? Sarah rolled her eyes a little too obviously before accepting the key card back. “That’s OK. I think I know what’s happened. It’s only the one bag. I can manage it.”

The lady nodded her thanks and, smiling politely, pointed her back towards the elevators. Sarah couldn’t move away from her fast enough.

Arriving at her floor, Sarah emerged from the lift expecting someone to come running up to her to confirm that they had in fact made a horrendous mistake. She slipped the key card into her door before pushing her way in to find her new home for the week.

The bedroom was large, uncomfortable so, with the bed positioned just off the middle in the room. Sarah figured the designer for a psychopath. It was big but not as empty as the lobby would have had her believe. In fact, it seemed reassuringly cosy despite the windows, so many windows stretching around the suite. There was a soft blue curved sofa opposite a screen that she’d seen smaller versions of in a cinema. Cushions fucking everywhere and fluffy white slippers she’d probably never take off again.

Everything seemed to be controlled from an iPad set in a stand by the bedroom door; the lights, the curtains, the air freshener, some background music for ambiance if she wanted. The windows tinted darker to block out the sunlight. Even the $1300 coffee machine was remote controlled; she had recognised it from the last edition of Home & Country Jocelyn had mailed to her, the exact one Shanna had been dropping hints about to Chris as a potential Christmas present.

The lounge offered her the clearest view of Central Park and with the light at this time in the afternoon, it was beyond stunning. She snapped a picture and considered texting it to Shanna but thought better of drawing attention to where she was staying. There was no way she could pass this off as a standard room even with her best efforts.

It was almost a shame to waste all of this on just herself. This room deserved romance, she thought.

Around the same time, Chris was on his third beer of the afternoon and lounging on his sofa. He had a new script in one hand, one he wasn’t particularly keen on but offered to read as a favour for a friend. He was so relaxed now that he had to re-read the last ten or so pages simply because it wasn’t landing. The whole room was lit softly by the sun outside. It had gone 4 o’clock when his phone rang disturbing the peace.

“Bernette! How was the journey?” he smiled into the phone as soon as he saw who it was.

“The bathtub is the size of my entire bathroom.” She announced, not giving him room to breathe. She heard him laugh heartily at the end of the line and could picture him looking smug and proud of himself, the dick. “I could have an orgy with the Patriots and still have room left.”

“Hey, don’t go getting any ideas.” he jostled with her. He placed the script down on the tablet to give her his full attention. “So, you like it, huh?”

“It’s...it’s absolutely gorgeous and utterly ridiculous. Seriously, dude, you did not need to do this.” She could sense his growing pride from here. “I’ve never stayed in anything like it. I have, like, a hundred towels.”

“That’s why I did it in the first place. Not for the towels, obviously, but just because you deserved something different. Something nice.” He enthused. “Don’t fight me on this, Bernette.”

“You should see the view. It’s so beautiful. I think I can see the museum.” She was stood on her tiptoes, pressed against the glass, looking at the tiny people milling around on the street so far below her.

“i know,” he responded. “You’ll be there for a week and best to be comfortable, right?”

She didn’t want to argue with him. She was tired and extremely grateful for the kind gesture. She’d be able to enjoy the place and her time in the City more if she could firmly separate her work from any space in which she could chill out. It wasn’t like she was going to be raving all night nor have much chance to see places at this rate, so more space was probably a good thing. She hadn’t had an unbroken night’s sleep in...she couldn’t even remember when.

“Thank you, Chris.” she spoke softly after a brief pause.

“You’re welcome.”

She put her phone down on the bedside table and set about removing her clothes from her suitcase. Well, “clothes” in the loose sense. What she’d packed was basically gym gear, sweat pants, t-shirts, nothing remotely attractive, and a simple paid of black trousers for the exam day itself. Who was going to see her anyway? Shanna had thrown a jumper in the mix without her realising, dismayed at her insistence that she was not going out to bars to hook up with someone.

“But you’ll be gone the next day! It’s. The. Perfect. Crime!” Shanna had said, exasperated and throwing her hands in the air in dismay.

The majority of space in her suitcase has been taken up with journals and textbooks, ones she hadn’t see since she left medical school and had long since expected she would never see again. Funny what opportunities life threw at you when you least expected it.

She was soon feeling the push and pull of the day and had planned on spending at least a couple of hours studying that evening, so she had a clean-up and threw on the first set of sweatpants that fell out of the closet. She tied her hair up and out of her face, pulled out her notepad and switched her Macbook on. The TV was showing some repeat of a gameshow with the sound on low, more for background company than anything else, and she finally figured out how to get the coffee machine working thanks to a small tome buried inside a drawer underneath the coffee table.

Chris 9.44pm: All OK? Need company yet??

Sarah 9.45pm: I love you guys bt I can’t tell u how amazing it is having space to myself. Been a looooong day

Chris 9.51pm: ah

Chris 9.52pm: OK maybe don’t look outside your door

Momentarily confused, she rubbed at her eyes trying to come up with a pithy response.

Chris 9.56pm: well this is awkward...........

Sarah looked at the door and then back at her phone. Looking up at the door again, she unfolded her feet from underneath her and slowly walked towards it. Pulling it open, she found Chris looking up at her through his lashes, sheepishness drenching his entire body.

“OK, funny story,” he said. “But I thought this might be romantic and then I got carried away and now I’m here and I can absolutely go if you need me to...?” He half-turned his body in the direction of the elevators. “I’m so sorry, honey. I just thought it might be nice and not at all annoying but it’s annoying, isn’t it? It’s OK, you don’t need to say anything. Dammit, I really thought I pitched this right.”

“Chris, it’s fine.” Sarah finally found her voice to speak. “Honestly. I’m...I’m just really surprised is all. I was not expecting you to...drive? All this way?”

He nodded. “Yeh, I just bombed it down the ‘95.”

Awkward silence fell between them as they stared at each other unsure of what to do next. Finally picking up on the fact he remained in the hallway, a backpack thrown over his shoulder, she moved out of the way and he entered the suite. Relieved, he placed his bag down and turned to see her close the door behind him. He looked mildly embarrassed and she was all too aware she wasn’t welcoming but it was getting late and her eyes had started to hurt a little as she rubbed at them with the back of her hand.

“Fuck, that’s a long couch.” he announced, taking his black suede jacket off and placing it over the armrest nearest to him. He glanced over and saw papers strewn over the coffee table, her laptop light blaring brightly and looked back to her. She was working hard and he had ruined it.

“I am so sorry. First thing tomorrow, I’ll go home, I promise.” He held his hands up by way of an apology but she shook her head in response.

“Stop apologising.” she chuckled. “Do you want a beer?”

He nodded gratefully and looked so adorable that any annoyance she might have felt finally dissipated. “How about I give you a hug and then leave you to it? I need a shower and I can amuse myself in there for a little while. I don’t know why I just said that.”

Sarah laughed again and a little more relief moved through him. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling so nervous when he had been so confident of his decisions in the car all the way here. He’d rehearsed his lines and imagined her big smile when seeing behind the door. He had wanted to stop off and buy flowers but he was so eager to see her, he’d just kept driving. No daydream could live up to the reality of seeing her face up close.

He watched her from the bathroom doorway. She was cross-legged on the bed, studying the thickest textbook he’d ever seen with colour-coded notecards laid out across the duvet. He had earlier glimpsed a page over her shoulder but decided against pursuing medicine as a new career when he was faced with photographs of god knows what. He tried to remove the images from his mind by drinking another beer and thinking of Sarah in her scrubs. That tended to work well for him these days.

She looked so cute sat on the bed, her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. He wanted to come up with a joke, calm the tension a little that had grown between them in the meantime, but she looked pretty hot. More hot than usual and it was distracting. Like a sexy Librarian and for the second time this month he discovered something else he was into.

One pen was stuck behind her ear but she��d forgotten she’d put it there and was now using a different one. Her hair was tied up at the top of her head in a messy bun that she hadn’t touched since she’d arrived, more and more strands falling loosely around her as the evening wore on, framing her perfect, round face. She seemed to engrossed in what she was doing.

He was still a little wet from his shower and pondered whether she would notice if he just whipped his towel off and offered himself to her. There really wasn’t anything he wanted more at this moment in time than to have her touch him, to have her run hands gently over his chest, to tease him a little bit. There’d be some time, he reasoned, and right not it was just was exhilarating to think of her being here alongside him knowing it would be just the two of them for a little while.

He perched on the end of the bed in front of her. She barely moved, barely seemed to notice him. He took one of her blank notecards and carefully placed it on the open page so as not to lose her place. She leaned back slightly, allowing him to gather up the papers and place them in a pile on the floor besides the bed before turning back to lean in towards her, one arm stretching out across her legs. She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes again. She wanted peace and quiet and he decided to rock up just because he could. He sighed to himself. He was such a dick sometimes.

“Do you mind me being here?” he asked her, fully resigning himself to leaving if she now asked him to as hard as that might be. He’d got so caught up in his idea of surprising her that he hadn’t fully registered just how important these exams were or how well she wanted to do. Passing them wasn’t an option for Sarah; she wanted to knock it out of the park. She wanted to do better for herself and the more he got to know her like this, the more it became his favourite thing about her. And he related. He related perfectly. He knew exactly what that was like. “Cos I can go if you need me to.”

“Chris, I’ve said it’s fine. It’s nice that you’re here. I would just hate you feeling bored if all I’m doing is studying all the time.” She nervously twirled the pen between her fingers while taking in how amazing he looked following a shower, a little steam rising off his skin.

“I won’t get bored.” he assured her. “It’ll be nice hanging out with you. Just the two of us.”

He plucked the pen from behind her ears and she rolled her eyes realising the mistake she’d made. He tucked strands of hair back and leaned in placing a quick, soft kiss to her lips. He smelled like her coconut shampoo and she just now understood how truly spontaneous his trip had been.

“Listen, there’s another reason why I’m here. There’s something I need to talk to you about and I couldn’t wait until you got home.” he stroked her arm gently, looking down into her lap. “It’s been going around in my head and I’m not entirely sure what to say about it to be honest, but...it looks like Jenny’s done an interview with a magazine. A full thing with a photoshoot and stuff and it looks like I might be involved.” He closed his eyes for a second before correcting himself. “Not might actually, it’s pretty much definite that I’m in there for a large portion of it.”

“OK.” Sarah nodded. He for sure seemed weary of the whole thing and she felt for him.

“I just, I know she can be pretty unfiltered at the best of times, so-”

“-but she won’t have said anything negative, right?”

“No, no, not negative. I’m not worried about that exactly. It’s just that...” He was struggling to find the words. “I just didn’t want you to get the wrong idea about us, about me and her. I expect she’ll have this hyper-romanticised view of things and I guess I didn’t want you thinking it was some great love affair which is what I think she’ll spin it as.” He couldn’t quite meet her eye while he was talking. “I’m not proud of myself or of what I said or did at the time but I was low and she was there and it was...easy, I guess.”

He immediately regretted his choice of words. As much as he wanted Sarah to understand, he didn’t want Sarah to think he was dismissive of his relationships in this way. “Matt’s figuring out some damage control with them. Hopefully, it’ll go away as quickly as it comes.”

“You think he’ll be able to clear it up?”

Chris nodded. Matt was a formidable guy and he was assured things would look and read much better by the time it went to print. He placed his hand on her thigh and it was only now she registered just how close he was to surrounding her. “I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve all too often but when I do, they know about it. I want to make them aware of exactly how I feel about them and I didn’t do that with her.” He dipped his head to catch her eye line. “So, when I do something for someone, it means something, y’know?”

“Yeh, of course. You’re a good guy, Chris. Everyone knows that.” She took his hand and lightly interlocked their fingers together.

“I guess I just didn’t want you worrying about her ‘cos there’s absolutely nothing there for me. Never had been.”

“You don’t need to explain this to me, I’m not going to hold anything against you.” she stroked his chin with her thumb and felt him relax into her hand. He glanced down at the mess he’d made on the floor and started picking a few things back up.

“How much left do you have to do tonight?” he whispered as his lips closed upon hers for a fleeting moment.

“I could do with finishing some notes but...half an hour, maybe?”

“I’ll hold you to that.” he kissed her again and got up from the bed, lifting her books back on top. “Just come get me when you’re done, yeh?”

Finishing up in the bathroom, Sarah switched off the light and moved towards the bed. She kneeled alongside Chris who was lying flat out, naked except for the duvet bunched across legs, reading what she assumed was the hotel magazine only to find upon closer inspection that it was in fact one of her medical journals. She giggled as she grabbed the moisturiser from the bedside table and began rubbing a small amount up and down her arms, regarding him as his nose creased up in apparent disgust at something he’d just read.

“Did you know the body has ten times more microorganisms living in it than actual human cells?! That’s bacteria, Sarah. Living, gross bacteria. All over us.” he looked at her, shock and horror crossing his fine, perfect features. She wasn’t sure whether to pat him on the head or laugh.

“It’s mostly good bacteria, though. Only, like, 1% of it is bad for us.”

“And when exactly were you going to tell me about this?!”

She creased up laughing and flopped on to her side next to him. “It’s all information that’s out there for the world to see. Remind me not to tell you about eyelashes.”

“What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever removed from somebody’s ass?” he asked.

“What? Why is that always a question people want an answer to?”

“I don’t know. It’s just weird. Humans are weird.” he muttered, turning back to the pages in front of him. She was glad he had chosen one without pictures. That was the last thing she wanted to see before falling asleep.

“So, have you learned something new?” she asked, curling her legs under the duvet.

“I have. I think you should test me and if I get a question wrong, you can do whatever you like to me. Deal?” he asked, smirking. She shyly smiled and he tossed the book onto the floor. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She repeated. She watched as his eyes slowly travelled down her body. It was unreasonable how much he managed to disarm her with only a look.

His hand reached out to gently caress the side of her thigh, nudging the duvet slightly down before moving back up to her hip, a ticklish area he’d picked up on the last time they were together. He leaned in and kiss her on the side of her jaw, so feather-like and soft she barely felt it if not for his warm breath she could feel on her neck.

“You smell nice.” he whispered, looking at her from underneath his eyelashes. “We could have showered together, y’know? Save the planet?”

As much as she was getting used to the little things he would do when they were alone, rubbing her arm, tucking hair behind her ears, saying nice things about how pretty she looked, having him here in such close proximity with no else around to distract them or force them into the light...it was getting risky. Not that Chris ever pushed her, mind. He’d been nothing but understanding and respectful and she was grateful for that but also growing concerned he was perhaps a little...bored. Why else would he drive over state lines to see her. None of this was normal and the more time went by, the more she became fretful of what they were doing.

“What are you thinking about?” he kissed her shoulder. “Is it dirty? If it’s dirty, I wanna know about it.”

Sarah smiled and placed her hand on the side of his face, running her fingers gently over his beard. He’d thoroughly given up shaving but she liked how soft it still felt under her finger tips and judging by the breath he released as he closed his eyes, so did he, relaxing into her hand. He kissed her again. She was hoping he’d take charge so she could put off talking to him a little longer but instead, he refrained from pushing them any further and leaned back a little, looking into her eyes. “Talk to me.”

She could feel his hand move slowly and deliberately up her arm until he reached the back of her neck, his fingers playing with the loose strands of hair that had fallen from her messy bun. There was no getting away from this.

“You know you can tell me anything, right? It’s OK for you to tell me what you want.” She could feel his breath on her skin, his voice low and rough. His fingers moved again and she felt them touch her lips, one of them running back and forth over her lower lip until she parted them ever so slightly and his finger softly dipped inside her mouth. He seemed to like that and kissed her again, a little harder this time.

“Just keep kissing me.” she whispered, relieved that se finally got some words out.

He smiled at her, satisfied with her response, and kissed her again. Slow, wet, a kind of kiss that was full of promise of what he wanted to do and it made her whole body thrum with anticipation.

One hand now resting on the bed beside her and the other moved from her cheek back down to her thigh. She was frozen to the spot, this man focussed on her so intently, prepared to give her whatever she asked for, whatever she needed, expressing so much in a kiss that she didn’t register when her hand began moving slowly, grazing a finger ever so slightly over the waistline of her shorts.

“...and what else?”

A little more, he moved his hand until his fingers dipped inside her underwear until he felt her skin, hot to the touch. She broke the kiss momentarily to let out a breath, one hand resting on the back of his neck for leverage as he continued tenderly moving his fingers until he got to where he wanted to be. Feeling her wet for him seemed to spark something inside and she felt him push her carefully until she was lying back on the bed, head just off the pillow, and he leaned over her. He adjusted his hand ever so slightly until she could feel his fingers pressing at her entrance before moving in small circular motions, riling her up.

“Look at me, honey.” he whispered, his voice rough and turned on as he wanted her grabbing at the covers as he stroked her. She tried to but she couldn’t stop her eyes from closing again, zoned out with only his smooth and confident movements to focus on. It was almost getting too much with him hitting her at just the right spot for her to lose herself completely when, just like that, he pulled his hand away and grabbed both sides of her underwear to pull them down and off her legs. The next thing she remembered was the feel of him skilfully grabbing her from underneath her thighs, his tongue swiftly taking over.

It didn’t take long for her to feel like was she coming undone and him feeling proud of himself. She couldn’t fight it and with one arm draped across her lower tummy, he certainly had not intention of letting her get away. Any feelings of awkwardness were soon a thing of the past as she let the gentle, unbridled bliss he was giving her wash over her completely. She honestly couldn’t remember ever feeling anything like this before, she was so out of it. He was covering her completely, her wetness mixing with his own, his beard rubbing against her smooth skin adding another level of pleasure.

She ran her fingers through his hair, messing it up. His tongue hit her clit again and again causing her to give him a short, sharp pull. His groan was so filthy and deep from within him, she felt it reverberate through her, raising goose bumps up and down her skin.

He wanted her on the edge as much as he felt he was. He wanted her to want him, to tell him exactly what she wanted him to do. He wanted her on fire. He wanted to hear her beg.

Just as she was on the edge for a second time, he stopped and blew softly across her wisps of hair. He chuckled when he heard what sounded like a quiet yet frustrated groan leave her lips, followed by a chuckle, something innocent and familiar. Her hands loosened from his hair as they stared into each other’s eyes, their mutual breathlessness the only sound they could hear.

“Does that feel good?” he whispered, the breath from his words scorching her skin. He moved his tongue just a little lower, not breaking eye contact, and she felt him dip ever so slightly inside of her, his arm wrapped around her thigh and the pad of his thumb taking care of the rest. He did this a second time, then a third, and when he returned to pressing his tongue over her clit, drawing her into his mouth, she was soon grabbing at him in any way she could in a futile attempt to take the edge off the orgasm that was coming at her like a freight train.

She was close. He knew she was so close now and he held his arms tightly around her to keep her close to him. One more swipe of his tongue right....there...and she was gone.

When her breathing even out, she slowly opened her eyes to see him move up and over her, placing soft, wet kisses on her hip, her tummy, her neck, and finally on her lips. He seemed cautious to kiss her, unsure of whether she wanted him to but she grabbed his face with both hands to pull him back down to her, kissing him as passionately as she could manage with what felt like no energy. She could taste herself and it was so much more erotic than she could ever have imagined.

She felt him smile into the kiss as he carefully settled his body on top of hers, allowing her to wrap her legs around him. He moved the hair that was sticking to her forehead and stroked her face with one finger, gently mapping her eye and her nose and her cheek. She couldn’t reconcile this being the same man who had minutes earlier been so dominant. He had so clearly wanted to say something at that point if only his hardness hadn’t been so distracting. He mover one arm under her neck, using the other hand to move hair from where it had clung to the side of her face. Holding her as close to him as possible and feeling blissful when he felt her legs wrap around his own, he entered her and held still, enjoying the moment.

“We should’ve done this years ago.” he spoke and for a brief moment, without realising, she was pulled from their intimacy, a pang of guilt taking its place.

He was too busy pushing into her, needing whatever she had left to give him. He grabbed at the back of her neck to keep her in place, his face buried into her hair. She felt her skin heat up all over from his breath as he panted at her side. It was more frantic than he’d wanted it to be as he groaned and moaned and pushed his whole weight into her with force. It was really all she could do to just hang on to him as he fucked her deeper, as he surged towards his own orgasm, then letting go when she felt him shudder insider her minutes later. He sounded helpless and as much as he tried to hold himself up from collapsing on her, he soon gave up trying and laid his head on her shoulder.

His warm breath continued covering her skin as she ran her hand gently over the back of his head. She felt him chuckle a vibration into the top of her arm before a wet kiss landed just underneath her ear, a place he had deigned his own after he realised how sensitive she was on that particular spot.

Finally rolling off her to lie on his back, he kept his arm stretched across her lower tummy and rubbed his fingers across the apex of her thigh. She wasn’t sure how long they stayed in this position but at some point he leaned over her to turn the bedside light off plunging the room into complete darkness and they continued to lie there in silence not really sure if the other was asleep or not.

He eventually turned onto his side to face her, keeping a firm grip on her waist. He was across her pillow and she could practically feel the flutter of his eyelashes as he watched her in the dark, a soft outline gradually appearing as his eyes adjusted to the blackness of the room, making out her features. she felt his hand move up and down her ribcage and over the inside of her elbow, another sensitive spot that made her shudder and him chuckle again when he realised she was in fact still awake.

She turned onto her side to face him and his hand moved to her lower back where it finally rested over her hip. She pushed her leg in between his and he seemed content and comfortable in how they were existing in this space, both aware they didn’t have to worry about getting up any time soon. He was running his fingers up and down her spine in slow, circular motions and it felt wonderful. Too wonderful. And there was that guilt again.

“What will you do tomorrow?” she asked.

He took a deep breath in contemplation at her unexpected question. “Gym looks pretty good. I have a book and a couple of scripts, too. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

“I know.” she murmured but he knew she was dwelling on something.

“I wanna be here for you if you need anything and if you don’t, you won’t even know I’m around. I promise.”

“I know that, too.”

She could sense him smile at her even in their dark. “Good.” he said. “It feels nice knowing I’ve made a good decision for a change.”

#chris evans #chris evans fic #evans fic #fan fiction #clear the area #sarah bernette #chris evans x original female character

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debdarkpetal · 5 years ago

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March 8, 1974, Queen II was released.

It was released by EMI Records in the UK and by Elektra Records in the US. It was recorded at Trident Studios and Langham 1 Studios, London, in August 1973. Described as arguably the heaviest Queen album, Queen II marked the end of the first phase of the band's career. The album combines a heavy rock sound with art rock and progressive rock elements, and has been called "a pillar of grandiose, assaultive hard rock" by the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. The two sides of the original LP were labelled "Side White" and "Side Black". The white side has songs with a more emotional theme and the black side is almost entirely about fantasy, often with quite dark themes. Mick Rock's iconic cover photograph was frequently re-used by the band throughout its career, including the music videos for the songs "Bohemian Rhapsody" (1975), and "One Vision" (1985). This photoshoot was taken by Mick Rock for the Black Side of the LP.

(×)

#queen #freddie mercury #roger taylor #brian may #john deacon #queen band #queen ii #otd #queen facts #1974 #70s #my post

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continuo-docs · 4 years ago

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Music reviews by Laurent Fairon, March 2021

Naturaliste – Temporary Presence (January 2021) Maninkari – Fahon (February 2021) Langham Research Centre – Tape Works Vol. 2 (February 2021) Charles Rice Goff III – One Twenty Twenty One (February 2021)

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Naturaliste – Temporary Presence (Public Eyesore Records) https://publiceyesore.bandcamp.com/album/temporary-presence

US band Naturaliste apparently existed from 1998 to 2005 out of Omaha, Nebraska, and reunited in 2019 to record these sessions. For the occasion, the group was composed of musicians Bryan Day, Christopher Fischer, Charles LaReau and L. Eugene Methe. Most tracks are based on atonal piano playing and inside the piano experiments, over which a series of musique concrète sounds and analog synth washes add confusion and uneasiness, creating a rather disorienting, abstract soundscape. Among the instruments used, piano, electric guitar, found percussion, vocals, synthesizer and outdoor street recordings are recognizable, but often transmogrified by radical sound processing. Source tracks for the album were allegedly recorded in an instrument shop and later re-processed and assembled in studio with additional sounds, blurring the line between live and studio recordings. Ultimately, the album sounds rather analog to these ears, if perhaps marred by a slightly lacklustre final mixdown. The music on Temporary Presence is rather homogenous throughout and surprises are few and far between. Some great piano and guitar parts could have been singled out of the mix with proper EQ, I believe. Indeed, in line with European leftist avantgarde improvisation groups of the 1960s-70s (think AMM, MEV or even Stockhausen's improv group), no demonstration of instrumental proficiency or solo outing is allowed here and everything is kept within an egalitarian, anonymous and abstract grip. Despite these strict proceedings, I find many things to like in this album, not least the superb integration of instrumental and concrete sounds, combined into a rich sonic experience for the listener.

Maninkari – Fahon (Ikuisuus) https://maninkari2.bandcamp.com/album/fahon

Parisian improvised music duet of Frédéric Charlot on viola and Olivier Charlot on frame drums, Maninkari manage to conjure up superb images of ancient, sacred ceremonies through their limited instrumentation. The frame drum usually provides the ground-bass, the drummer exploring the instrument's nuances and resonances while only occasionally locking into a regular rhythm. The viola contributes magical and heavenly notes in a variety of playing modes, be it long-held notes, repeated notes or pizzicato, yet eschewing virtuosity in favour of persistent exploration of a limited number of chords. Bathed in a long reverb and a sacred atmosphere throughout, these studio sessions invoke a live church recording, thus putting the listener in the appropriate frame of mind to receive the music delivered as sacred and mystic. Used as creative tools, reverb and stereo positioning are hugely expanding the duo's scope, while re-recording also allows the duet to sound like a small orchestra at times.

Langham Research Centre – Tape Works Vol. 2 (Nonclassical) https://nonclassical.bandcamp.com/album/tape-works-vol-2

Excellent musique concrète tracks by a quartet of British musicians from London (Felix Carey, Iain Chambers, Philip Tagney and Robert Worby), working under the tutelage of Luc Ferrari – one track here is derived from Ferrari's Les Anecdotiques and even features sounds from the latter. In addition to piano, analog synth and sampler, their music features sound collages from a variety of sources: found objects, hacked electronic devices, voltage controller, delay, tape recorder, plus outdoor, urban sounds of machinery, engines and other noises, yet used sparingly in light touches. It would be difficult, and perhaps irrelevant, to try and guess whether the tracks collected here were recorded live or constructed in the studio through re-recording. In any case, this is very dogmatic music – you can easily guess what the premises of the project were: 'No Melody, No Computer, No Words, or you're banned, Iain!' The entire album might sound like a mere revival to some, but I'm glad we still have this kind of music approach around these days. It seems to me the band lacks the ability to focus on one specific sound at a time and squeeze it mercilessly to make it give more juice, something the French pioneers in the field did so well. Perhaps there's even a contradiction, after all, between musique concrète per se and being a quartet of British Researchers. But, anyway, these Tape Works are a joy to listen.

Charles Rice Goff III – One Twenty Twenty One (Taped Rugs Productions) https://archive.org/details/OneTwentyTwentyOne

A supreme oddity by American sound maverick Charles Rice Goff III, a stalwart of the 1990s DIY cassette scene, still very much active today. One Twenty Twenty One consists of live improvisations recorded during Joe Biden's inauguration ceremony on 20th January 2021 plus heavily processed vocal excerpts from the radio broadcast of the same ceremony. Played on various Korg and Moog keyboards, the music was originally recorded on a Tascam 4-track cassette recorder and later expertly mixed-down digitally. The 40mn continuous track is actually an assemblage of various themes, sequences and textures where the constant flow of Kosmische musik synth and weird vocal utterings combine for a highly Surrealist, LSD-infused experience, the craziest music I've heard in a long while.

#review #reviews #music review #experimental #avantgarde #musique concrete

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marryat92 · 5 years ago

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Captain Marryat: 'Among the first in Dickens’s liking'

Marryat in 1841, the year he met Charles Dickens

Inevitably, when some lesser-known person is associated with Charles Dickens, that connection will be advertised as loudly as possible, since Dickens is one of the few 19th century writers and public figures who still enjoys widespread recognition in the English-speaking world. Such is the case with Frederick Marryat. A biographical blurb about Marryat will often bring up his friendship with Dickens before any of Marryat's own accomplishments are mentioned.

Despite their age difference —Marryat was 20 years older than Dickens— the two men were certainly friends. I have tried to puzzle out exactly how close they were with sometimes sketchy evidence (not helped by the fact that both men tried to burn or destroy large amounts of their correspondence.) I don’t know if the young Charles Dickens was keenly interested in meeting Captain Marryat; but Marryat was clearly aware of him. Dickens and Marryat didn’t meet each other in person until 1841, but Marryat recorded the wild popularity of Dickens’ first novel, The Pickwick Papers, as he traveled to America in 1837: “Dinner over; every body pulls out a number of ‘Pickwick’; every body talks and reads Pickwick; weather getting up squally; passengers not quite sure they won’t be seasick. [...] for many days afterwards, there were Pickwicks in plenty strewed all over the cabin, but passengers were very scarce.” (Diary in America)

As for who was influencing whom, that question is easy to answer. Marryat was first on the scene, writing in a Dickensian vein with picaresque heroes and colorful characters sketched from life before Dickens was a household name. Marryat published his nonfiction travelogue Diary in America years before Dickens’ equivalent American Notes (which was clearly inspired by Marryat.) According to the English professor Louis Parascandola, Marryat “was the first nineteenth century writer to publish his novels serially in his own magazine, the Metropolitan, an important precedent for later authors like Charles Dickens and William Makepeace Thackeray.”

The first meeting between Marryat and Dickens was arranged by their mutual friend, the artist Clarkson Stanfield. Stanfield wrote to Dickens at the beginning of 1841, “I have before told you that my friend Captain Marryat is very anxious to have ‘what all covet’, the pleasure of your acquaintance and, if therefore you have no objection to meet him, will you come and take a beef steak with me on Wednesday 27.” Dickens replied, “I shall be delighted to join you and know Marryat.”

Dickens and Marryat seem to have immediately hit it off, enjoying each other’s wit and theatrical personalities. As Marryat’s biographer Tom Pocock describes it:

The two men took to each other at once. They shared a recognition of the absurd and could present it entertainingly, sometimes mixed with pathos and even tragedy. But while Marryat re-created the world that he himself had experienced in his books, Dickens’s imagination erupted with cavalcades of characters and panoramas of widely varied scenery. Dickens did not see Marryat as a rival but recognised his skill in presenting the world of the sea and seamen, which he himself could only try to imagine. Thanking Marryat for sending him his latest novel, Dickens wrote, ‘I have been chuckling, and grinning, and clenching my fists and becoming warlike for three whole days past.’

It seems clear that Dickens and Marryat would be close friends, and Marryat himself might be a less obscure writer in the present day, except that his association with Dickens was so brief. By 1843 Marryat had sequestered himself at his country estate in Langham, Norfolk, far from the literati of London with the transportation methods of the day. Marryat’s biographies and Florence Marryat’s Life and Letters of Captain Frederick Marryat are full of entreaties from his friends begging Marryat to return to London to socialize with them and attend various events. He rarely agreed to travel, and by 1848 he was dead.

John Forster, Dickens’ friend and biographer, writes in The Life of Charles Dickens: “There is no one who approached [Dickens] on these occasions [dancing at parties with the Dickens children] excepting only our attached friend Captain Marryat, who had a frantic delight in dancing, especially with children, of whom and whose enjoyments he was as fond as it became so thoroughly good hearted a man to be. His name would have stood first among those I have been recalling, as he was among the first in Dickens’s liking; but in the autumn of 1848 he had unexpectedly passed away.”

For all the brevity of Dickens’ relationship with Marryat, they were close enough for Dickens to share some juicy gossip. In a letter to Forster, Dickens shines a rare light on Marryat’s rocky marriage. There is an anecdote about Marryat, “as if possessed by the devil,” teaching “every kind of forbidden topic and every species of forbidden word” to the overly sheltered sons of a baronet, and the “martyrdom” he suffered with his wife. Catherine (Kate) Marryat, as described by Dickens, is a violent, temperamental woman who beats her maid and has “no interest whatever in her children.”

Although Victorian propriety omitted names, as Marryat’s biographer Oliver Warner notes, “The reference might be considered vague enough— except to those who knew Marryat. To them, it must have been so clear that in later editions Forster left out all references by which Kate might identify herself.” Dickens’ 20th century biographer Walter Dexter also names the troubled couple as the Marryats.

Charles Dickens is the only person whose documented, surviving correspondence mentions the fact that Marryat spoke with a lisp. Marryat’s daughter Florence mentions no such thing, and Marryat never gave a speech impediment to his leading characters, but Dickens quips about an old fresco, “I can make out a Virgin with a mildewed Glory round her head and … what Marryat would call the arthe of a cherub.” (A few online articles about Marryat make a lot of hay over this sole mention of a lisp, and they can all thank Charles Dickens for spilling the tea.) Poor Marryat, who reminisced in a laudanum haze about all of his old friends in his final months, including “Charlie Dickens”, did he anticipate this reveal? He really should have known that Dickens had a wit that could be as mocking and caustic as his own.

Principal References (not including Marryat’s own books):

Life and Letters of Captain Frederick Marryat, Florence Marryat (1872)

Life of Charles Dickens, John Forster (1872-1874)

Captain Marryat: A Rediscovery, Oliver Warner (1953)

Puzzled Which to Choose: Conflicting Socio-Political Views in the Works of Captain Frederick Marryat, Louis J. Parascandola (1997)

Captain Marryat: Seaman, Writer, and Adventurer, Tom Pocock (2000)

#frederick marryat #charles dickens #captain marryat #victorian literature #john forster #florence marryat #1840s #literature #19th Century #history #biography #dickens quotes #the picture is from oliver warner's biography #portrait #alfred d'orsay #marryat family

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in-pleasant-company · 4 years ago

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This website has several patterns created from extant garments from the early 19th century. The patterns are free but will need to be re-sized to fit dolls. Click on Women’s Clothing or Military/Men’s Clothing, and the pictures for the patterns.

#american girl #caroline abbott #doll crafts #american girl doll clothes #american girl doll crafts

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sextonsharpwinhalstead · 5 years ago

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THE DOCTORS FIGHT TO SAVE THE LIVES OF TWO OF RED ROCK'S BIGGEST DONORS ON AN ALL-NEW "THE RESIDENT" TUESDAY, JANUARY 28, ON FOX Cain feels disrespected by Logan Kim when he is left out of a major decision regarding Conrad. Meanwhile, the doctors work together to try to save the lives of two big Red Rock donors who were involved in a jet skiing accident. Then, Irving and Devon realize that three of their patients, all with different symptoms, could actually be triggered by the same thing. Also, Bell's supplement company proves to be more lucrative than anyone anticipated, but an unexpected snag could put it in jeopardy in the all-new "The Flea" episode of THE RESIDENT airing Tuesday, Jan. 28 (8:00-9:00 PM ET/PT) on FOX. (RES-314) (TV-14 D, L, V) Cast: Matt Czuchry as Conrad Hawkins; Bruce Greenwood as Dr. Randolph Bell; Manish Dayal as Devon Pravesh; Emily VanCamp as Nicolette Nevin; Shaunette Renée Wilson as Mina Okafor; Malcolm-Jamal Warner as Dr. AJ Austin; Jane Leeves as Dr. Kit Voss; and Morris Chestnut as Dr. Barrett Cain. Guest cast: Tasso Feldman as Dr. Irving Feldman; Denitra Isler as Nurse Hundley; Kearran Giovanni as Andrea Braydon; Rob Yang as Logan Kim; Vince Foster as Dr. Paul Chu; Geoffrey Cantor as Zip Betournay; Jessica Tuck as Becky Copple; Wallace Langham as john Copple; Christina Karis as Cynthia Fizdale; Jaylen Moore as Raj Alizai; and Kelly Tippens as Nurse Linda.

#the resident #is conrad back?

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jastersmohnson · 5 years ago

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Rewatching Masters of Sex: Volume 2

Season 1 Episodes 8-12

Masters of Sex’s hot streak (no pun intended) comes to a screeching halt with “Love and Marriage”, which is my least favorite episode of Masters of Sex’s first season.

As far as episode eight goes, let’s start with the positives. The highlight of this episode is probably the introduction of Lester and the use of “home movies”, as well as this being the first episode to mention the presentation in front of the University, finally giving this season some sense of it’s endgame. Allison Janney and Beau Bridges also give fantastic performances. Another positive of episode eight is that Ethan Haas doesn't make his first appearance until the 20 minute mark.

But the increased focus on Ethan and Vivian really drag down both episodes eight and nine, including the cringeworthy subplot wherein Ethan briefly attempts to convert to Christianity, and then runs over a guy with his car. I already dealt with how much of a scumbag Ethan Haas is in the last installment, so I’ll save you all the rant.

“Well, Margaret, that is a blow. But, of course, if if you've made up your mind I respect your decision. Of course.” -Austen Langham, after being broken up with

Watching episode eight, I was struck by how much of a gentleman Austen Langham was when Margaret broke up with him at the start of the episode. Especially with this being the 1950s, you would imagine most men being womanizers and pig-like; it’s interesting to see a guy being an absolute gentleman in this period of time. Langham is probably the most underrated character in the show, it’s a shame he didn’t really get anything substantial to do after this season (Cal-O-Metric was just weird and then he was just shoehorned into seasons three and four).

Speaking of Austen Langham, there’s a part of episode ten that kind of stuck out to me. When Margaret is swimming, Austen enters and says “California’s been blown off the map. They’re announcing death tolls on the radio like baseball scores,” jokingly, I assume. And then Margaret’s response is “What are you doing here?”. I would imagine, in a time of nuclear panic, that if somebody entered saying that California has been destroyed in a nuclear holocaust, my first response would be something like “Are you serious?” or “Oh my God! How awful!”

"Fallout” is an improvement over episodes eight and nine in every way imaginable. The debate between whether or not Virginia should have told Austen about the baby is a debate that I still waffle on whenever I rewatch this episode. “Fallout” is the first of three episodes wherein Libby Masters is not present.

And speaking of Libby Masters, I did a post on the timeline and the implausibility of Libby’s pregnancies taking place within the certain amount of time, but I think it’s absolutely laughable that the writers expect us to believe that the events from episode nine to episode twelve span eight months. That would mean that Bill/Gini’s rough patch lasted months, when if you took out Libby’s pregnancy, I would have guessed it was only weeks.

“You might as well tell me the sun now sets in the east.” -Margaret Scully, regarding the discovery of her husband’s homosexuality

I always found this to be an interesting choice of words for Margaret Scully. As far as Earth-shattering revelations go, the sun setting in the east would be pretty far down on that list.

While the third-act break-up has become commonplace in most movies, it felt sincere in Masters of Sex’s first season. Bill feeling guilty about his affair with Virginia, and feeling the need to pay her. I have to say, it’s a good thing that I am not a television writer. I would not be able to come up with arcs that deep.

The first season comes to a close with “Phallic Victories” and “Manhigh”, the latter of which is arguably the best episode of Masters to date. Michael Sheen delivers another excellent performance, particularly in the lonely dinner scene with Libby, laughing at the idea that Virginia was the woman in the video.

You know, I didn’t mention it last time, but it really is shocking that Michael Sheen didn’t get nominated for “Catherine”. I mean, I looked up who his competition would have been. Apparently it would have been Bryan Cranston, Jon Hamm, Kevin Spacey, Woody Harrelson and Matthew McConaughey (both from True Detective). So there would have certainly been steep competition. However, they also nominated Jeff Daniels, who already won the year before, so they could’ve easily given his spot to Michael Sheen.

(Above: The extended cut of “Manhigh” showed us that Bill Masters kind of got carried away with his presentation)

I mentioned while ago that the first season of Masters of Sex was my least favorite. Well, I don’t know what I was smoking; this re-watch has been illuminating. I can safely say that I like season one more than season three, which--I know, I know, baby steps. I do think I still like seasons two and four more, if only because it contains 99% less Ethan Haas.

Anyway, season one concludes with our heroes finding their way back together. Next time, I begin watching season two, which, if memory serves me correctly, is my favorite season. Will that still be the same after re-watching it? Stay tuned!

Love and Marriage: B-

Involuntary: B

Fallout: A

Phallic Victories: A-

Manhigh: A

#Masters of Sex #Rewatching Masters of Sex #Season 1 #Michael Sheen #Lizzy Caplan #Love and Marriage #Involuntary #Fallout #Phallic Victories #Manhigh

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theresidentnews · 5 years ago

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“The Flea” Press Release

TUESDAY, JANUARY 28

THE DOCTORS FIGHT TO SAVE THE LIVES OF TWO OF RED ROCK'S BIGGEST DONORS

Cain feels disrespected by Logan Kim when he is left out of a major decision regarding Conrad. Meanwhile, the doctors work together to try to save the lives of two big Red Rock donors who were involved in a jet skiing accident. Then, Irving and Devon realize that three of their patients, all with different symptoms, could actually be triggered by the same thing. Also, Bell's supplement company proves to be more lucrative than anyone anticipated, but an unexpected snag could put it in jeopardy in the all-new "The Flea" episode of THE RESIDENT airing Tuesday, Jan. 28 (8:00-9:00 PM ET/PT) on FOX. (RES-314) (TV-14 D, L, V)

Cast: Matt Czuchry as Conrad Hawkins; Bruce Greenwood as Dr. Randolph Bell; Manish Dayal as Devon Pravesh; Emily VanCamp as Nicolette Nevin; Shaunette Renée Wilson as Mina Okafor; Malcolm-Jamal Warner as Dr. AJ Austin; Jane Leeves as Dr. Kitt Voss; and Morris Chestnut as Dr. Barrett Cain

Guest cast: Tasso Feldman as Dr. Irving Feldman; Denitra Isler as Nurse Hundley; Kearran Giovanni as Andrea Braydon; Rob Yang as Logan Kim; Vince Foster as Dr. Paul Chu; Geoffrey Cantor as Zip Betournay; Jessica Tuck as Becky Copple; Wallace Langham as John Copple; Christina Karis as Cynthia Fizdale; Jaylen Moore as Raj Alizai; and Kelly Tippens as Nurse Linda

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sapphicbookclub · 6 years ago

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Author Spotlight: Rebecca Langham

I’m happy to share a guest post by an author whose book we’ve enjoyed reading in our book club last month, Rebecca Langham. Today she shares her thoughts with us about fairy tales and lgbt inclusivity in retellings of the same.

From Genetic Engineering to the Enchanted Forest

I’ve always loved fractured fairy tales. Ever since I was small and my mother, who was an English teacher, first introduced me to the concept, I’ve been inexplicably drawn to tales that re-write the classics. It was sheer delight, therefore, when I grew up and realised that not only are there fairy tale appropriations just about everywhere in popular culture, but some of them are even queer.

My debut novel, Beneath the Surface, is a futuristic dystopian tale that deals with themes of transhumanism, corruption, compassion, and citizenship. The process of writing this almost 90,000-word book drained me, not least of all because it was my first novel and I made plenty of mistakes along the way. Mistakes that cost me weeks of re-writing and plenty of doubtful moments.

Beneath the Surface took a fair amount of research (from little things like clothing materials of the future through to big things like the philosophical arguments for/against scientific changes to human bodies). Most of the characters are living quite difficult lives, and those who aren’t, find themselves confronted by some tough realities by the end. No wonder I needed a break before I wrote Book 2 in the series!

Watching an episode of Once Upon a Time where Dorothy Gale falls in love with Red Riding Hood, I was at once blown away and disappointed. The sheer joy of seeing a cheesy, hopelessly romantic fairy tale story play out, with a kissing curse and all, took me by surprise. I’d never seen such a ‘Disney’ style, child-friendly fairy tale with two women at the centre of the love story, and I could barely believe how much I’d needed to see such a thing. At the same time, the story was over in one episode, with those characters never to return. Screw that, I thought. I’ll write my own.

Writing fantasy, as much I enjoyed reading and watching texts in the genre, scared me. How was I going to write something that was purposely cliché, yet still felt fresh? I knew I wanted to include the classic trope of a prince trying to rescue a princess, but ultimately subvert that trope in multiple ways. First, the princess would largely save herself and second, the prince would be asexual and not very interested in marrying the princess at all. Last of all (but of course not least of all), the princess would be a lesbian. I discovered, however, that these changes were more than enough, and that like myself, my readers were more than happy to hold onto the other, more traditional, aspects of the Sleeping Beauty fairy tale.

As it turned out, my cliché story about goblins, dragons, spells, and princesses ended up being one of the loveliest things I feel I’ve ever written! The innocence of magic and the utter beauty of the fantastic, awoke imaginative thoughts in myself that had long been asleep. My only regret is that I wasn’t braver and left Finding Aurora as a novella rather than writing a full-length novel. That’s why there’s going to be a sequel! I’m addicted to fairy tales now, the kind with a PG ending and mythological creates, and we certainly haven’t seen the last of Talia and Aurora. Or Talia’s spirit guide, Red, for that matter…

You can find Rebecca Langham on: Twitter @rlangham85 & rebeccalangham.com.au

#author spotlight #guest post

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v-thinks-on · 5 years ago

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A Scandal in Bohemia

Part 4 of The Man Who Sold the World

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“The years have not been kind to you,” Holmes remarked. “I find myself relieved that you have not wasted away entirely.”

Holmes and Watson were sitting in their customary chairs by the fireplace. It had been little more than a week since Holmes had, as far as Watson was concerned, miraculously returned from the dead. Watson wrapped up another case he had been working on before Miss Martson arrived on the doorstep to consult him, but no new work had come since - it wasn’t unusual for a week or two to pass without any new clients. So, they had spent the time in Baker Street, reacquainting themselves with one another. That afternoon they had been sitting in silence, Watson reading and Holmes watching him intently.

Watson glanced up and gave Holmes a questioning look.

“You have lost at least seventeen pounds since I last saw you - I am inclined to say more.”

Watson put the book aside. “I have not had the luxury of a wife or housekeeper and have little reason to cook for myself any more than I must.” He gave Holmes a once-over. “I could say the same of you.”

Holmes chuckled. “I suppose you are right. I was thinking I might make dinner tonight. A hearty meal may do us both some good, and then you can say if I still have any merit as a housekeeper.”

Watson’s expression softened in surprise. “Why didn’t you say so? I would be much obliged. I have a faint recollection of a feast of oysters and grouse that turned out magnificently. What do you have in mind for tonight?”

“A little of this, a little of that,” Holmes answered evasively.

Watson laughed. “A surprise, then?”

Holmes said no more, letting his mischievous smile speak for itself and set out for the market. Watson returned to his book, looking forward to that night’s dinner.

Holmes returned shortly, his expression just as enigmatic as ever. In one hand he carried the fruits of his travels and in the other he held a piece of thick, pink-tinted paper that must have come by that day’s post. It was not an ordinary piece of mail; if Watson was not mistaken it was yet another letter from the past.

Holmes put down the bags he was carrying and tossed the paper over to Watson, “Our landlady gave this to me when I returned from my little outing. What do you deduce from it?”

Watson raised his eyebrows at the suggestion. It had been a long time since Holmes had played this game with him. Holmes would press him to come to some hasty conclusions about a person or object, and then would prove nearly all of them to be incorrect. But much had changed since then.

Watson turned to the note. As he read it, his memory filled in the gaps. “There will call upon you to-night, at a quarter to eight o’clock, a gentleman who desires to consult you upon a matter of the very deepest moment. Your recent services to one of the royal houses of Europe have shown that you are one who may safely be trusted with matters which are of an importance which can hardly be exaggerated. This account of you we have from all quarters received. Be in your chamber then at that hour, and do not take it amiss if your visitor wear a mask.”

When he was done, Watson rattled off, “Written by a German on rather expensive paper, from Bohemia, I believe.” Watson held it up to the light to see the monogram “EgPGt” woven into the paper. “Made by Papier Gesellschaft, presumably circa 1888; it’s become brittle with age, but that doesn’t tell us anything new.” He sniffed the paper. “The ink appears to be authentic as well, though it still shimmers, so it must have been penned recently. The handwriting is a forgery; it’s too hesitant even for something copied word for word. I suspect the actual author was left handed, though this was probably written with his right. But I’m sure we’ll meet his Majesty, the King of Bohemia, soon enough, and the late Miss Irene Adler will no doubt shortly follow.”

Holmes had been watching over Watson’s shoulder as he read the note and made his observations. When he finished, Holmes burst into laughter. “Excellent! Though perhaps it was unfair to give you something you’d already seen. Still, your new observations are spot on.”

Watson elected to ignore the hint of condescension in Holmes’s tone, though his answer was not without a bit of a challenge, “Have I missed anything?”

“No” - Holmes shook his head - “there is little else to gain from it.”

Watson glanced at the clock. “I fear you may have to delay your dinner, I doubt ‘his Majesty’ will be long. Even if I call Mrs. Houghton now, it’s unlikely she’d arrive in time.”

“They can both join us,” Holmes suggested with a wry smile.

“Will there be enough for four? Or else, we will just have to wait until the consultation is over and eat late.”

“If you are amenable to it, that may be best, I suspect that’s his car now.”

Watson had stood to pick up the phone and call Scotland Yard, but Holmes’s remark stopped him in his tracks. Sure enough, out the window he could see a sleek black car stopped out front. The driver got out and opened the door for a large, tall man in a deep blue cloak, topped with a broad-brimmed hat. The driver returned to his duties as the opulently dressed passenger made his way to the front door.

They heard a solid knock, the door opened with a creak, and slow, heavy footsteps sounded upon the stairs to pause just outside their door. Another, loud, authoritative tap signaled the man’s arrival.

Holmes gestured for Watson to take it away and so the doctor called, “Come in!”

The door swung open to reveal a giant of a man, who even towered over Holmes by a few inches in height and far surpassed him in muscular girth besides. He wore a costume to behold, dressed as a king of old on his way to a masquerade. His dark blue cloak was lined with bright red silk and secured around his neck with an azure stone. It was open in the front to reveal a formal coat lined in thick fur. He wore high boots topped with yet more fur. He had removed his hat, but his whole face remained covered by a black velvet mask.

The clothes bore the marks of age, but were well preserved - hardly used at all. His boots had been polished recently and only bore the slightest trace of dirt. He had the air of an actor, a man accustomed to taking roles without as second thought no matter how absurd they may be, and the pale smudge of makeup on his glove corroborated it.

“You had my note?” their visitor asked, his voice as deep as he could make it, through the German accent appeared genuine, if perhaps a little over exaggerated. He glanced between the two detectives. “I told you that I would call.”

With Holmes by his side, struggling to stifle laughter himself, it was difficult for Watson not to see the comedy in such a farce. There was little to be gained by sitting through a re-enactment of their old case, but they didn’t have enough evidence to call their visitor out on his act without throwing away any chance at learning more about his employer. Their only opportunity was to allow the case to proceed and see where it would take them in the hopes that the perpetrators would make some fatal mistake.

So, the doctor settled with asking, “You are Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond von Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein?”

The actor gave him a look of outrage and shock. He paced back and forth across the sitting room for good measure. Finally he tore off his mask and threw it to the ground, revealing an almost familiar face, though he could not have been mistaken for the real King of Bohemia. “You are right! I am the King. Why should I attempt to conceal it?”

As soon as that was over with, the doctor continued, “I take it you have come to me because there is a photograph of you with one Miss Irene Adler that you wish for me to steal before she can deliver it to your fiancée.”

The actor nearly jumped in surprise. “I see your powers have not been exaggerated! Your sources are mistaken only upon one count; I know no Irene Adler, the lady in question is an opera singer by the name of Allison Beauregard.”

It was Dr. Holmes’s turn to express surprise, and his was not an act. He had heard Miss Beauregard’s name in the news recently in connection with some scandal about a secret marriage that had gotten out, as such things did.

“Very well,” the doctor said a little reluctantly, “we will find your photograph. However, due to the nature of the task, we will require some payment up front. A small amount will do, just as compensation for the risks involved.”

To his surprise, the actor declared without hesitation, “You have carte blanche! I tell you that I would give one of the provinces of my kingdom to have that photograph.”

He lifted a heavy, leather bag from under his cloak, but the doctor stopped him short, “A check will do” - a sample of the man’s handwriting was much more valuable than his money, and maybe they could trace him through the bank if they were lucky.

“Certainly,” the actor said, “If you come by any other expenses, or require any other payment, but ask and it is yours.”

A check changed hands and Dr. Holmes continued, “Where will you be staying during the investigation?”

“Not far from here, at the Langham hotel under the name of Count Von Kramm.”

“And do you have Miss Beauregard’s address?”

“Of course.” The actor provided it.

“Then, I bid you goodnight, your Majesty. I expect to see you again soon.”

With that, the actor left and Holmes let loose the laughter that had been threatening to break free throughout the interview. “Whomever we are facing has a sense of humor. That, at least, is certain!”

Watson chuckled. “He put on quite the show, and in that costume. Now, you’ll forgive me, but I fear I must delay dinner even further and see where he really goes.” He made to stand.

“Magnificent, Watson, truly magnificent.” Holmes’s eyes seemed to shine with more than just mirth. “You’ve become a detective after my own heart. But I don’t doubt he’ll be expecting something like that, and if you go out as you are you’ll stick out like a sore thumb. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.” He gave Watson a conspiratorial glance.

His energy was intoxicating, but still Watson hesitated, his pride stinging a little from Holmes’s evaluation. He didn’t want to just sit by the fireplace while Holmes was out investigating his case. But then again… “You’re right,” Watson admitted at last, “I never quite got the hang of all your disguises, and I never was much of an actor.”

“Right you are, Watson.”

Watson shot him a glare.

Holmes stood and gave Watson a friendly pat on the shoulder as he made his way to the door. “Just leave the legwork to me, my dear fellow, so you can focus on the all-important mental front.”

Reluctantly, Watson watched his old friend go. He shouldn’t have expected anything less from Holmes - he was the real detective, after all. He only hoped Holmes didn’t resolve the case without him. But it was good to have an extra pair of legs, especially as Holmes knew very well what he was doing, and it ought have been easier to focus on the case without Holmes watching over his shoulder.

Watson leaned back in his chair with a sigh and tried to think about the problem in front of him. He could have sworn the “King of Bohemia” looked familiar behind that mask and beneath all of his finery. It was just a vague impression, but it bothered incessantly at the back of his mind. If he could just take away the once stylish moustache and combed dark hair, there was something in those features that he had seen before.

He pulled out the check and stared blindly at it. The handwriting was forged, no doubt, just like all of the evidence brought to him by Miss Marston. If only he hadn’t been in such a hurry to get the interview over with, he might have had a chance to take a good look at the man.

Suddenly it struck him; the King of Bohemia had been so different, confident and regal, compared to the nervous Mr. Sholto, he must have even used makeup to alter his features, but he would bet the two men were one in the same. They were both forgers, and there was something in their features that even judicious use of makeup would be hard pressed to conceal.

The doctor bolted out of his chair to rummage through his papers, never as organized as they ought to be, in search of the photographs of the letters Miss Martson had received - Mrs. Houghton claimed the originals as evidence. Finally, he landed on them and fell back into his chair to compare the check and the letter announcing his majesty’s arrival side by side with the one from Mr. Sholto. It was hard to be certain; the man was a forger after all, and neither writing was his own, but the doctor was ready to bet they had been wrought by the same measured hand.

He was still glancing between the two samples, basking in his increasingly certain victory, when Holmes returned, dressed in the tattered costume of an old beggar - the same that had been lingering outside of Baker Street a little over a week ago. Holmes vanished into his room to change without a word, and when he emerged, his usual well-groomed self in a sharp suit, he hurried to the kitchen to prepare a belated dinner.

Holmes talked as he worked; “Our man seems to be honest on one count, at least; he is staying at the Langham as he said, under the name of a Count.”

Watson stood in the doorway, watching and keeping out of the way. “Meanwhile, I believe I have found a clue as to his real identity, though only a handwriting expert could say for certain.”

Holmes waved off the suggestion, a large knife in hand. Suddenly realizing his mistake, he hastily returned to chopping.

“I suppose you didn’t get a chance to meet Mr. Sholto. What do you make of the King od Bohemia?” Watson asked.

“There is little to say at the moment, other than the fact that he is clearly quite the actor to have kept a straight face under all of that finery,” Holmes said with a wry smile.

Watson chuckled. “I do not envy him. He must have been burning up in there.”

Holmes took a moment to focus on preparing their dinner before speaking again, “Perhaps we would do well with a division of labour. I can follow up on Miss Beauregard while you pursue his Majesty.”

“Are you certain? I doubt she’s involved; she’s really an opera singer, a rather famous one.”

“We will see,” Holmes said and would say no more upon the matter. Watson could only guess at what the detective was thinking.

Holmes was out by the time Watson awoke the next morning and did not return all afternoon. The doctor took the opportunity to get out of the flat and caught a train to the New Scotland Yard on the bank of the Thames.

The receptionist greeted him with a smile. “Good afternoon, Dr. Holmes. Are you here to see D.I. Houghton?”

“Good afternoon” - he doffed his hat at her. “Yes, she should be expecting me.”

The receptionist laughed. “You know where to go,” she said, before returning to her work.

“Thank you.”

Dr. Holmes made his way down the hall, to Mrs. Houghton’s office. He gave a single loud knock on the door and she called for him to enter.

“I’m surprised your friend didn’t come along,” she said as he took a seat on the other side of her desk. “What can I do for you?”

“He’s doing his own investigation.” Dr. Holmes passed her the note and the check. “As I mentioned on the phone, another client has come to me with a mystery that, to my knowledge, had already been solved.”

“You said he claimed to be the King of Bohemia?”

Dr. Holmes nodded. “I believe it is now part of the Czech Republic. I doubt you’ll find the case in your police records; it was a purely unofficial matter. As the story goes, the King of Bohemia hired a well-known private detective to steal a photograph from a famous opera singer. The reasons would seem a little laughable to you now, but that’s exactly what I’ve been asked to do. The opera singer in question is Miss Alison Bureguard, and I have reason to believe the king is none other than the out of luck actor who played Mr. Thaddeus Sholto.”

“You’re sure? That’s a pretty reckless move.”

“He was very thoroughly disguised. I’m not absolutely certain as to his identity, but your handwriting analysts should be able to prove it. I saw him write that check, and I think the note is the same. It also explains why you were unable to find any matches for Mr. Sholto’s fingerprints in your record. With all of his nervous chatter I didn’t notice an accent, but the King of Bohemia’s could only have been a real german. I expect you’ll have more luck identifying his fingerprints in their records than ours.”

“I’ll send in a request right away. If nothing else we may be able to catch him for check fraud. Do you think Alison Beauregard is in any danger?”

Dr. Holmes hesitated. “I don’t think so, not of anything worse than attempted robbery, anyway, and only of a portrait, if that.”

“Sounds like a bit of a departure from form. Maybe they’re cutting their losses after what happened last time.”

“The original case was a little unusual, but it was noteworthy in its own right. They’ve been very loyal to their theme so far, and I expect this will be no different.”

“Still, if you think you’ll need backup, just give us a call. In the meantime, I’ll try to get back to you as soon as I can about those fingerprints.”

“Thank you.”

Dr. Holmes counted that as a success and left to wander the neighborhood with the vague intention of meandering back home. He weaved between groups of tourists and ducked around photo shoots, deep in thought. Even if he had the purported King of Bohemia’s true identity, it didn’t bring him any closer to bringing down the whole operation. He needed to do something to draw their man out. Perhaps if he played along and pretended to investigate Miss Beauregard, he could find something more solid.

With that in mind, he made his way back to Baker Street. He was not surprised to find that Holmes was still out when he returned, though the afternoon had nearly passed. The doctor would call upon Miss Beauregard the next day. In the meantime, he would see what information he could find on her. Perhaps he could even help Holmes out with his investigation. He smiled to himself at the thought as he made the first call.

Dr. Watson did not see Sherlock Holmes again until the next morning. Holmes was already more than half done with his breakfast when Watson joined him at the table.

Holmes greeted Watson with a smile, and a cheery, “Good morning,” but he had clearly slept little, if at all.

“Good morning,” Watson answered in kind as he piled food into his plate. “I didn’t hear you come in last night.”

“No, you wouldn’t have. I only got back a couple hours ago and I won’t be able to stay long.”

“I’m afraid you’ve gotten the short shrift of the investigation,” Watson said. “I had some time to spare, so I looked into Miss Beauregard on my own, and everything about her lines up. She’s from America, her career is well documented, and now she’s part of a troupe in London. I’ve found no cause for suspicion.”

“Really?” Holmes said in pointedly exaggerated surprise.

Watson frowned back at him. “Have you found anything?”

“You know me, my dear fellow; I make progress in my own way.”

Their conversation was cut short by the ringing of the telephone. With Holmes’s silent permission, Watson stood to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Dr. Holmes?” Mrs. Houghton confirmed on the other end.

“Yes,” the doctor said.

“You were right about Sholto. I heard back from the Germans today - very prompt of course. He’s a well known con artist there by the name of Gregor Falk. They’ve been trying to get their hands on him for years, but they’ve had trouble getting anything to stick. Apparently he’s been unusually quiet lately, now we know why.”

“Good.”

“Do you want us to bring him in?”

He shook his head, though he knew she couldn’t see. “If we take him now, we’ll no doubt lose his accomplices. Perhaps if we can get more solid evidence against him, we may be in a better position to bargain for the truth.”

“You know where to call if you need backup.”

“Thank you,” the doctor said, before hanging up the phone and returning to the table.

“So you’ve finally identified Mr. Falk?’” Holmes said with a hint of bemused impatience.

“You knew?” Watson exclaimed. “How?”

“I have my ways.”

Holmes’s smugly enigmatic expression grated badly on Watson’s already agitated nerves. “You know, you could have spared me some time and told me, instead of waiting for me to discover it myself!”

“I wouldn’t want to interfere,” Holmes answered with mock humility.

“You are aware that you’re not the only one investigating this case!” Watson retorted. ‘A division of labor’ - pah! He could plainly see that Holmes was just carrying out his own investigation on the assumption that Watson’s wouldn’t bear any fruit.

“Of course,” Holmes said as though he had done nothing wrong. “You have your methods and I have mine.” His words held an edge of competition; whoever succeeded would prove their methods to be superior.

That was not what Watson had in mind, but if that was the way Holmes wanted it, then so be it. Some old vein of stubbornness made him loath to back down from the challenge.

Soon after, they went their separate ways; Holmes to who knows where and Watson to the home of Miss Beauregard. He considered using Holmes’s old method for finding the photograph, but he was no actor and these were different circumstances. Miss Beauregard was probably innocent. He didn’t even know if she had a photograph to speak of.

The address that Mr. Falk had given him - as confirmed by the doctor’s further research - was occupied by a handsome home, not very large, but well kept. Fortunately, the mistress of the house was in when Dr. Holmes arrived. He knocked at the door and she answered, wearing a casual spring dress that was a strikingly recent fashion.

“Hello,” she said with a strong American accent, “If you’re here for an autograph, you’ll have to wait for the show tonight.”

“Good afternoon. I’m not here for an autograph. I just have a few questions for you.”

“Really?” she asked, suddenly guarded. “What do you want? Are you a reporter?”

“My name is Dr. Jonathan Holmes. I’m a detective; I work with the police on occasion and investigate other private matters. I have reason to believe that you’ve been targeted by a con artist.”

Her suspicion turned to confusion. “What? No one’s scamming me!”

“Have you encountered anyone unusual -”

“You mean like you?”

Dr. Holmes couldn’t deny it was a good point, but clarified, “No, has anyone been loitering near your house, or have you gotten any unusual visitors?”

“I don’t think so, just the usual fans and journalists - and the people from the tabloids.”

Dr. Holmes shook his head. As a famous opera singer, it would be very easy for someone to disguise themselves as a reporter and keep an eye on her without drawing any attention at all. He tried a more direct approach; “We suspect someone in particular, a German con artist. He would probably come in disguise, but I have his picture here” - he handed her a photograph of Mr. Sholto.

She looked at it for a moment before finally shaking her head. “No, I don’t recognize him. Why would he come after me?”

“You could say we’ve been tipped off. Nothing unusual has happened to you recently?”

She hesitated. “Well… I did suspect a break in while I was performing one night a week or two ago, but nothing was stolen, I just found the door unlocked and a window open. I already have someone looking into it.”

Clearly Holmes was already on the case, but the doctor had to focus on his own investigation and this was a lead if he’d ever seen one. “You said nothing was taken, did you notice if anything was left behind?”

“I- I don’t think so. Why would a thief break in to give me something?”

His impatience grew as he hit yet another dead end, but he knew he was on the right track. “What about the walls? Did you notice anything different about them? A crack that wasn’t there before?”

“What are you talking about?” she asked with some impatience.

“If I am correct, I should be able to show you. May I step inside for a moment? I assure you that I won’t touch anything. I suspect I know what the man who broke into your home did.”

She gave him a long look. “If you try anything I won’t hesitate to call the police. And then we can find out if you really do work with them.”

He nodded in assent.

She led him inside and kept a close eye on him as he scanned the walls. Finally, he found what he was looking for - a small thin gash in the wall that looked like the board could be slid open.

“If I am not mistaken,” he said, pointing to the mark on the wall, “they created a recess in your wall. There’s even some sawdust on the floor.”

“What? How?” She glanced at the wall and the floor below it, and her eyes widened in surprise.

“Do you want me to open it, or would you rather do the honors?”

“I’ll do it.” She stepped up to the wall and used all of her strength to pry the board loose. It slid aside with a final heave to reveal an ornate box that had been placed within the wall. Miss Beauregard opened the box and took out a tall photograph.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”

She showed him the picture. It clearly depicted Miss Beauregard standing arm in arm with Mr. Falk dressed as the King of Bohemia in his full royal regalia. Behind them was a beautiful formal garden.

“Do you recognize the man in the photograph?” Dr. Holmes asked.

She shook her head. “I’ve never acted with him in my life. It must be photoshopped.”

Dr. Holmes was inclined to agree, though he would have to ask an expert on the matter. “For now, I think it may be best to leave this photograph where we found it, and I would prefer if you didn’t tell anyone about my visit unless you’re speaking with the police, as I would rather my actions not get back to the man who placed it in your house to begin with. Meanwhile, we’ll do what we can to catch him.”

She nodded in assent.

“You’ll be returning to America soon?”

“Yes, I’ll be leaving for my honeymoon tomorrow.”

“The police will probably want to speak with you upon your return, but I expect everything will be resolved by then. In the meantime, I congratulate you on your marriage and thank you for your cooperation,” Dr. Holmes said and left with a smile.

Before returning to Baker Street, he dropped by the Scotland Yard.

“Dr. Holmes,” Mrs. Houghton greeted him as he stepped into her office for the second time in as many days, “make yourself at home”

“I’ve just paid a visit to Miss Beauregard,” he explained. “The lady and I were able to conclude that someone broke into her house last week to conceal a painting in a recess in her wall, and I have good reason to believe that our man will break in again after she leaves on her honeymoon tomorrow to replace the photograph with a letter. If we want to catch him red-handed, I believe that is our chance.”

“We can keep an eye on her house and make sure that no one breaks in.”

“Thank you very much, I have a feeling I will see you tomorrow.”

From there, Dr. Holmes returned home and called it a night. He was fumbling with his keys at the door to the flat when he heard a familiar voice call out to him - “Good night, Doctor Holmes.”

He glanced around, but his best guess was that he had been addressed by a young man who was already hurrying away.

Dr. Holmes was just finishing lunch the next day when he received a call from Mrs. Houghton.

“You may want to come down to Allison Beauregard’s house,” she said. “Someone tried to break in right after she left for the airport this morning, we’ve got him in custody now.”

It was a shame Holmes would miss the denouncement - he hadn’t a clue where the detective had gotten off to now - but the doctor doubted this would be the end of the investigation.

The doctor arrived at Miss Beauregard’s house to find a swarm of police cars gathered in the street. Passers by and journalists craned around them, searching for a glimpse of what had occurred within. Dr. Holmes greeted one of the officers watching the periphery and stepped inside to the protest of many envious bystanders.

He found Mrs. Houghton standing next to one of the police cars, looking down at her phone. She glanced up in surprise at his arrival. “Dr. Holmes, there you are! He hasn’t said anything yet, just that he was hired by Ms. Beauregard to do some repairs while she was gone - we called her and she denied it. Do you want to try questioning him? He’s locked up in the car. He’s been pretty calm, but those are usually the ones waiting for a chance to escape.”

“I can certainly try,” Dr. Holmes said.

Mrs. Houghton motioned for him to step aside and opened the car door. “Come on, this man is going to ask you a few questions.”

Dr. Holmes heard a grunt in reply.

Mrs. Houghton helped a middle aged man out of the car. His back was prematurely bent from years of physical labor, but he must have been very tall at full height. He was thin and wiry, but held himself so he looked broader than he was. His face was covered in a shaggy brown moustache and beard that matched the thinning hair on his head.

“What do you want?” the man grunted.

The doctor had to do a few double takes to make sure he knew what he was seeing.

When he was absolutely positive he could not be mistaken, he finally blurted out, “Holmes, what are you doing here?”

Mrs. Houghton gave him a puzzled look. The doctor’s eyes met the prisoner’s striking gray ones that peered back at him with a humorous gleam and the illusion was broken. The man stood up straight and relaxed his shoulders so that he no longer looked so inflated.

“I suppose the game is up,” he said with a laugh in his own voice.

“Take off that ridiculous disguise,” the doctor insisted, though he was having difficulty holding back laughter of his own.

“What? You don’t like it?” Holmes wiggled the fake moustache.

That was too much for Watson, who burst into laughter and Holmes followed suit.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Mrs. Houghton demanded, pulling the pair back down to earth, “Why was Mr. Holmes trying to break into Beauregard’s house?”

“That’s a good question,” the doctor said with nary a chuckle as he rounded on Holmes.

Holmes seemed to debate the matter internally before, with a glance at the increasingly impatient doctor, he finally resigned himself to answering, “Until I was caught by these overzealous bunglers, I was undercover. Now that Mr. Falk has been given ample warning to escape, I suppose there is no further harm to be done in revealing my now defunct plan. When I followed Mr. Falk back to his hotel, I posed as a fellow con artist and proposed a partnership between us in an attempt to eventually earn his and his employer’s trust. I had to prove myself somehow and he needed someone to break into Ms. Beauregard’s home and plant the next piece of evidence. It was an easy in - or it would have been.”

The doctor, meanwhile felt a growing sense of indignation. At last, when it seemed Holmes was done, he snapped, “This trap was mine, not the work of some ‘overzealous’ official, and I have as much a right to say you bungled my plan as to say I ruined yours! If you had not offered your services to Mr. Falk, he may have come himself or at least sent someone who already knew something about him and could serve as a witness. What information do you have?”

Holmes frowned. “As my infiltration was cut short, all I have gleaned so far is that he was hired to perform for us - but not by whom - and had offered his services to Miss Beauregard as a private eye to make a little extra money from the gig.”

The doctor could not help but exclaim, “None of this would have happened if you had bothered to tell me your plan or pursued Miss Beauregard as you suggested!”

“And throw away my cover?” Holmes retorted.

“You think I couldn’t have kept it secret?”

“It wasn’t worth the risk.”

“Was it?” Watson charged, “You saw how that turned out!”

Holmes looked down at him, his proud stare a challenge. Oh how Watson wished he was taller so he could loom over the detective for once, maybe then his point would get through Holmes’s thick skull.

At last Watson said, “I think it would be best if I handled my cases alone from now on.”

Holmes’s proud expression cracked. His gaze turned reproachful, but Watson stood firm.

At last, Holmes relented, “I’m sorry, my dear old friend, I’m afraid I got carried away with the thrill of the hunt after so long. Perhaps you are right, we’ve both become too proud.”

Mrs. Houghton, who had remained silent throughout their dispute, now spoke up, “We may be able to salvage the case if you’re willing to serve as a witness, tying Mr. Falk to the crime.”

“You can try,” Holmes said, “but he’s certainly vanished by now.”

“You’re not a flight risk at any rate,” she said with a glance at the doctor, “so you’re free to go unless we come by with an arrest warrant, but I wouldn’t worry too much about it. I’ll call if I have news about Mr. Falk.”

She removed Holmes’s handcuffs and wished him and the doctor luck as they returned to Baker Street.

Holmes and Watson caught a cab and spent the ride in tense silence. Watson could not help but dwell on the case. Between the two of them, it had all been a waste. They were no closer to catching the impostor, Miss Marston, or the man behind these twisted recreations.

It was then that he recognized the voice he had heard the previous evening upon his return to Baker Street. She had been right there and he hadn’t even realized until it was much too late. He had let her escape once more and for that he only had himself to blame.

Note: I’m sorry this isn’t a very romantic chapter ending for Valentines Day, it’s just how the scheduling worked out... If you’re into Star Trek, last week’s chapter of Generations makes a much better Valentines Day present.

#v writes #Sherlock Holmes #H/W #The Man Who Sold the World

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