#but anyway here’s the Carters I did this last night

[rainbowspinch]

Get Openbound Sprited you devious motherfuckers

[jetblack4realz]

damn bars - yellowstone boys

how the yellowstone (& 1923 too) boys react to you getting hit on at the bar

kayce, rip, ryan, carter, spencer

word count total: 5k

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kayce dutton:

you had gone out to the bar for one reason and one reason only: to dance.

you and kayce loved to dance, but you didn't get many opportunities to. so, when one night john took tate for a sleepover, winking at you as he pulled the boy away, you decided to get out there and swing away like you were teenagers again. you grabbed beth and rip to come too, knowing they'd appreciate getting out even if they didn't dance - would rip ever dance? probably not.

it was fun for the first little bit, all the good swing songs playing as he twirled you around the wooden dance floor. you pulled out old tricks he forgot you knew and he twisted and flipped you into cool routines you forgot he knew. when you decided to take a break, kayce heading to the bathroom while you ordered a drink, you just knew something was going to happen.

but, you ordered anyways, eyes on where beth was shaking her ass away to the fun country music playing and where rip was watching her with the fondest smile you'd ever seen from him.

the bartender slid you your drink. you smiled. "thank you."

he nodded at you, walking down the bar to attend to another customer as you leaned your back against the counter, eyes back to your sister-in-law.

"you've really been busting a move out there."

you turned to see a man, taller than you but definitely shorter than kayce, bigger, with a brown hat and black boots. he wasn't necessarily attractive and there was just something about him that made you want to scrunch your nose, so you did.

"yep," you hummed, sipping on your whiskey.

"you've only had the one partner. i'm sure i could show you some moves if you're looking for a new one," he said, glancing to the side as a smile pulled up one side of his mouth. "i don't see him here anymore."

"he'll be back," you told him, setting your drink down and looking him over again. "and even if i was looking for another partner, you don't look like much of a dancer, buddy."

he knitted his brows at that, looking down at you with a curious smirk on his lips. "spicy. i like that."

you wanted to throw up.

"don't call me that," you said. "that was gross."

"oh come on, darling," he said, shifting so he was more in your view. "just one dance? he'll never even know, he ain't here."

"he is." you held up your ring finger, flashing the rock that was your wedding band at him. "i ain't going with you buddy."

and that was when he grabbed you, hand on your hip as he pulled you into him. he smelled like bad beer, cheap cologne, and straight b.o. you instantly pushed away even as he held you tighter, speaking now: "one dance, baby. life is too short to only dance with one man the rest of it."

"life's too short to dance with ugly men," you retorted, scrunching your nose again as you finally, very forcefully pushed him away from you, backing towards where you knew rip was last standing. except he wasn't there.

you looked at the dance floor and your mind was blown. of course the one time rip wheeler decides to take to the dance floor was when you were actively being harassed at the bar.

the guy didn't like your answer and stepped towards you, mouth open to say something before another figure stepped in front of you, one you knew very well. especially since you'd picked out his shirt. you breathed a breath of relief as he glanced back at you, checking you were okay before returning a much more menacing gaze to your advancer.

"i don't know what you've said or done thus far, but the way my wife is lookin at you doesn't look very good for you," kayce said, his eyes turned in a glare as he stepped towards him.

"look, man, all i wanted was a dance, not anything more-"

"a dance is still too much to ask for, especially when she's already said no," kayce said sternly. "leave. now."

"what, like the whole-"

"i'd really love a reason to punch you and if you keep talking you're gonna be giving me one," kayce warned, but the guy didn't get it apparently because he kept going.

"hey, man i didn't do anything-"

kayce looked back at you. "he touch you?"

the moments between you nodding and kayce full on clocking the guy in the jaw went by in literally the blink of an eye. the man stumbled back and kayce swung again, effectively knocking him to the floor. he kicked him then, the man folding in half with a groan. kayce moved to do it again when you grabbed his arm.

"baby, let's just get out of here," you told him. "i don't need you getting in trouble."

"i'm the livestock commissioner, i'll be fine," he said.

"well, then, just..." you moved around him to where the dude was sprawled on the ground, looking up at your husband in fear as some blood tricked from a cut in his lip and also between his teeth. everyone in this town knew kayce dutton could throw a punch.

you stomped on his hand then, hard, earning a shout and an instant recoil. you could've sworn you felt a crunch under the heel of your boot when you did.

"so you can't grab any other girls anytime soon," you said before turning on your heel and grabbing your husband, who looked like he was chomping at the bit to get back to pummeling him. "c'mon, baby."

but, tonight was supposed to be fun. when you pulled him out the front door for some fresh air and maybe to bar hop, you thought to remind him of that. you turned to him with a smile, hand cupping his face just below his jaw. "c'mere, cowboy." you kissed him slowly, his hands falling to your waist almost instantly as he folded to your touch, returning the kiss eagerly.

when you pulled back, he kept you close, kissing you again.

"thank you," you breathed out when you finally broke again, smiling up at him. "i can always count on your mean right hook to get me out of any bad situation."

"i practice it just for that," he said quietly, pecking your lips again.

you laughed lightly. "seriously, thank you though," you said, wrapping your arms around his middle as you relaxed in his hold. "for saving me."

"i'll always save you," he promised, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "and i'm never going to the bathroom while we're out again."

rip wheeler:

to get rip to go out was a chore. it usually took some promising of later nightly activities and some chanting and begging from the wranglers too. and when you finally got him there, he wasn't exactly interactive, mostly just watching you dance and getting you the appropriate amount of refills to keep you semi-aware.

aware for situations like this.

you were dancing the night away with teeter, hands in the air as you laughed and jumped and twirled with your favorite of the cowboys, glancing up at rip regularly to shoot him a wink or shout something about how great his ass looked in those jeans, when suddenly you felt hands on your waist.

you spun around, brows shot straight up as you swatted this strange, tall and skinny man who oddly reminded you of a drugged out, dark haired jimmy, man away from you, stepping back and bumping into teeter. "damn you're ballsy, dude," you said. he stepped back to you, his hands landing on your waist again, fingers brushing over the waistband of your jeans as teeter grabbed your shoulders and helped you shuffle away. "seriously, get off!"

"hey, come back here, baby-"

it was instinctive, really. your father had taught you how to throw a proper punch and rip had taught you the best places to throw it, and well, the first one that came to mind was the throat.

he staggered back with a choked breath, hand rising to his jugular as he stared at you with wide eyes. "you crazy bitch!"

"did you seriously just call me the bitch?" you said, stepping towards him now with your hand balled into a fist.

but, before you could throw another punch and before the psycho dude could fully recover, rip was now in the picture. two extremely well-placed punches sent the creep into the surrounding crowd. no one did or said anything for a few moments, everyone having seen him grab you and insinuating exactly who rip was in this situation.

he turned back to you, grabbing your hand tightly and sending a look teeter's way that had her collecting the rest of the wranglers, who had all suddenly appeared at your side.

"let's go," he said strictly.

"can we go to another bar?" you asked as he dragged you out of the facility and towards the truck. he let out a short laugh.

"there's no way in hell i'm letting you back into another bar anytime soon," he said. "if another psychotic bastard thinks he can put his hands on you i can't promise that i wouldn't kill him right then. it took a lot of restraint not to keep going in there, baby."

"rip, come on, let's have fun tonight - woah!"

and suddenly you were thrown over his shoulder in a fireman carry. he barely even stopped to do it, just scooping you up and continuing on to where he'd parked the truck.

"nope," he said. "and anyways, there's other ways to have fun." he pulled the door open and set you on the passenger seat with a smirk. "you have a couple promises to fulfill for even dragging me here in the first place."

"damn," you mumbled as he gave you a quick kiss, shutting the door and crossing to the other side. as he got in and buckled, you looked over at him with a bit of a dopey smile on your lips. "have i told you i love you recently?"

"i'm sure you have, baby, but i'm happy to hear it again," he told you, smiling your way as he started the truck up.

"well, i do love you. and thank you. that sucked."

"and it ain't ever gonna happen again on my watch," he promised. "he really just snuck up on you there."

"literally crazy."

ryan:

you weren't much of a games girl, which everyone thought was weird given the man you were with. but, you were content to watch, to sit at the bar conversing with the wranglers who weren't involved in the game of pool or dancing, and to watch colby crash and burn as he approached girls again and again.

that last one was your favorite activity.

every now and again you would wander back over to where ryan was playing lloyd or jake, cheer him on, give him a quick kiss, and then return to the designated spot colby kept coming back to after another failed attempt at wooing a tourist.

the tourists were funny too. you could always tell which ones had just bought their hats and boots before or even while they were in montana just to blend in. some of the girls were wearing such california things you wondered if they were wanting to blend in at all, which the answer was no. colby, and plenty of other cowboys, liked the tourists. or at least, for a quick one.

you were watching him with a grin as he stumbled on his words with a pretty brunette, sipping on your drink casually. he was using his hands to emphasize something and she did not seem like she was interested in that something at all. you giggled to yourself.

"you like people watching?"

you glanced to your side to see a shorter man with spiky blond hair at your side. this guy didn't even take a try at a hat, sticking it with bright and shiny new black tecovas with a pointed toe and a snakeskin design that was so opposite of what you were used to.

you didn't think you'd ever been turned off more by a boot.

"yeah, i do," you nodded, looking back at where colby was actively losing his chosen girl's attention. "it's entertaining."

"it is," he agreed, taking the seat next to you. "you from around here?"

for some reason, you laughed. you guessed it was because he was so obviously not from here that for him to ask you if you were was just funny to you. "yep. you ever heard of the yellowstone dutton ranch?"

"it got anything to do with the park?" he asked.

you laughed again before taking a sip of your drink. "no. around here, when people talk about the yellowstone, they're talking about the 800,000 acre cattle ranch just outside of town owned by the livestock commissioner and the oldest family in montana."

he seemed shocked, but he tried to get through it, continuing his little q&a. "you're from there?"

"it's my family that owns it," you answered easily.

"and what's it like owning 800,000 acres of some of the most coveted land in america?" he asked, tilting his head at you. if you hadn't before, you definitely piqued his interest now.

you shrugged. "it's a lot of work, but it's worth it. it's beautiful."

"lonely, though, i bet," he said, and that made you laugh again. wow, he really tried that one.

"no, actually," you told him. "need a good amount of people to run that ranch. don't get too much time to yourself."

"do you want time to yourself?" he asked.

"i'm good with what i've got, thank you," you told him. you looked over at where ryan had caught sight of your predicament and was making his way over to you. you stood, shooting the man at your right a polite smile. "one of the cowboys we've got is particularly attractive. i'm entertained enough, don't you worry about me."

he saw ryan then and stood as well. "i wouldn't say he's particularly attractive. you could do better."

"are you suggesting yourself?" you asked with a laugh, holding an arm out to wrap around ryan's waist as he came to your side, pressing a kiss to the side of your head before eying the man in front of y'all. "sorry, pal. you may be decently cute, but you ain't no cowboy. if you're looking to get lucky in this town it'd do you good to remember that. shoot for your own kind."

the man looked up at ryan. "you her cowboy?"

"damn straight," ryan answered. "you better take that advice. a lot of the cowgirls you'll see around here anyways are taken, you're asking for a fight talking to 'em. you're just lucky she played nice. it's the only reason i am too." ryan nodded, tilting his hat at the man before stepping away and bringing you with him. "best of luck. just not with my girl."

he took you back to the pool table with him where lloyd was laughing at the sight of you. he pressed another kiss to your head.

"did you really have to call him cute?" he asked you.

"decently cute," you reminded with a shake of your head. "i called you particularly attractive, which is an understatement. i just didn't wanna shake the guy's confidence down too much. those boots are doin that enough for him."

ryan laughed. "damn tourists."

carter:

nearly everything carter did reminded beth of how rip was at that age. and nearly everything you did as you consistently visited reminded her of how she was at that age.

it had her worried and excited.

"don't break his heart," she told you one day, cornering you after lunch. "i've been there, i've done that, it's terrible for everyone involved. save yourself the trouble and just snag him now, you know you want him and he wants you. just date, okay? and don't be a bitch later."

the words shocked you, but definitely kicked you into gear. carter was shier than you ever were, awfully polite and gentlemanly as beth had trained him to be, and so you were the one to get him into going to the bar.

"will we even get served here?" he asked, holding your hand as you led him in.

"hell yeah we will," you answered, smiling back at him as you approached the bar. you were quick to pull out your id - a fake one, but one nonetheless - and slide it to the bartender. "an old fashioned please."

"what about me?" carter whispered.

you laughed lightly. "just get your id out, darlin'."

confused but obedient, he pulled out his wallet and was surprised to see a new driver's license in the clear slot he usually kept his in. one that said he was 21.

he held it up as he cleared his throat, catching the bartender's attention. "make that two." he looked back at you. "these any good?"

"i think so," you answered with a shrug. "you ever have bourbon before, or just beer?"

"just beer," he nodded.

"well, hopefully you'll like it," you said with a shrug. "i've seen your dad make them back at the ranch. i'm sure you'll like them."

"oh, he's not my dad," he corrected as the bartender slid them over to y'all.

you furrowed your brows. "really? you look exactly alike."

it was as he was taking his first swig of his drink that you felt someone slide between you and the person sitting next to you, their arm settling on the counter in front of you. you looked up, brows raised as you found a man, definitely in his late 30s, in a nicer shirt than this bar deserved, brand new boots, and what looked to be a cross between dress pants and jeans. interesting.

"can i help you?" you asked, his positioning crowding you into your seat even though you didn't move much. this was your bubble, he was the one who had to get out of it.

"just wondering if you had anyone paying for this drink," he said, his hand now on your whiskey as you narrowed your eyes.

carter moved sharply to stand, but settled when you set a hand on his knee, thumb rubbing circles into his jeans. you offered the guy a very thin, very fake smile.

"that's a nice shirt," you said, earning a wider smile from the man. "where'd you get it?" he almost went to answer, but you continued, your next few sentences stringing together in almost one breath.

"oh, well, i bet you don't know since your wife bought it for you. or - is it ex-wife, now? i don't see a ring, but i definitely see that faded tan line from it being there for years and recently taken off. probably because of a very similar situation we find ourselves in now. your wife is at home, with the kids, waiting for you to take her out to a dinner that will never happen because you're here, scoping out for the youngest woman you can find to sloppily sleep with in the back of your brand new honda civic that you convinced yourself and that girl was some new sports car because it's a 'newer model'."

already, he was in shock, staring at you with a scared kind of wonder that for some reason made you so proud.

you continued. "so, either you're here trying to do that again behind your wife's back, or she's already divorced you, which for her sake i hope is the case, because you seem like a pathetic piece of shit who blames his infidelity on being overworked and undersupported when really you're just a pedophiliac horndog who doesn't understand what the word 'no' means."

you took your drink back from him, taking a sip from it as you watched his expression change between shocked, offended, confused, and embarrassed.

"and yes," you added, "i do have someone to pay for my drink."

he gaped at you as you turned away from him, hand still on carter's knee as you grinned into your glass, sipping from it again. he glanced behind you at carter and you knew he wanted to exclaim how carter was a boy and he was a man, but didn't because he didn't know what else you would say.

"you psycho bitch," he muttered. "all i did was offer to pay for your drink."

"yeah, well i'm quite obviously young enough to be the daughter you had when you accidentally knocked up the drum major when you were a junior, so it's still kind of disgusting," you told him, rolling your eyes. "especially when it's so easy to see that the man i'm sitting next to is my boyfriend, or at the very least, someone else who is paying for my drink because we got them to us at the exact same time and my hand is on his knee. so fuck off, dickwad."

and he did, scoffing as he left. carter turned to look at you with wide eyes before he breathed out a laugh.

"you're my favorite person ever," he said. you smiled at him, shrugging lightly.

"i was trained by the best," you hummed.

he smiled at that before giving you a curious look, tilting his head at you. "so, i'm your boyfriend?"

"i'm hoping," you said, smiling back. "i mean, i really like you, and i think you like me. beth told me to get on with it already because why waste time, hence why we're here. i can call you my boyfriend, right?"

"yeah, yeah you can," he said, nodding as he breathed out a laugh.

you were beaming, maybe even blushing as you glanced away for a few moments before continuing conversation. "how's your drink?"

"surprisingly good," he answered. "you have good taste."

your smile softened a bit as you looked at him, nodding slowly. "yeah, i do." you finished your drink in one swig, setting the glass on the counter. "hey, do you wanna get out of here?"

"but, we just got here," he said, furrowing his brows.

"well, i just have this feeling more situations are going to arise that will either warrant me coming up with more speeches like that or you punching a guy square in the nose, and i'm not in the mood for either," you answered, standing and pulling your wallet from your bag.

"hey, no, i pay," he said. he tossed a ten and a twenty on the counter, his hand going to your lower back as he followed you out of the bar.

"hey carter?" you asked as he opened the passenger door to the truck, holding your hand to help you up. he smiled up at you.

"yeah?"

you reached forward, taking his face in your hand and pressing your lips to his gently. he froze for a minute, but stepped forward to reach you better and deepened the kiss as best he knew how, his hands on your waist as he pulled you closer to him.

when you pulled away, he was grinning, "damn."

spencer dutton:

when you and spencer left for africa, neither of you were fully prepared for the sheer amount of idiot tourists there would be, both on and off the safaris spencer went to go rescue.

most times, you accompanied him on his little adventures that were the hunts, him wanting to keep you close and you wanting to stay out of the city. but, for one fateful leopard chase, he'd told you to stay back at the lodge, which ended up being the right decision. you met back up with him in nairobi, where you'd stayed, and were sat at the bar waiting for him.

now, when a lady was without her man, other men noticed.

and the british men in africa noticed.

"no, thank you," you said with a polite smile as the tall, british man at your side told the bartender that he would pick up your tab. "i've got it taken care of."

"no, my lady, i insist," he said, helping himself to the seat at your side. he turned to the bartender then. "it'll be on mine. and i'll have a sidecar, please."

"a brandy man," you said, raising your brows as you sipped on your glass.

he chuckled, nodding as he then eyed your drink "yes. and... what it is you're drinking, ma'am?"

you smiled at him as you set your drink down. "whiskey."

"whiskey," he repeated. to say he was surprised would be an understatement, his brows raised so high they nearly touched his hairline. he didn't seem put off by it though, a smirk rising to his lips. "very american."

"well, i am american," you answered as you brought the amber drink back to your lips. "and so is my husband."

"and where is your husband?" he asked. there was a certain air to british people that made them seem as if they were always looking out for you and your wellbeing - he did not have it. his smile had shifted as he eyed you and your whiskey and his arm had somehow slid across the bar to nearly be touching yours.

"he's here," you told him, glancing over his shoulder in hopes that spencer would just appear out of the blue. "he's speaking with some coworkers currently."

"ah, a business man," he said with a gruff laugh.

"a hunter," you answered shortly.

his laugh cut short as he watched you with a hanging smirk, waiting for you to laugh and say instead that he was the viscount of hereford or something. but, you didn't. instead, you nodded, smiling as you set your glass against the counter once more.

"yes, he's an awfully good gunman," you continued. "grew up hunting in montana - where we're from. then, he went off to war. and, i mean, surely you've heard war stories about the american armies - they're intense. he learned a lot. it's definitely his area of expertise, shooting, so he does well here."

you felt a hand on your shoulder then, earning a quick check backwards. a smile tugged your lips up as spencer leaned down to press a kiss to your temple, his eyes on the man opposite you.

"you talking about me, darling?" he asked.

"yes, sir, i am," you hummed before turning to smile at the british man. "this is my husband, spencer dutton."

"i've heard about you," he stammered, brows knitted tightly as he stared at spencer. "you're the hunter, the one on the safaris who shoots the maneaters. the american."

"he's been hung up on the american thing," you mumbled to spencer, shooting him a sideways smile and shrug.

"yeah, i am american," spencer said with a bit of a huff. "had to clean up after y'all during the war, so i thought i might as well keep doing it here. just a bit more exotic, being in africa and all."

the guy didn't know really what to say, looking to you for help but you sure as hell weren't about to offer it. spencer's hand rubbed across the expanse of your shoulders, lingering on the exposed skin he could find.

"now, i appreciate you keeping my lady here safe while i was off, but it'd be good of you to move on now," he said, his brows raised as he eyed him.

"yes, of course sir," the guy answered, standing quickly. he looked to you, offering a tight smile as he nodded. "ma'am."

you nodded in return, an amused smile growing on your lips as you turned back to spencer. "it's about time you showed up. i thought you got eaten by that leopard."

"two leopards, actually," he said with a sigh as he sat on the chair next to you. he smiled when he met your eyes, reaching forward to grab the seat of the chair beneath your legs and pulling it towards him, the legs making a dull screeching sound before he stopped you in front of him. "i missed you."

"i missed you too," you answered, smiling as you reached a hand up to cup his jaw and bring his mouth to yours. he was happy to oblige, his hands on your waist as he tugged you to the edge of your seat.

"you're not leaving my sight for a while, baby," he mumbled as he kissed you again.

you laughed, shaking your head when you pulled back. "i reckon we should probably get back to our room then, hun. i wanna hear all about your hunt."

"i got hit on," he told you with a shrug, his grin growing as you raised a brow.

"serious?" you wondered as he stood, taking your hand and stepping back to let you out from between the bar.

"i'll tell you about it in our room," he said with a hum. you held up a hand as you began walking to the door.

"i don't wanna hear it," you said with a shake of your head. "i mean, she was probably right for thinking it-"

"they."

"they?"

"they."

"they were probably right for thinking it, but those things they were likely dreaming up about your cute face? that's my reality, baby. and i'mma make you say a lot of things that have nothing to do with those other ladies."

he laughed thinly, squeezing your hand as you pulled him out into the night air and down towards your hotel. his steps quickened as he moved close behind you, a certain urgency in his tone as he mumbled in your ear. "you never fail to, baby."

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thanks for reading! leave a request in the comments or message me privately! i love writing, so if you've got an idea you need fleshed out on paper i'd love to be the one to do that for you

masterlist!!

[zabala0z]

Welcome to “New Fan consistently listens to TMA S2 while playing Minecraft and dying by a skeleton” I’m your host: the new fan. Or I dunno if I’m considered a new fan since I’m listening to s2 but I guess the podcast was made in 2016 and I finally got to it circa 2024. Anyways! Gotta get to it! Post too long already!

MAG 57: Personal Space

Eughhh this one is like top 5 TMA EPS of creeping me out. Lot of stuff here so I’m gonna talk a while. For example, Conrad Lukas was in charge of the project and the Lukas family was shown in Alone and Boatswain Call. Speaking of the latter, Nathaniel Lukas gave an investment to the project. He was the captain of that ship in MAG 33. Pinnacle Aerospsce is majority owned by the Fairchild family WHO CANNOT STAY OUT OF PEOPLES BUSINESS 💀

Carter, the guy who did the project, also had that feeling of being utterly alone in this damn void. He said the line between reality and dreaming was blurred, finding himself in space, a graveyard or an empty ocean. The latter two I think are a reference to Alone and High Pressure respectively which all have the theme of “loneliness, stranded, etc” in common.

The whole “being alone in a large empty space” has been a pattern. The Fairchild family features in that theme and even the Lukas family in Alone. Optic Solutions Limited is based in Norway but the only connection I can figure out is that Jurgen Leitner was from Norway but maybe there was something I missed. Anyways that’s it. God 😭

Nothing much on MAG 58: Rations. Another kind of emphasis on meat. I felt so bad for the unknown lady :( (EDIT 9/2: Benjamin Carlisle shares the same last name as Toby Carlisle and both have very prominent meat themes. God.)

MAG 59: Recluse

Oh boy Raymond Fielding. From what I heard before, I thought he was a good guy since like y’know he took in troubled kids but noooo. He seems to be like the same thing as that woman from Children of the Night. Creepy spider thing. Also; that damn table. Now we finally know what happened to the middle of the table, like the square. Also the apple; Same apple Evo found in burned out. Even described the same. Agnes also, in my theory, a good person because she kissed Ronald’s cheek before he left and then was persuaded to go down to the study where his cheek started burning and snapped him out of it. I think she’s good. I dunno what her deal is but still.

Also, again, the table. It’s definitely the same table. How did Graham find it? He said he bought it in a second hand shop in MAG 3. Did Ray donate it after the events? Did the house burn down but the table still survived? Like god. How did the middle part of the table end up under the tree? With the apple? I have so many questions.

MAG 60: The Observer Effect

Another eye theme. Not many connections but I’m assuming she wanted to blow up the Magnus institute with those barrels of petrol. Maybe she found out something her brother was involved in which she blamed the institute for. I think he didn’t die of a stroke because no one ever dies of natural causes, I mean come on.

Also. Jon getting an intervention is the funniest thing ever. Like he was like before “they’re avoiding me and giving me fruitful glances, they’re up to something” like my dude, they are worried about you 💀

“Yeah sorry if I’ve been distant”

“You literally watch my house”

“You rummaged through my desk”

“You said I was lying about a murder”

I’m literally cackling. They’re not even wrong, Jon is going a little cray cray from all this. He needs an emotional support cat I think.

[m0llygunn]

Strat and Jag (eddie munson x fem!reader)

Summary: Mini Prologue to a Mini Series. Best Friends to Lovers starting with an accidental confessions and a lot of confused feelings.

As this is a prologue, not much happens, it’s just setting the scene for what’s to come.

Upside down doesn’t exist and Eddie doesn’t fail senior year twice.

Reader insert but is frequently referred to as ‘Strat’.

Note: This is my first bit of writing I’m posting on here (or anywhere for that matter). I’m pretty new to tumblr so if I did anything wrong, please let me know!! Constructive criticism is welcome!

Warnings: strong language, mentions of sex, not much else. Smut in the future so 18+. No ‘y/n’.

Relationships: eddie munson x fem!reader

wc: 1.1k

The Night Before

“You know what, Eddie? I don’t care that I haven’t had sex because I’m gonna leave this ridiculously small minded town and have tons of sex. I’m gonna have earth shattering, mind blowing sex that these bullshiters could never even imagine. ” You rant, harshly slamming your pencil onto your textbook where you were copying notes from.

Some dickhead in your English class made a joke about you being a virgin and it sent you reeling. The joke also involved you being the virgin that Eddie sacrifices, but you didn’t divulge that detail to Eddie. It’s not the first time someone’s taken a jab at you for being friends with Eddie, and you know he hates it so you try not to bring it up in attempts to spare his feelings. You don’t care anyways, you’d be Eddie’s friend no matter what anyone says.

You pick up your pencil ready to go back to studying but you can’t help the flurry of your thoughts. It doesn’t help that Eddie is dead silent behind you, sitting on your bed.

“Angelina Thompson says I’m a slut. Dick-for-brains Tom Carters says I’m a prude… fuck them both. I’m so over it.” You continue, throwing your head back in a huff.

“Fuck ‘em.” Eddie says, words coming out groggy followed by him clearing his throat.

“Thank you.” You say as you push back your chair from your desk feeling totally over studying at this point. You turn just in time to see Eddie flop himself face down on your bed, laying flat on his stomach.

You make your way around the bed, sitting in the sliver of space next to him. You push him hoping to get more than just two words but he doesn’t move.

“Eddie.” You groan.

“What?” He mumbles, voice muffled by his face pressed into your pillow.

“Wanna do something?”

“What kind of something?”

“Anything?” You say, sitting further back onto your bed, back resting against the headboard. Eddie’s hand finds your leg before he’s pushing himself up just enough for you to see his face, a deep grin etched into his features.

“Mind blowing sex?” He says, dipping his face to you looking up at you through his lashes, smirk ever present.

“Don’t be gross.” You say before swatting his hand away from your bare leg. It’s not the first time he’s made sex jokes, certainly won’t be the last.

“Well, sweetheart. You said anything.” He says, rolling his eyes playfully.

“Yeah but I meant, like, go for a drive or something.” You reply, shrugging your shoulders.

Eddie flops his face into your pillow again, swiftly rolling so his back faces you before sitting up and crawling his way to the end of your bed, reaching for his jacket on the back of your chair.

“I should go. Was supposed to help Wayne with something.” He says, not even turning to face you.

“With what?” You question. You saw Wayne yesterday, he never mentioned any big projects of his.

“He needed help moving something.” Eddie says.

“Moving what?” You say, getting annoyed at his vagueness.

“You- you are just so full of questions, huh?” Eddie says standing, his jacket hanging over his forearms. He finally turns to face you and he looks at you with a crooked smile.

“Yeah cause you’re being weird.” You say shifting in your bed so you’re not looking at him anymore. You can’t lie, you feel disappointed that he’s leaving you. It’s Thursday, usually he would stay over later since he likes to sleep in on Fridays anyways.

“I’m not being weird.” Eddie laughs.

“Are too.” You say stubbornly.

Out of the corner of your eye you see Eddie come around the side of the bed to you.

“C’mon, sweetheart. I’ll call you later, okay? Wayne just needs my help before he goes to work.” Eddie says bending enough to place a kiss on the crown of your head.

You turn to face him.

“Whatever.” You groan. “I’ll probably just bake something, was going to anyway. You don’t have to call if you don’t want to.” You say with a huff, Eddie looking down at you from the side of the bed, his jacket clutched to his stomach.

“I’ll call you.” He says, smiling sweetly at you, eyes twinkling in the low light of your room.

“Bye Eddie.” You say flatly, giving him an exaggerated grimace. He doesn’t go soft on you like this often but when he does it always makes you feel weird.

Eddie goes to turn but you grab the sleeve of his jacket that’s in your reach to stop him, sitting up on the bed at the same time. Eddie tears the jacket from your grasp, holding it tightly to him, making you nearly fall face first off the bed. Catching yourself and standing, feeling embarrassed by whatever just happened— especially since you almost ate shit and Eddie’s not even laughing, you look at him and he meets your gaze with blushed cheeks.

“I just wanted to know if you’d pick me up tomorrow morning since you’re leaving early today.” You ask quietly.

“Y-yeah. I’ll come get you.” Eddie replies just as quietly, eyes wandering the room nervously.

“Okay. See you tomorrow, Eddie.” You say feeling shy at the sudden nervousness exuding from Eddie. He shoots you a closed mouth smile before walking out of your room, leaving with nothing more than a sheepish wave from your door.

After he’s gone and you hear the downstairs door shut, you lay back down in your bed contemplating what the fuck just happened. That was weird. Even for Eddie.

Whatever. He’s probably just seeing a girl or something and doesn’t want to spill the gory details. The first and only time he told you about him hooking up with a girl he got so red in the face and stuttery you almost thought he was lying about it. He insisted it was real though, even said he’d show you the scratch marks she left on his back (there were none).

You settled on that being the reason for Eddie’s weirdness and with that, you headed downstairs to get started on baking. You decided on simple chocolate chip cookies, one of Eddie's favourites.

The rest of the night was uneventful. Eddie called you later that evening, way less awkward than when he left your room. There wasn’t much to say though and when you asked how it went helping Wayne he didn’t include much detail, still keeping it all very vague.

Eddie promised to be on time tomorrow morning, and with that, you both hung up and headed to sleep, tomorrow is hellfire day after all, Eddie takes his little club very seriously and obviously has to be well rested for it.

<3 <3 <3

[sparrow-in-the-field]

Chapter 4 of The Walk Home got me thinking about how it'd be cute if after the rough start, Don and the new cox end up becoming friends, and when Bobby finds out (obviously much later), he is a little bit jealous, which Don finds amusing because it is (obviously) purely platonic. Anyway here are two drabbles about that :> under the cut because they're a bit long (also don't read until you've read ch 4 unless you don't care about spoilers!)

Just for clarification: the new cox is an OC, not based on anyone from the movie or any real life people

Winter 1936

Don asked the rest of the crew to not tell the newbies why they were having a bonfire; a bit embarrassed over his panicked, near running away, he preferred they didn't know. None of them knew him that well, or about what had happened in Berlin, and it was too hard to explain. He'd rather they just think he was a quiet, somber guy, and leave it at that. The guys were understanding, and just told the newbies it was a crew bonding experience. They all bought it, except for maybe Carter, their new cox. The scrawny sophomore was quieter than Bobby had been, more reserved when he wasn't in the shell, and his wary glances over to Don during the idle chatter of the bonfire didn't go unnoticed by the stroke. Don had been taking issue with whatever cox Ulbrickson put in front of him the whole semester, and it all came to a head with Carter. The sophomore didn't tolerate Don's rebellion the way the other two Ulbrickson had tried putting the shell did. Carter didn't seem to care that Don was the Olympic champion stroke, he expected Don to listen to him, and he called Don out when he didn't. Don had snapped at him earlier in the day, and he now realized he owed the young boy an apology. When the fire had died down to mostly glowing embers, late enough in the night that the crew was ready for bed, all of them still chatting and laughing the way they had all night as they got up to leave, Don spoke up. "Carter," he said, causing everyone to freeze and stare at him. He could barely meet the boy's gaze in the dark of the night. "Can you stick around a minute?" The boy seemed tense, but he gave a short nod. "Sure." He sat back down, near Don, but not too close. He stared into the embers of the fire, and he didn't speak.

Don took in a breath, deciding to stare into the dying fire, too. "What do you know about Bobby Moch?"

The question must have been unexpected, because Carter turned his gaze to look at Don quizzically. "Your cox from last year?"

Don nodded.

Carter shrugged, gaze returning to the fire. "Just the same as what everybody knows. He's a coxing legend now, after leading you guys through Poughkeepsie and the Olympics. He was a genius when it came to strategy; rumor among coxes is Ulbrickson knew before he even had the Olympic crew together that Moch would be the cox, no matter what."

Don smiled, tried to fight down the ache in his chest that remembering Bobby too fondly would always cause. "That's true." He looked at the boy. "Anything else?"

Carter met Don's gaze, looking him over, seeming to bite his tongue. He finally took the bait, "I'd see him around sometimes last year, when I was a freshman. He—he didn't have a bird."

"Right," Don said. He waited a beat, the logs shifting in the firepit, the remnants of the wood still crackling. "Bob and I were in love."

It was the first time he had ever said it out loud; the guys seemed to understand, but he’d never said it in so many words to any of them. The only time he ever said it outright was to Pip in his dreams. But it was true, and feeling his voice sound out the words didn't make him waver; in a way, it felt reassuring, felt good, to really say it.

Carter looked over at him again. "You were dating?"

Don's lips downturned in a pout, and he shook his head. "It was complicated, since Bobby didn't have his bird. He left after Berlin, and asked to never see me again, because he doesn't want me to see him die. He's off somewhere in Europe now."

Carter drew in and exhaled a breath, shaking his head. "That's awful."

"Yeah," Don said quietly.

"It was kind of a jackass move, just ditching you like that."

Don couldn't help chuckling at the young cox’s bluntness. He picked at the blades of grass at his feet, chucking them towards the firepit. 

"Yeah, he could be a jackass sometimes," he said, not even pretending to hide his fondness. He hummed, turning to look at Carter. "It's been really hard having someone else in front of me besides Bob. The two of us, we had this...connection. It's not something I expect to ever have again with anyone else." Don took a beat, drawing in a breath. He looked down at his hands, but made sure to meet Carter’s gaze as he said, "But that doesn't mean I can't listen to what you say. It’s my job as stroke to do what you call, and I should trust your judgment. I'm sorry I've made my personal issues your problem, and I'm gonna try to do better from now on."

Carter studied him for a long moment before he nodded. "Thanks, Don. To be honest, having to fill Moch’s shoes—it’s been intimidating. I’ve been trying to hold my own, but hell, I’m supposed to boss around Olympic gold medalists? As a sophomore?”

The both of them laughed, and Don nudged him. “You’re doing better than the two juniors before you.”

“Really?”

“It’s why I got sent to Ulbrickson’s office today and not you to get replaced,” Don said with a huff, and then he stood up. “Come on, it’s getting cold with the fire out. Let’s go back to the house.”

The two walked across the lawn, Carter having to take double the steps to keep up with Don’s long strides.

“Hey, Don?” he spoke up after a beat.

“Yeah?”

“Did you really row in the Olympics with a terrible fever?”

Don chuckled. “Sure did.”

“Man. How did you do it? How’d you pull it off?”

“Honestly?” Don looked over at Carter, giving a smirk. “I have no fucking idea.”

Carter grinned. “So cool.”

Don huffed a laugh, and he gave the kid a playful shove as they continued back to the house.

Fall 1938

Don was excited to be back in Seattle; just last year, he wasn’t sure he’d ever feel comfortable with the idea of returning. But now, with Bobby back in his life, safe and permanently, he was happy to be back home.

He liked watching Bobby prepare for the next semester of rowing—freshman tryouts had just started, and even when he was back on the ship with Don after work, he’d be toiling over notes and ideas for the team.

“The returning crew gets in next week,” Bobby said when Don asked how it was going. He chuckled, “But that’s Al’s problem.”

Don laughed, too, but then a thought occurred to him, one that made him brighten with a smile. “Wait, I bet Carter’s still on the team! He’d be a senior this year. Oh man, I need to drop by practice sometime to see him.”

Bobby furrowed his brow, looking up from his notes. “Who’s Carter?”

“He coxed the boat after you,” Don said.

“Oh.” Bobby seemed to sulk, looking down at his notes with a pout as he muttered, “I didn’t know there was another cox in your life.”

Don nearly snorted a laugh. “We couldn’t exactly leave your seat empty after you left, Bob.”

Bobby hummed indignantly. He shut his notebook. “Was he as good as me?”

Don rolled his eyes. “Don’t be mean.”

Bobby stood up as he gave a coy smirk, shrugging with faux innocence. “It was just a question.” He stepped over to the counter, setting down his things. “So, you were…close, with this new cox?”

Don hummed, amused by Bobby’s jealousy. “We became pretty good friends, after a bit of a rough start.”

“I see. I’ll have to keep an eye out for him at practice, see if he’s any good.”

Don chuckled, standing up to follow Bobby to the counter. “He’s like four years younger than you, Bob—don’t bully a kid out of jealousy.”

“Jealous? Do I have something to be jealous of?” Bobby said, still playing up the feigned innocence.

“Not unless you’re going to be jealous of someone who feels like a little brother to me,” Don said with a smirk. He reached down, tucking his hand to hold Bobby’s chin, prompting him to meet his gaze. He spoke more sincerely, “You know no one’s ever come close to replacing you in the space you fill in my heart. They never could have—you never left it.”

Bobby’s eyes softened at the words, and he dropped the coy act for a moment, bringing his hands up to Don’s chest. “You’re my stroke. You always were.”

Don hummed fondly, placing a kiss to Bobby’s forehead before meeting his eyes again. “And you’re my cox, Bobby. Always.”

Bobby smiled, his eyes glistening a bit, before he reached up and kissed Don. When he pulled away, he arched a teasing brow. “But really—was he as good as me?”

Don laughed. He brought both of his hands up, holding Bobby’s face. “Let’s put it this way: there’s only one of you that I share an Olympic gold medal with.”

Bobby smirked, clearly happy with the answer. “That’s what I thought.”

Don hummed, leaning in to kiss him again.

[hippiemisfit]

Hush (J.K.) 2

Chapter Two- Accomplice

pairing: jungkook x oc reader

Word Count: 1,280

Warnings: scary jk. intimidation, fear

---------------------------------------------

The doorbell ringing woke me up. I sat up in bed and grabbed my head, groaning in pain from the throbbing headache that was starting.

What happened?

How did I get back up here?

The doorbell rang again. Ugh.

I walked downstairs and headed to the door. I passed by a mirror on the way and was horrified by what was there. On the mirror it said,"I'm watching you," in what I hope was just red paint. I looked at my face and saw what I hoped was still that red paint. I quickly ran to the kitchen sink and scrubbed my face real fast before I opened the door.

I grabbed one of the dish towels to dry my face and headed to the door. I guess the person at the door was getting more fed up because this time the person banged on the door and tried to look through the window.

I know this mother-effer is not banging on my door like this. You do not bang on no black person door, they bout to learn.

All my angry rants went out the door when I swung the door open and came face-to-face with my cute next door neighbor. I would call him fine but right now he's angry and he looks so cute with his face all red.

He held up a chewed up sneaker in my face. Poco.

"You need to keep your dog on a leash Mahj. I had just cleaned these shoes and set them out to dry, just for your big ass dog to come and chew them all up. Blah blah blah blah..."

I just nodded my head not really listening to him. Wow his eyes look really blue right now. Like the sky.

"Mahj! Mahj!"

I shook my head,"Huh?"

"Did you hear anything that I said?" he asked me.

I nodded,"Of course I heard you Carter. Well, I heard the first part but that second part I blanked out on. Did you know that your eyes are really pretty?"

He rolled his eyes and sighed,"Of course you didn't Mahj, I didn't expect you to. And thanks for the eye compliment but seriously please watch Poco."

I nodded," Yeah sure."

"OK. So how about later on me and you go hang out or something.

I nodded my head eagerly. Chill out bro. I calmed my nod down and said," Yea I would like that."

"I'll see you later Mahj. Oh wait. Have you seen my idiot of an older brother. My mom said he didn't come back last night."

"No I haven't, maybe he just went out and got drunk and crashed at a friend's," I said shrugging.

"Well thanks anyway,"he smiled and then walked away to his car.

"Where you going?" I yelled.

"To get some more shoes," he said getting inside the car and starting it.

I laughed and went inside the house. Poco was sitting behind me with his head tilted to the side.

I lent down and hugged,"Good boy, you brought the cute next door neighbor over for me and he asked me out. You little matchmaker," I ruffled his fur and headed towards the stairs.

I caught a glimpse of the mirror again and decided to clean it before my parents eventually got back. I turned my head and looked around the room. I guess I should clean the rest of the room too.

......................

After I got done cleaning, I headed upstairs to get cleaned up. After my shower I got dressed and headed back downstairs.

I opened the door to check the mail when I saw big box sitting on the porch steps. I went to grab but it was to heavy to lift up. I gave up trying to lift it and opened it up.

I was met with a pile of tissue paper and moved them out the way. Underneath the paper was the head of Carter's older brother. His cold dead eyes were staring up at me.

I stepped back and puked all over my mom's flower garden, letting out everything I had eaten the night before. I walked back over to the box to close it.

What am I going to do? I should call the police. I went back inside the house and grabbed the home phone.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. I see you saw my present I left for you," I heard a voice say from behind me.

I turned around and saw the hooded figure from last night. I backed up," What are you doing here? Why did you kill him? What do you want from me?"

He started to laugh, bending over clutching his stomach. "Oh if only you could hear yourself. 'What are you doing here? What do you want from me," he said mocking me," What do you think I want from you? Hmm?"

I shrugged.

"Ugh," he sighed, "I'm pretty sure I told you last night that you would be seeing way more of me. I keep my promises Mahj. Now what are you going to do about that body on your doorstep?"

I looked at the psycho in front of me,"What am I going to do? I am going to call the cops and tell them about it. What else would I do?" I started to dial the numbers when the phone was yanked from my hands.

"What? You don't like my present?" he sneered in my face.

I nodded my head and in response he shook his. "No I don't think you do because if you did you wouldn't try to re-gift it to someone else."

"Well, I can't see anyone really appreciating getting a dead body on their doorstep unless they're in the mob and are expecting it. So no I honestly don't appreciate it. What I would appreciate is for you to leave me the hell alone," I sneered back in his face instantly regretting it, because he grabbed me by the neck squeezing it tightly.

"See this is why I cut out my victim's tongue. All you hum- I mean people talk and talk and talk and talk. Never shutting up," he forced my mouth open and pulled out my tongue placing it between two a fingers,"see how quiet you are now? Hmm. Silence," he said pretending to cut my tongue off with his fingers.

He stepped back from me. I went and grabbed my neck rubbing it to soothe the burn. "Now that we've gotten that out of the way how about you go and take your present over to your neighbor's house and leave it on their doorstep for me. I would do it myself but it wouldn't be as entertaining as it is watching you try and lift the box. The trick is to lift with your knees," he said mimicking the action," go ahead now," he said shooing me away.

My mouth dropped open and he walked over to close it. "We don't want flies do we? Now run along." I walked towards the door and decided it would just be best to make a run for it. I mean what's the worst that could happen?

When I got outside I started to run, jumping over the box and down the street. I ran as fast as I could. I turned around to see if he was behind me and ran into a wall. I hit the ground making an "oof" noise with my mouth. I looked up and came face to face with a huffing hoodie face. I could feel his eyes penetrating through my skull.

How the hell did he get here so fast? He yanked me up and pulled my body against his.

"I see we are going to have so much fun Mahj."

I gulped. Well now this is probably going to be the worst thing that happened.

[theserpentsadvocate]

Aaaaah, I love stuff like this, thank you!

Tagged by: @copperarsenite

Tagging: @feeisamarshmallow @allonsymiddleearth @iceberg-hootenanny (and basically anyone who wants to, honestly)

rules: post the first lines of up to 10 of your last fics/chapters posted on ao3 or your wips and try to draw some conclusions.

I'm going with fics in general, not chapters (because otherwise it would be entirely Satisfaction), and probably sticking to VM fic because all the Tolkien stuff I've posted recently has been crossposting. So last five posted and last five WIPs worked on. :)

(Also, warning that the second-last sentence has a racial slur (used by a character.))

Satisfaction

Veronica’s dad was the sheriff, so she was usually pretty scrupulous about not breaking the law. 

Flipping the Script

All Jade wanted was to get her mother’s car and drop it off with enough time to get to the library before it closed, and since the library was open late on Thursdays and she’d stopped to pick it up at 4 PM, it hadn’t seemed that difficult.

Unexpected Dividends

It was probably weird to run a to-do list for your boss in your head, but Eli had been doing it since his second month on the job, because Fred was competent, and reasonably organized, and obviously he was a hell of a mechanic, but his ability to prioritize was a little bit whacked out.

The Most Important Part

“Hot date?”

The Art of Starting Over

It turned out that calling your sort-of boyfriend after a whole week and a half of radio silence was daunting.

Choices (upcoming post S4 oneshot)

Jade grew up in San Diego.

Hunger Games AU for 'X universes Veronica didn't grow up in'

I didn’t sleep well, the night before the Reaping.

untitled WIP (zombie non-AU, post-S4)

Veronica made it home for the end of the world.

Carmen for 'Would've, Could've, Should've' (pending oneshot series)

Yesterday, Carter Phelps shoved Carmen into the stair railing and called her a wetback, like her parents swam all the way here from Venezuela.

Circle of Magic AU for 'X universes Veronica didn't grow up in'

The first time the Guard caught Weevil breaking into a rich man’s house, they tattooed an X on the web of skin between his thumb and first finger and threw him into a cell for the night.

*

So for the obvious – I favour third person (which I knew), and I’m a bit heavier on female POVs than I anticipated (which I’m pleased with, actually). Also Jade's very prominent, and since I’m already 50% of the Jade/Eli tag on AO3, that doesn’t exactly shock me.

(It’s not immediately obvious for all of them, but every single one of these is Weevil-heavy, which is the most unshocking thing possible. I think I have exactly one VM fic in progress where he’s not central to the entire premise, and even there he’s still majorly present.)

Other than that, the closest thing to a trend that I can pick up is that apparently I like opening sentences that feel either dynamic or relatable? Satisfaction and the post-canon zombie fic both have the more classic hook of raising questions about what’s going on, and most of the JEC fics as well as Carmen’s WCS entry are an attempt to jump you right into the characters’ heads or at least their social reality. Whereas the fusion AUs seem to establish their crossover-fandom immediately (THG with an immediate reference to a well known part of that universe, and COM by heavily echoing Briar’s introductory sentence). I don’t know if I did it on purpose, but I like it, so I’ll have to see how much/if that holds true for the other ones in the series. (The BTVS and Animorphs ones are harder, because they involve discovering something, but the summary of the latter will definitely start with My name is Veronica…, and the 1-800-WHERE-R-U one starts with a direct shout-out.)

Anyway! I’d be interested to know if there’s anything that strikes you. :)

[fenrislorsrai]

A Matter of Life or Death/ Stairway to Heaven

Yet another movie I grabbed due to Good Omens. I just didn't get around to writing it up right away cause Things Happened and things could stop happening for a little bit, that would be cool.

RAF flyer Petrr Carter is trying to get back from bombing raid in WWII but the plane's on fire and his chute is gone. He had everyone else bail and is then riding the burning plane back close enough to let contact known what happened. Has a fairly extensive talk on radio with the American lady (June) manning the radio contact, some flirting. He finally does decide bailing with no chute is better than burning and jumps.

Hey wild, what's this, he wakes up somewhere??? This must be heaven. which looks suspiciously like a beach. He follows a black dog* along beach til he find a kid with some goats to talk to, who he tries to get to explain heaven to him and kid is basically WTF DUDE. Finally gets clued in, no you're not dead, somehow. He recognizes where that is from conversation last night and looks down beach and goes "hey, there's the June on her bicycle!" Has similar WTF how are you not dead conversation.

MEANWHILE IN HEAVEN... which is shot entirely in black and white while the rest of the movie is in color. It's got a very stark, semi-industrial, semi-greek temple kinda vibe going. They're supposed to count in everyone on paperwork and boy are a lot of people dying in this war. One of the guy's that died in the plane is waiting in the receiving area for Peter... who does not turn up. Uh oh. alarms start going off! things are not right with the files!

Oops, turned out the angel (or whatever) who was supposed to get him here missed him in the fog. Conductor 71 gets told to go fetch him anyway. I'm not sure why he has a job title rather than a name when most of the other dead people have names. anyway, he was a french aristocrat who got his had chopped off, therefore needs to wear a scarf.

He shows up to talk to Peter and freezes time while he tries to convince him to go with him. Peter has meanwhile been off on a date with June, having a picnic amongst a bunch of rhododendrons in full bloom.

Describing Conductor 71 later he not only has to describe the time stopped, this weird guy appeared, but he also had A SMELL

He smells like "the best thing in the world."

what does this fancy bitch smell like:

THE BEST SMELL IN THE WORLD. (and apparently strong enough to overpower rhododendrons, which are pretty strong)

THE BEST SMELL IN THE WORLD.... fried onions.

This comes up TWICE.

Okay, you're not wrong but on top smells, no normal person would be "ah yes, I would like a perfume or candle that smells like fried onions."

ANYWAY. that this fancy lad apparently has a smell to him makes the doctor that's been called in on this case of "how did you survive falling out of a plane" go "hmmm" at this hallucination. That's rather more serious than just you're having some kind of narcolepsy or dreaming or whatever, that is some kind brain problem.

INTERESTING bit here though is the doctor isn't just flat out denying that Peter is definitely experiencing something. He's defineitly having some kind of premonition of death after his falling out of a plane. He treats it as both a real symptom and something to be addressed. You need to tell me more about the hallucination AND you need to resist going to Heaven with it.

They don't quite resolve the "how are you alive after jumping out of a plane" but I think they may just have gone with "your recollection of things is probably a bit fucked up, you probably DID have a chute or find one later but your memory is fucked up right now".

Heaven apparently will have a trail to determine if Peter can continue to live due to bureaucratic fuck up, but there will be a trial. He needs to select an advocate.

So this goes on for a bit of is this just a hallucination or does he have a brain problem. The conductor shows up again and on one of the visits he stops time, he also takes a chess book. This is he manifestation of "this is real" (this is the same chess book Gabriel drops repeatedly when he gets the explanation of gravity) A chess master is suggested as advocate.

There's a literal giant moving stairway going to heaven as a set piece that turns up. Peter almsot follows the Conductor up it a couple times. It'll be back later again.

Meanwhile this has gotten much worse and Peter is scheduled for brain surgery. The ambulance that is supposed to come pick up Peter gets lost so Doctor Reeves goes to look for it... but gets hit by it. Hello, you're now in Heaven its all REAL

Conveniently, now that Reeves is also dead he can speak as advocate at Peter's trial in Heaven while he's getting brain surgery in the real world. There's a brief visit to earth and some time freezing to gather evidence that June actually loves Peter, which is the key thing that's relevant to appeal. That brief period of extra time changed both Peter and June's fate.

June also gets called in as a witness via dreams and swears she really loves Peter after only a few days. Is told the only way he can survive the surgery if she swaps places with him. DONE. okay, that's true love, we'll grant the life extension.

Happy ending.

---

*Up top I mention the black dog he follows specifically because black dogs sometimes show up as psychopomps, conductors of the dead. It was just a dog in this case, but color choice flt intentional with how slightly surreal scene felt.

This one had a lot less clear plot parallels with Good Omens. Most of the relevant parts were related to the actual design of things. The overall design of Heaven was clearly an influence on Gomens, but Life was a lot.... warmer. This was a Heaven also populated by humans. (Hell did not seem to exist at all) It's unclear if there's a god at all, just an afterlife of some sort but on largely shaped by humans and they make the rules and the exceptions.

But some of the overall appearance and the looking down at earth had a similar vibe to it. Just Gomens heaven is like someone first came in, cleaned out all the pesky humans, and then left a few scattered angels to occupy the vast empty spaces which had been intended to have people in them.

The chess book and the plot point of swapping places for each other to live is probably the most relevant part for Gomens.

The escalator to heaven you get in season 1. overall this is more just Design Vibes than the other two referenced items.

I have no idea what to make of the Angels Smells Like Fried Onions, but by god I am going to use it SOMEWHERE because it is too goddamned funny not too.

The other two items I watched/read:

The Crow Road- The NSFW Morse Code book. no, really. I Know Where I'm Going- You can't marry an institution and the thing that is Written.... isn't really.

[thatscarletflycatcher]

So, last night I got a bit of a sour menage (AGAIN), and inspired by @fictionadventurer really enjoying The Warden, I decided to sit down and finish The Barchester Chronicles (a 1980s BBC adaptation of The Warden + Barchester Towers, with Donald and Angela Pleasance, Geraldine McEwan, Alan Rickman, Nigel Hawthorne and Barbara Flynn), and I have to say I did enjoy it! Definitely the Church politics renders an interest and certain comedy to the story that are very welcome.

So, full of naïveté this morning, I thought maybe it was I who had changed taste about Trollope, and that I should try to watch The Way We Live Now (2001), which has one of those star studded casts as well (David Suchet, Matthew MacFayden, Shirley Henderson, Cillian Murphy, Joanna David, Miranda Otto, Douglas Hodge, David Bradley, Jim Carter, Helen Schlesinger). Two episodes in, I have to say I was wrong. Barchester is the exception XD

Also, what is it with Victorian writers and long protracted plotlines about young gamblers in which I'm supposed to get invested? There's Sir Felix here, there's Nikolai Rostov in War and Peace... I would have said "male writers", but then I remembered Gwendolyn from Daniel Deronda (diversity win! Female author writes a young FEMALE gambler plotline!). There's also of course Anne Brontē with The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, but that's a different and much better case because A) she doesn't make thrill scenes of gambling scenes (stale and repetitive as they always are, the gambler always loses, and almost always the opponent is a guy who cheats at cards but who never is suspected, for some reason) B) I can feel for Lord Lowborough because I'm given a sense that the man hates his vice and is actively struggling with it, instead of "uwu, isn't it sad that he can't resist the temptation when a friend invites him, how could he poor sod."

So, anyways, I guess Trollope remains a no for me, except a qualified exception XD

[exitmurderer]

The first last weekend

We are in the final weeks or months, it seems. The rest is bullets…

It was a time to visit known favorite loops: Sienna Blaw's DGAF Bald Witch.

It was a time to see new favorite loops: Taylor Massa's DGAF Fate Witch.

Another known favorite, in their last turn as Lady Macbeth, Marija Obradovic. Leaving it all on the field, on the dance floor, as did…

Jenna Saccurato as Nurse and then Bald Witch, absolutely feral, all out, turned up to eleven, all the adjectives and adjectival phrases. I made a point of being in the ballroom 3rd loop and indeed Jenna got lifted and deserved every clap and cheer and whoop in the place, and there were many.

Also leaving and duly noted, Jeff Docimo as Macbeth and Porter, Andrew Pastides as Porter.

I totally missed Nate Carter as Taxidermist (and earlier, EAM). It wasn't for lack of looking, but I tried the shop and the Macduffs' and the cemetery, right place / wrong time I guess. This is partly a symptom of me taking the stairs in now, to try and get to the ballroom more quickly, so I don't even know who is working the elevator.

Wasn't trying for the PIB 1:1, just wanted water, but hey, if someone hands me a note that says "Follow Me" then that's what I'll do. At least, in the McKittrick.

Kind of a bummer to see a group of fans stage-dooring for autographs and photos, when all the exits are right there on 27th and most folks probably just want to get dinner on their break between shows. Eh.

Fun to watch Will Boyajian's show a couple times. Like watching a magician and trying to figure out how the trick works. Oh, here's where he's dissembling and stalling for time, pretending not to know something, etc.

How long has Porchlight been open late just around the corner, with food, at least on Fridays and Saturdays?

Related Extracurricular #1: Derrick Belcham videos at Williamsburg Biannual. Many familiar faces: Lily Ockwell, Emily Terndrup, Bobbi Jene Smith, and so on. I stayed for close to two hours, could've stayed all day.

Related Extracurricular #2: Kelly Todd's Endangered Species at 280 Gibney. Intense, strange, darkly funny, and by the end, moving. Lots of good folks onstage and in the audience.

The city that never sleeps sure does sleep a lot these days. I guess COVID-19 takes a lot of the blame. Anyway, walking out on a Sunday night into the cold drizzle looking for food, getting turned away at the aforementioned Porchlight, and not finding anything open for several crosstown blocks until a perfectly fine, perfectly generic IrishPubCo (which was almost empty and almost closed). Of course what mattered was the company (which was stellar), not the venue.

I shall return, maybe not for the last last but at least for some in-between.

[aloneatpeace]

In Another Universe

Chapter 21

Illuminati falls

You touch the carving of the walls studying every detail “you’re wondering what happens now”

“No. that I’ve already accepted” you turn to him “but I do wonder when you could force America to send you to any universe you want. Why take her power for your own. You know it would kill her “

“For Charlie and Oliver, to protect them. What if they get sick? In the infinite multiverse there is a cure for every illness.” You walk towards Wong “a solution to every problem. I won’t lose them again” you confess honestly.

“Try as you might, you cannot control everything” Wong dismiss.

You come closer to him desperation clear in your voice “but I can” Wong look at you like your crazed glinted eyes with a stoic glance “look around you” walking towards the statue “it carved in stone. I was meant to rule everything.” Pausing for a moment you turn to him “but that’s not what I want. I just want my boys.”

“At a cost of child’s life “he hisses “is there no peace in knowing though you can’t be with the ones you love there are worlds where you are together? Is that not enough?”

Repelled you lifting of the ground “No” throw him out of the temple to the abyss of snow

You float midair the spell back on full force, branches of the multiverse of your alternates life together with your boys around you. Searching for the one that you already had once connected you dream walk to your alternate house. Finding her sleeping in the couch with your boys you possess her unconscious mind.

Earth 838 you wake with red iris and walked out the door thrusting her hands back lift her off the floor.

“We all know how the both you do anything for each other” Charles said looking at sam and dean “as admirable the act is you caused many chaos here. Letting the mother of mother of all monsters Echidna. The death your brother We were at war while the rest of us banded together to try stop you as always choose to go it alone”

“He turned to the Darkhold began Dreamwallking, in hopes that our salvation might lies in the Multiverse” Karls continues

“And guess what, it didn’t but he kept doing it anyway.” Captain marvel adds

“One night, you called us all together confessed that you had Dreamwallking and in your words, “things had gotten out of hand”. You never told us the details of what had happened. Only that you had inadvertently triggered an incursion. you, our friend caused the annihilation of another universe” at reeds statement Sam felt lost and loses of words he gulps as captain marvel said the next words

“Everyone in that reality died, everyone”

“Sam renounced Darkhold’s evil and helped us find the Book of Vishanti, a weapon we did use together to defeat Echidna. But one final threat remained” Charles concluded before lifting his fingers and place it in his temple projecting the past, allowing them to see what had really happened.

Sam was on his knees, face bruised and blood dripping from his nose and side of his face, his fingers had turned black. A devastated look on his face surrounding him various monsters, creatures of the dark some that they never encountered oh their hunting life lay dead, beside his side farther away a woman of dark hair, dressed in black clothes a crown on her head lay dead with a large sword piercing her heart.

“I shall miss you my friend”

“I’m ready”

Black blot walks forward his trident on his forehead glow a buzzing sound emitting “I’m sorry” the small whisper from his mouth caused higher sound wave that caused everything burst into nothing, a flame can be seen as the group stands mourning silently for the man.

The take in everything when sudden an alarm rings reed glances up “the building has been breached”

“No, shit genius” dean mutter

“Status report on sentries” captain carter commands  

Camera around the front of the appears on the screen earth 838 you can be seen fighting the Ultron’s robots lift and right, blasting away them, tearing the machine apart easily. She pulls the last one making them clearly see her with her half side of the face covered with the machines oil.

“Stop where you are…” the Ultron’s word cuff of by her as she crushes him with her power.

The feed ends.

“she’s heading for the child” captain marvel yells

“Watch them, we’ll vote on our return”

“If you return. You cannot handle her, let us help” dean yell at them

Charles and Karls were remains as the rest left to deals with you/her.

“Perhaps we accept that their help” Charles said making Karl stand up from his seat

“What the hell are you saying?”

“Save the girl and get to the book of Vishanti”

“You have the book here?” sam asks

“Yes, you build a waypoint”

“Charles, we cannot trust him “

“I believe we can, just because someone stumbles and loses their way, doesn’t mean they’re lost forever. We will see what kind of sam Winchester you are”

Charles unlocks their cuffs and sent them free “thank you” Sam said.

Cas was still in lab trying to see who is the intruder was, but the cameras has been cut off no feed come up when the building shook all the Ultron in the lab run towards the hall.

“PERIMETER BREAKDOWN”

‘ALL SENTRIES ENGAGE”

“INTRUDER APPORACHING”

America looks around from glass cell as Cas tell everybody to get out

“NOW” everyone in lab flees as Cas stand in the front door of the lab anticipating the entry of the intruder.

“it’s y/n” America said. Cas turns to the system to shut the door as the protocols says, but the system failed to do so. America watches Cas she momentarily looks back at the entrance everything was smokey due to the fire. An Ultron runs into the smoke sound of machine buzzing can be heard then a head of a robot come bouncing

“ULTRON COMMANDS YOU TO HALT”

From the smoke you step out Americas eyes wide in fear, the blood and oils on the side of your face and the white cloth with face void of any single emotions made you look like a monster. The Ultron repeat the same sentence with flick your fingers its decapitated robotic head exploded into pieces beside you without glancing it you walk pass it barefoot to America.

“Hurry, hurry she’s coming” America bangs at the glass scared out of her mind

Cas curse it would’ve been fine if he had his powers but he doesn’t have it and nothing seems to work he cannot release America or lock up the lab.

Seeing America held in the glass cell, the red mist in your hand buzz ready to break the glass when captain carter land in front of you. You tilt your head at the new comer, black bolt captain marvel and reed then stand Infront of you.

“Y/n, stop” Reed spoke with a clam voice “you’ve possessed an innocent woman, but you can still do the right thing” you stand head shifting to side your hands no longer having the red mist “let her go” your non-threatening stance made him take a step closer “please. I have children of my own I understand your pain”

“Is their mother still alive?” an innocence in your voice but your eyes said another story.

“yes” reed answer honestly

“Good. There will be someone left to raise them” nonchalantly you state

Reed sigh at that “y/n, Black Bolt could destroy you with one whisper from his mouth” a warning was evident in that.

“What mouth?” a false confusion in your voice

Black bolt opens his mouth only to realize his cannot feel his mouth is no longer in his face a sudden panic settle in him as he touches his where should his mouth should be only for to his to be widened in fear when he found his mouth gone, in fear he touches all over his face to find his face, behind him carter and captain marvel stand puzzled. In desperate need of searching his mouth black bolt let a muffled scream before he could stop his brain exploded and the trident blink blood drips from his nose and he falls dead on the floor.

Angered at the loses of his friend, reed quickly react by extending his arm to grab you, you lift your hand and lift him of the floor and tear him into pieces, from his hands and leg reed start to tear into pieces until he screams and last of him was shuddered like a paper.

Captain carter and captain marvel look at each other both shocked and angered at the death of their friend. Your eye glow red as captain marvel suits up and fly up as captain carter run to sideway, captain marvel sends a blast that you used a psionic shield to cover you, with one hand projecting the shield you use other to blast captain carter with a blast she sends the shield at you as the blast hit the statue missing her.

You made the shield hit the pilar behind you with your power. Captain marvel again send a full thrusted blast both hands thrusting down trying to crush you down, you do the same both hands ready to blast, but she blast the ground near your feet making you stumble  and captain carter who was running to you be thrown away by the force of the blast, you quickly stand as captain marvel hover in the sky her suit and eyes glowing hands buzzing with blue energy  preparing to blast you quickly send a blast to captain carter as the you send numerous blast but she skillfully dodge it, gliding she pick up the shield as captain marvel hits you with a blast you shield yourself, you breath heavily as the intense of power increase you send a statue flying to her and she was hit with it as they both crash into the high wall.

You glance around for the super solider smokes around you, she run silently behind before you can see you turns to where you could feel and was hit with her shield you quickly stand on your feet as well, she “haven’t you had enough?”

She spit the blood out her mouth “oh, I could do this all day” she answers with a smug smile, she swings her shield but you crouch down doge the hit pushes her away with your power you block her shields with your power and throw her to the ground.

She stops the skidding with the help of the thrusters that she uses to fly standing up she throw the shield at you catch it with your power and throw it right back at her with a brute force that the shield cut her at torso she gasps at that staying still for a moment before her top half and bottom half falls. the shield hit the pilar with blood dripping down it.

You didn’t spare a glance and turns to captain marvel who now come out the wall with a blast, she blasts you with her full power and you stumble a little with one hand blocking the blast and one hand using your power to stabilize yourself you lift yourself and send the ground stones at her but she blasts through it and send blast but you block it. Lifting yourself off the ground, both of your power meet, the crackling with glowing eyes she hisses at you “get the hell out of my universe”.

You let your power envelopes her the golden energy turns to red with intense eyes you allow her power to flow inro absorbs her power making her suit fall apart her helmet and hand raps fade away.

Back in earth 616 you sigh as the power feel your body through dream walking.

With that earth 838 you push captain marvel with a grunt which caused a huge blast and the two of you to be thrown away. Captain marvel groan as she crashes into a statue and fall down, glasses shatter and you fall top the pieces lay down you look up to see her lay under the statue and make the statue fall top of her. Captain marvel close her eyes and helpless trying shield her self from the impact, without knowing that you had already absorbed your power. Her hand fall limp outside the rubbles of huge stones.

All this was seen by Sam, dean and Klaus after they fought with Karl Klaus knocked him out as they gone to search for America.  They have been trying to get America out of the cell with cas after she punched the glass Klaus final punch shattered the glass successfully releasing her.

Sam, see you approach he slowly walk towards you but was stopped when Charles tells him to go to get the book and they leave as Charles get inside your head in earth 616 you scream as Charles get inside your head.

Charles walks through a door with no walls attached or anything everything was white, parts of broken beds with sheets and dolls was that burned, a gap between the broken bed was filed with darkness beside it was tv that playing a show two a couple in black white the women was wearing a wedding gown as the husband beside her.

Charles looks down the hole and gasp in surprise when a hand shoots out its earth 838 you “help me, please”

“y/n, your mind is being held by your alternate self “Charles said quickly knowing that you could gain control anytime. Her eyes widen at that and the ground shook “grab my hand” she does as he says “perhaps, if I can pull you from under the hole the spell will break” he grunts as he pulls her, she come up slowly as red mist approach them.

Charles goes still as the presence of you creep in, she also anticipating what about happen suddenly she vanish. you appear behind Charles and snap his neck.

Chest, heaving you turns to where was America was only to see them missing.

Series masterlist

[newtsniffles]

SAVING GRACE | BBC SHERLOCK

A STUDY IN PINK - bbc sherlock x oc

summary: Grace Carter, the newest and best detective at Scotland Yard meets Sherlock Holmes, the one and only consulting detective. The case of the woman in pink marking the first chapter of their story.

Or in which two pained individuals find each other in amidst some of their hardest times.

WARNING/S: This story will contain mature scenes and discuss themes of mental health, specifically depression, suicide, and drug use. If these topics may trigger you in anyway please proceed with caution or do not read. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

word count: 12.6k

There was a certain dreariness to living in a constant state of repetition. The sun would rise in the east, set in the west, and in between Grace would find herself completing the same mundane tasks. It was boring. Life is boring. Even the persistent feeling of melancholy that swallowed her entire being felt a little empty as of late.

Grace had only taken a few bites of her cereal before deciding that she did not want it to start with. The clattering of a spoon and now-emptied bowl echoed around her small apartment. The sound loud enough to distract her from thought, if only for a second. The niggling voice in her head whispering to do more with her life, find some excitement. The other half of her wanting nothing more than to curl up in bed and never get out again.

Cold fingers clutch onto the strap of her leather handbag as Grace rushes out the door. Dark hair swishing behind her as fresh winds connected with her front. It was unlikely that she’d be late to work. However, who was she to give Anderson something to bitch about? The rain had lightened up during the night, now just spitting in the early morning. There was a chill in the air, the type that you felt down to your bones. Each splash of water as boots hit the ground created a small sound that drew comfort, should you listen for it carefully.

There were too many noises in the morning rush. Grace found it severely overwhelming, but it had been something she had learnt to cope with. The overpowering of her senses that she found completely and utterly unbearable. It sent a shiver up her spine, and her fight or flight spiralling. Perhaps not the best thing to be susceptible to when working as a detective. But oh, how good she had become at concealment. So unbelievingly talented at masking it all. How great she was at getting lost in thought and forgetting the present moment. Such that as she walked into her workplace, Scotland Yard, she felt as though only moments had passed since she left her apartment, and not half an hour.

‘You’re late,’ Anderson tsked from behind his desk.

‘I’m on time,’ Grace spits back. The minute hand on the clock flicking to 9am just as she places her belongings down.

‘For future reference, it’s best to get here at least ten minutes early—’

‘For future reference, mind your own business. And get a haircut.’

‘Now, now, children, play nicely.’ Lestrade exits his office, files in hand. ‘I’m going to need you all on board for this one.’ He drops the files individually down on each desk.

‘The serial suicides?’ Grace questions. ‘I thought you and Donovan had these covered.’

‘So did I, there was another one late last night. Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport.’

‘And you didn’t call me in?’

‘You needed rest, we had it covered.’ Greg lowers his voice before continuing, ‘and I don’t want this case to trigger you.’

‘I’m fine, Greg. I wouldn’t be in this field of work if I couldn’t handle it. I’m not as fragile as you seem to believe.’

Lestrade was aware of Grace’s mental health issues, he had to be as her boss. But sometimes she wished she could erase that part of his memory, so that he’d stop treating her like a child that cannot look after herself. She was capable of resting, she was capable of eating, so why must be bother her so much? One could say it was friendship, another could say he simply worries. Grace would say that Greg just had a very caring nature. He was rough and tough around the edges, but anyone could tell he was a softie at heart. But sometimes, he cares a little too much, and it becomes overbearing.

‘We have a press meeting in an hour, you’ll want to read those files by then,’ Greg gestures with his head.

‘The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport, was found late last night on a building site in Greater London. Preliminary investigations suggest that this was suicide,’ Sally Donovan addresses the gathered reporters. ‘We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Phillimore. In the light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked. The investigation is ongoing, but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now.’

‘Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?’

‘They all took the same poison,’ Grace cuts in. ‘They were all found in places they shouldn’t have been.’

‘Yes, and well, none of them had shown and prior indication of—’ Greg continues, only to be cut off by reporters.

‘But you can’t have serial suicides.’

‘Obviously you can,’ Grace rebuts.

‘These three people: there’s nothing that links them?’

‘There’s no link been found yet, but we’re looking for it. There has to be one,’ Greg sighs. At that moment every phone in the room goes off, signalling the receiving of a text message. There was only one word written across every screen.

Wrong!

‘If you’ve all got texts, please ignore them,’ Donovan rolls her eyes.

‘Just says, “Wrong.”’

‘Yeah, well, just ignore that. Okay, if there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Lestrade, I’m going to bring this session to an end.’

‘But if they’re suicides, what are you investigating?’

God, these people just don’t get the hint.

Grace sits back as the conference continues, the sentences of her colleagues and the reporters all blurring into one as she struggles to care enough about dealing with the press. She may not like Sally but she certainly thanks whatever higher power is out there that it is Donovan that deals with the media.

‘We’ve got our best people investigating—’

Wrong!

Grace smirks as she glances at her phone screen. This must be the famous Sherlock Holmes that Greg had been telling her about when she transferred a few months ago. She had never met the man but judging by the way Anderson and Donovan speak of him, she has a feeling that he couldn’t be too bad considering he irks them in the same way she does.

‘One more question,’ Sally informs the reporters.

‘Is there any chance that these are murders, and if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?’

‘I know that you like writing about these, but these do appear to be suicides. We know the difference. The, um, the poison was clearly self-administered,’ Greg explains.

‘Yes, but if they are murders, how do people keep themselves safe?’

‘Don’t take the poison,’ Grace answers.

‘Daily Mail,’ Sally mumbles under her breath in warning.

‘Obviously this is a frightening time for people, but all anyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions. We are all as safe as we want to be—’ Greg is cut off once more as all the mobiles trill their text alerts.

Wrong!

However, this time on Greg’s phone, he receives another message.

You know where to find me.

SH

‘Thank you,’ Lestrade ends the press conference.

‘You’ve got to stop him doing that,’ Sally complains. ‘He’s making us look like idiots.’

‘Well, if you can tell me how he does it, I’ll stop him.’

Grace smirks as she walks past the two and towards the exit, ready to start her own investigation of the suicides—if you could even call them that. Any human would have to be blind to continue walking the path of ‘serial suicide.’ They are murders, she just doesn’t know how, yet.

Despite all the obvious signs that point to a serial killer, Grace had yet to find any hint of how or why. There was one thing about killers though, they always make a mistake… eventually. The problem though, is waiting for that mistake to be made. How many bodies will turn up before the killer leaves behind a trace? Too many a lot of the time.

Grace knows how killers work; she’d been this career for a while now. But even despite that, her childhood had been one filled of late nights in her dad’s office at the police station. Reading books and watching documentaries written and filmed by professionals since such a young age. She was quick to complete university, graduating earlier than most. Now, Grace wouldn’t call herself a genius, she would simply say she works hard, perhaps too hard in the grand scheme of things. Burning out was not something infrequent, learning to persevere was the difficult part of it all.

She had been staring at these files for hours, the words had started to go blurry. God, she needed a cigarette, a coffee, something to keep her from pulling her hair out. Something to occupy the mind so that her thoughts wouldn’t. The shrill ringing of her phone is what finally brought her back to the real world.

Greg Lestrade

‘There’s been another one.’ Grace states rather that inquires to the man on the other side of the call.

‘Brixton, Lauriston Gardens.’

‘Be there shortly.’

A monotonous beep indicates the end of the call, as well as the end of being stuck at her desk in a hopeless back and forth of words and papers. Now the real fun starts, it’s time to catch a killer.

It was only early in the night, eight o’clock to be precise. A building and its vicinity had been blocked off by red and blue lights, police tape lined corner to corner. It seemed most of the crew was already here. Had they accomplished anything though? That is the question. Grace approaches the building, slowing her pace and coming to a halt after seeing a fuss at the entrance.

‘Quite clear. And is your wife away long?’ A tall man questions Anderson at the doorway. He has fair skin with dark curls, high cheekbones sharp as knives. His eyes a grateful victim to central heterochromia, beautifully green in the centre, fading out to a cold and calculating blue.

Ah, this is Sherlock Holmes.

Grace struggles to hold in her snicker as she listens in to the conversation, it seems he was as observant as she had heard. Although, it didn’t take much brain power to deduce Anderson was cheating on his wife.

‘Oh, don’t pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that,’ Anderson sneers.

‘Your deodorant told me that.’

‘My deodorant?’

‘It’s for men,’ Sherlock mocks.

‘Of course, it’s for men! I’m wearing it.’

‘So is Donovan. Oh, and I think it just vaporised. Excuse me.’ Grace smirks as she pushes past the quarrelling men. Intrigued blue eyes watching as her form recedes into the building.

‘Whatever you’re trying to imply Carter! —’ Anderson calls out to the woman, but she was too far to hear it.

‘Nothing is being implied,’ Sherlock nudges past Anderson, stopping to look Sally up and down. ‘And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees.’ With a smug smile, Sherlock enters the building, his new flatmate, John Watson, following close behind.

Grace was already upstairs examining the body. Her mind starts running a marathon, exploring all the details, discovering different conclusions. The dead woman sure did love pink… pink nails, pink coat.

Peculiar. Underside of the collar is wet. Rache… German, revenge? No. Rachet? Absolutely not. Ah, Rachel. Who is Rachel? She wrote it with her left hand, so she must be... there’s a wedding ring—

‘—hasn’t been here long. Some kids found her. Grace, found anything?’ Greg asks as he enters the room.

‘A bit, but I’m missing something.’ She stands, taking a step back from the body. Pulling the gloves from her hands, Grace turns to see that Sherlock Holmes and his friend had joined them.

‘Sherlock, Doctor Watson, this is Grace Carter, best detective on our team,’ Greg introduces.

‘Best?’ Grace watches Sherlock’s eyes squint as he observes her. Up and down. She’s more than interested to know if he can tell her entire life story as she has heard from others. Actually, she was observing him herself.

Straight posture. His clothes are neat, crisp. Shirt slightly crinkled, only because it seems a size too small. He doesn’t like things out of place unless it’s his own mess. And those eyes… so cold but so captivating. He’s hiding a lot behind them. There’s a loneliness—

‘Intriguing…’ Sherlock mumbles.

‘What is?’ Greg questions.

‘Nothing,’ he snaps out of his daze. ‘Now, let’s have a look. Shut up.’

‘I didn’t say anything?’

‘You were thinking, it’s annoying.’

John and Greg share a surprised look while Sherlock steps forward, beginning to examine the body. Grace watches as his eyes flicker everywhere, unbelievably quick. Only a few moments of silence pass before Sherlock is standing back up, pulling off his gloves.

‘Got anything?’ Greg asks.

‘Not much.’ Sherlock takes out his phone, using it to search something up. Meanwhile Anderson appears in the doorway.

‘She’s German. “Rache,” it’s German for revenge. She could be trying to tell us something…’

‘Yes, thank you for your input,’ Sherlock slams the door in his face, still typing away on his phone.

‘So, she’s German?’

‘Of course she’s not. She isn’t from London though,’ Grace answers Greg. Sherlock pulls his phone down, staring deeply at the female detective.

‘Coat?’ She watches a brow rise on his face as he questions her.

‘Coat.’

‘Intended to stay in London for one night…’ Sherlock trails off, turning his attention from Grace to Greg and John. ‘Before returning home to Cardiff. So far, so obvious.’

‘Sorry, obvious?’ John’s eyes appear to pop out of his head.

‘What about the message though?’ Greg joins in with his astonishment.

‘Doctor Watson, Detective Carter, what do you think?’

‘Of the message?’

‘Of the body. You’re a medical man, no?’ Grace questions the doctor.

‘We have a whole team outside,’ Greg scolds.

‘I don’t like them.’

‘They won’t work with me,’ Sherlock is blunt in his response.

 ‘I’m breaking every rule just letting you in here, Sherlock.’

‘Yes, because you need me.’ Lestrade stares at Sherlock for only a moment before lowering his eyes in surrender.

‘Yes, I do. God help me.’

‘Doctor Watson.’

‘Hm?’ John looks over to Greg for permission to assess the body.

‘Oh, do as he says. Help yourself,’ Lestrade exits the room. ‘Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes.’

John and Sherlock move to crouch by the body, the doctor painfully leaning on his cane. Grace entertains herself, fiddling with her fingers while they whisper quickly to each other in hushed voices.

‘Yeah, well, this is more fun.’

‘Fun? There is a woman lying dead.’

‘Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you’d go deeper.’

Lestrade walks back into the room, standing beside Grace in the doorway. He gives her a look and she shrugs in response.

‘Yeah... Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can’t smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs.’

‘You know what it was. You’ve read the papers.’

‘What, she’s one of the suicides? The fourth…?’

‘Sherlock – two minutes, I said. I need anything you’ve got,’ Lestrade cuts in.

‘Victim is in her late thirties. Professional person, going by her clothes; I’m guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It’s obvious from the size of her suitcase.’

‘Suitcase?’

‘Suitcase,’ Grace murmurs. ‘That’s what I was missing.’

‘Suitcase, yes. She’s been married at least ten years, but not happily. She’s had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, if you’re just making this up,’ Greg huffs.

‘He’s not,’ Grace cuts in. ‘Her wedding ring. It’s got to be at least ten years old. Her necklace, earrings, all clean. But not the ring. State of her marriage.’

‘Yes…’ Sherlock is now staring directly at Grace as he speaks. She was quick, almost as quick as him.

How interesting.

‘The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it’s regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It’s not for work; look at her nails. She doesn’t work with her hands, so what or rather who does she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover; she’d never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple.’

‘That’s brilliant,’ John admires both the detectives. ‘Sorry.’

‘Cardiff?’

‘It’s obvious, isn’t it?’ Sherlock scrunches his nose.

‘It’s not obvious to me.’

‘Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring.’

‘May I take this one?’ Grace steps in, interrupting Sherlock.

‘Be… my… guest.’

Sherlock’s eyes were locked onto her smaller form, waiting for the words to leave her mouth. Where had this woman come from? She wasn’t here three months ago on the last case he took with Scotland Yard. Not to mention he couldn’t read anything about her past the obvious lack of sleep, the slight discolouration under her eyes proving the fact. She had noticed everything he had about the crime scene… she is unreadable... she is a mystery waiting to be solved. The woman is a lack of boredom in which he’d keep documented in his mind palace for later.

‘Her coat. It’s damp. She’s been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London during that time. Under her coat collar is also damp, she turned it up against the wind. Umbrella in her left-hand pocket is dry, and unused.’ Grace paces back and forth beside the body as she speaks. ‘The wind was too strong for it. Now that Mr Holmes has previously mentioned it, I see what I missed. I missed her suitcase, which means she came a decent distance. But her coat is still wet. Where has there been heavy rain and strong winds within that travel time? Cardiff.’

‘That’s… fantastic.’

‘Yes. Quite… remarkable.’ Oh, those eyes. They studied her so deeply. Grace wanted to run and hide from the piercing gaze of the tall consulting detective. But her physicality did not betray her, remaining strong in her stance, continuing to appear unbothered.

‘Not too bad yourself, Mr Holmes.’

‘Please, Sherlock is fine.’

John and Lestrade exchange a look once more, completely confused by the odd situation in front of them. Two stone faced detectives staring into each other’s souls with such intrigue. An exchange that Greg never thought he’d see, Sherlock… complimenting someone? It couldn’t be. ‘Why are you both saying suitcase?’

Sherlock spins on his feet. ‘Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organiser. Find out who Rachel is.’

‘She was writing Rachel?’

‘No, she was leaving an angry note in German,’ Grace rolls her eyes.

‘Of course, she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be. Question is why did she wait until she was dying to write it?

‘How do you know she had a suitcase?’

‘Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand,’ Sherlock explains. ‘Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious - could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night.’

‘So, where is it? Did Anderson take it?’ Hands on hips, Grace moves to open the door that had previously been slammed in said man’s face.

‘There wasn’t a case.’

Sherlock’s stare narrows, ‘say that again.’

‘There wasn’t a case. There was never any suitcase.’

‘Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?’

Lestrade follows Sherlock down the stairs. ‘Sherlock, there was no case!’

‘But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them.’

‘Right, yeah, thanks! And…?’

‘It’s murder, all of them,’ Grace walks downstairs. ‘Unsure of how yet, been exploring the files. But they’re not suicides. They’re killings—serial ones.’

‘We’ve got ourselves a serial killer. I love those,’ Sherlock claps. His excitement unbefitting of the current situation. ‘There’s always something to look forward to.’

‘Why are you both saying that?’

‘Her case, Greg. Where is it?’ Grace, now standing beside Sherlock on the lower level of the stairs.

‘Did she eat it? Someone else was here, and they took her case,’ Sherlock has a sudden epiphany. ‘So, the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car.’

‘She could have check into a hotel, left her case there?’ Doctor Watson pitches in for the first time in a while.

‘No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She colour-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She’d never had left any hotel with her hair still looking… Oh. Oh!’

‘Sherlock?’

Lestrade leans further over the railing, desperate to hear whatever realisation Sherlock has come to. ‘What is it, what?’

‘Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake.’

‘We can’t just wait!’

‘Oh, we’re done waiting! Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!’

‘Of course, yeah – but what mistake!?’

‘Pink!’

Grace watches as Sherlock rushes out the building, a whispering voice in the back of her head growing louder, eventually shouting at her to ‘follow!’ For once in her life, she decided to listen, a split decision to do what she actually wants. Her feet carry her quickly after him, it took only seconds to catch up to his speedily walking form heading down the street.

‘You’re following?’

‘You’re looking for the case.’

Oh, I’m going to be in so much trouble for this. Forgive me, please don’t fire me, Greg.

‘A correct observation, but as to why you’re following?’

‘That is a question I would think you already have the answer to.’

Sherlock stops walking for a second, his gloved hands moving from his pockets to clasp behind his back. His taller form looked down at the shorter woman. ‘There is a lot about you that I thought I would have the answers to.’

‘One, consider me your get out of jail free card. You find the case without me; Sally and Anderson try to pin the murders on you.’ Grace starts walking again, every two of her steps equalling one of his. ‘Two, you’re aware of how dull working for Scotland Yard can be, they’d never find the case. Three, curiosity.’

‘Curiosity?’

‘You’re a curious person yourself, surely you understand. This case is intriguing. How does this killer work? How does this killer make a person take the poison? We’re running out of time to figure it out, before long another dead body will be on our doorstep, and I will be blaming it on the incompetence of Scotland Yard,’ Grace sighs. ‘I understand the steps they need to take, the protocols. But between you and me, things could be solved so much more efficiently if they turned a blind eye to the rule book, if only sometimes, which I’m thankful they’ve done this time by calling you in. Now, tell me your thought process.’

‘The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention – particularly a man, which is statistically more likely.’ Sherlock turns down a back street, not bothering to look back, knowing the female detective would be following. ‘So obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it. Wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realise his mistake. If we check every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens...’

‘…and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed,’ Grace follows along with Sherlock’s thought process. ‘Back street skips.’

‘You continue to astound me, Detective Carter.’

She watches as Sherlock begins to search around the first skip, moving to help. ‘Please, Grace. Should I call you Sherlock, I think it only fair. I was never one for formalities anyway.’

‘Not this one,’ he announces, stepping back and walking onwards.

‘I heard you can tell everything about a person at first glance, have I been lied to? Greg claims you call yourself a “Master of Deduction.”’

‘I can tell things about people that not even they know.’

‘Well, can you deduce me?’

‘Most people tell me to piss off, yet you’re openly asking me to do so?’

‘I told you. I am a curious individual.’

Sherlock’s head tilts slightly to the side, as he tries once more to deduce things about the woman. But again, he was left with hardly anything. It was infuriating, and yet so exciting. ‘You’re tired.’

‘Yes, but that is common knowledge. I expected to be astonished.’

‘You’re a mystery to me. And it’s maddening.’

‘Well, “All great experience has a guarded entrance and a windowless facade.”’

‘Robert Grudin, 1997,’ Sherlock immediately recognises the quote.

‘Precisely. You can’t deduce anything about me because I won’t let you. Becoming aware of someone’s strength is to find their weakness.’

‘You seem quite adept in the nature of observation yourself. What do you see?’

‘I doubt my skills are anywhere near as I’ve heard yours to be. Although, I can say that you probably won’t enjoy hearing what I think.’

‘Did I not just say people mostly tell me to piss off? I’m quite aware of the consequences. Nobody likes to hear of their hidden complexities so easily read by another.’

‘You have very straight posture; you carry yourself tall because it makes you feel less vulnerable. Your clothes, they’re neat, ironed regularly. But your shirt is slightly crinkled because you buy a size too small. Why? Because you like the way it hugs you. It feels affectionate, something I think you’ve forced yourself to believe you don’t want, but subconsciously crave. You don’t like things out of place, unless it’s your own mess, even then the mess is somewhat organised to your liking.’ Grace could mention that loneliness, that pain in his eyes. But she won’t for the sake of the hiddenly vulnerable man digging through a skip in front of her.

‘I don’t need affection,’ Sherlock spits.

‘Ah, yes. Sociopath. You don’t have a heart, I’ve heard.’ Grace smirks as she sees a flash of pink behind the large bin. ‘But I don’t have to look very hard to know that isn’t quite true.’ She reaches an arm behind the skip, pulling the case out with little struggle. ‘Found it.’

Sherlock reaches out to grab the case from her, ignoring her previous statement. Pulling it away she hums a little ‘ah-ah.’

‘How do you expect me to investigate if you won’t hand over the case?’

‘Where do you live?’

‘221B Baker Street.’

‘Closer than me, let’s go. We have a case to investigate,’ Grace begins walking to the main road for a taxi, pink case trailing behind her.

‘Why must you insist on coming with me? I am perfectly capable, even more so than you of solving this.’

‘Perhaps, and I don’t doubt it for a second. But I have jurisdiction, something in which you don’t.’

Sherlock’s steps fall into sync with Grace’s, knowing he won’t be able to shake her off. ‘Gage won’t be happy.’

‘I think you mean Greg. And he’ll survive. Taxi!’

The two climb into the backseat of a taxi, informing the driver of their destination. They sit in silence for a moment. Grace well aware that Sherlock had no urge to start a conversation.

‘Should I tell you something about me, to make things fair? Even out the playing field.’

‘No. If I don’t figure it out myself, I don’t care.’ Sherlock is blunt, not once turning his head from looking out the foggy window. ‘There is one thing I have figured out though.’

‘That is?’

‘You get bored.’

‘Everyone gets bored.’

‘Not enough to follow a stranger down different back streets to pick up a murder victim’s suitcase.’

‘You called me a mystery, didn’t you?’ Grace grins. The streetlights casted a light glow through the window connecting with Sherlock’s cheekbones, casting a shadow across his face.

‘I did.’

‘You’re a mystery yourself. I’m a detective, a bored one, a curious one.’ Sherlock’s attention finally shifts, casting his gaze at the woman in the seat across from him. Curiosity meeting curiosity. Blue eyes meeting grey eyes. ‘Such are you. Let’s do our jobs and stop another body from showing up, yeah?’ Grace doesn’t continue to elaborate, but he didn’t need her to because he understood.

He is a challenge to her, just as she is to him. Something that intellectual minds gravitate towards. There was a comfort in finding someone that understands your thought process. Someone that could keep up. And then there was John Watson, Sherlock’s mind was running rampant. A man that craves danger, and a woman that seeks mystery. Perhaps he finally found the correct people to surround himself with, maybe he could finally belong somewhere.

No, I don’t need friends. He was simply intrigued, that is all. Intrigued in the face of mystery.

The rest of the taxi ride passed in silence. Both detectives spending the remaining period of time lost within their own minds. Neither had even realised they had reached Sherlock’s flat until the taxi driver let them know of the cost. Sherlock was already walking inside with the case, leaving Grace to pay. Which she did deem fair considering she forcibly tagged along.

‘Hm, endearing,’ she hummed, observing the sight. A small café, Speedy’s, was beside the flat building. It appears to be a nice place to live. Convenient.

Grace enters and walks upstairs into 221B. Sherlock had discarded his coat and suit jacket, his white button-up sleeves pushed up to the elbows. Forearms exposed; three nicotine patches stuck to alabaster skin. He dug through the contents of the pink suitcase, sat with his legs spread on a black leather chair by the fireplace.

What a sight for sore eyes. Snap out of it.

‘Smoker?’ Grace questions.

‘Trying not to be.’

‘Makes two of us. Three patches though?’

‘Three patch problem.’

Grace moves to sit on the armchair opposite Sherlock. Looking through the contents of the bag herself. ‘Found anything?’

‘It’s more what I haven’t found.’

‘Hm?’

‘Grab my phone. It’s in my jacket pocket by the door.’

‘Did your parents never teach you manners?’ Grace asked, doing as he said anyway. ‘Here.’

Sherlock doesn’t look up from his position, hands clasped together under his chin. ‘Text John, “Baker Street. Come at once if convenient.” Don’t forget to sign my initials at the bottom.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Tell him it could be dangerous and to come if inconvenient anyway.’

Grace’s own phone dings. She lifts it up to inspect the message, knowing already who it will be. And as she thought, Greg Lestrade.

Come back to Scotland Yard, right now.

‘And that is my signal to go back and receive a scolding.’ Phone returning to pocket, Grace walks to the entrance. Blue eyes watching her every move unbeknownst to her. ‘If I leave the case here for you to further investigate, you promise not to run off with it?’

‘I assume you’ll be coming back with the Detective Inspector the next time I see you,’ Sherlock lowers his hands, letting them cross over his lap.

‘I’ll stall him as long as I can. You’d best keep me updated, Sherlock Holmes.’

‘How do you expect me to do that? I don’t have your number.’

‘Your excuses fall to deaf ears.’ Grace holds her phone out, shaking it at him. Walking downstairs she calls back out, loud enough for him to hear. ‘I don’t think you had the numbers of everyone at the press conference either.’

Sherlock grinned to himself at her words. She was a smart woman; he’d allow himself to admit that much. Maybe he’d even allow himself to admit her beauty had he not known it to be construct based entirely on childhood impressions. One thing he knew for sure: Grace and John are both completely different mysteries waiting to be solved.

‘You just decided you’d run off from the crime scene?’ Greg scolds Grace. She sat across from him, on a chair at the other side of his desk. ‘I know you’ve been off lately, but—’

‘That’s got nothing to do with it, Greg. People are dying and you’re all being awfully slow about trying to do anything to fix it.’

‘You followed Sherlock, didn’t you?’

‘What about it? You’ve said so yourself, he’s the best out there, and you need him.’

‘That doesn’t mean you just run off instead of doing your job.’

‘I was doing my job, and I was doing it a hell of a lot quicker than anybody else here.’ Grace taps her finger on Greg’s desk in frustration. ‘Who found the case? Me and Sherlock. I’m doing you a favour. I don’t care who sticks their name on the report.’

‘You found the case?’

Oops.

Grace had flaws, of course she did. But one she hates the most about herself? Her inability to not spit things out that she shouldn’t whenever she’s angry.

‘Yes.’ Better to admit it now.

‘Where is it?’

‘With Sherlock, but please, just give him a few hours at least to figure it out.’

‘Why should I? —Grace! This is not how it works. I know you like to work on your own and differently to everyone else, but you do not just give away evidence to people!’

‘Greg, please,’ Grace takes a deep breath. ‘You know my judgment is better than anybody else’s here. As much as you, and I, hate to admit it, Sherlock is what we need to solve this case.’

‘He’s got two hours,’ Greg finally agrees after a moment of thought. ‘After that we’re going to his flat.’

Ding

‘Got a text?’ Both Lestrade and Grace know well who it is. She doesn’t get texts, there’s nobody she really talks to. Apart from work colleagues.

Got a lead.

SH

Attached to the message was an address, a restaurant on Northumberland Street.

‘Go, but I’ll be expecting to be updated,’ Greg sighs, slumping in his seat. He may not be a ‘Master of Deduction,’ like Sherlock, but he wasn’t stupid. He knows Sherlock is a great man, and perhaps Grace is what he needs to be a good one. And potentially, Sherlock may just be what Grace needs. So, for once, he will turn a blind eye to the dos and don’ts.

‘Yes, sir,’ Grace fake salutes before exiting his office and the building, rushing downstairs to get a taxi.

There is a welcoming warmth that encases Grace’s body as she leaves the icy streets and enters the restaurant. A shiver runs down her spine at the sudden temperature change. She gazed around, not taking long to notice Sherlock and John sitting at a booth beside the entrance. Pulling up a chair, and removing her coat, she sits across the table from Sherlock, and beside John.

‘Detective Carter?’ John questions, not expecting to see the woman here.

‘Evening.’

‘Wh—’

‘I texted her,’ Sherlock answers the question on John’s mind.

‘I told him to keep me updated, lest he get into trouble with Scotland Yard.’

‘George knows of the suitcase?’

‘Greg, and yes. But you’ve got time.’

John shakes his head, the poor man struggling to keep up with any events of the day. The clock hands were turning a lot faster than normal, and 6pm had been quick to become 11pm. He decides changing the subject might be the best way to involve himself in the conversation. ‘People don’t have archenemies.’

‘Sorry?’

‘In real life. There are no archenemies in real life. Doesn’t happen.’

‘Doesn’t it? How dull.’ Sherlock’s line of sight does not stray from across the street.

‘So, who did I meet?’

Ignoring John’s question, Sherlock responds with his own. ‘What do real people have, then, in there “real lives?”’

‘Friends? People they know, people they like, people they don’t like… girlfriends, boyfriends…’

‘Yes, well, as I was saying, dull.’

‘You don’t have a girlfriend, then?’

‘Girlfriend? No, not really my area.’

‘Mm,’ John pauses. ‘Oh, right. Do you have a boyfriend? Which is fine, by the way.’

‘I know it’s fine.’ Sherlock’s eyes finally move from the street and to lock onto John at his insinuation.

‘So, you’ve got a boyfriend the—’

‘No.’

Grace listens to the conversation, trying to stop herself from giggling. Lips grinning, knowing full well the misunderstanding between the two that it taking place between her.

‘Right, okay. You’re unattached. Like me. Fine. Good.’

‘John, um… I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I’m flattered by your interest, I’m really not looking for any…’

‘No. No, I’m not asking. No,’ John shakes his head. ‘I’m just saying, it’s all fine.’

‘Good. Thank you.’

John turns, giving Grace the most bewildered look she has ever seen, and she couldn’t help the small laugh finally pushing through the restraint of her lips. Sherlock snaps his head to look at her, before quickly turning back to look outside.

‘What about you, Grace?’ John asks. ‘Boyfriend, girlfriend?’

‘No, no. Not at the moment. I only moved here a few months ago. Also, not really an area I’m great at.’ If she couldn’t even love and care for herself, how could Grace ever care and love for another? The feeling was foreign, she longed for it, but found it impossible to find.

‘Oh? Where are you originally from?’

‘Around…’ Grace trails off, not wanting to discuss further.

‘Look across the street. Taxi.’ Sherlock interrupts, saving them all from a lot of awkwardness. ‘Stopped. Nobody getting in, and nobody getting out. Why a taxi? Oh, that’s clever. Is it clever? Why is it clever?’

‘That’s him?’

‘Don’t stare.’

‘You’re staring.’

‘We can’t all stare.’

All three grab their coats before hurrying out of the restaurant. The second the cab starts to drive away, Sherlock rushes forwards, almost getting hit by a car. Luckily, they slam on the breaks and narrowly avoid him.

‘Sorry!’ John yells to the driver. ‘I’ve got the cab number.’

‘Good for you. Right turn, one way, roadworks, traffic lights, bus lane, pedestrian crossing, left turn only, traffic lights,’ Sherlock lists off quickly. He takes off in a sprint, Grace and John quick to react, chasing after him.

They run through buildings, up sets after sets of stairs, across roofs, and back down again. Sherlock leading them around every corner and down every back alley. Eventually, they intersect the taxi. Pulling open the door, Sherlock observes the man in the back. ‘No, teeth, tan. What, Californian? L.A., Santa Monica. Just arrived.’

‘How can you possibly know that?’ John asks.

‘The luggage,’ Grace informs.

‘It's probably your first trip to London, right, going by your final destination and the route the cabbie was taking you?’

‘Sorry, are you guys the police?’

‘Yeah. Everything all right?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Welcome to London,’ Sherlock says sarcastically, walking away from the cab, clearly frustrated.

‘Uh, any problems just let us know,’ John closes the taxi door. ‘Basically, just a cab that happened to slow down.’

‘Basically.’

‘Not the murderer?’

‘Not the murderer, no,’ Grace answers.

‘Wrong country, good alibi.’

‘As they go.’

‘Hey, where-where did you get this?’ John pants, still exhausted, pulling a badge from Sherlock’s hands. ‘Right. Detective Inspector Lestrade?’

‘Yeah. I pickpocket him when he’s annoying. You can keep that one, I’ve got plenty at the flat.’ Grace and John share a glance, both starting to laugh at his words, and the situation as a whole. ‘What?’

‘Nothing, just… “Welcome to London.”’

Sherlock grins at the two before he notices the American man talking to a police officer by the corner. ‘Got your breath back?’

‘We’re ready when you are.’

‘That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.’ John admits, laughing as the trio stumble into 221 Baker Street. They lean against the entrance wall, panting from the long distance they had just ran.

‘And you invaded Afghanistan,’ Sherlock laughs.

‘That wasn’t just me. And why aren’t we back at the restaurant?’

‘They can keep and eye out, it was a long shot anyway.’

‘So, what were we doing there?’

‘Proving a point, from my observation,’ Grace smirks, now noticing John was without his walking stick. Also, him having ran many kilometres.

‘Precisely,’ Sherlock grins at her.

‘What point?’

‘You. Mrs Hudson! Doctor Watson will take the room upstairs.’

‘Says who?’

‘Says the man at the door.’

A knock echoes through the hallway, John glancing between Sherlock and Grace before walking over to answer the door.

‘What I don’t get is why you messaged me?’ Grace turns to Sherlock. ‘If it was a “long shot.”’

‘Because,’ he grins.

‘Because?’

‘Because you’re bored.’

‘That’s not why.’ Grace watches a brow raise on Sherlock’s face, clearly, he wasn’t expecting her to see through his lies. ‘I know a lie when I hear one. You want to try and deduce me. But you can’t, can you?’

‘It’s infuriating.’

‘I try my best.’

‘Sherlock, what have you done.’ An older woman in a purple dress comes into view. Her worried and panicky stature informing everything that something wasn’t quite right.

‘Mrs Hudson?’ One thing that Grace noted was the concern in Sherlock’s voice, and the man had the audacity to say he has no heart, that he doesn’t feel.

‘Upstairs.’

The three rush up the stairs, Sherlock skipping two at a time with his long legs. He opens the door to 221B, finding Greg sitting in his seat, and other Scotland Yard officers searching the flat.

‘What are you doing?’ Sherlock demands.

‘Well, I knew you’d fine the case. I’m not stupid. Plus, Grace slipped up and told me. You’re lucky she convinced me to lay off as long as I did.’

‘You can’t just break into my flat.’

‘And you can’t withhold evidence. And I didn’t break into your flat.’

‘Well, what do you call this.’

‘It’s a drugs bust.’

Oh Greg, that’s low, very low. Grace shakes her head, stepping further into the room to make herself known to Greg and the other officers.

‘Seriously? This guy, a junkie?’ John asks, bewildered. ‘Have you met him?’

‘John.’ Sherlock addresses sternly.

‘I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational.’

‘John, you probably want to shut up now.’

‘Yeah, but come on… No?’

‘What?’

‘You?’

‘Shut up!’ Sherlock shouts, turning back to Lestrade. ‘I’m not your sniffer dog.’

‘No, Anderson’s my sniffer dog.’

‘What, An— Anderson, what are you doing here on a drugs bust?’

Anderson peeps his head out from behind a cupboard in the kitchen. ‘Oh, I volunteered.’

‘They all did. They’re not strictly speaking on the drugs squad, but they’re very keen.’

‘Are you serious, Greg? You told me you’d come for the case in two hours, not set up a drugs bust.’ Grace’s annoyance begins to show. All of this was highly unnecessary, and frankly, just mean.

‘Yes well, you didn’t tell me you were running off from the crime scene to find the case with this guy,’ Greg points to Sherlock. ‘So, I guess we both don’t tell each other everything.’

‘Are these human eyes?’ Donovan rounds the corner, holding up a jar.

‘Put those back!’

‘They were in the microwave!’

‘It’s an experiment!’ Sherlock spits.

‘Keep looking, guys.’ Lestrade orders. ‘Or you could help us properly and I’ll stand them down. That goes for the both of you.’

‘This is childish.’

‘Well, I'm dealing with a child. Sherlock, this is our case. I'm letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Clear?’

‘Oh, what, so-so-so you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?’

‘It stops being pretend if we find anything,’ Greg stands, coming face to face with Sherlock, although slightly shorter.

‘I am clean!’

‘Is your flat? All of it?’

‘I don’t even smoke.’ Sherlock tugs up his sleeve, a nicotine patch stuck to his forearm.

‘Neither do I,’ Lestrade pulls up his own sleeve. ‘So, let’s work together. We’ve found Rachel.’

‘Who is she?’ Grace inserts herself back into the conversation.

‘Jennifer Wilson’s only daughter.’

Sherlock tugs his sleeve back down. ‘Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter’s name? Why?’

‘Never mind that. We found the case,’ Anderson points. ‘According to someone, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favourite psychopath.’

‘I’m not a psychopath, Anderson. I’m a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research.’ Sherlock’s head snaps around. ‘You need to bring Rachel in. You need to question her. I need to question her.’

‘She’s dead.’

‘Excellent! How, when, and why? Is there a connection? There has to be.’

‘Well, I doubt it since she's been dead for fourteen years. Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago.’

‘No that’s… that’s not right. How? Why would she do that?’

‘Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments? Yup – sociopath, I’m seeing it now,’ Anderson rolls his eyes.

‘She didn’t think about her daughter, Anderson,’ Grace spits, fed up with his shit. ‘She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails, while she was dying. It took effort, and it would have hurt.’

‘Sherlock said the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it. Well, maybe he… I don’t know, talks to them?’ John offers. ‘Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow.’

‘Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?’ Sherlock pauses after his words. ‘Not good?’ He turns to John.

‘Bit not good, yeah.’

‘Yeah, but if you were dying… if you’d been murdered; in your very last few seconds what would you say?’

‘“Please, God, let me live.”’

‘Oh, use your imagination!’

‘I don’t have to.’

‘Yeah, but if you were clever, really clever. Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers – she was clever. She’s trying to tell us something.’

Mrs Hudson stands at the doorway. ‘Isn’t the doorbell working? Your taxi’s here, Sherlock.’

‘I didn’t order a taxi.  Go away.’

Odd. Grace closes her eyes, falling into thought.

‘Oh, dear. They’re making such a mess. What are they looking for?’

‘It’s a drugs bust, Mrs Hudson.’

‘But they’re just for my hip. They’re herbal soothers.’

‘Shut up, everybody, shut up! Don’t move, don’t speak, don’t breathe. I’m trying to think. Anderson, face the other way. You’re putting me off.’

‘What? My face is?!’

‘Everybody quiet and still. Anderson, turn your back.’ Greg demands.

‘Oh, for God’s sake!’

‘Your back, now, please!’

‘Come on, think. Quick!’

‘What about your taxi?’

‘Mrs Hudson! Oh…’ Sherlock’s brain clicks. ‘Ah! She was clever, clever, yes! She’s cleverer than you lot and she’s dead. Do you see, do you get it? She didn’t lose her phone, she never lost it. She planted it on him.’

‘When she got out of the car, she knew that she was going to her death. She left the phone in order to lead us to her killer,’ Grace opens her eyes, finishing Sherlock’s explanation.

‘But how?’

‘What? What do you mean, how? Rachel!’ Sherlock exclaims. ‘Don’t you see? Rachel! Oh, look at you lot. You’re all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing. Rachel is not a name.’

John is the first to speak amongst all the vacant faces. ‘Then what is it?’

‘John, on the luggage, there’s a label. E-mail address.’

‘Er, jennie dot pink at mephone dot org dot uk.’

Sherlock sits at his desk, laptop open. ‘Oh, I’ve been too slow. She didn’t have a laptop, which means she did her business on her phone, so it’s a smartphone, it’s email enabled. So, there was a website for her account. The username is her e-mail address. And all together now, the password is?’

‘Rachel.’

‘We can read her e-mails. So what?’

‘Anderson, don’t talk out loud, you lower the IQ of the whole street. We can do much more than just read her e-mails. It’s a smartphone, it’s got GPS, which means if you lost it, you can locate it online. She’s leading us directly to the man who killed her.’

‘Unless he got rid of it.’

‘We know he didn’t.’

‘Come on, come on. Quickly!’

‘Sherlock, dear. This taxi driver…’

‘Mrs Hudson, isn’t it time for your evening soother? We need to get vehicles, get a helicopter. We’re gonna have to move fast. This phone battery won’t last forever.’

‘We’ll just have a map reference, not a name.’

‘It’s a start!’

‘Sherlock…’

‘It narrows it down from just anyone in London. It’s the first proper lead that we’ve had.’

‘Sherlock…’

‘What is it? Quickly, where?’

‘It’s here. It’s in two two one Baker Street,’ John informs.

The phone is here, how? I’m missing something, what am I missing? Grace felt like hitting herself across the head, scratching the skin from her arms. It was in front of her, she knows it, but she can’t put her finger on what she’s missing. ‘How can it be here? How?’

‘Well, maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it fell out somewhere,’ Lestrade suggested.

‘What, and I didn’t notice it? Me? I didn’t notice?’ Sherlock spits.

‘Anyway, we texted him and he called back.’

‘Guys, we’re also looking for a mobile somewhere here, belonged to the victim…’ Lestrade ignores the facts.

‘Who do we trust, even if we don’t know them?’

‘Who passes unnoticed?’ Grace adds to Sherlocks food for thought.

‘Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?’

‘Oh—’ Grace whispers, but only Sherlock hears. She steps backwards slowly, out of the room. Step, then step, she walks down the stairs and out of 221B. At the same time, Sherlock’s phone dings with a message from an unknown number.

COME WITH ME.

‘It’s you, isn’t it?’ Grace confronts the old man. He stands in front of his cab, pink phone in hand.

‘Took you ‘while. But then again you did surprise me, keeping up with the great Sherlock ‘olmes.’ The old man glances over Grace’s shoulder. ‘Speak of the devil. Taxi for Sherlock Holmes.’

‘I didn’t order a taxi,’ Sherlock’s deep voice sounds from behind Grace. He walks forwards, standing beside her with his hands in his coat pockets.

‘Doesn’t mean you don’t need one.’

‘You’re the cabbie, the one that stopped outside Northumberland Street.’

‘It was you, not your passenger,’ Grace observes.

‘See? No-one ever thinks about the cabbie. It’s like you’re invisible. Just the back of an ‘ead. Proper advantage for a serial killer.’

‘Is this a confession.’

‘Oh, yeah. And I’ll tell you want else; if you call the coppers now, I won’t run. I’ll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise.’

‘Why?’ Sherlock asks.

‘‘Cause you’re not gonna do that.’

‘Am I not?’

‘I didn’t kill those four people, Mr ‘olmes, Detective Carter. I spoke to ‘em… and they killed themselves. An’ if you get the coppers now, I promise you one thing. I’ll never tell you what I said.’

‘No one else will die, though, and I believe they call that a result.’

‘An’ you won’t ever understand how those people died. What kind of result do you care about?’

‘If I wanted to understand, what would I do?’

Grace steps towards Sherlock, placing a hand on his arm. ‘Sherlock—’

‘Let me take you for a ride.’

‘So, you can kill me too?’

‘I don’t wanna kill you, Mr ‘olmes. I’m gonna talk to you… and then you’re gonna kill yourself.’

‘Sherlock.’ Grace warns again, his face becoming far too curious for her liking. ‘Don’t.’

‘You too, Detective. Get in the cab, come for a ride.’

‘I don’t think I want to.’

‘I ‘on’t really care what you want.’ The cabbie moves his jacket to the side, flashing the sight of a pistol.

Don’t let him know you’re onto him.

Shame Grace didn’t have her own on her person at the present time. Both Sherlock and Grace get into the backseat of the taxi. ‘Phone up ‘ere please, Detective.’ Grace takes her phone from her pocket, placing it on the console of the car. The engine starts, and they’re on a ride.

‘How did you find me?’ Sherlock questions, inwardly judging the driver’s route.

‘Oh, I recognised ya, soon as I saw you chasing my cab. Sherlock Holmes!’ The cabbie exclaims. ‘I was warned about you. Both of ya, actually. I’ve been on your website, too, Mr ‘olmes. Brilliant stuff! Loved it.’

‘Who warned you?’ Grace crossed her legs, deciding it best to be comfortable while potentially heading to her death.

‘Just someone out there who’s noticed.’

Sherlock sits forwards in his seat, eyes brushing over every detail of the cab. ‘Who? Who would notice me?’

‘You’re too modest, Mr ‘olmes.’

‘I’m really not.’

The cabbie glances at his passengers through the mirror. ‘You’ve got yourself a fan.’

‘Tell me more.’

‘That’s all you’re gonna know… in this lifetime.’

‘Wow, how ominous,’ Grace rolls her eyes.

The rest of the trip passes in silence. Each set of eyes wandering out each window, staring into every mirror to avoid surprise. The cabbie gets out of the car, walking around to open Grace’s door.

‘How gentlemanly.’

‘Where are we?’

‘You know every street in London, Mr ‘olmes. You know exactly where we are.’

‘Roland-Kerr Further Education College.’

‘Why here?’ Grace asks.

‘It’s open. Cleaners are in. One thing about being a cabbie; you always know a nice quiet spot for a murder. I’m surprised more of us don’t branch out.’

‘And you just walk your victims in? How?’ Sherlock’s brows furrow on his face, his eyes darting between Grace and the cabbie. He pulls out a pistol, aiming it directly at Sherlock. ‘Oh, dull.’

‘Don’t worry. It gets better.’

‘You can’t make people take their own lives at gunpoint.’

‘I don’t. It’s much better than that,’ the cabbie tucks away his gun. ‘Don’t need this with you, ‘cause you’ll follow me.’

Grace could just run away, take the cab and drive back to Scotland Yard at this moment. Left behind in the car as Sherlock and the cabbie walk into the right-side building. What kind of detective would she be if she left an unarmed man to enter a building alone with a serial killer? She was well aware that Sherlock could look after himself, but her own curiosity needs an excuse. Her own hunt for mystery, and the excessive need to just know. That was the truth behind her rapid footsteps, gradually catching up to the two men in the building.

Lights flickered on in an empty study hall as they entered. Sherlock paced slowly, observing his surroundings.

‘Well, what do you think?’ The cabbie grins. ‘It’s up to you. You’re the ones who’re gonna die here.’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘Bold of you to assume,’ Grace and Sherlock answer simultaneously.

‘That’s what they all say. Should we talk?’

The cabbie takes a seat at one side of the table, Sherlock turns a chair to sit on the other. Grace, who still stands in the doorway walks over, pulling up a chair beside Sherlock. He was a man lacking empathy, yes. A man who struggles to show his emotions. He didn’t purposefully exude comfort. But there was just something about his tall frame, his intellect, that allowed Grace to feel safe in his presence. Or maybe, just maybe, she was simply comfortable knowing the cabbie couldn’t outsmart him.

‘Bit risky, wasn’t it?’ Sherlock removes his gloves, tucking them in his pocket. ‘Took us away under the eye of about half a dozen policemen. They're not that stupid. And Mrs Hudson will remember you.’

‘You call that a risk? Nah. This… is a risk.’ The cabbie lifts a small glass bottle onto the table, containing a singular pill. ‘Oh, I like this bit. 'Cause neither of you get it yet, do ya? But you're about to. I just have to do this.’ Two more bottles are lifted onto the table. ‘Weren’t expecting that? You’re both gonna love this.’

‘Love what?’

‘Sherlock 'olmes. Look at you! 'Ere in the flesh. That website of yours; your fan told me about it.’

‘My fan?’

‘And yours, Detective Carter. Didn’t think you’d be able to keep up, but ya did.’

‘Your compliments are very backhanded,’ Grace snarks.

‘You are brilliant. You both are. A proper genius though, you are Mr ‘olmes. "The Science of Deduction." Now that is proper thinking. Between you, me, and Detectibe Carter sitting 'ere, why can't people think? Don’t it make you made? Why can’t people just think?’

‘Oh, I see. So, you’re a proper genius too,’ Sherlock mocks.

‘Don’t look it, do I? Funny little man drivin’ a cab. But you’ll know better in a minute. Chances are it’ll be the last thing you ever know.’

‘Okay, three bottles. Explain.’

‘There's a good bottle and two bad bottles. You take the pill from the good bottle, you live; take the pill from the bad bottle, you die.’

‘Both bottles are of course identical.’

‘In every way.’

‘And you know which is which.’

‘Course I know.’

‘But we don’t.’

‘Wouldn’t be a game if you knew. You’re the ones who choose.’ Words continue to fly back and forth between the two men. Grace listens intently, thoughts racing although she appears to remain calm.

Grace sits forwards in her chair, inspecting the glass bottles thoroughly with her eyes. ‘Why should we choose? We have nothing to go on. There’s nothing in it for us.’

‘I 'aven't told you the best bit yet. Whatever bottle you choose, I take the pill from the other one, and then, together, we take our medicine.’

‘So basically, two of us die.’

‘Exactly, Detective. Think of it as natural selection.’

‘Nothing about this is natural, old man. I think six feet under is going to be calling for you first.’

‘You don’t believe that do ya? You’ve been ‘ere before, Detective. Tossing up whether to take your medicine or not.’

The racing of Grace’s mind stops only for a split second, thoughts replaced by a single word. How?

Sherlock takes note of the blank expression on her face. His mind formulating its own theories and conclusions. How? How did he miss it, of course. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

‘You of all people should know that you’ve been a lot closer to hell than I ‘ave.’

‘This is what you did to the rest of them, you gave them a choice,’ Sherlock cuts in. The tense form of Grace clearly unlikely to respond any further on the topic.

‘And now I’m givin’ you one. You take your time. Get yourself together. I want your best game.’

‘It’s not a game. It’s chance.’

‘I've played four times. I'm alive. It's not chance, Mr. 'olmes, it's chess. It's a game of chess, with one move, and one survivor. And this...’ The cabbie pushes two of the bottles forwards. ‘This... is the move. Did I just give you the good bottle or the bad bottle? You can choose either one.’

A moment of silence washes over the study hall. Grace had taken the time to collect her thoughts, bringing herself back to the present moment. ‘Who told you?’

‘Your fan has known about you a lot longer than you’d think. So, are you ready yet? Ready to play?’

‘Play what?’ Sherlock spits. ‘We each have a thirty-three-point-three percent chance of surviving.’

‘You’re not playin’ the numbers, you’re playin’ me. Did I give you the good pill? Or a bad pill? Is it a bluff? Or a double bluff? Or a triple bluff?’

‘Still just chance.’

‘Four people in a row? It’s not just chance.’

‘Luck.’

‘It’s genius. I know ‘ow people think. I know 'ow people think I think. I can see it all, like a map inside my 'ead. Everyone’s so stupid – even you. Or maybe God just loves me.’

‘Either way, you’re wasted as a cabbie.’ Sherlock interlocks his hands and rests his elbows on the table. ‘You risked your life four times just to kill strangers. Why?’

‘Time to play.’

‘Oh, I am playing. This is my turn.’

Grace sits up straight. Was she finally going to witness Sherlock Holmes’ full skill set? Indeed, she was, and that excites her. Her emotions were spiralling at this moment. She is worried, excited, scared, thrilled. A little bit of everything that is slowly going to cause her to overload.

‘There's shaving foam behind your left ear. Nobody's pointed it out to you. Traces of where it's happened before, so obviously you live on your own; there's no one to tell you. But there's a photograph of children. The children's mother has been cut out of the picture. If she'd dead, she'd still be there. The photograph's old but the frame's new. You think of your children, but you don't get to see them. Estranged father. She took the kids, but you still love them, and it still hurts.’

Oh, he’s good. Much better than her. Grace watches the side of his face with wide eyes as he continues deducing the old cabbie. Once again, his prominent cheekbones casting a mysterious shadow over his face that makes him all the more enticing. He’s like forbidden fruit, so dangerously tempting. Hosting his own set of consequences should you ever take a bite.

‘Ah, but there's more. Your clothes: recently laundered but everything you're wearing is at least... three years old? Keeping up appearances but not planning ahead. And here you are on a kamikaze murder spree. What's that about? Ah... Three years ago. Is that when they told you?’

‘Told me what?’

‘That you’re a dead man walking.’

‘So are you.’

‘You don’t have long, though. Am I right?’

‘Aneurism. Right in ‘ere.’ The cabbie points to his head. ‘Any breath could be my last.’

Grace scoffs. ‘And because you’re dying, you’ve just killed four people?’

‘I’ve outlived four people. That’s the most fun you can ‘ave on an aneurism.’

‘No. No, there's something else. You didn't just kill four people because you're bitter. Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator. Somehow this is about your children,’ Sherlock deduces.

‘Oh. You are good, ain’t you?’

‘But how?’

‘When I die, they wont get much, my kids. Not a lot of money in driving cabs.’

‘Or serial killing.’

‘You’d be surprised.’

‘Surprise me.’

The cabbie leans forward, speaking his sentence slowly. ‘I ‘ave a sponsor.’

‘You have a what?’

‘For every life I take, money goes to my kids. The more I kill, the better off they'll be. You see? It's nicer than you think.’

‘Who’d sponsor a serial killer?’

‘Who’d be a fan of Sherlock ‘olmes? You're not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There's others out there just like you, except you're just a man... and they're so much more than that.’

‘What do you mean, more than a man? An organisation? What?’ Grace questions.

‘There’s a name no one says, an’ I’m not gonna say it either. Now, enough chatter. Time to choose.’

‘What if we don’t choose? We could just walk out of here,’ Sherlock threatens.

‘You can take the chance, or I can shoot you both in the ‘ead.’ The cabbie lifts his pistol, aiming it directly at Sherlock. ‘Funnily enough, no one’s ever gone for that option.’ Grace and Sherlock share a glance momentarily, little smirks on their faces.

‘I’ll have the gun, please.’

‘I’ll take the gun too.’

‘You’re both sure?’

‘Definitely. The gun.’

‘You don’t want to phone a friend?’

‘The gun.’ The cabbie pulls the trigger but is quick to sigh after realising he’s been discovered. The pistol, not real, but a cigarette lighter instead. He tosses it to the side.

‘I know a real gun when I see one.’

‘None of the others did.’

Grace stands from her chair. ‘Clearly.’

‘Well, this has been very interesting. I look forward to the court case.’ Sherlock walks to the door but stops at the cabbie’s taunting.

‘Just before you go, did you figure it out? Which one’s the good bottle?’

‘Of course. Child’s play.’

‘Well, which one, then? Which one would you ‘ave picked, just so I know whether I could have beaten you? Come on! Play the game.’

‘Sherlock—’ Grace whispers warningly for only the tall man to hear. ‘Don’t fall for it.’

Sherlock ignores Grace, walking back over to the table, he picks up the bottle that is closest to the cab driver. Grace rolls her eyes. Could this man ever just listen? A bit hypocritical of her to think actually.

‘Oh, interesting. So, what d’you think? Shall we?’

Grace watches as both Sherlock and the cabbie take the pills out of the bottles. She is quick in her movements, walking over to Sherlock, grabbing his arm in an attempt to pull him towards the exit. ‘Sherlock, come on. It’s not worth it. We can have the pills tested if you’re so desperate to know.’

‘What do you think? Can you beat me?’ The cabbie continues to taunt, ignoring Grace. ‘Are you clever enough to bet your life? I bet you get bored, don’t you? I know you do. A man like you… So clever. But what’s the point of being clever if you can’t prove it? Still the addict.’

Sherlock was much stronger than Grace. Lifting his arm to inspect the pill under the light, her hands falling in the process. He didn’t even bat an eyelid, like she didn’t exist in that moment. Just a speck in an indifferent universe. Hopeless, little Grace, she couldn’t save the ones she loved, what makes her think she could save someone who chases the danger?

You think you can stop him? You think he cares about what you want? Nobody cares about you, never did, never will. Stop trying. Get over yourself. Pathetic, and weak, is all you are.

Shut up.

‘But this… this is what you’re really addicted to. You’ll do anything… anything at all… top stop being bored. You’re not bored now, are you? Innit good?’

Just as Sherlock was about to place the pill in his mouth, Grace understands that he truly will go through with this. Ignoring the voice in her head, the instincts kick in. She forcefully slaps the pill out of his hands. At the same time, a gunshot rings out and the cabbie falls to the floor.

Sherlock rushes over, inspecting the gunshot in the window. He steps are quick to carry him back over to Grace.

‘You’re not hurt?’ He asks, hands grabbing each of her shoulders. She shakes her head, unable to voice her thoughts as her heart pounds against her chest. The gunshot having startled her, unaware of any backup that had been heading their way.

Sherlock scurries around, finding the pill that had been slapped from his hand. He stands over the cabbie, holding it in front of his face. ‘Was I right? I was, wasn’t I? Did I get it right!?’ When he doesn’t receive a response, Sherlock harshly throws the pill at the dying man’s face. ‘Okay, tell me this. Your sponsor. Who was it? The one who told you about me, my fan? I want a name.’

‘No.’

‘Give us a name,’ Grace demands.

‘You're dying, but there's still time to hurt you. Give me a name.’ Sherlock presses his shoe to the cabbie’s gunshot wound when he continues to refuse. ‘A name! Now! The name!’

‘Moriarty!’ The cabbie screams in pain.

Moriarty?

‘I’m fine,’ Grace nudges the paramedics hands away from poking and prodding. ‘Please stop touching me.’ She watches as Sherlock speaks to Lestrade in front of another ambulance, the orange blanket around him a striking contrast to his dark hair and clothes.

‘We have to make sure you’re not injur—’

‘I’m not injured!’

She feels overloaded, overwhelmed in this moment. Her senses clashing with each other in an all-out war. The flashing lights were too much, the different conversations were too much. Grace wants to run away and hide and never come back. The whole ordeal so confusing.

She was doing fine. She was doing so much better until very recently. What has gone wrong? That’s the scary thing about depression. It creeps up on you so quickly, so unnoticeable, and then you can’t see yourself anymore. It’s no wonder Sherlock couldn’t deduce her; she doesn’t even know who she is at this very moment. She doesn’t think she’s known for a while if she’s being honest.

I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Just breathe. What can I see? What can I feel?

Grace’s eyes were trained on her hands, fingers picking at fingers in attempts to ignore all the heightened senses. A soft warmth falls over her coat-covered shoulders, looking up to find Sherlock has draped his ‘shock’ blanket over her.

‘For the shock.’

‘I’m not in shock.’

Sherlock grins, ‘I know.’

‘Thanks.’ Grace tries to smile at him, but her attempt falls short.

‘It’s very busy here. A lot happening…’

‘Yes, well, we did just catch a serial killer… sort of.’

‘There’s a good Chinese, Baker Street. Open till two. Should we see if John wants dinner? He’s a growing boy.’ He pokes fun at the doctor’s height.

Grace chuckles and looks up, directly into Sherlock’s icy irises. They were so cold but so warm, so inviting, yet so standoffish. She was stupid to think he wouldn’t realise, especially after the words of the thankfully now dead cab driver. This was Sherlock’s way of trying to help, to get her out of this situation that had made her fight or flight go off the rails. This was him… trying. ‘Chinese sounds good right now, I won’t lie.’ She stands, blanket falling off her shoulders and back into the ambulance.

Sherlock looks down at her shorter form with a soft expression. There was something about her head only reaching his chin that he found… endearing? And by Gods did he despise it. Who does she think she is to waltz into his life only a day ago and inspire such thoughts.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t read her earlier, he had discovered. It was that he had stopped himself from doing so subconsciously, as she reminded him of himself. And even he wasn’t immune to the fear of looking so deeply into oneself. Even he wasn’t immune to insecurity. She was as broken as he. She has learnt to put on a mask just like him. She was lonely, in a constant battle with herself. Grace was smart, and she was misunderstood. Sherlock knew the feeling better than anyone.

‘Come on.’ Sherlock and Grace walk over to John who stands behind some police tape. ‘Good shot.’

‘Yes. Yes, must have been, through that window.’

‘Well, you would know,’ Grace smirks.

‘Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. I don’t suppose you’d serve time for this, but let’s avoid the court case. Are you all right?’

‘Yes, of course I’m all right.’

‘Well, you have just killed a man.’

‘Yes, I… that’s true, innit?’ John looks up at Sherlock. ‘But he wasn’t a very nice man.’

‘No. No, he wasn’t really, was he?’

‘And frankly a bloody awful cabbie.’

‘That’s true. He was a bad cabbie. Should have seen the route he took us to get here.’ The trio start walking away from the scene, giggling.

‘Stop it! We can’t giggle, it’s a crime scene. Stop it.’

‘Well, you’re the one who shot him. Don’t blame us.’

‘Keep your voice down! Sorry, it’s just nerves, I think.’ John apologises to the passing Sally Donovan. ‘You were going to take that bloody pill, weren’t you?’

‘Course I wasn’t. Biding our time. Knew you’d turn up.’

‘No, you didn’t,’ Grace rolls her eyes. ‘You were going to take the pill.’

‘It’s how you get your kicks, isn’t it? You risk your life to prove you’re clever.’

‘Why would I do that?’

‘Because you’re an idiot.’

Sherlock smiles, ‘dinner?’

‘Starving.’

‘End of Baker Street, I was telling Grace, there's a good Chinese stays open 'til two. You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle.’

‘Sherlock, that’s him, that’s the man I was telling you about.’ John gestures towards a car. A tall, posh looking man in a suit climbs out.

‘I know exactly who that is.’

Grace watches onwards, completely confused. ‘I think I missed a chapter.’

‘So, another case cracked. How very public-spirited… though that’s never really your motivation, is it?’

Ah, sounds posh too. Must be the “archenemy” from earlier.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘As ever, I’m concerned about you.’

‘Yes, I’ve been hearing about your “concern.”’

‘Always so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?’

‘Oddly enough… no!’

‘We have move in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer… and you know how it always upset Mummy.’

‘I upset her? Me?’ Sherlock exclaims. ‘It wasn’t me that upset her, Mycroft.’

‘No, no, wait. Mummy? Who’s Mummy?’ John asks.

‘Mother. Our mother. This is my brother, Mycroft. Putting on weight again?’

‘Losing it, in fact.’

‘He’s your brother?!’

‘Of course he’s my brother.’

‘So, he’s not… some criminal mastermind?’

‘Close enough.’

‘For goodness’ sake. I occupy a minor position in the British Government.’

‘He is the British Government, when he’s not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis.’

‘Huh? I never heard of him,’ Grace mumbles.

‘What?’ Sherlock’s head snaps in her direction.

‘Nothing.’

‘Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home – you know what it does to the traffic.’ Sherlock storms off, Grace chuckles and follows him with John close behind.

‘So, it runs in the family then?’

‘What?’

Grace grabs the lapel of Sherlock’s coat playfully, pulling it to the side to expose his suit. ‘Weird names and an affinity for suits.’ She drops the coat back into place.

‘Shut up.’ He pretends to be annoyed but cannot help the smile that rises on his face.

‘So, dim sum?’ John brings up dinner.

‘I can always predict the fortune cookies.’

‘No, you can’t.’

‘Almost can. You did get shot, though.’

‘Sorry?’

‘In Afghanistan. There was an actual wound.’

‘Oh, yeah. Shoulder.’

‘Shoulder! I thought so.’

‘No, you didn’t.’

‘Left one.’

‘Lucky guess.’

‘I never guess.’

Grace cuts in, ‘yeah, you do. Gonna tell us what you’re so happy about?’

‘Moriarty.’

‘What’s Moriarty?’ John questions.

‘I’ve absolutely no idea.’

‘I don’t think I want to know, to be honest.’

‘Come on, Grace. Not the least bit curious?’

‘I might be after getting some food in my stomach, but right now I’m hungry and tired,’ Grace groans. ‘By the way, I’m crashing on your couch.’

-

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[trainsinanime]

Over the past two weekends I watched the two big movies that society collectively forgot in the wake of Barbenheimer: Indiana Jones and Mission Impossible. And let me tell you:

Yeah society was right. You don’t need to watch either.

What I find interesting is how similar both of them are. I don’t just mean the superficial stuff, like similar multi-party car chases, the addition of an English thief who has way more charisma than the aging lead, or a train sequence where the exact same Scottish Museum railroad pretends to be the Austrian alps.

(Although talking about that: I like Haley Atwell's versioning the English thief more than Phoebe Waller-Bridge's. That may partly be leftover affection from Agent Carter, but she really is that great. Mission Impossible also has a lot of Alfa Romeos in its car chase through Italy involving a Fiat 500, which means it wins by default. Even though the heroes repeatedly eschew a perfectly good Alfa Romeo 159 there in favor of some boring BMW in an obvious bit of sponsoring. The trains are mostly similar; the paint scheme in MI is slightly better but the Pennsylvanian signals are weird. I could talk more about the train there but the important thing is that I got tired of watching train cars fall down a bridge after the third one.)

But the main thing that unites them is how tired they seem. They try desperately to woo us with ridiculous implausible MacGuffins, exorbitant stunts and returning old actors. But neither of them actually has much of a story to tell. They try to make things personal for their main heroes, but ultimately it’s just the same procedure as last year or last decade. Neither movie has anything to say, they only hope to woo you with their brand names. To be fair, that did work on me, but that doesn’t mean it was a good idea on my part.

There is arguably a wider discussion to be had here; I feel very similar things about John Wick 4, a movie where several characters repeatedly say, „this movie is pointless“, or the mess that was James Bond „No Time To Die“. Make no mistake, John Wick 4 is by far the best of them, but still.

Anyway, the family members I wanted to watch Barbie with have night shift this weekend, so I can’t see it yet, but I have no doubt that it’s more interesting. If you want you can wait for Indy and Mission to come out in streaming, but I can’t even really recommend that.

[witchblood-if]

I'm here to remind you that you and your writing are amazing! I love seeing the little This or That snippets with all the characters because even though the options are simple, they reveal so much about the characters. Your effort into these characters and this project is admirable and we're all so happy that you want to share this amazing world with us!

I want you to know that you are appreciated, you are admired, you are loved! Always make sure to take care of yourself! 🌼

How did you manage to be even sweeter than the last one, Anon...? I swear all my lovely readers are the most beautiful people in the whole world. I should probably start a collection of sweet messages so I can look at them whenever I want.

The thing is that your participation in this blog is the thing enabling me to get into the whole thing more and more, without you this page would be very empty. I only occasionally work on the story itself (because as you all know, life puts you in one hell of a chokehold, most of the time) but all the little asks and messages keep me engaged and motivated for this project. Long story short: You have as much of a part in this thing as me.

(Nevertheless, answers should be taken with a grain of salt, always)

(Also, sorry for the delay in answering this message)

Anyways, I want all of you to get a good night's rest, drink plenty of water and do the things you do because you want to and not because you feel like you have to.

Hugs and kisses

-Carter

[hippiemisfit]

Hush (J.K.) 7

Chapter Seven- Jungkook

pairing: jungkook x oc reader

word count: 1,801

warnings:

------------------------------------

The bell rang and so it was time to show Jungkook around. I grabbed my stuff and waited for him to get his stuff together. I picked up his schedule and checked it out. "It's the same as mine so this is going to go pretty smoothly. Are you ready?" He nodded his head and motioned for me to lead the way. I walked around him and out the door. I knew he was trailing behind me and Ally came up beside me whispering in my ear,"Did you hear about what happened to Conner?"

I halted for a little bit and I could've swore I heard a quiet snicker behind me. I turned to look at Jungkook and saw that he was waiting for me to walk forward. I continued walking and said,"No what happened?"

"I don't see how you don't know given that you live right across the street from him, but anyway. Carter found his dead body stuffed in a box on his front porch," she said.

"Do they know how it got there?" I asked nervously.

She shook her head,"No they think it was the Silent Killer again though. I really don't get how you don't know about this it was all over the news and there was hella police over there."

I shrugged my shoulders,"I'm a heavy sleeper I guess." If only they knew who that really is.

We ended up in front of my class,"Well I'll see you later," Ally said then went to her class. I turned to look at Jungkook,"Sorry I didn't mean to ignore you like that. Something bad happened last night to my friend."

He nodded his head in understanding.

"You don't talk do you?" He shook his head. "Hmm, well here's our class. It's not going to be like last period, we actually have to do work in here." I opened the door and was met by darkness.

I flicked on the light and saw nobody was in the classroom. "We got the whole room to ourselves for now, I guess," I said and sat down at my desk by the teacher. No I'm not a teacher's pet, I'm nosy so I like to look outside the door. Jungkook sat down at the desk beside me.

He grabbed a piece of paper and wrote something on it. He placed the paper on my desk and I picked it up,"Where do you think the teacher is and where is everybody else?" I shrugged,"I don't know, she probably went to the bathroom and everyone is usually late to this class anyway."

Just as I said that Ms. Collier came in and the rest of the class too. I took in what she had in her hand, it was a stack of papers and a DVD. I guess we are watching something in this class too.

"Good morning everyone. Today we are going to be watching The Usual Suspects, since we are focusing on thrillers this month. I'm going to hand out some packets for you to fill out while you watch the movie and yes they will be graded by me, so don't half do them."

She went over to her computer to do roll. She looked around the room to see that everyone was there and back at her computer. "Who is Jungkook?" she asked and turned around. Jungkook raised his hand and she nodded turning back to her computer. "Welcome to the school, now let's get started.....

*skip to lunch*

"Since we're seniors we can leave the building for lunch but we got to be back before next period or we get our privileges revoked. So where do you want to go?" I said to Jungkook.

My phone buzzed, I had given him my number earlier.

Jungkook: I don't know wherever you want to go is fine with me. What happened to your friend?

"She leaves after fifth period because she doesn't have anymore classes. We can leave after our last period too." We walked over to Qdoba and got something to eat. "How come you don't talk if you don't mind me asking?"

Jungkook: Just don't like to. I thought girls liked mysterious guys.

I looked up to see him smirking at me. "Most girls do."

Jungkook : Do you?

I shook my head," I'm already dealing with someone who is mysterious and confusing. I don't really need to have more than one person like that in my life you know."

He nodded

:Did you find out anything else about what happened to your friend what's his name?

"Carter and I mean there's nothing else to find out about. He found his dead brother's body in a box with a bow on it on his porch. I know that he probably won't be coming back to the school any time soon that's for sure," I said nervously.

My phone buzzed

:How do you know there was a bow on the box?

"Huh?'

:You said there was a bow on the box but how would you know that? Earlier today you said that you didn't even know anything about what happened when Ally was talking to you.

I ran my fingers through my hair," Um what is this an interrogation?"

He silently laughed

:No just asking questions

"Ok well I don't know if there was a bow on the box or not. I mean what kind of person would stuff a person's body in a box and deliver it to their family anyway? The Silent Killer that's who, ruined Carter's life."

You know the type of person.

:Maybe he was a bad person or his family was caught up with the wrong person or people

"No I've known that family forever, they've never done anything to anyone and Conner always seemed like a nice guy to me. He was probably in the wrong place at the wrong time, when the Silent Killer was in a killing mood."

:Or he was a perverted asshole and the Silent Killer was doing you a favor

I looked up at Jungkook's face and saw that he was turning red. From what? Anger?

"Oh well enough about that, where are you from?"

:Busan

"Huh?"

:I'm from South Korea lol

"Oh ok cool, I've never met anyone from South Korea before."

:I can bet that you have before, you probably just didn't pay too much attention."

"What?"

He just shook his head. "So are you eyes naturally green or are you just wearing colored contacts?"

He nodded. :yea they're pretty big in Korea. Forgot I was wearing em

I looked at the time and saw it was time to go back.

"Let's go."

........................................

Our last class went by quickly. We got paired up to make a English and Spanish children's book. I found it weird how no one paid attention to the fact that Jungkook was mute. I mean this is a pretty small school and everyone gossips, even the teachers, so I'm surprised no one has said anything about it. Oh well.

I went to my locker and got all my stuff that I needed to take home. When I reached up to grab my planner, I felt my drink from this morning.

I knew I forgot something.

I grabbed it and threw it in a nearby trashcan. I jumped when I heard a locker on the left of me slam closed. I looked over and saw that it was Jungkook who was now laughing at me, with his mouth open. How is no sound coming out?

"Ha ha ha. Very funny." I closed my locker," See you tomorrow."

He stopped laughing and pulled his phone, typing something. My phone buzzed,

:I don't mean to bother you but can you take me home? I'll pay you gas money or we can go somewhere, my house or yours, and start on our book.

I looked up and thought it over.

Why not this means you can spend even more time with him before he notices all the other girls that there are here, and he offered to pay for gas.

"Sure let's go."

We walked out to my car and got in.

:Nice car

"Thanks, picked it out myself and even got it customized by the guys at West Coast Customs. When I tell you I almost had a panic attack when my parents told me. Ugh."

I started the car and pulled off. I knew that we wouldn't really be able to communicate while I was driving so I just plugged in my aux cord ad turned on Honey by Kehlani and started to sing along.

"I like my girls just like my honey; sweet little selfish I like my women like I like my money;green a little selfish 'Cause I'm a beautiful wreck A colorful mess, but I'm funny Oh, I'm a heartbreak vet

With a stone-cold neck, yeah, I'm charming

All the pretty girls in the world But I'm in this space with you Colored out the line I came to find, my fire was fate with you Heartache would stay with you Fly great escapes with you..."

We pulled up to my house, the police were back at Carter's house. I also saw that my parents' car wasn't in the driveway either.

I thought they were coming back today.

"I'll just take you home later," I said getting out the car.

:You have a beautiful voice.

"Thanks."

I unlocked the door and we went inside. Poco ran up straight to me, well I thought he was coming to me, but he went over to Jungkook instead. That's weird Poco doesn't like strangers. Oh well.

"You want something to drink?"

:Water is fine

"Ok," I went over to refrigerator and saw a note on it

"Hi, honey

Sorry but we were needed back. We know that we don't get to spend that much time together and that's our fault, but we promise we will be home on time for your graduation.

Love,

Mom and Dad

p.s( give our condolences to Carter and his family for us.)

Of course they had to go back. Never home. Oh well as long as they keep sending my allowance it's fine.

I grabbed the water pitcher and poured two glasses. I entered the living room and sat them down on the table. Jungkook was already on his laptop, typing away.

"What you typing?"

:Just some ideas. I was thinking our book should be about a panda and a burrito. A panda goes on a quest to find a burrito.

"A panda and a burrito wow," I heard somebody say behind me," no wonder he doesn't talk." I turned around to see my least favorite person behind me, Hoodie.

[docholligay]

13. United Kingdom

This is one of my daughter’s favorites, because she’s two and also europop trash. She seems (seems) to like Israel slightly more, but she’s a toddler and can’t quite use the ranker yet. I also knew @verbforverb was going to like this the SECOND it came out.

I have mentioned that I try very very hard, and sometimes fail, at letting the personalities of the singers get to me in any measurable way, because I’m not asking someone to be likeable, I’m asking them to sing.

I ABSOLUTELY fail with Mae Muller. There are so many things I hate about this song. I hate the accent levelling* until the JARRING jump where she talks like a person in her Spice Girls Spoken word moment, I hate that the song sounds like a 3 minute commercial jingle that you can’t get out of your head (as jetty put it), I hate the lyrics, I hate it all.

But goddamnit. I LOVE Mae Muller. I HATE that I like her so much. She did a pretty terrible job in Barcelona, really, and immediately the next day put out a short of her running through the airport that said “Me fleeing Barcelona after [twitterid] said my vocals flopped last night (I’m sick!)” and I laughed and I hated that I laughed. She is funny and engaging on stage, and she is honestly like, sorry verb you’ve been replaced by a new British Jewish mess I’d like to get drunk with (Actually, come along, i think it’ll take both of us to wrangle her). She’s tacky and I KNOW she’s a sloppy drunk and I am SO MAD about how much I like her and I want her to do well. DESPITE HATING EVERYTHING ABOUT HER SONG. RAGE.

And she was fucked from the word go by TAP music, who, so there was this huge rumor that Rina Sawayama was going to be tapped to be the Eurovision rep. It was never going to happen. It was a FUCKING PIPE DREAM. Rina has actual things to do with her life (affectionate). This was rumored even to be her song, I think it JUST hit the line for being viable:

Would I have loved that? Yeah, I absolutely would have. But it was never going to happen, and of course Rina played along, and they took WAY  too long to announce Mae, and honestly...they could have just candidly said, “Okay we promise it’s not Rina, we can’t wait for you to see who we picked” ANyway Mae was IMMEDIATELY thrown into a situation where she was a disappointment, which is SO UNFAIR to an artist no matter how I feel about them.

And she’s basically just made it her business to charm the shit out of every human being who comes into contact with her. I worry about her some, in that I fucking wish she would stop trying to dance and sing. She can’t do it. She loses her breath. Like, work on your cardio, but for now, STAND STILL. I doubt she’ll flop, but she’s closing the whole show and I would hate for her to put in a disappointing result (BECAUSE SHE’S CHARMED ME) because no one is paying attention to her actual abilities. She’s also changed the Spice Girls Moment and I don’t like the revamp as much.

*Every time I say this, someone says this isn’t a real thing, and this is just what singing is like, and, no, it isn’t. I have linked people papers and articles and I’m tired of doing that for shit you can hear with your own ears. It’s a noted observable fact in music, particularly mainstream music, it’s called accent levelling, and it is true and real even if that fact annoys you because maybe you or someone you love do it subconsciously. It’s a strange midwest-atlantic American mix that’s been more and more codified since the 80s, and, I also do it and I don’t care for that either! Look no further than singers like Billy Bragg or Steve Earle or Dave Carter, or to use a better known example, Lily Allen, to see it doesn’t actually have to be that way! It’s due to a series of media based and sociocultural factors, and also pressure from mainstream record companies to ‘sound mainstream’ but it’s not just how people sing. I said I wasn’t going to link, but here’s a very straightforward article from the guy who literally wrote the Cambridge Dictionary of the English Language and also was chair of his department in Reading for ten years, also wrote a great book about English pronunciation. Link.