#do u think the allay hear it too?

[sat-in-a-rat-trap]

the entirety of my life has all led up to me eating straight up nutella and contemplating minecraft lore at 5am

[bluiex]

HELLO GANG i have a funky mumscarian au for u

mumbo is a mage, he uses his powers to build various inventions, and is currently traveling for supplies when he ends up horribly lost in the mountain side when a snowstorm begins to form.

an elf, scar, finds him in his makeshift tent and offers him a place to stay, the pair arriving at a magically hidden manor right as the storm hits.

the manor is warm and inviting, and the two dine together. the place is staffed by allays, and the little creatures are difficult to pry from mumbo's side, chittering away to him in a language he doesn't understand.

scar leads mumbo to a spare bedroom, and bids him goodnight. but just passing midnight, mumbo hears a thump outside his door, and goes investigate. he sees someone cowering at the end of the hall who bolts, and mumbo goes after him.

mumbo spells a trap for the runner that works, and finds himself eye to eye with a frail, pallid young man, eyes full of terror and crackling with magic. he starts babbling away, that the manor isn't what it seems, that mumbo needs to let him go, he's finally going to escape this time, he being tricked—

footsteps could be heard from nearby, and mumbo drags the panicked man with him back to his room and throws the lock on. finally, the full story comes out:

grian was a guest here once, too. five years ago, when the woods led him astray, and a snowstorm was about to hit in the middle of june. scar found him, the way he finds all of his prey, and brought him into his home. grian was enamored by the place, by the allays, and by scar. they shared a meal, and spent the night talking of everything and nothing all at once.

but, eventually, it was time for him to leave. until scar explained that grian didn't have permission to leave.

scar wasn't an elf. he wasn't a vex either. he was a fae. the allays in the manor? all captured, forced by his magic to do his bidding. the manor wasn't "hidden" at all; they had crossed into the fae realm.

both he and mumbo had eaten its food and given scar their true names. they had taken without giving, so scar could pick whatever it was he wanted to receive in return. it was awfully lonely living here all alone, so what scar wanted was simple.

scar wanted a mate. and now, he had two. over the years, he had owned many mates, though they usually didn't last long with all the escape attempts.

grian had lasted the longest. but scar was getting bored of him running away.

there's a knock on the door, and the pair freeze. is mumbo supposed to believe the ravings of a lunatic he's never met before? sure, scar seemed a little uncanny, but what grian was proposing sounded entirely insane.

what changes his mind is grian asking mumbo to spell the door frozen. when mumbo tells grian to do it instead, grian's eyes crackle.

"He's ordered me to not use my magic," Grian hissed. "I can't."

___________

i have more thoughts but this is getting really long ANYWAYS tl;dr i think that scar should get to be the villain more, actually.

I AGREE WE NEED WAY MORE VILLAIN SCAR

2am your ideas just make me absolutely feral. /pos

Before Mumbo could even utter the words to freeze the door, Scar has it opened (silly of them to think they can lock him out of a room in his home). Scar's got such a desvicingly sweet grin on his face setting Grian cowering against Mumbo who's looking up at Scar with the most heated glare he can muster

[uberlin-sternspeier]

SOUNDING THE TRUMPET OF TRANS REBELLION (Part 3)

Ever since I was a small child, I've been convinced my life would end in some horrible way. I distinctly remember when I was 5 and walking through the city, all I would think about was ninjas following and killing me in a back-allay. Je, literal ancient Japan ninjas. Look, I was a child, it wasn't rational. In fact, I was a distinctly irrational child with no brains whatsoever. Being braindead didn't help the fear of being actual dead, tho.

Once I saw the exit to the stupid ass garden I was in, I rushed. I was way too exhausted for any complicated thoughts, so it took quite a while for me to recognize that there were people waiting at the exit. But I did in fact notice. Running, then walking, then stopping as I realized it. I couldn't make out much detail in the dark. To my tired eyes, they looked like literal shadow people, like the ones U get when U got sleep paralysis.

I hid behind a dead tree.

If there'd been anything left in my bladder, I'd have pissed myself. Lucky me, there wasn't, and the freeing sensation of not pissing my pants calmed me down a little. Really, I hadn't seen much of them. Maybe they were just a bunch of randos, assembled right at the exit of where I had crashed, coincidentally. Extremely coincidentally. Je. And maybe a truck. Had I seen a truck? A van, maybe ... I don't actually know the difference. Cautiously I dared to take a peek from behind my dead tree. Then I snapped back!

Je, there were 2 trucks. That and like, maybe a megadrone. A bunch of fuckoid, idiot bullshit cops were there. Either that or some gebbeth youth with some godgore guns who just happened to be here with 2 vans and a megadrone they somehow bought out of pocket ... so ... je, thems were cops and I was fucked.

The frozen bark pressed against my exo. If the fuckoids were a search party, they'd come searching soon. It wasn't really my specialty, or even something that I had ever successfully done, but I tried sneaking anyways. Rushed from dead tree to dead tree. Hoped that the exo didn't screech too much. If there was an exit, there must be a wall or fence, right? I was trying to move around them and then just climb the damn wall. Or fence.

The tree hopping actually worked for a hot minute. Maybe they didn't have an Ubernet-connection? Or they just thought it funny to watch me scramble. I was starting to feel my heartbeat when I took cover behind the thirtieth frothdead tree. It was then when the people in the distance suddenly started coming closer.

They were spreading out, all casual like. "O", I thought then. I literally thought this to myself. I thought "O, they're connected to a monkeybrain" and just then they started firing.

Ratatatatat. Before, there had been silence. Now there was the t-t-t-t, the grrrrrrrrrt, the tssssssssssssss. I cowered. Behind my tree. Held my ears. Screamed my true name and couldn't hear it for the noise.

Then there was silence again. The pain of bullets hitting my skin made itself noticed. It invaded my back. They had hit me. But the spell still stood. The dead tree fell over to the side.

I ran! Towards the (presumed) wall or fence. Not towards them, not away from them.

Someone shouted: "He's getting away!", presuming all criminals to be men, as cops are often wont to do. However, the voice came from somewhere around the exit, not from the people who had actually moved towards me.

They shot again. I hid behind a tree again. Shouted my name through gritted teeth.

This one lasted for a solid minute. A minute of nothing but nonsense noises, a minute of t-t-t-t and the like. After the lärm subsided, my ears were ringing. Somewhere underneath the ringing was the sound of my own breath.

Feeling nothing, I stood up. I stared at them like deer would stare at a car, so afraid that U get curious.

Their bullets could hurt like shit, still they couldn't kill or even severely injure me. What I feared more was being shot by a bunch of rapid machine guns and feeling every bullet and breaking from the torture. What I feared even more than that was whatever other cruel weaponry they might have.

Such a horrible nightmare. They stared back, a square logo on their equipment, reading in minimalist letters: "Reunion Carbide". They were corpse. Actual fucking police from a straggot company, out here just to kill me.

And I knew they would succeed.

When I was 8, I had just learned what poison is. Naturally, I thought I'd die from poison. Why would someone have poisoned me? I don't know. But why wouldn't they poison me if they'd get the chance? 'They' being my teachers, the neighbors, my parents and, of course, anyone producing food. I mean, had my 8 year old self had the ability to poison someone, she probably would've. Why not? She would've poisoned all the people mentioned above and I cannot hold that against her.

Reunion Carbide was not a food company, but they were, in fact, a poison company. No surprise that the next wave wasn't bullets.

One of the people who was monkeybrain-controlled (I figured the ones in the back weren't) dropped their gun. Then, boom, pulled out a different gun.

Shot.

I dodged to the left. But the thing hadn't been aimed at me and hit the ground instead. Then, a hissing came from the hole it had made. A sizzle, then silence. That was the moment I decided to connect to the Ubernet again, fearing my lack of senses, fearing all things unseen, the blunt terror of death inside my frail little heart. And indeed, once connected, the Ubernet colored the overwise invisible gas leaking out from the the ground where the projectile had hit.

Blue mist started to surround me. I held my breath.

Whilst dodging I had left the crates lying on the ground, back at the last tree. I couldn't abandon them now, right? As I picked them up, the corpse fired again with the rapids. Hit me right in the thigh. Thus I exhaled, yet I somehow managed to not inhale and die immediatly. A single crate was all I was able to grab in my haste. With it in hand I just ran as fast as I could.

Running in the very same direction, not stopping. On exiting the blue mist, I inhaled again. I shouted so loud my lungs almost popped: "ASTRE!" Only to then hold my breath again, seeing blue mist capsules being shot into the ground around me.

If knew how I escaped, I'd tell U, but I have no idea. I vaguely remember stumbling as they shot my legs and it hurt. I vaguely remember falling and enduring a wave of rapids while getting up again. Beyond that, the memory is hazy. There was a lot of pain, I remember that. There was a lot of holding my breath and very little thought. By all rights, I ought to have broken right then and there. I ought to have let myself die. Instead I climbed a half destroyed wall. There was a windmill beyond the wall, of all things. An old timey windmill is what I mean. Small and odd, full of character, surrounded by the indistinct square buildings, reaching towads the sky. Obviously, I must've lost my mind, and yet I decided that this windmill was real and hid inside of it. That was a bigawful idea, but ... U know, I really ought to have broken, I mean it. I wanted to cry more than I had ever wanted to cry in my entire life. Actually, I was so darn near breaking, that I could barely contain the jittering that I had only ever let out when no one was around. I wanted to become insane, to drive myself completely mad so that I wouldn't have to bear the burden of sentience anymore. It just never works out that way. U can scream but no one is around. I screamed my true name again, like a doofus.

At age 13, I was sure my classmates would kill me. Just pull out a knive or another sharp object, maybe even a lightcutter, and suddenly stab me for being born. Why did I not deserve to live back then? Who knows, but I certainly didn't. Why was I at school anyways? It's not like we could've afforded 10th grade and beyond.

Now, as to why hiding was a stupid move: I was still connected to the Ubernet, so I wasn't actually hidden. It didn't take long for some random asshole to climb over the wall as well. I heard them, in fact.

I was too exhausted to fight a corperate cop. But there was no other choice. Sluggishly I stood, waiting for them to enter the building or shoot poison inside or something. Maybe I really waited for death. This had gone on for too long and I knew it. My life, I mean. I was a child again when I waited for this person to come and kill me.

"Heat from fire?", I heard a raspy voice saying from outside the windmill.

I was so confused. "The fuck?", I replied.

The voice stressed the words: "Heat. From. Fire."

"O, fuck U. No way. Fuck off. Go die Urself in a corner!", I replied.

Nothing happened for a moment.

I answered, annoyed or dissapointed: "And fire from heat ..."

Again a pause.

The voice: "Ur a body snatcher, aren't U?"

Me: "Shut up. U trans for real?"

Them: "Enby, je." They paused some more, like we had all the time in the world. "U a body snatcher, I know it. Listen, U really helped me once."

Me: "I don't help cops as a rule. Fucking traitor ass, U think I'm delighted cuz my executioner is trans? Fuck U."

Them: "... But I'm not gonna do it, U know? Disconnect from Ubernet, Imma tell everyone I couldn't find U."

My breathing somehow got more heavy. "For real?"

Them: "Je."

Me: "U lying. U gonna shoot poison in here as soon as I disconnect."

Them: "... Nah."

... I disconnected. With shaky motions I took my crate and left the windmill.

Before me stood a monster.

They were almost 3 meters tall, probably corperate cloned and bred them to be. Their exo was like mine, but unlike mine it fit them perfectly. Plus they were wearing some thick body armor all over. Even their face was covered. Beyond that, they were carrying 3 weapons. One rapid, one of those poison thingies, and a simple knife.

They were truly pitiful. A human war machine. Existing to hurt others. I was boiling.

They said: "Hm. It wasn't U. But some other body snatcher helped me for sure. He hooked me up with T for a while."

Immediatly knowing and cursing who it was, I didn't reply.

They said: "That's the only thing I ever got to control about my life. Well, and now this, I suppose."

I didn't want to hear it. I was shaking with anger.

Squatting to get down to my level, they said to me, face to face: "Thank U. U're doing gods work ... Now go."

This is where I punched them in the face.

At the sweet age of 17, I had been convinced that I'd kill myself some day. Je, I was very depressed back then ... but that's not why I thought that. I didn't WANT to kill mysself, it was more like a prediction. An observation. In a way, I was the shitmonki long before I joined the body snatchers: reckless, driven by a lack of concern for the body I was controlling, just like strong AI controls police grunts. Just, U know, slightly more shit at the controlling part. Day in and day out I'd be thinking of what reckless stupid action I could possibly take that would lead to my self inflicted doom. Like, maybe I'd run through an Ubahn station and slip and the Ubahn would run me over.

They actually stumbled backwards as I hit them. "U stupid motherfucker", I said. "U doing this NOW!?"

When they didn't say anything, I just jumped them. I pushed them over and started beating their fucking head in! I whispered my name and my fist made a loud bang every time I hit their helmet. My facial expression must've been manic.

"I'm not a good person!", I shouted at them. I screeched: "U think Ur life is more important somehow, U monster!?"

Now I made a big dent in their helmet. I hit them. And I hit them. Again. "U botbrain." And again. "I saved." In the face! "A fucking murderer!"

They hit back. I barely noticed. "Fucking monster." And I hit them. "Inhuman." Part of their helmet broke. They hit me in the gut. I barfed, right in their face. They tried to shake me off, yet they didn't draw their knife. I hit them. "U don't deserve to live." I regretted those words, but I continued to hit them. "And I don't deserve it either." And I stopped.

They tilted their head to the side. With a slow motion, they wiped the barf from their face. Nothing more.

We stayed like that for while. Me on top, ready to punch them more if needed. All was silent now. Then I noticed they were quietly weeping.

I sighed. "I really wish U would've just fucking killed me."

They did not respond.

[sunflowerdaisybee]

I love ur work omg 🦋

Since req are open can u do one for how Phil or Techno would react to an axolotl or allay hybrid? 👀

I was feeling inspired so I did all four, I’m gonna post all four here just to keep them together, I hope you don’t mind! :] /pos

Summary: Techno and Phil’s reactions to an allay and an axolotl hybrid (separate)

Pairing: P!Technobade & P!Philza X Reader

Pronouns: They/them

[A/n]: Requests are closed, please check back later :]

Axolotl:

Phil:

Phil finds you fascinating, though he is concerned about seeing an axolotl so deep into the tundra.

He would definitely adopt you, regardless of how old you are. He would build you a heated pond to live in, letting you hang out in his bathtub when needed until it was finished.

He would bring you on shorter or water based adventures so you don’t run out of water. If he had to go on a trip without you he would have someone bring you food so you don’t have to leave the pond too often.

Definitely breeds and raises tons of your favorite fish, cooks them in all different ways.

He really enjoys having you around and brings you plenty of things to put in your pond!

Technoblade:

Almost killed you on sight, until he saw what you were and became intrigued. What was an axolotl doing this far from water?

He questions you like crazy before deciding you aren’t a threat. He then brings you home, assuming you have some knowledge that would be of use to him.

For a while he doesn’t do much for you, letting you live with him and giving you access to his shower for whenever you feel like you need it. It wasn’t until later that it occurred to him that you should have a proper area where you can fully stretch out and swim, which he quickly begins working on

The pond is pretty empty when he’s finished but he ventures out to find things to put in it for you.

He isn’t as fish savvy as Phil so he won’t like keep fish around to raise and stuff but he’ll buy whatever the market’s have to offer and he’ll cook and serve it however you'd like.

Allay:

Phil:

He brings you on adventures a lot, and when he isn’t adventuring, he’s having you tag along in chores and errands.

He finds your tendency to pick up items on the ground very useful, while he does have a sharp eye he doesn't always have the time to pick things up or he might miss over something when in a rush.

He helped you set up an entire wall (wherever you live) that has a huge display case to store all of your favorite things that you've collected.

He had never once complained about your habit of picking things up but he does worry that one day you’ll pick up something you aren’t supposed to.

He also worries that people might think you are stealing when you are out just picking up random things so he usually goes with you, and to make sure you stay out of trouble.

Technoblade:

He brings you mining with him, he finds it very helpful to have an extra set of hands. He definitely rewards you well, he doesn’t just take advantage of your collective nature.

He doesn’t go all out with building you a display shelf but he will help you collect item frames to display stuff around your living area (wherever that is).

Being in the tundra, it’s kind of hard to have a farm but he would find a way to build one for you so that you could go through and collect the crops.

If he hears that you are going out to adventure and collect things, he’ll go with you. Or if he can’t he will insist you take a dozen dogs to keep you safe as he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you.

Techno never really had a problem with your allay related habits but he was surprised to hear that allay hybrids were a thing. Nevertheless he cares for you and does his best to indulge your habits in a healthy manner.

Taglist: @minty-ghast @rokkyy @sortzz @duddum-froppers @joyfullymulti @vaxiwastaken

[shorkbrian]

First

Prelude - Hey! I promise I’m getting to requests soon, i read every single one! this is my warm up at writing real, legit NSFW in order to practice for some of those requests. Since this is my first time (lol) at writing nsfw content I’m a bit hesitant to post but hopefully I didn’t mess anything up lol. If ur reading this I lub u okay have fun

Pormpt - “It’s natural to cry”

Pairing - Aizawa Shouta X Reader

Warnings - NSFW. noncon, crying, unsafe sex. 

Music - https://youtu.be/scd-uNNxgrU

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 “Either you take them off, or I do.” Aizawa returned your panicked look with a calm, level expression. He didn’t want you to be scared of what was about to happen but, well…… he could tell that you weren’t ready, and there was nothing that the man could do to allay your fears.  He was tired of waiting - Aizawa was going to have you.

Hesitantly, you began slipping your clothes off with shaking hands. They trembled so badly that you couldn’t get a proper grip on the zipper of your jeans the first few times you tried to grab at it. Luckily you were able to hold onto it and pull it down before Aizawa got too impatient. You peeled off your jeans, having already thrown your shirt on the floor by your feet. It left you in your underwear, hands trying to shyly cover your chest and the intimate place between your legs. You didn’t want this, didn’t want Aizawa seeing you.

You didn’t have a choice.

Aizawa gazed at your body for a moment, before he stood, catching your hands gently in his own.

“None of that, let me see you.”

His voice was soft in volume, but it was throaty, scratchy in its cadence, rough to your ears. Aizawa pressed both of your wrists into on hand so he could use the other to reach around and undo your bra, pulling it down your arms despite your protests. As you struggled to draw your hands out of his grip, the man simply tightened his grasp, the crushing pressure making you gasp. It was clearly a threat, stop, or you’ll have two shattered wrists. you stopped trying to cover your naked chest.

A hand pulled at your panties, tugging one side down slowly before reaching for the other; slowly wriggling them down your tightly clenched legs.

“Shouta-“ he insisted you call him that instead of Aizawa “-please, I-I don’t.”

“It’s okay.” He rumbled. Your panties were pooled at your ankles. You tried to cross your legs to preserve your modesty, But Aizawa dragged you backward towards the bed, where he once again sat down. You stood in front of him, your wrists still captive in one large hand. He let go of them, giving you a warning look that made you think twice about trying to cover your chest again. 

His hands came up to rub soothingly at your body, focusing on your chest, the curve of your waist, the softness of your rear. It didn’t feel good. His hands were too rough and too big. You didn’t want to cry, but tears quickly filled your eyes when he began groping at your chest, squeezing and pulling at the flesh there in a mockery of a massaging gesture. It hurt.

You couldn’t stop yourself from yelping when Aizawa squeezed too hard (in his opinion he had grabbed you with hardly any pressure).  Your nipples felt like they were burning, a sharp pain lancing through the center of your breast before Aizawa seemed to register your pained noise. He glanced up, eyes meeting your face. Immediately he retracted his hands upon seeing you holding back tears, and he pulled you into his lap. It was supposed to be comforting. It only made the panic inside you grow. You started to struggle again, quickly making to launch yourself off his lap, but Aizawa caught you, a hand around your back, the other stroking along your thigh.

“I’m not hurting you.”

That was a lie.

You knew he was trying to reassure you, but it sounded like a warning. I could be hurting you.

“I can’t do this, Shouta I can’t ‘m sorry,  I-I can’t-“

He grabbed both of yours shoulders with those rough hands, and you clamped your mouth shut. His dark eyes met yours, and you were frightened to see no malice, no ill-intent directed at you.

“You can, you’ve done it before.”

Maybe it would make you feel better if he was doing this to hurt you, or punish you, or try to humiliate you. But he held only love for you, a burning desire that ate up his insides and blinded his mind to rationality. 

At his words, you struggled even harder, shaking you head as his grip on your shoulders tightened.

“I can’t!”

Aizawa wasn’t convinced.

His knuckles turned white as he held you against him.

“Biologically, it’s what your body was made for. (Y/N), you can and you will.“ “Please!! I-I just can’t Shouta please, please-”

“Stop.”

“No Shouta please don’t make me I can’t I don’t wanna-“

“I said-“ His eyes turned red, hair floating upwards. You had no quirk, it was just his natural response to de-escalate a situation. “-STOP.”

The sudden boom of his voice made everything go still. Your body, the breath in your lungs. It felt as if the air was afraid of moving, sound refusing to reach your ears as you stilled in Aizawa’s grasp. 

Your tears broke the stillness of the moment.

You looked off to the side, trying to sniffle your tears to a stop. You felt sick, disgusting - sitting naked on Aizawa’s lap.

“I……. I’ve never……” The stillness was back, but this time it was Aizawa who held his breath, body refusing to move as he hung on your words. You found his eyes again; they were wide, searching your face for… something. You didn’t know what.  He urged you to keep talking with his eyes, imploring you to finish what you had been saying.

“I’m a virgin.” You whispered, rushing out the words as if they burned your tongue. Maybe they did. The tears fell faster, rolling down your cheeks and dripping off your chin to plop wetly on your collarbone. You didn’t want to look at Shouta.

When your words reached him, the man froze.

Eventually, he released your shoulders, hands coming to cradle your waist. You hoped your admission would cause him to release you entirely, help you off his lap and back into your clothes. You felt so cold.

“It’s... “ you could tell he was struggling to find words, almost panting as he paused. “It’s natural to cry”

And cry you did.

Aizawa craned his head, kissing away your salty tears despite the way you flinched each time his lips met your skin. His movements, while still steady and restrained, seemed to carry an undercurrent of…. Urgency? Excitement? You didn’t have time to puzzle it out, Aizawa moving you so he could lay you down gently in the middle of the bed. Your stomach dropped.

“No….. please…. “

“Shh. I’ll be gentle, you’ll be okay.” Aizawa reached into his nightstand drawer, looking for something as he talked to you, his voice thick with lust. “This’ll feel good, I promise. I won’t hurt you, you know that.”

He had already hurt you. 

Everything hurt and you didn’t know how to make it stop. Even when he wasn’t touching you, your body felt tight, your heart was squeezing itself too hard, stomach twisting in knots and threatening to force bile up your throat. 

You felt so heavy, so small and afraid as Aizawa found what he was looking for, producing a bottle that you recognized as lube. 

He pried your stiff legs apart, ignoring the way you uselessly tried to squeeze them shut before he could settle between them.  Aizawa looked over your body, sighing softly as he set the lube down near your hip. The man leaned forward, capturing your lips slowly in a passionate kiss, probing his tongue between your lips, hands coming to cradle your head.

You didn’t want this.

When he broke the kiss, letting you gasp for air, Aizawa once again began running his hands along your body, although he had a goal in mind, his target settled between your thighs. 

“I’m getting you ready for me, but this’ll feel good too, I promise.” He supplied, the fingers of one hand beginning to slide up and down your folds slowly. Distantly, you recognized that he was using his teacher voice.

Slipping down to lie flat on his front, Aizawa breathed hotly against your core, watching your legs twitch at the foreign (pleasurable) sensation. His fingers were still playing with your folds, rubbing slowly between them, getting close to your entrance but never dipping in.

“Shouta please I don’t want this, I can’t do this please I don’t.”  You tried one last time.

Aizawa huffed, before he began licking beside his fingers slowly, letting his saliva coat the outside of your entrance. You squirmed in discomfort (it felt good?), embarrassed squeaks coming from your bright red face. Your hands flew up to cover your burning face, and Aizawa allowed it, more focused on dipping his tongue into you, swirling his fingers around your clit.

You didn’t want this to feel good, but it did. Through your tears you felt a distant throbbing in between your legs, ten times stronger than when you touched yourself at home. You wished you were at home. If you were at home you could be watching a movie, or reading the latest book you had gotten from the library.  Your cat would be displeased that you hadn’t fed her at the usual time, you realized. She was fussy and liked her schedule.

A burning jolt of pleasure pulled you back to the present, eyes closed behind the hands that covered your face, Aizawa’s head buried between your legs. He had slipped a finger in with his tongue, thrusting both appendages into you with no sense of urgency. When he grew tired of this, he replaced his tongue with another finger, deeming you wet enough. He moved to suck at your clit, and you writhed, back arching off the bed. The feeling was so intense you felt suffocated, gasping for breath as soon as Aizawa relented, moving to lick around the two fingers buried inside you. You hardly noticed when he slipped in a third.

“Shouta!” You gasped when he sucked at your clit again, his free hand coming to restrain your bucking hips. He pulled off, his three fingers still thrusting, rubbing your insides as he looked up at you from his spot between you legs.

“I like hearing you, be as loud as you want for me.”

He was always so calm, so collected in everything he did. In a way you envied his ability to remain so unaffected in his daily life. 

To your horror, a rising feeling began collecting deep in your stomach, and you began thrashing, trying to get away from Aizawa’s fingers and mouth as they stroked and thrusted and sucked at your intimate parts.

“Wait, waIT! I’m gonna pee, stop, stOP!”

You heard Aizawa let out a breathy chuckle against your skin. All of a sudden, the stimulation stopped, and the feeling dropped. You sighed in relief, but your stomach still felt icky. Why couldn’t Aizawa just leave you be? You wanted to go home. The next thing you knew, Aizawa was sitting back on his heels, black boxers nowhere to be seen.  You didn’t want to look at that, that thing between his legs.

Aizawa grabbed the lube from beside your hip, and you squeezed your eyes shut as you heard its cap open, the squirt of the bottle, then the sound of the cap closing. You tried your hardest to ignore the slick sounds of Aizawa stroking himself, covering his length in the slimy substance. 

Your eyes flew open when you felt his fingers again, wiping off the excess lube into your opening. It didn’t feel natural, feeling the slippery liquid being pushed into you. Aizawa gave another dark chuckle at your reaction, choosing not to comment on how your insides gripped his fingers, sucking him into your warmth. In a smooth motion, he was hovering above you, turning your head with his dry hand to look up at him.

His eyes were dark, pupils dilated. You could almost see your own terrified expression in the black mirror of his pupils. He was breathing heavily, the only sign that he was affected. You thought back to earlier when his voice had sounded excited, noticing that you could see that excitement now, feel it. His hand shakily stroked your hair, before he dipped down to join the two of you together in another passionate kiss. This one was messier than the last, and you felt your face scrunch up in disgust as you detected the faint trace of your taste on his tongue. 

Would he let you go home, you wondered, if you threw up in his mouth?

He drew back before you could give that thought serious consideration, and you were shocked to see a small smile tugging at his lips. You had never seen Aizawa, no, Shouta smile. You had worked as his TA for six years and not once had you seen his lips curl into anything other than a frown. It unnerved you.

“I’ve wanted you for so long, and finally getting to have you….” He dipped to kiss you again, briefly this time. “You taste so good, look so beautiful spread out on my bed.”

His dark hair tickled your cheek as he reached down to adjust himself, rubbing up and down your folds a few times. Aizawa watched intensely as you tipped your head back and trembled and shook at the sensation. It was unusual but it felt good, especially when his tip nudged against your clit.

“Take a deep breath.” 

You did as he asked without thinking, slightly confused, before you felt him slide into you slowly. Immediately you panicked, hands coming to push at his shoulders, terrified “no’s” and “stop, stop!”  Repeatedly falling from your lips.  It didn’t exactly hurt, but it was just so foreign, and you didn’t want him doing this to you.Aizawa shushed you gently, leaning down to kiss you again.

“Relax, relax, oh god….. you feel so god.”

You tried your best to relax, but it was hard. Aizawa was groaning above you, his head dipped down and eyes shut tight. You could tell it was taking everything he had to stay still, to go slow. He began moving in the finest of movements, gradually building up to shallowly thrusting into you at an easy pace, and you were horrified at the way it sent tingles up and down your spine, all the way to the tips of your toes. 

“Oh fuck, I love you so much.”

Despite the pleasure racing through your body, you still felt gross.

In no time, Aizawa was pounding into you, the rapid, slick sounds of skin slapping against skin filling the air alongside his groans and your cries. You were sobbing, the sensation of his thick length inside too much for you. You were so exhausted emotionally, you just wanted to sleep, wanted Aizawa to leave you alone and never look at you again, never acknowledge your presence.   He was using his teacher voice, instructing you how to move with him. He had told you to work with him, to do what felt natural and what felt good.  “I don’t know how!” You had cried, your body feeling tight with pleasure as he humped against you.  Aizawa had stopped for a second, seeming to remember that you were a virgin, new to the feelings that he was forcing onto your body. He had started up again, being very vocal about what you should do and how you should move.

“Move your hips a little, yes, good…… oh fuck, fuck, wrap your legs around me.”

You wrapped your legs around his sturdy waist, and he slipped his arms underneath your back. Next thing you knew, you were being lifted into the air, Aizawa moving so he was sitting on his heels, you bouncing in his lap. The angle changed everything and you cried, being manhandled like a rag doll.

“Oh my god, feel so good honey.” Aizawa was kissing your neck now, his pace desperate as he rutted up into you. ‘You’re so tight, it’s like you were made for me….. mmmh.”

You wished he would stop talking. 

You wished a lot of things, but no one out there seemed to be in the mood to grant you wishes.

“Put your arms around my shoulder, yeah, that’s it.”

You followed his instructions; you had never seen this side of Aizawa before and you were already afraid of the man who n he was his calm, quiet self. You were terrified to think of what he could (would) do if you disobeyed.  

You could hardly think straight, a rhythmic “ah, ah, ah!” falling from your lips on each thrust of Aizawa’s strong hips. It felt so amazing, and it felt even more amazing when Aizawa began rubbing at your clit.

“I know you’re close. Fuck you’re so pretty, sound so gorgeous, I wanna fuck you until you pass out.”

Your stomach clenched at that, whether out of excited pleasure or fear that he would follow through on that. You felt that tingly feeling coming back, rising in your stomach, and you thrashed in Aizawa’s strong arms.

“Shouta, gotta stop! ‘M gonna pee, please! Shouta!”

You felt Aizawa’s length give a hearty twitch inside you, and it lit up your nerves, intensifying the feeling.

“Oh, oh honey, no… you’re gonna cum now.”  He breathed, his voice sounding strained.

You thrashed even harder, bringing a fist to hit his chest,  desperately pleading with him to let you stop bouncing in his lap.

“No, no no no, please! Lemme-lemme go I need….. need-“

The hand that wasn’t rubbing your clit came to capture your hands, bringing them behind your back. He used his grip on your wrists to begin jackhammering up into you, so hips moving so fast you felt like your brain was turning to mush. You really were going to pee.

“Let it out, let it out baby, it’s supposed to happen.” Was all he offered, panting harshly into your collarbone. You let out a choked sob, shaking your head as hard as you could, trying your best to hold it in.

Aizawa didn’t like that.

Not stopping the intense pace of his thrusts, Aizawa flicked at your clit, once, twice, before rearing his hand back as far as he could between your two bodies and slapping your clit.

The rising feeling exploded.

Indescribable pleasure coursed through your body, and you screamed, unable to hold it in. Aizawa’s thrusts increased in speed, and grew sloppy, his rutting extending your orgasm. With one final, bouncing thrust, Aizawa stilled with a heavy groan, and you felt warmth fill up your insides. You felt numb.

When the two of you had calmed down, Aizawa still gently humping you through his own orgasm, he had laid you back down on the bed. His length slipped out of you as he collapsed gently beside you, wrapping a sweaty arm around your waist. You wanted to cry at the feeling of his cum sliding out of you, dirtying the sheets between your legs. You barely had any tears left. Both of you were still breathing heavily, and Aizawa leaned over to pepper your face in gentle, chaste kisses.

“You did so good, I’m really proud of you.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t want him to be proud of you.

[ryctone]

Okay but with all the hype for the new event I forgot I made a Dark Choco & Croissant fic based on @the-wereraven's Golden Child!AU lol;;

Srry if the pace is weird I wrote this when it was late and I just wanted to write fluff of these two; Also Raven, I put some of my headcanons in these hope u don’t mind TwT.

(Warnings: Fluff, so much fluff and Dark Choco being a good older brother for a sick lil Croissant. YOU’VE BEEN WARNED.) enjoy!

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The prince carried himself with elegance and grace. So much in fact, that his metal shoes touched the yellow-stone flooring with utter gentleness, soft and delicate as a trail of kisses. Despite the circumstances.

He didn't expect to receive a letter from the Cheese Kingdom that day, even less being informed that Golden Cheese's daughter; his pupil, was sick. Dark choco just had to see for himself, specially after how... peculiar this sickness was. He just wanted to make sure she was okay.

The guards at the door were already familiar with the heir of the Cacao Kingdom, since both their rulers are very close allays and knew he'd do no harm to the already i'll princess, granted him access to pay her a visit.

He entered the room and was greeted by-

“Hi, Choo.” came a little voice, muffled by the many blankets covering it before slowly revealing a little freckled face with golden eyes. Dark Choco paused mid-step, then smiled to himself.

Princess Croissant Cookie wasn’t just any cookie, that was certain. In the years since first being instated as his pupil of the throne by Golden Cheese herself; to show the young princess of Cheese Valley the ropes of ruling when the times comes; she had gone onward and upwards in proving her virtue and worth at such a young age, making for herself a dear place in the prince’s heart.

“Yes, it’s me. Hello Croissant!” The long haired prince proceeds to sit at the edge of the sumptuous bed.

“It’s really nice...that you’re here.” It was not the usual voice the little cookie addressed him with. Not the un-selfconscious, innocent delight and adoration of Croissant’s voracious curiosity. Rather, this was the voice that croaked and groaned, miserable enough to get the week off from school and not even enjoy it, though being Croissant, fell a little short. She had never enjoyed missing out on learning for anything, as Dark Choco well knew.

It hadn’t been the first time the prince had nursed his student through an illness, though it had been a while since the last time, and the fact this wasn't a normal sickness.

“I’m really glad you’re here. Thank you.”

The innocent sincerity touched Dark Choco, as it always did. “Of course, Cross. Your mom sent word to me as soon she knew too. You were quick to figure it out.”

The sick golden child made an aimless, sweeping gesture with her hand. “The first hundred degrees I went above normal were a bit of a clue. Candyneritus!” she suddenly exclaimed, knocking a few beetle and bird plushies about the floor.

“Candyneritus!” the little cookie cried out again. “Candynnnnnerrrrriiiiiiitus!” Dark Choco feared his student slipping into a moment of delirium. “I’m sorry,” Croissant said sullenly. “Is mom okay? I hope I got away from that sick cakehound quick enough.” She groaned and turned over.

“She is. She doesn't seem to have any symptoms according to the nurses. But is best to keep her out of your range until you’re feeling better and it can be disinfected completely.”

The freckled cookie nodded. “I hope she’s not worried...” she worried aloud.

“Only as much as you are.” Dark Choco said warmly.

“How do I even catch a Cakehound disease anyway? I’ve never heard of it happening, or read of it, or even read a story about it! Even for you, Choo, this has to be a first.” 

Dark Choco accommodated the shifted blankets to cover his little student. “Indeed it is, I’ve never heard of it, let alone seen it happen.”

Croissant gave a throaty chuckle, which quickly descended into a cough. “It shouldn’t even be possible. It’s too terrible to be allowed. I’m all achy and dizzy and shakey...and that’s not even a real adjective! Or is it an adverb?” Croissant grumbled and kicked some of her blankets off. “...I’m cold now,” she intoned quietly. “I’m sorry, choo.”

“Don’t think anything of it, Cross. You’re not well.” the prince said as he tucked her in with her blankets once more.

“I know. I’m trying to think straight, but I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.”

“If you’d rather sleep, I could—”

“No! Please, stay?” Her winged form scrambled and scooped her way through the blankets and pillows until she was more or less grabbing Dark Choco's arm. Her wide, wobbling eyes pleaded wantonly. She shivered, then buried her head in the remaining cushions that weren't on the floor to keep warm.

“Croissant. It’s alright. I'm here.” He said in a reassuring tone, seeing her act like this breaks his heart a little.

“I think it’s my high magic quotient,” she said irritably into the fluffy pillows. “Anycookie would be immune, because cakehounds are really magical too, so any flu that targeted them would have to be adapted specifically for that. The Candyneritus thinks I’m a cakehound, so now my body thinks it is one too, and is fighting it that way. My magic is tricking itself.”

Dark Choco paused, then looked back to his student. “That was surprisingly succinct.”

“Well, I am sick, but that doesn’t mean—” She sneezed. The thick, viscous kind of sneeze perpetrated by only the true mucous exporter. Right in Dark Choco’s face. Croissant looked more sheepish than an actual cotton candy sheep. Dark Choco just casually whipped it out with a gloved hand; he has to remind himself to clean up later.

“I was actually considering much along those lines as well.”

It might have just been the fever, but Croissant’s eyes took on a particular shine. “You mean it?”

“I do.”

“I think like you do? I always,—I mean, I wondered and maybe, maybe I hoped that...I’m glad.” Her head and eyelids sank respectively. “Choo?”

“Yes?”

“I know...I know I’m not really thinking straight, and I’m kind of scared and everything’s still hurt, but...but...”

“I love you.”

Dark Choco drew a gasp. Suddenly his poise and calm were fleeting things before him.

“I love you. You’re like the brother I never had. And...and...and usually I’m so worried about one thing or another, or thinking things through so much, but...but, I can barely hear myself think right now. I’m just babbling, but it’s nice for once not thinking and just saying.”

“Cross.”

The winged child found the strength to dredge her head up from the pillow. “I love you, and I don’t say that enough and maybe no cookie says it enough even though we mean to, and especially not enough to you because you’re so much, so amazing, and for everything I’ve done and been and learned... Everything I’ve learned, and I find out there’s two more things I didn’t know and-”

“Croissant.”

“...and how much you’ve done for me, because maybe a tower full of books is what I used to think was the biggest gift to me you ever gave, but I’m just a silly, sick cookie and when I’m better I’m going to be so embarrassed but I want to say it anyway, because it wasn’t the tower or the books that means so much; it’s every time you make me smile, or inspire me, or challenge me to grow, and I realize now that you’ve been treating me my whole life as... Me, and not just a spoiled lil' princess to put in a pedestal and I love you for everything and why am I crying and smiling at the same time?”

Exhausted, Croissant dropped softly to her caramel-colored bed. The occasional tear going down her cheeks with a sniff. “And now I’m scared,” she whispered. “Because I don’t know what’ll happen once I’m through the fever or if I’ll even—”

“Cheese Croissant Cookie” Dark Choco said, being firm yet gentle with his tone. “It’ll be okay. I’m here, and I won’t leave you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“But how—”

“Don’t concern yourself with that. You just get some rest and I’ll be right here.” Croissant sniffled and shivered. “Just sleep now.”

“I think...” she mumbled as her eyes drooped. “I think I can, now. I’m not so afraid with you here. I’m glad I said what I said.” 

“Sleep, Cross. I’ll watch over you.” Croissant murmured something as she sank softly into sleep. After a little while and in the privacy of the utterly spacious room, Dark Choco smiled.

“I love you too.” He whispered to the sleeping little cookie before him. Dark Choco listened to Croissant’s breathing and, in the glow of the setting sun outside the window, felt himself richer than all the marbled cheese towers.

[catalinda04]

Carried Away Chapter 51: Playing Hooky

Masterlist

NSFW

“What is he even doing with her? She’s not even pretty. He could do so much better.”

“He looks so happy.”

“How could someone that looks like him be dating someone who looks like her?”

“I’ll sum it up in 4 words: He’s hot, she’s not.”

“She’s a lucky gal, but she’ll have to drop some of the weight if she wants to keep his attention from wandering.”

“She looks sweet, and she obviously adores him.”

“How could someone who spends so much time at the gym be with someone who obviously hasn’t been to a gym this century?”

“Well, he’s definitely not into looks.”

“She won’t last long.”

“So glad he’s found someone, he deserves to be happy.”

Lucy had been torturing herself with internet comment sections since returning from New York two days ago. She and Henry had been inundated by paparazzi when they arrived at the airport on Thursday afternoon. Henry had warned her they would probably be there, and Dany presented her with a pair of sunglasses to wear.

She knew it wasn’t healthy for her to be reading the comments on the pictures of Henry and herself from the premiere, but like a car crash, she couldn’t pull her eyes away. The comments seemed to be an even mixture of “good for them” and “what’s he doing with her?”

Lucy’s phone played the sweeping piano music that was Henry’s personalized ringtone. She dragged her eyes from the screen to reach for her phone.

“Hi Darcy,” she answered on a sigh.

“Darling, what’s wrong? You’re not reading more internet comments are you?”

“I can’t stop! They’re like potato chips, can’t have just one! How can people be so mean?”

“Darling, please stop reading them. No good will come from reading those.”

“They’re not all bad! Some mention how happy they are that you look happy. More than one has congratulated me for ‘landing’ you, like you’re a trophy walleye in a fishing contest not a human being.”

“Well, you are quite a-lure-ing.” Henry joked.

“Wha, whaaaa. Stick to acting, comedy isn’t your strong suit.” Lucy laughed.

“I agree, that was a bad one. But seriously Cupcake, you’re not letting those comments get to you, are you?”

“I’m really trying. I know the majority are really just jealous of me, which I can’t quite wrap my head around, and I know that those people don’t know me, they don’t know you, they don’t know us. They’re just shouting into the void.” She sighed again, “but what’s really gotten to me is the number of phone calls and emails I’ve gotten. I’m hearing from people I haven’t talked to since college or even high school. It’s crazy.”

“That will happen,” he confirmed “Are you terribly concerned by it?”

“No. I know if I haven’t talked to them in over a decade, there’s probably a reason for it. Though I did want to run something past you.” Lucy said hesitantly.

“What would that be?” Henry asked.

“I was thinking, now that we’re out and official in the press and what not, I might make it Facebook official  and change my status and profile picture. I want to use the one of us kissing on the London Eye. What do you think?”

“I think you should do whatever you want to do, but it won’t bother me if you do. I like that picture, just know that it will make the rounds too once you make it public.”

“I think I’m fine with that. Did I tell you, I had to make my school Instagram account private? I gained over a thousand followers in a day. I had to go in and remove them, it took like an hour!”

Henry chuckled, “That will happen too. If you haven’t already locked down all of your social media, you might want to look at that.”

“I’ve already got that as locked as I can make it, but my school account is for parents and family to see what we’re doing in class, and for the travel club. It took people less than a day to find me.”

“Have you gotten any threats or anything of that nature?” He asked worried.

“No, just the random Insta-followers.”

“But you will tell me if you get anything like that, won’t you?”

“Probably…” Lucy shrugged.

“Lucy, this is serious. If you get any threats, you need to tell me.”

“Ok, I will.” She reassured.

“What are you doing today?” Henry asked, changing the subject.

“It’s Saturday, so I’ve got some stuff to do around the house, but then this afternoon I have our big pre-trip meeting with all the parents of the kids going on the trip. They need to sign a bunch of paperwork, and I collect tip money for guides on the trip. It’ll probably take about 3 hours.” she made a face.

“I would imagine that parents can get quite nervous when sending their children on a trip without them.”

“Nervous doesn't even begin to describe some of these parents. But it’s my job to allay their fears and remind them that everything will be fine.”

“Well, good luck with that.”

“Thanks,” she laughed sarcastically. “Will I get to see you again before we leave for Europe?” she asked, changing the subject.

“I think I can make some time on my way to Hong Kong.”

“I’d like that, but if you can’t I understand. I looked at the schedule Dany sent me, and we’re going to be in Madrid at the same time.”

“Any chance I could get you to accompany me to the Madrid premiere?”

“I don’t think so. We’re so exhausted by the end of the day on these tours, all we want to do is sleep. Though I’m sure I could get you an invite to dinner with us, or maybe a seat on our day trip, if you want to come.”

“We’ll see what my press schedule is like,” he promised, though in his head he was already rearranging his commitments.

Lucy’s head popped up at a noise in her house, “I have to go, my laundry is beeping and I haven’t even showered yet. Say hi to Kal for me. Tell him I miss him.”

“I will. I love you, and I’ll talk to you later. And stop looking at internet comments!”

“I love you too. And I’ll try.” She smiled, disconnecting the call.

May passed like it always did for Lucy, much too quickly. Besides getting all of the arrangements finalized for her trip with her students, she also had final projects to oversee for her classes and then grade when they were handed in.

In the end Henry had only managed to get a day in Minnesota on his way to Hong Kong. He flew into the small local airport on a Tuesday night, and Lucy picked him up.

“So Darling, I was thinking, as I only have one day here, why don’t I come to school with you tomorrow?” Henry suggested as they drove back to Lucy’s house.

Lucy glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “I don’t think that will work.” she said sadly, watching Henry’s face fall. “I’m not going to work tomorrow. I took a sick day.” She said and faked a cough. “I just don’t think I’m going to be able to get out of bed tomorrow,” faking another weak cough.

“Why Ms. Claussen, are you playing hooky?” Henry asked playfully.

“Damn straight I am. I was serious about not being able to get out of bed. I don’t plan on leaving the bedroom. Unless of course we get more adventurous, there’s always the sofa, or the kitchen, we tried the shower, that doesn’t work.”

Henry visibly swallowed, and coughed, “You’re going to want to drive faster, darling.”

“Oh, really. And why is that?” She asked on a laugh.

“Because I plan on ravishing you in about 10 minutes, and I’d really like you to not be driving while I am.” He explained, his hand snaking up to her neck, to rub at the spot he knew made her go weak. He felt the vehicle accelerate.

As they neared Lucy’s house, Henry leaned closer to press a kiss to her neck. His lips searching, teasing at the sensitive flesh behind her ear. Lucy moaned in response, before lifting her shoulder to dissuade his ministrations. “I’m going to get into an accident if you don’t stop that.” She warned.

“I said you had 10 minutes.” He teased.

“We can’t ravish each other if we’re dead. And Dany would kill me if you got injured in a car accident while I was driving.” She said, pushing his face away. “Now be a good boy for 5 more minutes, and I promise you’ll get a reward.” She placated.

“As you wish.” He smirked. She stuck her tongue out at him. “Don’t stick that out unless you intend to use it.” Henry warned.

“Oh, I intend to.” She teased.

“Henry! Please!” Lucy panted, gripping the pillow under her head. “Stop teasing me!”

Henry’s only reply was to slowly curl his fingers inside of her. His thumb brushed lightly against the bundle of nerves he’d been teasing for the past 15 minutes. Keeping her right on the edge, but not allowing her to fall.

They’d fallen on each other as soon as they entered Lucy’s house, and after two quick yet explosive orgasms, Henry was determined to take his time.

He removed his fingers slowly, before entering her again just as slowly. His lips claimed hers in a deep soul searing kiss, before raining kisses down the length of her body. Stopping to cherish her breasts.

His mouth claimed her nipple, sucking it deep into his mouth, teasing with his tongue. Lucy moaned her response, her voice becoming hoarse from his prolonged teasing. His lips made their way to her other breast to lave the nipple with his tongue, before sucking it deep into his mouth.

When his mouth finally left her breasts, Lucy felt on fire. She could feel her climax building, but Henry wouldn’t let her go. When she tried to take matters into her own hand, he brushed it away. “Stop that now, keep your hands on your pillow. If you don’t behave, I’ll have to tie you up.” He said sternly.

“Please, Henry. I can’t…” Lucy begged, unable to finish her thought as his mouth closed over the button he’d been teasing and sucked hard. His fingers increased their speed and intensity. It was mere seconds before Lucy flew over the precipice, her entire body tensing with the pleasure finally coursing through her system.

As she started to come down from her high, Henry’s lips traveled back up her body, before joining them in one smooth thrust. Lucy gasped at the deluge of sensations flooding her already overloaded system.

“Come on darling. I know you have another one for me.” He coaxed, thrusting heavily, rolling his hips to hit every nerve ending she possessed. Lucy’s climax built until Henry’s frantic thrusts pushed her over the edge again, just before he spilled himself into her.

He collapsed on top of her, both panting for breath. They laid, a sticky, sweaty, tangle of arms and legs while they caught their breath. Eventually Henry rolled off of Lucy to lay beside her.

“I don’t think I can feel my legs.” Lucy said.

“That’s ok. I can’t feel mine either.”

Lucy and Henry made love off and on through the night and the next morning. They lived in a sex-fueled bubble that only included the two of them. Sometime in the early afternoon, they took a rest on the sofa, snuggled together, watching one of Lucy’s favorite movies.

“Henry?” Lucy asked.

“Hmmm?” Was his only response.

“What’s going to happen this summer?”

“What do you mean darling?”

“I mean, are we going to see each other? What’s your schedule like?”

“I’m not 100% sure, I’d have to look at my calendar, but I know I have publicity for U.N.C.L.E. through June. I’m not certain how far into July it goes. Then I don’t think I have anything, other than training, scheduled until November, when I need to be in Jordan for filming.”

“And I have workshops to attend at least during the last week of August. I don’t think I’ll have any other trainings.” Lucy said.

“So, it would seem we have about 6 weeks. Would you want to spend at least some of that time with me in London? It would give you a chance to see what living there would be like. Experience London like a local.”

“I’d like that. I can finally spend a day in the British Museum. I should see if there are any shows I want to see.” Lucy said, thinking out loud, Henry could practically hear the gears turning in her brain.

Henry laughed, “I seem to remember your New Year’s Resolution being something along the lines of not planning so much.”

“No one keeps their resolutions.” she shook her head.

The final two weeks of school were a blur to Lucy. She and Henry talked almost everyday, usually from some exotic locale that was on Lucy’s list of places to experience. She missed him interminably, but knowing that they would be together soon made the separation easier.

Henry tried again to get Lucy to attend the Madrid premiere of U.N.C.L.E. with him with no success, Lucy had contacted her tour leader and asked about him joining them for a meal, or an excursion, and he’d agreed it should be no problem. Lucy couldn’t wait to see Henry in Spain; her favorite person in her favorite place.

Lucy sat with the other staff members at graduation. She thought back to the previous year’s graduation. She had sat with these same people, wondering if she was going to be alone forever, ending up the Old Maid teacher, teaching these graduating students’ children in 20 years, and looking forward to her trip to Europe. This year, she had another trip planned, with her students, and then would be returning to Europe, to essentially live for 6 weeks. “What a difference a year can make,” she thought to herself.

Chapter 50           Chapter 52

[sirrobin126]

what dnd species/class/etc do u see lionel as?

Ooooh interesting I haven’t even thought about this with the Smallville peeps yet. Okay I think Lionel might be a hard one to pin down, but I have a few different ideas that jump to mind immediately, and I have a favourite but I’ll explain my initial thoughts on all of them. Namely, Rogue, Wizard and Bard. 

So when I put modern characters into dnd classes sometimes I use intellect or technological/scientific expertise as the rationale behind sorting people into magic classes, like I did with Harry when I was looking at Flash. If that’s the case, then Lionel’s success in his field on the back of massive work, effort and study means that, of the magic classes I think Wizard is the only one I would ascribe to him. (There are points in the series at which a case could be made for cleric, but its not appropriate as a character class as a whole, I think)

However, I am not inclined to choose a purely magic role for him, because in the show Lionel manages to successfully navigate a world in which people have super powers without having any of his own. Because he’s also a sneak thief who is constantly underhanded in his dealings and always obfuscating the truth and working behind people’s backs so I would also consider, Rogue. He’s intelligent and deceptive, and willing to blur the lines of legality for personal gain, and keep secrets he doesn’t want coming forward from coming into the light. 

Which is great, except that he can’t stay in the shadows for too long. And here is where I would like to make a case for Bard (and not just because this is my favourite character class). That silver tongue has been Lionel’s key to building and maintaining his empire. As he’s been doing the physical work of creating his company, he has also been constructing a mythology around the Luthor name, essentially turning his own legend into public fact. When given a choice between talking someone around to his side, and blackmailing them…Lionel will do both, and use one to obfuscate the other. I’m not saying that he won’t use roguish means and abilities, but he’ll do it as he makes a speech to a hundred people about how he’s doing the opposite. 

And when it comes to the fact that Bard is often a supporting role, well, I can think of very few people more likely to show up out of nowhere to give a speech about legacy, and history, and duty, to inspire people into action. Whether its for the right reasons, or whether its successful in the way he wants it to be is, I think, another question. Lionel’s a dramatic, quick-witted, jack of all trades with a talent for getting people to do things for him, which is why I’m throwing my hat in the ring for Lionel being a Bard.  Lionel’s a storyteller, and just because the story he’s telling is his own, doesn’t mean that he’s weaving any less magic with it. 

Then, when it comes to dnd species, i’m inclined to two, Human first, just because of the adaptability and well-roundedness of their ability skillsets, because Lionel has a bunch of skills in a bunch of areas that just kinda, are there. But with how much we hear about the Luthor blood, and how much Lionel ascribes it to himself, I think he would be a real interesting Tiefling. That infernal bloodline? That boost to charisma and intelligence specifically? A racial trait called Infernal Legacy? cool. I think it would be such an interesting thing for Lionel to both have to forge a path away from, and to draw inspiration to create a persona and empire with. (Also I saw art of a tiefling with big ram horns and a beard and honestly, my number one fear was that he might not be hot but that fear has now been allayed) 

tldr: I think Lionel would make a kickass Tiefling Bard and he’d probably be King of wherever he was within twenty years and have convinced half the people in the Kingdom that it was his birthright in the first place. 

[sympathyfortheblinderdevil]

The Cursed Side Of This Family Chapter 13: Happy Birthday

Masterlist with Ch. 1-12

Tommy is spending far too much time at work. When he blows off his birthday surprise in favor of working overtime, Esme wonders if he is actually working some ho...

I thought I was finished with this series, but I just can't leave these two crazy kids alone! I don’t know what to call this, a one shot? a P.S.? I may add to this from time to time, because Tommy x Esme is the little crackship that could.

This takes place about a year after Ch. 12.

“I have to go back to the factory, union business, I’ll be home late.” 

Tommy drew on the cigarette in he held in his lips and fastened the straps on his new holster- a birthday gift from Esme. Esme eyed the leaded crystal ashtray on his desk and fantasized about knocking Tommy in the head with it. That would be one way of keeping him at home. 

“It’s your birthday, Tommy. Can’t Arthur handle it for bloody once?” 

Tommy pulled on his jacket and mumbled around the cigarette that was still dangling from his lips. “It’s Arthur who has cocked everything up.” 

Tommy’s birthday was a perfect excuse to make him take the day off, and she had worked so hard to make sure that he could have fun and relax for once. The poor girl had cooked all day and laid on a feast for the Shelbys and the Lees. They drank and danced all afternoon, but she had managed to shoo them all out of the house at a decent hour so that she could have some much needed alone time with Tommy. Now, after all her efforts, she faced another night between cold sheets. 

Esme poured herself another whiskey and scowled at him. Tommy, who was always absorbed in his work, had been little more than a rumor to Esme lately. She’d lost track of how many mornings she’d woken up alone. More often than not, Tommy either worked through the night at the factory or crashed at the desk in his study. She missed him. She missed all of him. Esme badly needed a shag. 

“Oh, come ’ere,” he said in a soothing tone. He knew that she felt neglected and hated to disappoint her, yet again, but business was business. Tommy pulled her into an embrace and rested his chin on top of her head, “Thank you for my birthday surprises.” 

In a last ditch effort to convince him to stay, she slipped her hand between his legs and palmed his balls. “Can’t you stay for a little longer? I haven’t given you all of your presents yet.” 

Tommy groaned appreciatively as he nuzzled her neck, “It’ll have to wait until tomorrow, love.” 

Esme wriggled out of his arms and snatched the whiskey decanter from Tommy’s desk, “Oh, fook off!” she growled as she stormed out of the room. He could hear her ranting as she stomped toward their bedroom, “Union business! Union business! I’ll get my revolver and end all this rutting union business. That Edens needs a bullet, the bloody reprobate!” 

Esme was too mad to cry even though her heart was breaking. She understood that being a Shelby meant dealing with odd hours and mysterious business deals, but the amount of time that Tommy spent away from home had steadily increased in recent months. It was to the point that she had begun to wonder if he had another woman in town. Polly tried to allay Esme’s suspicions. She constantly told her how much Tommy had changed since settling down with her, how he had found balance and contentment because of her influence.  “Tommy has always needed someone like you,” Polly would say, “You keep him close to his roots and make him want to be a better man.” She wanted to believe it, but he was still only a man. 

Esme had abandoned her glass and drank whiskey straight from the decanter as she paced around the massive bedroom that she shared with Tommy. She had made the opulent space cozier by hanging tapestries on the walls and draping scarves over the lamps because the largesse of the estate was still a bit much for her taste. One thing that she could appreciate about Tommy’s wealth was the stable of horses that it afforded them. Esme was born riding. She and Tommy bonded over their love of horses even before they came together as a couple. In the early days, when John was still alive and Tommy avoided her like the plague, the one thing that they could agree on was the merits of a good horse. As she paced and drank she decided that staying cooped in in the house was no good. With all jealous thoughts and doubts circling around in her head, a ride was exactly what she needed. 

She took off her Egyptian cuff bracelets and long glass beaded necklaces and dropped them on her dressing table.  She then shed the green silk brocade dress that she had bought especially for the party and hung it over the chair. Arthur had told her how pretty she looked tonight, so had Johnny Dogs, but Tommy was too preoccupied with the impending strike to do much more than grunt in agreement with them. Hanging in the closet was a long dress with a full gathered skirt that she wore for riding. It was as comfortable as a second skin and reminded her of a simpler time. After getting ready to ride, she looked down at the emerald and gold band that Tommy had given to her as a sign of his love and hoped for both of their sakes that her suspicions were wrong. 

Esme grabbed another bottle of Irish whiskey from the cabinet on her way out to the stables. She pulled out the cork with her teeth and spat it into the garden as she walked. As she turned the bottle up, her mind returned to the pretty union organizer, Jesse Edens, and she told herself that Edens was not Tommy’s type. She hated to think the worst, but she also didn’t want to be taken for a fool. She tried to reason with herself, “It’s just business, he belongs to me.” But, if he was messing around, she wouldn’t give up without a fight. 

Once inside the stable, she put down the bottle and went straight to the stall of her favorite mare, Rosu, a spirited bay that Tommy had given her. On the day that Tommy brought the mare home, he and Esme rode out to the river and made love on the grassy bank. It felt like a thousand years ago, but she had to somehow find a way back there. She missed the way that he used to rush home in time to take her riding before dinner. Sometimes she would pack food and a bed roll, and they would ride out to spend the night under the stars. They would come back the next morning with the smell of campfire smoke clinging to their hair and clothes, and if he was a few hours late for work he didn’t care. Where was that Tommy now? She stroked the mare’s velvety muzzle and ran her fingers through her forelocks. “How ‘bout we go for a ride, girl?” She patted the horse’s withers and began getting her ready. 

Just as she was about to climb onto the mare’s back she heard the stable door creak and thought that it was probably the caretaker coming to see why the lights were on. She called out, “It’s me, thought it was a nice night for a ride.” 

As she stepped out of the stall her breath caught in her throat. It was Tommy. He had picked up the abandoned whiskey bottle that Esme had left near the entrance and stood drinking it in the doorway. “Where’s the cork, love?” 

“I spat it in the garden. Didn’t plan on needing it.” 

Tommy chuckled as he walked toward her, “You’re going to drink a whole bottle of Kilvannon and stay on the back of an ‘orse?” He motioned toward the blood bay mare. 

“What are you doing here, Thomas? Thought you had business to attend to.” Esme’s kept her voice cold even though she was relieved to see him home. 

Tommy walked toward her saying, “I got halfway there, and I thought about what you said about Arthur. You are right. He needs to learn how to clean up his own messes. So, I turned back and told him to handle it.” 

By the time he stopped talking, he had reached where she was standing. He sat the bottle down in the hay and took her hands, bringing them up to his mouth. While gazing into her eyes, he kissed the ring on Esme’s finger. “I’ve missed you, love.” 

Esme felt a warmth spread throughout her body and her knees got weak. Tommy could still do that to her after a year’s time, but she stubbornly decided to resist him until she could put her fears to rest. “We need to have a little chat.” 

Tommy’s face fell and he lifted his chin, “About?” 

“I want to know if you are fucking around on me.” 

Her blunt reply took him by surprise. Tommy let go of her hands and stepped back. His brows knitted together incredulously and he scoffed, “Why, Es, why would you say such a thing?” 

“Well, you’re never here, and when you are your mind is somewhere else…” 

Tommy reached down and picked up the bottle, He took a generous swig before answering, “Esme, I have nearly a thousand men depending on me. Their jobs depend on my decisions. Forgive me if I am preoccupied.” 

Esme’s nostrils flared as she spat the words, “But not too preoccupied to come running like a dog whenever Jesse Edens blows her whistle.” 

Tommy shook his head in disbelief, “You’ve got to be having me on. That’s what this is really about? It’s business. That is all. You think I enjoy spending time with her? Hmmm? Going over contracts, dealing with her threats?” 

Esme crossed her arms and soldiered on, “I’ve seen you do business, Tom. It’s a fair question.” He rolled his eyes and reached out to her, but she swatted his hand away. “May, Lizzie, that Dutchess…Just tell me Tom, is Jesse Edens the reason why you’re never at home?” 

Esme could infuriate Tommy like no one else. How could she think such a thing? He had been faithful to her since the day she swept back into his life. He clenched his teeth and the muscles in his jaws flexed as he struggled with his temper. Mainly because she had a point. His past behavior with women had been abominable. If Miss Edens had come into his orbit a couple of years ago he would have had her signing labor contracts while bent over a desk. Esme had changed all that. 

“Answer me, Thomas! Are you fucking her, yes or no?” 

Tommy threw the bottle and Esme winced as it shattered against the wall. “No! Dammit, Esme! Don’t you understand, there is no one else but you!” he panted, “It’s all for you. All the long hours, all the money, this,” he gestured up to the rafters of the stable, “It wouldn’t mean a thing to me without you!” 

Tommy’s reaction lit a fire within Esme. Her breath came fast and she glowed with desire. 

He loved her with all his being and worked night and day to keep her and the family that she shared with him safe. He wanted to make sure that they had everything their hearts could desire and so much money that no one could ever touch them, but looking into Esme’s fierce eyes he realized that all she wanted was him. Behind the anger, frustration, and doubt was a woman who loved him completely and was terrified of losing him. He pulled her into his arms and held her close, “I’m never home because I want to give you everything, but if it is tearing us apart I will find a way to change it.” 

“How?” she whispered against his chest, her body hummed with wanting him, but her mind remained skeptical. 

“Well, for a start, Arthur can become more active in negotiations, and I’ve been thinking that it’s time for Finn to become more involved in the management end of the business.” 

Esme swayed to the steady beat of his heart, “And then you’ll be home at night?” 

“Yes, most nights.” He lifted Esme’s chin and fixed her with his sky blue eyes. “You are all that I want, but I have responsibilities to handle, love. I’ll talk to Arthur and Finn. It will take some time.” 

He drew her into a kiss, and she caressed his face with her hands. “I need you, Tom. The house is so empty when you aren’t here. I get lost in my own head, I’m sorry.” 

Closing his eyes he breathed in the heady mixture of whiskey, hay, and the spices in her perfume. He worked his way down to her jawline and whispered into her neck, “I’m yours, Es. Never doubt my love for you, alright?” She nodded her head, shivering as he nipped the sensitive skin just above her collarbone. Their breath showed hot and foggy in the chilly night as she whispered words of surrender onto his skin, and they sank down into the soft hay. “It’s not yet midnight; you still owe me the rest of my birthday present.”   

She smiled and ran her fingers through his dark hair, “Happy birthday, love.”

[psi-psina]

The Hounds of Baskerville read-through

Pt three, UMQRA. [pt one] [pt two]

(this is again a direct continuation of pt one & two)

Credit as always to Arianne DeVere for her transcripts :)

This is the final part of this read through that I wrote before intervening events, and I don’t know if/when I’ll be continuing as I’m quite busy now. This is also quite a bit longer than the other two posts bc I just CAN’T shut up about this part, sorry about that lol.

And we’re finally out on the moor! Night falls as they approach the hollow and as they enter the wooded area, John is distracted by some ghostly rustlings and wailings and he spots a tiny light blinking off in the distance. He exhales heavily and whispers after Sherlock, but finds himself suddenly alone. Sherlock never waits for him.

He thinks the light is someone signalling, coded in morse, and writes down what the morse spells out: UMQRA. The light then vanishes and John, stumped, goes after Sherlock and Henry.

Back with Sherlock and Henry, Sherlock needling about Frankland; he says Frankland seems worried about Henry, and Henry says Frankland’s a worrier at best, and that he’s been very kind to him (Henry) since he came back.

So thinking about Frankland as a Moriarty mirror; Frankland acts kindly and concerned towards Henry (Sherlock) but this is only in order to exploit him. Frankland is literally gaslighting Henry and making him doubt his grip on reality,  in order to discredit Henry to make sure no one would ever take him seriously if he ever started to remember Frankland’s crime. Perhaps he was even hoping to simply push Henry to suicide. It is a clear foreshadowing of what Moriarty intends to do to Sherlock in The Reichenbach Fall in which he seeks to discredit and destroy Sherlock “inch by inch” in the most public and intimate ways imaginable, in his attempt to solve their “problem”.

This is also, however, the root of Sherlock’s fears about John that are explored in this episode, which is dealing entirely with Fear. This is why Frankland is heavily paralleled with John, and his two mirrors (Dr Mortimer & Dr Stapleton) throughout this episode. Frankland is the same physical type as the other villainous John mirrors (Jeff Hope and Culverton), he has a military past and is also a Dr who works at Baskerville with Dr Stapleton. He’s very worried about Henry just as Lousie is, but where her concerns are genuine, his are dishonest and exploitative. Which we will see very shortly is the exact gist of what Sherlock fears about John, and the nature of their relationship. Frankland as Moriarty is this episode’s embodiment of the fears Sherlock has projected onto John which, when understood make his behaviour throughout this episode extremely transparent.

ANYWAY.

SHERLOCK: But he worked at Baskerville, your dad didn’t have a problem with that? HENRY: Well, mates are mates aren’t they. I mean look at you and John.

Sherlock snaps suspiciously at this, clearly on edge about any insinuations about them.

HENRY: They agreed never to talk about work (Baskerville), Uncle Bob and my dad.

Hm. They agreed to never talk about Baskerville (❤️). And when they did, Henry’s dad ended up…dead. Henry points out the hollow as he and Sherlock arrive at the scene, and we cut back to John. As he’s searching for Sherlock he hears an odd sound, one that appears to be part of the soundtrack but he reacts to it (I could be mistaken but this also happens in The Blind Banker so I have a feeling it’s legit). There’s an odd pulse that is almost like an eerie distorted heartbeat, to which John reacts. And he looks for the source and finds water, dripping from an unknown source onto a drum. He looks a the oddly leaking water with no apparent source and seems curious and rather bemused, until his inspection is cut short by the Hound tearing through the woods behind him. This moment is mirrored a bit later in the episode with Henry (Sherlock) who’s attention is drawn to some carelessly leaking water in his backyard before he too is terrorised by the Hound. I’ll go into the symbolism of water a little later. Back with John, the Hound howls and John starts to run, the water forgotten, and we cut back to Sherlock stumbling down into the hollow as the Hound’s motif escalates. He fixates on huge paw prints in the mud before looking up at the sound of another howl.

On the edge of the hollow we can hear the Hound snarling and rustling and see it’s shadow on the forest floor but -

There’s nothing there.

Sherlock looks like he’s seen a ghost as a frantic Henry lurches up behind him, demanding to know if Sherlock saw it. Sherlock completely ignores him and pushes him aside brusquely, storming off. When they meet back up with John, Sherlock denies having seen anything at all.

HENRY: Look, he must have seen it. I saw it – he must have. He must have. I can’t ... Why? Why? Why would he say that? It-it-it-it it was there. It was. JOHN: Henry, Henry, I need you to sit down, try and relax, please. HENRY: I’m okay, I’m okay. JOHN: Listen, I’m gonna give you something to help you sleep, all right? HENRY: This is good news, John. It’s-it’s-it’s good. I’m not crazy. There is a hound, there ... there is. And Sherlock – he saw it too. No matter what he said, he saw it.

John escorts Henry back to his home and kindly prescribes him some downers to help him calm down after his close encounter. Henry (Sherlock) is having a strange experience however, he seems equally relieved as he is horrified at having actually SEEN the Hound. Because, as horrifying as it’s existence is, a confirmation at least allays his fears about his own sanity. We transition from Henry in the classic Holmes thinking pose as he contemplates and consoles himself, to a highly distressed Sherlock striking his own Holmesian pose by the fire back at the Inn. I love that transition, one of my many favourites. This show has THE MOST emotive transitions, it’s the BEST. 

John takes the chair opposite Sherlock at the Inn, and we see them before an empty dinner table set for two, with a heart-shaped wreath of thorns hung right over the flames in between their bodies. This is one of my favourite shots in the whole show;

Like…this image speaks a thousand words. Visual poetry. I mean the entire show is but there are moments like these where they just… completely outdo themselves man. Obviously, a burning heart made of a wreath of thorns is evocative enough in itself, it also looks like another piece of Christian imagery. It brings to mind the Sacred Heart, which is a pretty well known symbol for divine and unconditional love…the cause of Christ’s Sherlock’s immeasurable suffering. :( All of which is…contextually relevant.

^ An accurate image of Sherlock’s heart, tbh.

JOHN: Well, he is in a pretty bad way. He’s manic, totally convinced there’s some mutant super-dog roaming the moors. And there isn’t, though, is there? ’Cause if people knew how to make a mutant super-dog, we’d know. They’d be for sale. I mean, that’s how it works. …Er, listen: er, on the moor I saw someone signalling. Er, Morse – I guess it’s Morse. …Doesn’t seem to make much sense. …Er, U, M, Q, R, A. Does that mean ... anything ... So, okay, what have we got? We know there’s footprints, ’cause Henry found them; so did the tour guide bloke. We all heard something. …Maybe we should just look for whoever’s got a big dog. SHERLOCK: Henry’s right. JOHN: What? SHERLOCK: I saw it too. JOHN: What? SHERLOCK: I saw it too, John. JOHN: Just ... just a minute. You saw what? SHERLOCK: A hound, out there in the Hollow. A gigantic hound.

John smirks. Sherlock blinks back the tears. This scene is absolutely excruciating. What is it with Mark writing these horrible inability-to-communicate scenes in his episodes. I mean I know why but...I hate it.

“Cause if people knew how to make a mutant super-dog, we’d know. They’d be for sale. I mean, that’s how it works.”

Interesting, because even though the Hound is not actually real, the idea of the Hound very much is, and is VERY much for sale. The idea of the Hound is, literally, used as a ‘tourist attraction’, an in-joke that drums up business for the township, irregardless of the fact that it’s driving Henry insane. This is, undoubtedly, a meta comment on cultural gaybaiting, probably also an underhanded reaction in response to the criticism they themselves have received for it. I am not joking. Like in and of itself it’s excruciatingly poignant and incredibly well done purely in the episodes context, but as all their bullshit subtext has amounted to nothing remotely tangible, it remains an underhanded tantrum. >(

Anyway. John goes from disbelief to a weak attempt at pacification which only serves to embitter Sherlock even more towards him.

JOHN: We have to be rational about this.

This scene is an interesting role-reversal. This is, in a way, Sherlock getting a taste of his own medicine from John. This is basically John treating Sherlock the way Sherlock treated him in their argument in The Great Game (one of my favourite scenes EVER), and is absolutely 100% written as a parallel scene, simply with Sherlock the one having an emotional crisis, and John completely misunderstanding what he’s seeing. And even in these role reversals, John is still rather kindly, and Sherlock stiflingly cruel. Anyway, Sherlock is no more able to ‘be rational’ in this situation than John was as they started at each from their chairs in 221B (although again, John behaves, as always, far more rationally than Sherlock does lmao i WILL NOT discredit him there!!). And John can do nothing to appease him because they are communicating across a gulf so wide right now they might as well be speaking different languages. 

The way Sherlock admits to having seen it is so sad; it’s like a concession, “Henry’s right, I was wrong. I saw it too. He’s always been right about it.” He’s always feared, deep down, that it was real and what they all say about it is true.

SHERLOCK: Look at me. I’m afraid, John. Afraid. *[1] JOHN: Sherlock? SHERLOCK: Always been able to keep myself distant...divorce myself from...feelings. But look, you see…body’s betraying me. Interesting, yes? Emotions. The grit on the lens, the fly in the ointment.

Sherlock looks at his shaking hands with disdain as he raises a glass of scotch and takes a couple of swigs. “Look at me, I’m afraid.”

What’s got him so wound up to be shaking and forcing back tears in a room full of people? Sure he’s been drugged, but neither Henry nor John react anywhere near this viscerally to the drug or their encounter with their Hounds. This is because John, and probably Henry, are both far better adjusted than Sherlock is lol. All this is has been just below the surface all along, the drug, the Hound, just knocked his defences down.You get a big hint in Scandal, in fact, as to the nature of Sherlock’s fear here.

In that scene in Scandal, we get the first appearance of the musical motif used solely in the aptly titled “Pursued by a Hound” which is exclusive to this episode bar that one moment in Scandal (another thing linking the Hound to Irene and the events of Scandal). In that scene, we see Sherlock drugged against his will by Irene, just as he has been now, in the Hollow. The scene above is the one in which Irene wholly defeats Sherlock, and she does so by drugging him. His defeat by her, the mirror of his desire and sexuality, is not intellectual, it is wholly physical, she imposes her will upon him with a drug. She causes his body to utterly fail him and leaves him entirely at her mercy. Drugged and completely physically vulnerable.

“…Body’s betraying me.” 

So you could argue that this betrayal is fear itself, but it simply isn’t. Sherlock is not immune to emotions, he only pretends to be. He’s no stranger to fear. His desires got totally carried away on him, he fell desperately in love with John, and he is quite certain now that he was mistaken to do so. He does not hate emotions in and of themselves, he hates HIS emotions because they are not correct, they are doomed, unrequited, unfulfilled, a source of nothing but pain and suffering for him. He hates his emotions and he is terrified of his weakening body betraying his desires. To John. This fear, this visceral shame that can so easily grow and become basically synonymous with desire inside gay people living in ambient homophobia, is embodied in this episode by this idea of the Hound literally mauling it’s unwilling victims to death. It is embodied by mirrors, when Henry loses control and attacks Lousie in his home. It is embodied in The Reichenbach Fall by every man Sherlock touches being violently killed or committing suicide as a direct result of being touched by him. It is mirrored again by Eurus in The Final Problem, when she talks about raping one of her guards. 

He’s on a(nother) downward spiral. Mind’s tearing itself to pieces, body’s betraying him. He feels like a monster.

”The grit on the lens, the fly in the ointment.” But John can’t see it, and he has absolutely no chance of making any sense of it because he would never think in a million years that Sherlock is behaving like this because of him. He could never know that Sherlock’s cold disdain for emotions is an expression of the pain his own cause him, of the fear that John get a glimpse (or a faceful) of what Sherlock feels for him, even though John does suspect his friend is not alright. Like, this is certainly one of John’s uglier moments, he certainly could have handled this with more tact, and once you’re able to read Sherlock it’s so easy to fault John in this scene because once you’re in Sherlock’s head, John can appear to be a truly insensitive, oblivious dick. Which he sort of is, but you just can’t. You can’t truly fault John for being cynical and guarded at this stage, Sherlock has cut him dead and hurt him too much for John to be anything but lost when they’re in these situations now. This cynicism does grow into something uglier down the line, in Culverton, and I feel like this scene is where the seeds of that monster are first sown in Sherlock, which then properly bloom at the end of The Sign of Three.. :/

Jesus. Like I’m not joking, if I was a damaged robotic gay person having a nervous breakdown in front of my best friend with whom I was desperately in love only to have them inadvertently make a mockery of my self-hatred and inability to express myself I definitely would not be able to handle this any better. (I mean personally I would just start crying and run away).

John, getting more and more uncomfortable, tries to get Sherlock to rationalise, saying “You’ve been pretty wired lately, you know you have. I think you’ve just gone out there, and got yourself a bit worked up.” Like you would to a child. Even with that slight smile. This sounds infuriatingly patronising to Sherlock, and Sherlock gets defensive, then angry, and inevitably lashes out the best way he can; with his deductions.

“There is nothing wrong with me, do you understand!? You want me to prove it yes?” **[2]

So he launches into an incredibly scathing and specific deduction about the widow and the fisherman sitting across the room from them: very blatant mirrors for Sherlock (the widow) and John (the fisherman). (They even have matching hearts hanging above them! Although the one hanging over the fisherman is made of rusty old tin or something, make of that what you will.)

SHERLOCK: We’re looking for a dog, yes, a great big dog, that’s your brilliant theory. Cherchez le chien. Good, excellent, yes, where shall we start? How about them? The sentimental widow and her son, the unemployed fisherman. The answer’s yes. JOHN: Yes? SHERLOCK: She’s got a West Highland terrier called Whisky. Not exactly what we’re looking for. JOHN: Sherlock, for God’s sake ...

The widow (Sherlock) has a little Hound, of course…a West Highland Terrier. Like Bluebell, it’s not exactly a horrible monster. I mean. I mean look at this. Look at this monstrous Hound.

I just…I am going to scream and physically die, I’M IN TOO DEEP.

SHERLOCK: Look at the jumper he’s wearing. Hardly worn. Clearly he’s uncomfortable in it. Maybe it’s because of the material; more likely the hideous pattern, suggesting it’s a present, probably Christmas. So he wants into his mother’s good books. Why? Almost certainly money. He’s treating her to a meal but his own portion is small. That means he wants to impress her, but he’s trying to economise on his own food. JOHN: Well, maybe he’s just not hungry. SHERLOCK: No, small plate. Starter. He’s practically licked it clean. She’s nearly finished her pavlova. If she’d treated him, he’d have had as much as he wanted. He’s hungry all right, and not well off – you can tell that by the state of his cuffs and shoes.

So, this is what’s going on in Sherlock’s heart right now. :/ The fisherman (John) is treating the widow (Sherlock) to a meal, and indulging her by wearing a jumper he clearly doesn’t like because it was a gift from her, but not because he just loves her and cares about her or wants to spoil her or just spend time with her or make her happy, but because he wants to impress her and get into her ‘good books’. Why? Almost certainly money. His actions aren’t sincere but manipulative and made purely in self-interest (RE, Frankland) and he gives himself away by ‘economising’ on his own food, in spite of being ‘hungry’. John suggests he just might not be hungry but Sherlock is adamant; he’s (John) definitely hungry and not well off, and remains certain that he’s only interested in exploiting her. Those earlier awkward moments between them about money? They hint at this well of resentment. Sherlock’s the wealthy, sentimental widow and John’s the scarred, threadbare, unemployed tradesman.

Left alone with his heartbreak and insecurity, it seems this is what Sherlock thinks about John in his ugliest moments, and now the ‘drug’ lets his fears run wild. It’s eating away at him. I don’t think for a second he truly believes this of John as a person, this is another product of his own self-loathing more than anything and it is WILDLY unfair to John. It seems this is the conclusion he draws about them when trying to figure out why John chooses to continue living and working with him, despite the fact that it causes so many problems in other area’s of John’s life, particularly romantically. He would never think for a second that John stays with him because he’s like, the love of his LIFE, because he doesn’t think that’s possible anymore. :/ All of the above is the reason Sherlock is such an asshole to John in this episode. He’s so insecure he’s convinced himself that he means nothing to John beyond the social/financial perks their partnership provides him. It certainly doesn’t make it okay, it just makes him very transparent, and…sad.

The stuff about the Christmas jumper is something because

I mean, if this possibly implies that Sherlock actually gave John that jumper for Christmas I would just…Die. That seems like a rather…unSherlock thing to do so personally I don’t think it was lol. I always thought that jumper was probably from Jeanette or Mrs Hudson before I thought about this deduction, so…I don’t know really.

SHERLOCK: Now, he was a fisherman. Scarring pattern on his hands, very distinctive – fish hooks. They’re all quite old now, which suggests he’s been unemployed for some time. Not much industry in this part of the world, so he’s turned to his widowed mother for help. “Widowed?” Yes, obviously. She’s got a man’s wedding ring on a chain around her neck – clearly her late husband’s and too big for her finger. She’s well-dressed but her jewellery’s cheap. She could afford better, but she’s kept it – it’s sentimental. Now, the dog ... tiny little hairs all over the leg from where it gets a little bit too friendly, but no hairs above the knees, suggesting it’s a small dog, probably a terrier. In fact it is – a West Highland terrier called Whisky. “How the hell do you know that, Sherlock?” ’Cause she was on the same train as us and I heard her calling its name and that’s not cheating, that’s listening, I use my senses, John, unlike some people, so you see, I am fine, in fact I’ve never been better, so just Leave. Me. Alone.

Where it get’s a little bit too friendly. ...I mentioned he hates himself right. 

Anyway. John sits quietly and endures this tirade like all the others, looking more and more hurt as it goes on and Sherlock starts to mock him on top of everything else. When it’s over, he just sadly says “Yeah, okay. Okay. Why would you listen to me? I’m just your friend.” Looking close to tears himself now and Sherlock twists the knife one more time; “I don’t have friends.” he says viciously and John just

😞

Honestly, the rejection Sherlock feels is mostly self-imposed, which is why his character arc thus far has culminated in him finding self-love, but John…god the rejection John has endured from Sherlock over the course of their relationship is just beyond. Sherlock is just so casually cruel to him so often. Like now. John tries to remind Sherlock that he is in fact his friend, and Sherlock essentially tells him “You are not my friend.” John does the only thing he really can, bitterly says “Naah. Wonder why.” And walks away.

John storms out of the inn to get some air, breathing heavily, trying to calm down, and then spots that light again. Signalling him off in the distance.

We get this sequence.

John sees the distant light and goes after it immediately and we transition to Henry (Sherlock) curled up rather pathetically on his sofa, a blanket draped over his face. He sits, looking pained and tired, then stands and walks to the window. As he reaches it, Liberty In (Death) crashes through his skull and he rubs his temples, holding his head in his hands and breathing deeply.

Liberty in death.

As this is happening to Sherlock/Henry we transition back to John as he hurries toward the source of the light. And what is it? What’s sending this garbled signal John can see off in the distance? It’s sex. Specifically it’s a sexual activity known as Dogging in Britain. Wow 😩

Like, if you were not convinced that Dogs are connected to and referencing sexuality in this episode, this really ought to put that matter to rest. I can’t imagine the agony it must have caused Mark Gatiss to figure out how to work this euphemism into the mystery in this episode in a meaningful way lmao. There’s nothing else to say.

Anyway, John, realising that the light that his curiosity thought to be a meaningful signal is just a product of some voyeuristic pervs bonking, believes he’s made a mistake, turns and heads back toward the inn, kicking himself. As he retreats, with the light flashing eerily over his shoulder as though it’s trying to call him back, his phone pings with a text from Sherlock, asking him to interview Louise Mortimer. John texts him back in all caps, Ajsdhfn I love him. And Sherlock just sends through a photo of Louise for him. 😩 I swear to god, Sherlock could not be any saltier right now if he were a literal puddle of brine. John halts momentarily as he looks at Louise and he mumbles, “Ohh you’re a bad man” and in my opinion he’s talking about…both of them. 😩 Useless jerks.

As John walks off, we transition back to Henry (Sherlock).

The simplest way to look at the following sequence is pure dream logic. It is almost certainly an actual nightmare that Sherlock/Henry is having, as all Henry says the next morning is that he ‘didn’t sleep well’ and not, y’know, that there was something lurking around his yard last night that was setting off the floodlights and scaring the living daylights out of him and would Sherlock mind taking a look. No, it isn’t real. The sole purpose of these scenes at Henry’s house is to show you what is going on inside the iron box. Emotional context, with Henry simply being Sherlock’s avatar so as not to give the whole game away.

Henry (Sherlock) is sitting listlessly and being plagued by Hounds on the television. No matter which channel he tries the Hound is everywhere. Then the floodlights flick on, drenching his yard in harsh white light. We see a hose on the patio leaking water everywhere, and as the lights fade out, the silhouette of the Hound tears across the screen. This moment is the dead ringer of John’s earlier encounter with water in the woods. The attention on this eerily leaking water (Henry’s resigned and heedless as he just lets his hose leak everywhere rather than do anything about it, John’s curious and benign as he’s drawn by this mysterious dripping of unknown origins [kind of in the same way he was drawn by the mysterious light]), which is promptly shattered by the appearance of the Hound. Interestingly, the second time we see the hose, after the Hound tears through the yard and the floodlights flash for a second time, the water has stopped.

We all know the symbolism attributed to water in literature and dreams, it’s all relative to emotions and energy:

“In most dreams water indicates emotions, moods and flow of feeling energy. Because of the nature of water it lends itself to depicting aspects of how you relate to your feelings. For instance you can ‘drown’ in or feel swept away by some emotions. At other times you can feel cleansed and refreshed. But because water is vital to your existence it can show how you long for or thirst for something, and feeling fulfilled.” [x] 

Everyone’s picked up on how heavily and literally this symbolism is used in Sherlock (particularly drowning), especially in Series 4, but the focus in this episode is on leaking, and leaking water carries it’s own particular meaning:

A leaky hose faucet represents issues that weaken your ability to control yourself. Loss, disappointments, or frustrations may be distracting you.

To dream of a something springing a leak, or taking on water represents loss, disappointments, or frustrations that may be distracting you. Issues that were repressed or kept at bay may coming to the forefront. You may also feel that you are wasting your time or energy. It may also reflect an uncertain situation that is getting out of control.

Small problems that may have the potential to get out of control if you don't deal with them immediately. The potential for a problem to spiral out of control or become destructive if left unattended. Possibly a warning dream about procrastinating or ignoring problems. [x]

Leaking water in dreams represents a leaking of emotions or loss of power. Dreaming of a leak that you can't stop might symbolise an emotional situation in waking life that seems to be out of control. Passively watching a leak without taking action to repair it might be an indication that you are in a reflective stage and are not quite sure whether you want to repair the leak or just let it go. [x]

Leaking water: This can mean that your emotional energy is be used unwisely, possible through such things as anxiety or fear, especially if the water is coming through a ceiling or wall. [x]

So we have…

Loss of self-control - check.

Fear - check.  

Disappointment, frustration, anxiety - check.

A(n emotional) problem spiralling out of control and becoming something destructive while left unattended - check.

So, I hope these flashing floodlights are bringing to mind another light we’ve just seen flashing in this episode. 

This is what is happening inside Sherlock’s heart right now. Or just watch the full sequence tbh. 

The Hound is all over the television, it’s in his home, it’s in his backyard, it’s in his reflection, it’s in his heart. It won’t leave him alone and he can’t get away from it. But all that escapes the iron box is

UMQRA. That bright blaze just a tiny light, glimpsed off in the distance, blinking in nonsense morse. An utter inability to communicate what is in one’s heart. “Every time I close my eyes…I’m lost…lost in the sky and…no one can hear me.” This is what just played out between them at the inn. And John is worried, because he picks up on the signals, he does notice, and he wants it to mean something, he wants it to be a code because that’d mean he might have a chance, however small, at cracking it, but it’s Sherlock’s own actions and endless rejections that make him doubt and dismiss his own perceptions and he will never be able to act on his instincts as long as Sherlock locks him out and refuses to open his heart.

We then transition from Henry, sunk onto the floor weeping, to John and Louise at the pub on a sort-of date, horror transitioning to mirth as she cradles her head in laughter at something John said, uttering “That’s so mean...��, as Henry (Sherlock), gun in hand, cradles his head in despair on his living room floor. Another one of my favourite transitions.

JOHN: Um, more wine, Doctor? MORTIMER: Are you trying to get me drunk, Doctor?

Doctor to Doctor. John chats with Louise and ply’s her with wine as he tries to get a rapport going, changing tack and asking about Henry’s father when she stays firm on her refusal to talk about Henry.

JOHN: Okay, what about his father? He wasn’t one of your patients. Wasn’t he some sort of conspiracy nutter - theorist? MORTIMER: You’re only a nutter if you’re wrong. JOHN: Mmm. And was he wrong? MORTIMER: I should think so!

Of course, like every other Conspiracy Theorist on the show (Sherlock, The Geek Interpreter boys, Anderson & Co, etc), Henry and his father are in fact right about everything. John then makes an appeal to Louise’s concern for Henry,

JOHN: But he got fixated on Baskerville, didn’t he? With what they were doing in there ... Couldn’t Henry have gone the same way, started imagining a hound? MORTIMER: Why d’you think I’m going to talk about this?! JOHN: Because I think you’re worried about him, and because I’m a doctor too…and because I have another friend who might be having the same problem.

John probably genuinely wants to talk to someone about this because he is worried about Sherlock and he has no one to talk to about anything, ever. :/ And just as they may have gotten somewhere, Frankland interrupts and sends it all to hell. Keeping in mind the connection between Frankland/John/Jaqui in this episode, it’s obvious Frankland is acting as John’s demon here. A vexing presence that pops up just in time to prevent John from gaining any insight into Henry’s/Sherlock’s state of mind, AND an annoying cockblock. In keeping with the theme, Frankland fucks with John by insinuating that Sherlock and John are Gay while making sure Louise gets that John’s only there to get information out of her.

FRANKLAND: Didn’t you know? Don’t you read the blog? Sherlock Holmes! Private detective! This is his PA! JOHN: PA? FRANKLAND: Well, live-in PA. JOHN: Perfect.

Wow it’s almost like, every PA we see on this show is a) a mirror for John and b) romantically involved with their Sherlock-I mean, employer. Commander. Except for Janine, who is a PA who is just involved with Sherlock himself. 😩

Frankland mutters to John about Stapleton conspiratorially and finally leaves. John looks back to Louise and makes an appropriately sheepish gesture. As she leaves, Louise snarkily suggests John buy Frankland a drink instead of her, then walks away. Awkward. John sighs, foiled again, as always.

The following morning Sherlock is back on the rocky outcrop alone, contemplating his Problem. We transition to Henry’s house, as he wearily approaches the door to Sherlock’s banging. Sherlock bursts in more manic than ever.

SHERLOCK: Morning! Oh, how are you feeling? HENRY: I’m ... I didn’t sleep very well. SHERLOCK: That’s a shame! Shall I make you some coffee? Oh look, you’ve got damp!

It’s like the shittier he feels the more manic he gets. And of course, they also have “damp”, from all that leaking going on. :/ He promptly storms into Henry’s kitchen and goes straight for his sugar, stealing a couple of sachets and then dramatically making out like he’s putting coffee on. Henry wanders in and tries to ask him what his deal was last night and Sherlock abruptly slams the canister down and cuts him off and tells us what’s REALLY on his mind. Hound; this absurd term for an ordinary love…..i mean . .. . .dog. He then abruptly storms off having got what he came for, leaving his exhausted Henry behind. As he’s walking back through the village he comes across John sitting alone in the cemetery, framed by 3 huge crosses:

So the morning after, Sherlock gazes at John through a field of crosses and they are so prominent in the  frame it literally looks like they’re warding Sherlock off. Like a warning. Or reminder: John is off limits, remember that, b*tch. John, meanwhile, has situated himself amongst the dead, sending a pretty clear message about his current state of mind. He looks quite different from the day before as well. He’s gone from the striking (passionate!) combo of deep red and black, to this frigid khaki scenario that basically camouflages him. 

An impressive change in mood.

Sherlock approaches him, chewing on his mouth like he’s about to swallow his own tongue, and with no preamble, awkwardly asks John if he got anywhere with Sherlock’s..I mean, that “morse code” from last night. John curtly says no and starts walking away.

SHERLOCK: U, M, Q, R, A, wasn’t it? UMQRA. U.M.Q... JOHN: Look, forget it. It’s ... I thought I was on to something. I wasn’t. SHERLOCK: Sure? JOHN: Yeah.

Thought I was on to something…I wasn’t. :( 

YOU WERRREEEEEEEEEEE!!! HE’S EVERYTHING YOU WANT HIM TO BEEEE JOOOHHHNNNN!!! 😫

Sherlock tries to ‘break the ice’ by joking with John about his ‘progress’ with Louise Mortimer, basically confirming that his sending John to her the previous night was some bullshit self-hating gesture that seems simultaneously spiteful (towards himself), conciliatory (towards John) and deeply ashamed. I mean can you imagine. Actively alienating yourself from the person you’re obsessed with by nudging him towards a woman bc you hate yourself and feel guilty and disgusting for lusting after him because you think he’s straight but you know he’s a bit easy so you maybe feel like it’s a good thing to do by him as a MATE which is what you SHOULD be, but it’s actually just sad and makes you even MORE bitter and self-loathing because it’s pathetic, while it ALSO continues to push him away from you (the whole point BUT STILL) and give him the COMPLETELY wrong idea about your motives and feelings and just alienates him from you even more! Like there is literally No way in which Sherlock has not fucked things up with John! He’s doing his best but he is useless! UGH. Anyway, John isn’t having it, saying funny doesn’t suit him (NOT TRUE) so he should just stick to ice. Mr. ice-man. 😩 HE’S NOT!

Sherlock then gets serious, grabbing John by the arm and explaining that what happened to him last night was more than just fear, it was something he hadn’t really experienced before: Doubt. He felt he couldn’t trust his own senses. John says he (Sherlock) can’t actually believe that he saw a monster, and Sherlock says no, but he DID see it, so that leaves the question of how that could be. So this is a lame attempt at justification and also Sherlock spinning it trying to downplay the meltdown he had the night before while using his usual tactics when he’s trying to get John back on board with him after he’s fucked up: dangling the mystery and the danger and the intrigue in front of him, hoping John’ll bite and all will be forgotten. On the subtextual level, this is the emotional conundrum; Sherlock’s a rational person, he doesn’t (want to) believe the ‘monster’ is real and yet something has caused his own mind to turn against him to allow those fears and doubts about himself (the Hound), and about John, out of their carefully manicured iron box where he can no longer ignore them and pretend he’s above them. Sherlock thinks it’s the ‘sugar’ that has ‘drugged’ him and caused his senses to fail him. He’s an idiot.

The fact that he specifies doubt here I find interesting, specifically doubt with regards to his own senses, as this is another thing that rears it’s ugly head again in The Lying Detective: In which his own ‘memories’ are thrown into turmoil and he has a crisis of Faith (in John), then loses Faith (John) completely, when forced to assume Faith (John) was only ever a figment of his lonely, overactive and drug-addled imagination. He’s forced to accept his senses have betrayed him, as a direct consequence of his ‘addiction’. Here, he holds the ‘sugar’ he likes to have responsible for his close encounter with the Hound. He is wrong on both counts, a little sweetness never harmed no one (actually that’s a lie, Sherlock’s poisoned sweetness is about to hurt John a LOT) and Faith WAS always real.

So anyway, because Sherlock’s a fuck up and can’t deal with John being upset with him, John is just like hmm yes good, got something to go on with then have you, have fun with that and walks away again. Although I think at this point it’s already pretty obvious that John is struggling to stay angry with him (and is just as [if not more] angry with himself), irregardless of how hurt he is. Everyone’s made a lot of this moment and the way John’s eyes keep dropping to Sherlock’s neck as if he’s just so mesmerised by it (which, y’know, fair enough) but that was never what struck me about this scene lmao. John’s upset with Sherlock and here Sherlock is again getting right up in his personal space, putting his face mere INCHES from John’s and making intense eye contact with him. Sustained eye contact with someone at that proximity is VERY intimate and, I always felt like John’s wandering eyes here were more an attempt to break eye contact with Sherlock because it’s too uncomfortable. And, he’s upset with him! Sherlock shouldn’t keep getting away with this crap! He can’t afford to be gazing right into Sherlock’s big blue eyes like this! Dammit!!

Sherlock like...reel him in reel him in. Boy.... :/

As John is walking away Sherlock finally makes an effort at one of his awkward sort-of apologies, saying that he meant what he said last night, that he doesn’t have friends, in the plural, because John is his only friend, gazing at John like a PUPPY. :( It certainly does the trick;

Sherlock must see that tiny smile and nod. John clearly accepts this as Sherlock’s version of an apology, but isn’t quite ready to let him have it just yet, and abruptly turns away from him again, but with that out of the way Sherlock is on John’s heels immediately now showering him with praises because John’s just given him another brain orgasm.

John, you are amazing! You are fantastic! You stimulate me like no other! He literally calls John a conductor of light which is STILL one of the most excruciating things to ever come out of his trash mouth, but as always he tempers his earnestness with glib nonsense, causing John to prompt him to maybe not start ruining his apology QUITE yet (alas, he’s only getting started 😞). John asks what he’s done that’s so bloody stimulating (if only you knew…) and Sherlock turns around and holds up his moleskin, the word HOUND jumps off the page across Sherlock himself, as we look at him from John’s POV;

Beware the Hound, John! 

Sherlock looks positively devilish doesn’t he. Why did they ever stop using Paul McGuigan??? A GOD DAMN mystery. This is an obvious marker, just like the moment in The Blind Banker in which Sherlock is marked as the Deadman; so he is marked here, as the Hound. This shot, like the one at the inn the previous day, is from John’s POV because in both instances it is marking Sherlock as John’s “Hound”. John is not tormented by the Hound that torments Sherlock/Henry, because, among other things, John is not gay. John is tormented by Sherlock. Sherlock is the thing that Hounds John. It is also, without a doubt, hinting at the monstrous thing Sherlock is about to do to him. HOUND!

Sherlock speculates that perhaps Hound is actually an acronym, when he turns and spots Lestrade inside the Inn and dramatically swans over to interrogate his presence. He looks put out as John warmly greets Lestrade as Greg, and continues to petulantly demand an explanation.

Sherlock deduces Mycroft must have sent his Handler (conscience, better part, keeper; whatever you wanna call him :P) to look after him “incognito” at the mention of Baskerville, and asks if that’s why he’s calling himself Greg, which John helpfully points out is actually his name. His own better part, his GOOD man, and he’s such a cock he doesn’t even know his NAME! (But John Does!!!) The homoeroticism latent in calling Lestrade Sherlock’s handler is already enough but like look at them...

Like, I am sorry but this is sexual tension aljkald. Greg indignantly says he doesn’t just do whatever Mycroft tells him, rather giving away the fact that he probably does just that. 😩 Then John chips in and halts their squabbling, bringing forth the invoice for all the meat apparently being gobbled by the owners of this strictly vegetarian! establishment. And off they go to shake down Billy and Gary and get to the bottom of this Hound business.

*[1] Another parallel in The Lying Detective that doesn’t really need any elaboration, they’re just parallels that add more context:

I’m afraid, John. Can’t do it, not now. .....Not alone.

Like...they’re begging you to actually LOOK AT HIM. SEE what’s right there in front you!

**[2] And another:

Aaaand of course...

tagging again @sarahthecoat, @devoursjohnlock, @inevitably-johnlocked, @impossibleleaf, @tjlcisthenewsexy, @gosherlocked, @221bloodnun, @northstargrassmaiden, @poisonousindigo (u get tagged in this one bc i remember u asking me about umqra which is what really set off this whole thing lmao), @love-in-mind-palace

hope ya’ll’s enjoy :) I sure did!!

[johobi]

FRICkity FRACKKKK that chapter 8 why are you doing this to ussss? Honestly it hits a little close to home coz i had a long time friend who i was crushing on for YEARS and strung me along, knowing how i felt, so /maybe/ i’m the minority who roots for Jungkook and his sexy ass to end up with OC because I know how sucks it must have felt for her being the emotional safety cushion for Tae. ANYWAY i can’t wait for the next one gurl u one hell of a writer! Happy holiday!

I don’t want to divulge, too much, Tae’s POV, because the not knowing is part of the fun. Buuuuut– (ch. 8 spoilers and some character exploration under the cut)

I will say that Tae isn’t intentionally stringing Y/N along. It’s just not his character; he’s not a bad guy, and yeah, what he did in this chapter was a mistake. But he’s human, and it was important for Y/N to realise that. 

Looking at the timeline of events that have transpired, we can reasonably guess that Taehyung had a crush on her back in high school (as evidenced by the card, the masturbation confession etc.), and like most crushes, it abated when she left for college/university. 

His present-day feelings are probably a lot more jumbled. Y/N hasn’t been as careful recently with hiding her feelings (the outburst at Hoseok’s, blushing, freezing when he touches her etc.), so he likely has a decent inkling about her attraction to him. There’s no way for him to know that she loves him, however. 

Remember how he saw her getting hot and heavy with Jungkook at the party? He’d never seen her like that before. So openly sexual. Maybe that stirred some feelings in him? 

And the kiss was the culmination of that. He may have acted on those emerging feelings, under the impression that she reciprocated that attraction. However, when she reacts so adversely (because she thinks he can’t possibly love her, and it must all be just because he’s tipsy and horny) he justifies it as meaning nothing, because he doesn’t want her to interpret the kiss as a confession of love he thinks she doesn’t want. (Oh, how wrong you are, Tae.)

So does Tae actually love her, or is he in lust with her? Or is he merely unhealthily possessive of her, now that Jungkook has stolen the spotlight? Why, when prompted for the truth, does he then ask her, ‘Are you happy with Jungkook?’ 

I won’t divulge that here, but the answer is coming very soon. (also I love theories so feel free to throw them at me lmao)

But yeah, I’m sorry to hear that that happened to you, anon. Y/N does say herself, though, that Taehyung clearly still doesn’t know how deep her feelings run for him. He’s so damn clueless. TT; 

You’re absolutely right, though, she is absolutely Taehyung’s emotional safety net. He always runs to her when things aren’t going his way, especially with the girls he dates, and with Jungkook eating up the time normally spent with him, he’s feeling pretty volatile and vulnerable at the moment. 

And thank you so much for your kind comments.

[lachalaine]

drabble headcannon. trigger warning for suicidal thoughts. please avoid if needed. 

basically a headcannon for a glimpse into her past before she left her ex that will technically sort of shed light on why she’s as bad as she is with her emotions sometimes. this has the assassin stuff, if you were... unsure. this is also main verse, so you might come across this who knows.

other drabbles can be found here. majority of them are headcannons, if you’re curious. let me know if you have any questions, thank you !! or like any comments - please let me hear them thank u !!

Cold, tired - what was sleep like again? 

She’d forgotten.

Mahogany hues fluttered open, glancing all too quickly at the clock beside her – glowing luminescent numbers nearly blinding her, giving her the time, confirming what she’d already known. It was late.

Two am. He was gone. Again.

She didn’t need to check the other side of the bed for confirmation. The lack of warmth spoke enough of that for her.

When had they come to this?

‘Fuck him.’ A stray thought, as she closes her eyes – willfully begging for her mind to go back to sleep.

She didn’t need this. She didn’t want this. Jackie hadn’t slept properly in far, far too long; and she didn’t want to have to regress to sleeping pills just so she could finally get more than a half hour of sleep so she could function. Not even the alcohol was working anymore. And that – that usually worked for her without fail. She was starting to become an alcoholic, and not at all because she wanted to. But she was running out of ways. Out of means, to fix this.

She was always just – awake. Caught between dreams and reality. Caught between knowing he was leaving and being hyper aware of it all, and begging herself not to move a single muscle so he wouldn’t know that she was conscious; knowing that he was walking out the door at that very moment, feeling safe thinking she was asleep. 

Oh but she never slept anymore, that was the problem. 

And it was a wonder she hadn’t tripped up on a job yet, with how exhausted she was lately. Though lord knows there’d have been a bullet within her skull if she did, and then where would that leave them? Him?

‘Cleaning up my corpse off the ground so no one could link me back to him.’

Oh, but that would get messy.

Garry didn’t like messy.

“Fuck.” She curses audibly now, curling into herself as she tugged the blankets further up on her shoulders – trying not to think about how little she cared about her actual death. How much more she cared about inconveniencing the one man she knew would have to deal with the aftermath of it.

She didn’t necessarily know what that meant at this point, but she was fairly certain that thoughts like those could mean nothing healthy. Though then again –

When was the last time any of this had ever been healthy?

Never. Not even since day one.

What the hell had she been thinking?

“Are you crazy yet?” Loud. Gruff. Cigarette smoke in her face. Where was she again? “You seem crazy. You seem tired and crazy, should I be concerned?”

Ah yes. The club, down the street from the rented apartment, with a bottle of tequila and a familiar chain smoking bartender tending to her broken heart.

The usual.

“Is that even a question you should bother asking at this point?” Her eyes don’t stray from the cigarette between his lips, wondering blithely if maybe she should start taking up smoking as a hobby of her own. Maybe it would do her some good. Get some of the stress out.

Help her die faster.

A lithe hand suddenly clenched remarkably hard around her shot glass at the damning thought, closing her eyes against the flash of neon lights, as though that would be more than enough to shut them out.

It wasn’t quite working out that way, but hey - she could pretend.

“Are you actually asking because you’re concerned for my well-being, or is it because you’re concerned I’ll do something stupid and drop dead on your bar?”

“Both. Probably the latter more, however. I don’t like dealing with police, you know that.” Another puff of smoke, and oh god – was it a good thing that she’d managed to get used to this? The smell of nicotine was starting to smell good to her. Started to smell like home. Maybe that meant something; that she felt more at home here – with a group of strangers that were all too drunk to remember her, and a man she’d poured her heart out to for the past few months –

Then she was in bed next to her so called boyfriend.

There was something dreadfully wrong about the whole situation, but she’d honestly stopped caring at some point. Numb was apparently becoming her default emotion over nearly everything nowadays, and she was far, far too exhausted to give him anything more in the effort to allay his concerns.

She wanted to die. Plain and simple. It was written clear across her face, so a smile – a smile was fucking pushing it.

‘Poison. Poison is fast. Garry has some lying around. You could prick yourself with something, try to drown in the lake. No one would find your body if you’re lucky, and if they do – it might be too decomposed for them to link it back to you, especially if you scar yourself – ‘

Shut up.

Fear makes her hands shake as she picks up the shot glass once more, eyes opening only to reveal mahogany orbs blown wide, terrified by the thoughts running rampant through her mind – wanting it all to just stop.

Why was this so hard?

The alcohol burns her throat going down, and she nearly chokes – slamming the glass back against the table, nearly cracking it, digging nails into her thigh with the other hand; hoping, hoping, begging for a distraction from her thoughts.

Everything hurt. Everything hurt and she had no fucking clue why. Wasn’t she numb yet?? She was so certain - 

That’s the problem. The numbness hurt.

“Another bottle. I’m running out.” A small whisper, the softest as she tips the rest of the liquid into her glass – the trembling running through her frame making the alcohol spill out across the bar, tipping it too close to the edge and nearly knocking it into her lap.

She nearly jumped out of her seat when Toudai’s hand reached across to steady her own; surprised, and grateful. Jackie didn’t really want to leave smelling like alcohol any more than she already did, after all.

It was hard to wash clothes sometimes you see, constantly being on the run like they were. Sometimes, things just didn’t have enough time to dry. And she didn’t – she didn’t have too much anymore that she could really part with, at this point.

Everything had to fit into a carry on. It was small, and it was a bit ragged now from all the running they did. It certainly wasn’t fit for public appearances in any way, shape or form, but it did the job and it was – it was all she’d had.

The thought maybe… doesn’t hurt as much as it should anymore.

“Thank you.” She utters, sucking in a deep breath to sort of still her thoughts – shaking her hand lightly to signify that it was okay, she was stable, he could let her go now.

- he didn’t.

And it was the tight squeeze against her wrist that told her to look up at him, mahogany orbs shooting up, feeling a chill run down her spine as felt the breath steal from her lungs.

Toudai – for all intents and purposes – was a very, very calm man. Chill, easy to deal with. Never seemed to be serious a day in his life. If he saw a man bleeding out in front of him, he’d more likely groan about being a witness than he would about actually doing something about it. 

He didn’t seem to want to ever do much. He sat back - and watched. 

But for some reason, that’d seemed to change tonight, for this was the most intensity he’d ever managed to grace her with; the bartenders eyes glaring daggers into her own, shooting another sort of fear straight through her heart – one that made her tremble for another reason entirely.

She wasn’t going to like this.

“We need to talk.”

.01

[cc-hatredisland]

{.The Proposition.}

Only a one day had passed and it’d been grueling. Conversations were small and clipped and the atmosphere itself was strangled. Shiratori had wasted no time in bothering absolutely everybody about the information they had. I’m sure that contributed to everyone basically hiding away. Apart from the morning, we were mostly separated. Maybe that’s why the following day Shiratori wasted no time in spouting out his newest plan.

“You’ve all been ignoring me! Don’t act like you haven’t!“

“I think everyone has been rather plain about it.”

Kasahara’s barb does nothing to break the police officer’s stride and he slams his fist down on the table, cutlery clattering their disapproval as he continues on. You kind of have to admire how nothing affects his one sole mission. I mean, admire it when you’re not dealing with it, anyway.

“I’m giving you all an ultimatum! And if you don’t cooperate with me, I’ll have no choice but to assume you’re my enemy. The classroom. 7PM. We’re all going to meet there and share what we have on our IDs. I’ll be waiting so you had best show up!”

“Shiratori-san.”

His voice is pretty stern.

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do here but you’re going about it wrong. This won’t bring us together, it’s just going to drive us apart.”

The sound of a clattering chair takes the attention away from Kumatani’s wise words.

“Together, together, together! Is that all you people know how to say?! Don’t you have a drop of independence! I’m so tired of it! How many times do I have to repeat myself?! I’m not going to go along with your pretend friendship games!”

“No one asked you to even speak. We get it, you’re super edgy. Happy now?”

Kurumi fires a vicious glare at Mikiro. She’d outright storm out of the room if she could, I bet. Well, then again, if she could do that I wonder if we’d ever end up seeing her anyway.

“... I do not want to ruin your motivation but... you shouldn’t do this, Shiratori-san.”

I have to imagine Shiratori expected the negative feedback. But when Anzai spoke up like that... he backed away in shock as if she’d just slapped him.

“I... understand not everyone’s on board, but... Anzai-san, why? Even you would...”

She shakes her head.

“I understand. I do. But you’re advertising a time and place for yourself. It’s just... dangerous.”

I haven’t considered that but Shiratori just laughs it off.

“Aha! There’s nothing to worry about there! I doubt any of you could best me in combat.”

Rie and Kumatani both exchange a look. It seems like they both had the same line of thought, that ‘well I know I definitely could and they probably could, too’. The police officer, as always, remained oblivious. I wasn’t his biggest fan but now that Anzai had brought it up, I couldn’t stop thinking about how bad an idea it was. My stomach kinda turned and well, if anyone was an expert... it’d be her, right?

“Just listen to her, will ya? Anzai-san knows ‘bout this more than any of us. Anyone that did come wouldn’t have good intentions. Just leave it.“

“Excuse me? I deal with crime every day. More than ‘any of us’ is rather bold! I demand you explain it!”

I glance her way. Is it possible she hasn’t mentioned the previous mutual killing to anyone else? I don’t get a sense of anger from her but my gut says she’d very much like me to shut up.

“... She’s a negotiator. She probably sees a lot of backstabbing and scheming, you know?“

With the tension thinned again, the people that had frozen in anticipation of a juicy answer returned to eating or sulking. Shiratori laughed it off and I caught a private grateful smile from Anzai herself. I guess keeping what she told me to myself was the best move.

“Maybe so! But that’s different from being in the field. Not that I mean any offense!”

Quick to suck up, huh...

“No harm, no foul.“

Time seems to pass a little slower after all that. Maybe the drama had messed with my mind and made me think we’d been there for hours. Some people had been keeping quite an eye on the clock. As soon as enough time had passed, not a second sooner, Kurumi sped out of the room. I’d say ‘in a mood’ but from what I’d seen of her, she was always in a mood.

“Ah, Ogawa-kun! I wasn’t finished! Ugh!“

“Alright, the rest of you, listen up! It’s 7PM! The classroom! We’re going to exchange our information properly, like reasoned grown-ups. Am I clear?

“I u-u-understand, Mr. Shiratori-san sir!”

“Can you not make plans in someone else’s house without permission?”

“Ah! Of course! May I use the classroom for our truth-telling session?”

Hanji glares but his look turns to one of defeat as he just outright opts to leave the room. And the conversation, I guess. The police officer, now that he has Hirotsugu’s support at least, seems a bit cheerier. Or unaffected, at the very least.

“I’m going to take that as a ‘yes’! Alright! I need to prepare! And double-check for weapons! You all need to be there!!! Got that? I’ll be waiting! And keeping tallies!”

I had absolutely no intention of going and I had a feeling I wasn’t the only one. Shiratori tidily puts his things away before following the two others that had left.

“Now to find that Ogawa-kun...!”

It was a mumble but I still caught it. I’ll be glad not to be there if they do end up meeting up again. Sounds like it’ll be a disaster.

“Kaede had a point though. Mr. Top Copper thinks he’s all that, huh...”

I wasn’t expecting anyone to agree with me... it makes me wonder... does Daisy know as well? It’s kinda hard to bring up. Even if everyone else wasn’t there. It’s not like you could just say ‘hey do you know that thing about Anzai that might be a secret?’.

“... I believe it to be fair. It is as Shiratori-sama says... I do not have the experience he does. I only hope it all goes smoothly...”

“Anzai-san, if it helps... I can drop in and keep an eye on him. I don’t particularly want to rat on anyone’s secret so I can’t join in good faith and all but... I can do my part.”

“That is quite reassuring. Thank you.”

“How can I put this... I just have a bad feeling about all this.”

“Well, we’re strangers n’ all. N’ I’m thinkin’ we all got some shit in our lives. Can’t say your gut’s off.“

The way she says it so bluntly... kinda bums me out. But she’s right. I don’t like hearing it but at the end of the day, it’s too likely to rule out.

“We need only think positively! I shall pray for Panayomogi-sama’s kindness. As long as everyone avoids my cursed presence and gets along, it should go agreeably!”

“Y-y-yeah! W-w-we just need to be friends! C-c-c-cause friends wouldn’t k-k-ki-kill friends!”

“I pray that you are right...”

She gets to her feet and bows. I get the impression she still has a lot weighing on her. I can only imagine what she’s seen and been through.

“I will excuse myself now. Enjoy the rest of your morning.“

My concern only grew as she left the room. The air got heavy again and, sure enough, as soon as Anzai left Yuunagi sighed with relief.

“Whew. That got heavy.“

“Can’t be helped. That’s the sort of situation we’re in right now...”

“I’m not gonna bury my head in the sand here but... Tsukumo-san’s right. And you too, I guess.“

I vaguely gesture at Buki. I don’t particularly want to get into the specifics of her ‘curse’ right now.

“If we work on forming some bonds or something then... we won’t want to do anything to hurt each other. Something like that, anyway.“

“Yeah. It’s a good way of thinking. I’ll help anyway I can.”

“Some of you guys are real goddamn nightmares but yeah, same here. I’ll do my best not to knock anyone out.“

That’s a pretty big promise for Rie. At least, I get that impression. I nod my approval and some of the others chip in with their own promises or words of agreement. With that said and done, I was more motivated than ever to track down Anzai and maybe Shiratori, Hanji and Kurumi if I bumped into them. I’m not the best at playing friendship here but we’ve got more important things to worry about. Surely I can get them to see that. And kinda... help allay some fears too, if I can.

“Thanks for the food. I’ll catch you guys later.”

With my mission guiding me and my mind made up, I’m eager to get started as soon as I can. Hopefully Anzai hasn’t gotten too far.

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