#god dinner and diatribes my beloved

[unknownarmageddon]

daily hozier!!

YOOOO

[zepskies]

How would Beau comfort reader who’s gotten home from work and is feeling overwhelmed and sooky? I’m in need of comfort my the cutie patootie pls and thank you beloved 🫶🥺

Hello, my love!

I know it's been a while since you requested this @chernayawidow, but I’m so sorry you’re feeling down. It’s my pleasure to fulfill this prompt for you! 😘💞

AN: This is sort of a sequel to “Didn’t Mean to Stay,” but can be read as a stand-alone.

Word Count: 3,000 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, lots of hurt/comfort, fluff, and feels.

Imagine: Beau gives you the support you need.

You heaved a sigh while climbing up the short flight of stairs to your apartment. Why the hell you decided to live on the second floor, you had no idea…

Okay, mainly for the safety aspect of being a single woman living alone, but at least for the past year, you hadn’t been all that single (or alone, for that matter).

Seeing Beau’s truck in the parking lot reminded you that your boyfriend was already home from work. It was rare that you got here after him, but you perked up a little.

I hope he got something for dinner. Your stomach began to rumble at even the first stray thought of food. After the ridiculous day you’d had, you’d happily eat your weight in just about anything.

A hearty sandwich, Chinese lo mien, a whopping burger with fries…hell, you’d eat a whole damn bag of pizza rolls. As long as it was hot and you didn’t have to cook it.

Once you managed to insert your key and unlock the apartment, immediately there was too much sound coming from the living room. Guns and blasting and whoops and hollers. It all grated on your ears and your frayed psyche.

You grimaced as you locked the door behind you.

“Are we being invaded?!” you called.

Mercifully, the cacophony ceased as you walked into the living room and found your boyfriend with a sheepish smile. On the TV was an old western classic, The Magnificent Seven.

Typical, you thought. Your Texan cowboy loved his westerns.

“Sorry. Too loud?” he asked.

“Just a touch,” you replied.

“Well, I’m glad you're home.” Beau nodded at the TV. “Was gonna ask you what your Netflix password is.”

“What, don’t tell me you settled for 1960s cowboys?” you quipped.  

You dumped your purse on the coffee table and sunk onto the couch next to him. Beau slid an arm around your waist and pulled you in closer. You obliged by shucking off your shoes and resting against him, with your head on his shoulder. You let out a long sigh.

“Well, that was my fallback plan. See, damn Netflix booted me out and I’m really gearing up for that new season of Cake or Cake,” Beau said, with a somewhat childish smile that almost succeeded in tugging your lips upwards as well. Your brows drew together.

“Cake or…oh my God. You mean Is It Cake?” you asked. You nearly slapped yourself with your own hand as it came up to cover your eyes. Your shoulders shook with silent laughter.

“Ah, yeah. That one.” Beau grinned.

“I just can’t figure out how I keep guessing so wrong," he continued. "It looks like a hat. It should be a hat. How the hell is it actually cake? These guys are just so damn talented, I’ll tell ya. I mean, I’ve eaten my fair share of quality cake, but I ain’t never eaten a hat cake…though that does sound good to me, now that I think about it. Heh, I could finally say, ‘if that ain’t real, I’ll eat my own hat.’ And I’d actually be able to take a bite.”

Now, normally you found boyfriend’s diatribes incredibly endearing. Beau was a talker, and you appreciated having him with you at social gatherings. Not only was he great at connecting with people (something you very much admired), but the man was damn good at filling a silence.

Today, however, he was feeding the headache pulsing behind your eyes. You loved him dearly. Yet you were tempted to dig your nails into your own arm just to stop yourself from snapping at him to please, stop talking.

“Speakin’ of food, that reminds me. My stomach’s damn near ready to eat itself.” He eyed you. “What’s for dinner, baby?”

Your hand slid from your face and slapped onto your leg. Your head slowly turned to him.

“I don’t know, Beau. What’d you cook?” you said tartly.

It was an effort, considering how comfortable you were while tucked against him, but you moved his arm off your hip and lifted your heavy-feeling body off the couch. Shaking your head, you trudged a path over to your room.

You didn’t see it, but Beau frowned. Though you heard him follow after you. You did your best to go about your business, unbuttoning your pants and starting on your blouse. You were just so damn tired, and probably still anxious. Even your hands were trembling and fumbling with the buttons.

Still, you sensed him coming closer, saw his sock-covered feet out of the corner of your eye. The rest of him was comfortably dressed in sweatpants and a wool sweater you bought for him last month; he was getting better, but still acclimating to Montana winters.

“You’ve been here all this time,” you grumbled. “You see how late I’m coming in, and you don’t think, hey, my girl’s gonna be tired. Why don’t I figure out how to work the stove so she doesn’t have to worry about feeding my six-foot-ass, bottomless pit—”

Beau’s hands stilled yours, and he took over unbuttoning your blouse to help you. He bent his head enough to catch your eyes, smiling a little at your grumpy face.

“All right, all right. I see your point,” he said. “You had a bitch of day, huh?”

“The longest of my damn life,” you said. The stress of each moment played behind your eyes. So much that they stung with unshed tears when you raised your gaze to meet his.

Beau’s brows furrowed in sympathy. He paused in what he was doing to stroke your cheek and press a tender kiss to your forehead.

“And I wanna hear about it, but first, you go take a nice long shower,” he said. “What do you feel like eating?”

“Food,” you said petulantly. But he was being too sweet for you to be all that annoyed with him. A reluctant smile was growing across your lips. Beau smirked.

“You in the mood for Italian? Chinese? Maybe feeling a little adventurous and wanna try that Greek place down the street?” he suggested. “I think they deliver.”

By now he’d worked your blouse open. His hands were finding their way along the curve of your waist, smoothly across your skin, then meeting at the small of your back. He pressed the heel of one hand there, where he knew your shitty desk chair often made you ache.

You gripped his strong arms for support and leaned into him. You let out a sigh and rested your cheek against his chest, where he dropped another kiss on the top of your head.

“Greek sounds good, actually,” you confessed.

“Mmm, hell yeah. You want chicken, steak, or lamb on your gyro?” he asked. You felt the reverberation of his hum, and it was weirdly soothing. Though his question reminded you of one of your favorite movies that you too often quoted to him: My Big Fat Greek Wedding.

“What you mean he don’t eat no meat?” you said with a giggle. Beau’s lips moved to your forehead, and you felt the shape of his smile.

“It’s okay, I make lamb,” you both said together.

He chuckled and held you a bit tighter, secure and comforting. “All right. Lamb it is…you think they got cake on the menu?”

When you laughed, it was muffled by his sweater.

After a hot shower, good food, and three episodes of Is It Cake later, you were falling asleep on your corner of the couch.

All through dinner, Beau had listened to you vent about your day. About the problems your coworkers had hoisted on you to solve in the midst of a massive project you were already tackling. How your boss then blamed you for not coming to her first before you overloaded yourself, and how you’d very seriously contemplated going to HR before you figured just dealing with it would cause you less grief in the end.

Your boyfriend listened and gave his two cents, both supportive and fair. That was another thing you liked about him; he was always fair.

Now, he roused you out of your drowsy state when his arms wrapped around your frame and lifted you up.

You whined in protest. “Whaaat? Don’t move me.”

“Nope, you’re goin’ to bed,” he said, in his sheriff’s voice that boded no argument. You grumbled, but you still snuggled closer to his chest and pressed your sleepy face into his neck.

Smirking, he walked you into the bedroom and laid you down on your side of the bed. He came to your place often enough that he now had his own side, complete with his own nightstand and a couple of drawers of your dresser, even a bit of closet space.

You really should’ve just told him to move the hell in already, but you weren’t like Beau. He was a man of action. He processed things quickly and made decisions just as fast. His job demanded him to be that way.

You tended to drag your feet. You also tended to worry, and weigh pros and cons, and you were cautious by nature. Even dating this man had been a slow process, for which he’d been very patient with you. (And you with him, especially in the beginning as he learned to open up to you.)

The evidence was plain to see, as he raised the blankets and helped you roll underneath them. You just took him by surprise when you grabbed the front of his sweater and pulled him down with you.

“Hey!” he laughed. He had to brace himself against the mattress before he crushed you. His knees fell on either side of your hips while your arms twined around his neck.

“You’re a wily one, even half-asleep,” he remarked. You smiled and threaded your fingers through his soft brown hair.

“Like a rattlesnake in the tall grass,” you teased. In fairness, the two of you had gotten into watching David Attenborough's nature documentaries.

Beau’s brows raised, his smile deepening.  

“Oh yeah? Better not mess around then,” he chuckled. “I might just get bit.”  

You snorted. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You leaned up until your lips were nearly brushing his. Beau’s eyes lowered to your face, taking in all the things that felt more like home than his little trailer near the woods.

Just before you would’ve closed the small breadth of distance, you veered away from his mouth and went for his neck instead. He even flinched at the tease of your teeth playfully biting him.

"You little vixen!" He laughed deeply as he unwound your arms from his neck. He pinned you down to the bed and pressed his hips down into yours over the sheets. But it was his claiming lips that stopped you from fighting back.

Your shoulders trembled with giggles that he swallowed up, kiss after kiss. Your eyes closed as he dragged the sheets down away from your body. His hands caressed you through your thin tank top, brushing over a hardened nipple with the back of his hand, then squeezing your breast through the fabric.

You sighed into his mouth. “I know I kind of started this, but I’m really tired, baby…”

“Who says you gotta do anything?” rumbled his rich voice.

A tremor of heat ran through you. Even with your eyes closed, your exhausted body responded to his touch. His lips drew a hot, wet path down your neck, all while his hands did sinfully good things, sliding under your tank top and gliding against your skin. You let him take it all the way off, followed by your pajama pants and cotton panties, though he paused to squeeze your ass in appreciation.

“Someone’s been doing squats,” he noted, grinning down at you.

“Nah, just an extra slice of that honey cake,” you retorted. Apparently, the Greeks liked honey on everything.

Beau’s head tilted. “Huh. Well, I do like me some cake.”

You laughed, then jolted with a yelp when he slapped a bare cheek.

But you couldn’t just lay idle when he started on his own clothes. You sat up and helped him raise the sweater up and over his shoulders, but he stopped you.

“I mean it. You just lie back and relax,” he said, giving you a charming grin. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes; he was just too damn good to you.

While he finished taking off the sweater, your hands drifted down to the waistband of his pants. You caressed the hardening length of him, earning a hiss and a groan from him.

“Can’t I just…” you tried.

With difficulty, Beau grabbed your wrist. He raised a brow at you and guided you back down.

“For once, I’m ‘a need you to listen to me,” he said, kissing your cheek and then the other side of your neck.

You breathed a laugh, but it caught on a moan as his fingers brushed through your wet folds. He made a sound of approval. And those nimble fingers gathered some of your wetness and began circling slowly over your clit.

You sucked in a breath and arched against him. You even whimpered a little as his free hand wound through your hair, giving him further access to your neck. He hummed against your skin and grazed his teeth under your ear.

“I gotcha, baby. Whenever you need it,” he said, low and steady. You gripped his arms for dear life as two of his fingers slipped deep inside you. You panted into his neck, rocked your hips mostly in time with his fingers as they twisted and pulsed around your tightening walls. His thumb rubbed against your throbbing clit.

“Please,” you whispered into his neck, squeezing your eyes shut. “Want you inside me.”

“We’re gettin’ there,” Beau nodded. He was breathing harder too, just from anticipation. The sounds you were making, the way you were squeezing his hand from the inside had him painfully hard.

“Now,” you insisted. Your hands moved to grip his hair, and your lips met his in a devouring kiss.

Beau matched your passion with closed eyes and furrowed brows. He’d had a plan for you at the start of this, but what kind of man would he be if he didn’t abide by your wishes?

So he withdrew his fingers from your slick pussy, even though you uttered a shuddering breath. It took everything you had within you to remain still and resting against the pillows as you caught your breath. You wanted to wrestle down his sweatpants yourself and show your boyfriend how appreciative you could be.

But you also appreciated what he was trying to do. You watched him with tired, but still hungry eyes as he kicked off the pants and the boxer briefs and returned to you, bracing a forearm above your head after he spread your legs and raised up your knees.

He lowered himself between the warm cradle of your thighs and kissed down your chest, licked between the valley of your breasts.

You arched up again when his tongue found your nipple, swirling around it, and finally taking it between his teeth. His hips rolled against yours, making his cock press against your core teasingly.

“Beau, for the love of God,” you moaned.

He chuckled. “Maybe you oughta learn how to be patient.”

You grabbed his bearded face between both hands and raised him up to you. He noted your challenging brow, but also your smile.

“Maybe you shouldn’t tease the rattlesnake,” you replied.

Beau laughed and ducked his forehead against yours. “Okay, darlin’. I’m sorry.”

He nosed at your cheek, angling for a kiss. You tipped your head back and welcomed his lips, especially when his tongue slipped past to tangle with yours. His forearm was braced above your head, but his free hand left your hip to line himself up to your entrance.

Another shudder went through your body as he finally slid home inside you. The shape and feeling of his cock was familiar as it stretched your inner walls, and you caught his moan in your mouth.

Your legs wrapped around his hips and squeezed, forcing him in deeper. His eyes screwed shut as he lost focus for a moment. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of the feeling of you, or the sound of your voice, or the way you trusted him, but still tried to give as much as you took.

He pulled out nearly all the way, slowly sliding back in so you’d feel every inch. You clenched on him as a tremble ran through your body.

You uttered a broken gasp of his name that spearheaded goosebumps across his skin. And his next movements were faster, though just as deep.

He followed the encouragements of your voice, especially when he shifted his hips at an angle he knew would make you writhe. His fingers stroking your already sensitive clit, in time with his last wild thrusts, had you threatening to rip out a chunk of his hair. Instead, you gasped in his ear and dug your fingers into his hips.

His own release followed yours shortly after; he could only resist you squeezing the life out of him from the inside out for so long. And you held him afterwards, even though he still had a trembling arm braced above you.

Your hands smoothed up and down his back, trailing lightly with your nails. His breath was hot, but not uncomfortable against your neck.

You felt absolutely boneless as your legs slid from his hips. He pulled out of you soon after, but your embrace kept him from moving very far. He rested on his side, and you turned towards him. You both knew you’d have to deal with the sheets and the cleanup, but not just yet.

You carded your fingers more soothingly through his hair and drew his face back to yours.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you whispered. And you didn’t just mean in this bed. “I haven’t had that in a long time.”

Beau’s smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “You don’t gotta thank me for that.”

“Yeah, I do,” you nodded. Your lips formed a tired smile before they pressed softly to his. “I love you.”

Beau took a moment to brush a sweaty strand of hair away from your face. He’d believed in second chances before he met you…just not for himself. Meeting you made him swear by them.

“Love you too,” he said.

And the warmth of that bone-deep knowledge was more satisfying than even the heftiest slice of cake.

AN: God, I love Beau. I miss Big Sky. 😭 But feel free to let me know what you think of this one! It's only my second time, but I really do love writing this guy. ❤️

And tell me...are you team cake 🍰 or team pie 🥧?

Big Sky Masterlist

Main Masterlist

BA Tag List:

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@lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @mimaria420 @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @waters-2567

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[skepticalcatfrog]

My Secret Shanghai Playlist

Finally, the playlist is FINISHED! I gathered all the songs a while ago, the reason it took this long is because I wanted to make a nice cover for it, which I did! See above.

Click here for the playlist!

Now when I say "finished", I don't believe any playlist is ever REALLY finished. I may add songs later on, and if I do, I'll add them to this post! I'm also always open to suggestions.

As promised, under the cut I'll be putting brief descriptions of why I added each song! If you want a full, line-by-line analysis, I definitely encourage you to send an ask about any specific songs to my inbox!

~~~

Song List:

1. Chinese Satellite by Phoebe Bridgers - Everyone already knows my feelings about this song and OVE-era Benedikt (if they looked at this other post I made that is).

2. Stiletto by Billy Joel - Again, if anyone looked at this second other post I made they'll know why this is Roma and Juliette, but SPECIFICALLY from Benedikt's POV.

3. Killer by Phoebe Bridgers - This is Roma and Juliette, specifically in TVD/OVE (see also the drawing I made inspired by this if you so choose).

4. Salt in The Wound by boygenius - This is Rosalind and Dimitri to me, they may also appear again later in this list.

5. Eat Your Young by Hozier - I mean. I feel as though this is quite obvious if you've heard the song.

6. The Bomb by Florence and the Machine - See, as I said up above, this one is Rosalind and Dimitri once again.

7. Wish That You Were Here by Florence and the Machine - I've posted about this before too, not in as much detail, but this one is Benedikt and Marshall to me, specifically in early OVE.

8. Funeral by Phoebe Bridgers - This is on here for Juliette, I need to go in depth about this someone PLEASE ask me about it.

9. Please Stay by Lucy Dacus - If you read my fic you already know, this is on here for Benedikt and Marshall.

10. Abstract (Psychopomp) by Hozier - Honestly this one is on here for pure vibes, feel free to match it specifically with whoever you like.

11. Queen of Peace by Florence and the Machine - It's possible that this one may not fit EXACTLY exactly, but it just really gives Celia to me and there are enough lines in the song to prove it.

12. Dream Girl Evil by Florence and the Machine - Again, this is Rosalind and Dimitri, I know this is happening a lot but it's because I listen to just enough songs about messed up relationships.

13. This Ain't a Scene, It's an Arms Race by Fallout Boy - This one is also on here for pure vibes, it just works very well.

14. Sedated by Hozier - This one is sooooooo FLF/FHH, I don't make the rules.

15. Broken Crown by Mumford and Sons - This is Roma to me, in the way I interpret this song and these lyrics.

16. No Choir by Florence and the Machine - I've also posted about this but I don't think many people saw it, this gives me sooooo Roma and Juliette after they flee the city.

17. Dinner and Diatribes by Hozier - Roma and Juliette. I have no explanation for this other than how antisocial Roma is and how absolutely horrendously they want each other throughout the entire series but specifically LVC.

18. Hospital Beds by Florence and the Machine - This song can be associated with so many things in these books that I will simply let YOU choose what it means.

19. Alone Together by Fall Out Boy - This gives me many feelings about the main four in TVD and where they all end up after the two books.

20. Fourth of July by Fall Out Boy - This one is for Roma and Juliette, specifically in OVE when their relationship has become infinitely more complicated.

21. The Calendar by Panic! At The Disco - This one is on here for OVE-era Roma and his conflicting feelings about Juliette.

22. Hungover in the City of Dust by Autoheart - Dear god this song is so good, and it's here for my beloved Benedikt, once again in his depression era.

23. Share Your Address by Ben Platt - I feel like this one could be very sweet for Rosalind and Orion, from his POV. I just like it for them.

24. New Invention by IDKHOW - If you like Orion Hong and you want to feel MISERABLE about him, this is the song for you I promise.

25. Guns for Hire by Woodkid - Another pure vibes one. Give it a listen.

26. My Immortal by Evanescence - This is another one that I feel could have a number of interpretations, but to me it is Benedikt Montagov (in early OVE, obviously).

27. Wouldn't It Be Nice by The Beach Boys - An unconventional choice, I know, but I put this here for Roma and Juliette, because wouldn't it be nice?

28. Romeo & Juliet by Peter McPoland - I mean. Come on.

29. Vienna by Billy Joel - Again, so many interpretations, choose your own adventure.

30. Francesca by Hozier - I don't know if this is more romajuliette, more benmars, more rosorion, or more olivercelia. Obviously I lean towards benmars (you know me) but there's evidence for all of them

31. I Love You Too by Peter McPoland - This one is for Oliver and Celia, in honor of that one scene in FHH. You know the one.

32. Back to December by Taylor Swift - Thinking about romajuliette to this song makes me incredibly sad so it goes on the playlist.

33. peace by Taylor Swift - Again. Romajuliette. I'm right.

34. Ease My Mind by Ben Platt - This is benmars to me and no one can change my mind.

35. Run Away by Ben Platt - Think of this as Roma and Juliette and if you don't become deeply emotional I don't know what to say to you.

36. Absinthe by IDKHOW - Pure. Vibes.

37. Bleed Magic by IDKHOW - I dare you to listen to this song and NOT think it's FLF.

38. I Wish I Was by The Avett Brothers - Something about this just feels like olivercelia to me in a way I can't describe.

39. Marjorie by Taylor Swift - Imagining this as Alisa after Roma “dies” made me very emotional so I had to add this one.

40. Just A Girl by Florence and the Machine (or whichever version you prefer, but this cover is my favorite) - I feel like if I say Phoebe Hong I won't need to explain more.

41. Things We Lost in the Fire by Bastille - This definitely gives OVE to me in a major way.

42. Mermaids by Florence and the Machine - Okay this song does reference England twice but if you just ignore that then the vibes are ON POINT for specifically TVD.

43. Out of the Woods by Taylor Swift - Chloe Gong herself said this is Benedikt, so I must add it.

44. Jump Then Fall by Taylor Swift - Same as above, but for Marshall.

45. mirrorball by Taylor Swift - Again, same as above, for Celia this time.

46. Murder in the City by The Avett Brothers - Just the very first verse of this is Marshall to me, but the rest of it (give or take a few lines) is very Roma.

47. Soon You'll Get Better by Taylor Swift - WHATEVER YOU DO, don't imagine this as Roma visiting Alisa in the hospital in TVD.

48. Hunger by Florence and the Machine - This is very very TVD duology Rosalind.

49. ivy by Taylor Swift - I know this song is about infidelity, but through another lens, it's actually about romajuliette.

50. Safe & Sound by Taylor Swift - This is here for TVD/OVE Alisa and her only.

51. Honest Man by Ben Platt - Sooooooo rosorion.

52. Agoraphobia by Autoheart - This song is Benedikt to me, not in any particular instance just in general.

As I said above, I 1000% encourage you to ask for more details about any songs you're curious about! I'm happy to discuss. Enjoy!

53. Impossible Year by Panic! at the Disco - This is really everyone at the beginning of OVE, but I put it here specifically for Roma.

54 (Addition #1). Love From The Other Side by Fall Out Boy - This is romajuliette in the TVD/OVE era.

[satans-helper]

dinner and diatribes, be, and sunlight!!! 🤠💛

- Dinner and Diatribes- What’s your favorite food?

Garbage plates, cereal, cake and steak!

- Be- Have you changed much as a person in the last year?

I don’t know if I’ve changed, but I’ve definitely grown! 25 has been an amazing year and I feel I really “came into my own.” A lot of reflection on myself and where I’m going (and not going), which has led me to far more questions than answers, but the reflective experiences were very necessary. 

- Sunlight- Do you prefer sunny or rainy weather, or somewhere in between?

SUNNY please god, we lack the sun here! I miss it so much.

Thank you for asking, my most beloved possum-taming, horse-wrangling, Danny-loving ride-or-die cowgirl queen :D 

[texanredrose]

Everyone’s A Critic

Am I doing Freezerburn Week? Probably not, because I’m not feeling well, but this prompt I couldn’t resist. Soulmate AU based on this post.

Weiss’ brow furrowed as she quickly walked towards the exit, absolutely livid beyond measure. Thankfully, her companion for the showing happened to be just as vexed as her, though they’d made a promise not to voice any grievances until after they’d exited the theater. Hence her desire to be out of it sooner rather than later.

“I can’t believe-”

“Blake,” she said, tone sharp not because of her friend’s frustrations but because of their shared annoyance. “We have a deal.”

“That was before actually watching that trainwreck.” The Faunus’ ears laid back against her skull as she grimaced. “But the books were so good, we couldn’t have expected this disgusting catastrophe.”

However, for all Weiss’ desire to keep true to her word... oh did she have some rather pointed Opinions(tm) about this particular attempt to do justice to a well beloved series.

“It’s not just that.” They pushed out of the studio and into the florescent light of the theater’s hallways, following the throng of moviegoers who faced similar disappointment. “We can get to the myriad of ways they completely missed the point of the books later, because that in itself is a long enough list, but don’t you think we should start with how abysmal that was from the standpoint of just being a movie?” Frustration colored her tone as she quickened her pace, as if she could put physical distance between herself and the mere memory of that disgrace. “They cut so much material out, the plot is completely incomprehensible to one not familiar with the books, and even then is terribly disjointed in trying to be faithful to that. The pacing is god awful, likely because the directors merely googled which passages were most popular and poured all their effort into those scenes, which would make sense if they had all the other events leading up to them to build the tension and significance! As it stands, they’re just isolated moments when the story actually takes time to show itself, but all that is buried under layers of cinematic tomfoolery for the obvious intention of nabbing some manner of award and merely hoping every other scene can support themselves, which they can’t...”

Now that she’d gotten on a roll, the words didn’t stop, flowing from her mouth as she allowed every ill thought she’d kept locked behind her teeth go forth, with Blake nodding on occasion, knowing better than to try stymieing her diatribes once they got started. Thankfully, they usually agreed when it came to books and movies, seeking similar qualities, even if the Faunus tended towards media with a romantic streak. Once Weiss finished, it would be her turn to critique the awful, forced romantic subplot- a subplot, mind, that wasn’t resolved until the third book, and had no place being emphasized this much in the first movie- but that would be Blake’s terf.

“FUCKING HELL!”

Weiss came to a sudden stop, eyes widening as a voice she’d never heard before grabbed her attention with two little words. Ever since she learned to read, she’d become intimately familiar with those two words, seeing as they were tattooed across her left forearm in big, bold, yellow font. Her soulmate mark- and she’d especially attuned her hearing for those two words specifically, and this happened to be the first time she heard them in her life, which could only mean-

“You!” She whirled around, scanning until her gaze landed on the blonde marching towards her, and...

Okay, she’d fully intended to be more than a little cross with the foul mouthed heathen who’d permanently marked her with those very words. However, Weiss was also a mere mortal and currently being approached by a veritable goddess. Tall, with the early evening breeze sending wild blonde locks flying, lilac eyes that shone like gemstones, in a beat up leather jacket that ended at the elbows, showing off remarkably sculpted forearms that certainly looked like they’d give good hugs- crass her soulmate might be, true, but she also happened to be gorgeous, making Weiss a little more inclined to give the whole ‘soulmate mark’ concept more than her annoyance and contempt.

However, aside from being taken off guard by the woman’s looks, Weiss still had to bone to pick with her supposed soulmate, grabbing at her sleeve and pulling it back to show the mark that had essentially mandated she never wear anything other than long sleeves around polite company. “Do you have any idea what it’s like walking around with a mark like this?”

“Oh, you think that’s bad? Check this out.” Without wasting another second, the woman stopped in front of Weiss and reached up, grabbing the collar of her yellow shirt and ripping it.

Right.

Down.

The.

Middle.

And that brought to light three very important things.

One, her soulmate had decent tastes in undergarments. Two, she had the sort of abs that cosmically demanded to have something grinding against them. Three...

... the very, very long wall of neat white script curling across her chest and halfway down her abdomen, the words much smaller than what Weiss had on her arm to accommodate the sheer amount of space required, because apparently her soulmate had been within earshot since she’d started her tirade regarding the movie.

Blake elbowed her side under the guise of pulling out her scroll, stepping away to give Weiss a modicum of privacy with her soulmate- not that she needed the prompt, of course, she wasn’t uncivilized, but still- and pretended to be engrossed in checking her messages.

"You are really hard to stop when you get rollin’, anyone ever tell you that?” The blonde quirked a brow, completely nonplussed standing there with the tattered remnants of her shirt and jacket providing minimum modesty.

“It’s... been mentioned before,” she replied, scrounging for something to say. “So you’ve-”

“Had a novella tattooed across my chest my whole life? Now that you mention it, yeah, I have.” She set her hands on her hips. “And I’ve gone to every book adaptation movie released in the past ten years, thinkin’ I might meet you at one, and, I gotta tell ya- I liked most of them.” A shrug. “Yeah, sure, they aren’t masterpieces, but some of ‘em were quirky, or did one thing really well, or were just entertaining for their own sake, and I kept thinkin’ I was gonna run into you at one I liked and we’d get into this whole fight and, for all they say about soulmates being destined and all that, I have literally no desire to be shackled to someone who’s just gonna tear down the things I like, nuh uh, destiny can bite me, I don’t give a shit.” And even though they hardly knew each other- didn’t at all, really- Weiss found herself holding her breath and hoping her verbal evisceration hadn’t entirely ruined her chances of at least getting to know the woman. “But, the first time I saw this one, I knew- I thought to myself ‘oh, fuck me, this is it, this is the piece of shit my soulmate’s gonna go bonkers over, I’ve found it’, and so I- like an idiot- bought tickets to, and sat through, that piece of hot garbage forty-seven times, just to make sure I didn’t miss you.” Apparently out of steam, lilac eyes darted away for a moment as she reached up to run a hand through her hair, tongue darting out to wet her lips. “So, uh... I guess what I’m getting at is... hi, my name’s Yang, that movie was awful, so do you... want to talk about how bad it sucked some more? Maybe over dinner or a milkshake or...”

Weiss crossed her arms over her chest, head tilting in incredulity. “You saw this how many times?” Then she waved a hand. “No matter; clearly, you’re dedicated, you have good enough sense to recognize terrible when it presents itself to you, and you’re strong enough to endure torture for sustained periods of time.” 

Turning, she prepared to excuse herself from the rest of the evening but found her best friend to be... nowhere in sight, and her scroll buzzing in her purse likely provided the answer to the question of where she went.

If you don’t know how her abs feel by the end of the night, I am renouncing our friendship. Have fun. <3 -B

“Cheek little-” Rolling her eyes, she dropped the device back into her bag and offered a hand. “I’m Weiss. It’s nice to finally meet the foul mouthed heathen I’ve been looking for.”

Yang’s lips quirked up into a smirk. “Yeah, kinda glad I found the critic with a set of iron lungs, too.”

Slipping her arm into the crook of the blonde’s elbow, she turned them both towards the other side of the parking lot where a restaurant sat- not nearly as high class as she’d normally choose, but the proximity and ease with which they could reach it trumped her personal scale at present. That, and a table between them would help keep her from getting distracted. “How about I start making it up to you for suffering through all those showings?”

Much to her surprise, Yang fully meant it when she invited the woman to continue trashing the movie, and had a couple of thoughtful points of her own to address. For being just about the last thing she’d expected from her soulmate, Weiss had to admit... she actually rather liked it.

[geekmama]

Resolved

I have a lot of fic to catch up on, have been letting everything slide in favor of furiously scribbling this sequel to the original three stories in my Victorian Sherlock A/U, A Fork in the Road. I was having a lot of trouble posting here yesterday, so it’s a day late (Sundays and Wednesdays, 7 chapters). 

After an idyllic honeymoon in Italy, new adventures, complications, and deception are among the primary elements of Mr. and Mrs. Sherlock Holmes' first year of marriage.

Chapter 1: That Other Eden

As their train sped toward London in the final hour of their idyllic honeymoon, Sherlock Holmes found his lips quirking in a secretive smile as he watched his wife, sitting opposite him in the luxurious private compartment he had insisted they hire, just as he had done on the outward journey to Portsmouth seven weeks before. He had waved aside her mild objection to the extravagance. After all, it wasn’t every day that one brought one’s new and much beloved spouse to the home of which she would now be mistress. 

Molly would, of course, share the management of 221B Baker Street with Mrs. Hudson, as she had done for several months prior to their marriage. She had been retained to do so after the elderly landlady took a fall down the front steps, injuring herself badly enough to need temporary assistance. Molly had taken over the majority of the responsibilities associated with the running of the residence during that time, and had done an exemplary job, too, considering she had little direct experience in such things. However, Mrs. Hudson had been fully healed and able to resume her role in time for Sherlock and Molly’s honeymoon, and would now continue to assume the greater portion of the work since her erstwhile assistant would be otherwise occupied. In a fortnight’s time, a new year would begin for the students of the London School of Medicine for Women and Mrs. Molly Elizabeth Holmes would once again grace its hallowed halls. Menial tasks such as cooking and cleaning would take second place to her demanding studies -- or rather third place, when one considered the undeniable importance of her other wifely duties. 

He watched her now with great pleasure. She was wearing an elegant traveling suit of deep green velvet, a charming foil for his own plaid tweeds, but she had one small, booted foot tucked up under her, and her posture was not quite erect as she leaned against the squabs, relaxed and intent upon the book in her lap: Osler’s Principles and Practice of Medicine. 

So studious. Her brown eyes so innocent as they absorbed the challenging material. Yet he now knew in glorious detail what lay beneath that fashionable ensemble, the prim clothing of a young matron. He knew every curve, every dimple; he’d counted the fine bones of her slender feet, run his fingers over every inch of smooth, pale skin, explored all her secret places, sometimes with slow reverence that brought hissing moans and soft gasps, and sometimes with a burgeoning, abandoned skill that made her curl into him, desperate to muffle her cries against his neck or shoulder. He had kissed tears of replete ecstasy from her cheeks. He had held her trembling form warm and tight until she was a little recovered -- or until she slept, completely undone. 

And God knew -- God knew! -- she had favored him with similarly intimate services, rejoicing as she began to realize the power she wielded over his mind and body.   

It was strange to think that two months ago he’d had no idea what love could be, had scoffed at what had seemed the nonsensical nattering of poets. And now… well, he could almost write his own. 

Molly looked up at him, suddenly, and saw his expression. She must have felt the weight of his eyes upon her, the tenderness of his gaze. She gave an answering smile and set down her book. 

He held out his hand, and she reached for it and allowed herself to be pulled smoothly, if a little abruptly, across the space that had lain between them. She landed, laughing, in his lap. 

“Were you missing me?” she asked, and kissed his cheek. 

“Yes,” he said, and turned his head, taking her lips with his, a sensual delight. Tongue… teeth… the taste of her heating his blood… 

“Oh!” she breathed, when he pulled back a fraction. She laid a hand against the side of his face and kissed him softly again, then said, “We should wait… won’t we arrive in London soon?” 

“We have half an hour.” He gave her a wicked smile as he reached down and began to ruche up her heavy skirts. “I can wait, but let me touch you.” 

“But husband...” she muttered with a frown. 

Yet she made no further objection, and, indeed, facilitated his plan as best she could. With some effort he finally managed to slip a hand beneath the mountain of various materials that hid his objective, but then it was his turn to frown as he made a startling discovery: beneath the layers of stylish frock and snowy linen she wore only a scandalous scrap of undergarment, rather than the chaste, frilly knee-length drawers he’d expected. “Oh, shameless!” he accused, trying not to laugh at the smirk that was now gracing her lips. 

To his great satisfaction, her impudence quickly grew less as he set aside his astonishment (and an almost painful surge of desire)  and proceeded toward his stated goal. She did manage to look into his eyes for a few more moments, though, and uttered in reply, “Yes… God knows, I am shameless… but only for you, my heart! Only for… ah! Sherlock… Sherlock!” And then words quite failed her, and he had to kiss her again.

 *

 In spite of his imperative need to be private with his wife, Sherlock realized that a liaison would have to wait when their carriage drew up to 221B Baker Street and an ecstatic Mrs. Hudson and raucous Archie rushed out to greet them. Molly, once again precise to a pin thanks to the mirror and basin that had been a feature of their first class compartment on the train, embraced their two housemates joyously, blushingly assured Mrs. Hudson that every moment of the honeymoon had been nothing short of heavenly and she would presently tell them all about it -- well, not everything (her blush deepened at this, and she glanced at Sherlock, who probably looked as smug as he felt), but all about their travels and the sights they’d seen. 

“You can have no notion how beautiful Italy is, Mrs. Hudson! And the people are so kind, too. Every moment was an adventure!” 

Martha Hudson gave Molly an impish smile, with a bit left over for Sherlock. “I have no doubt of that, my dear Mrs. Holmes. But come, let’s go in! There are some surprises waiting for the two of you, and I do think you’ll be vastly pleased by them. It will soon be time for us all to sit down to dinner, and then you can tell me… almost everything!” 

Sherlock said, “Come, Archie, help me with these cases. Ladies require an unconscionable amount of luggage, as you can see.” 

Molly turned to meet his teasing glance, looking so pink-cheeked and happy that he could not help but grin. 

But Archie said, “No! Mr. Holmes, I’ll get the bags and things, You have to carry Molly across the threshold! Mrs. Holmes, I mean.” And the boy gave Molly a little bow and a grin by way of apology for addressing her in the familiar style of former days, when she was merely Mrs. Hudson’s hired companion. 

“Oh!” Molly exclaimed, and looked at Sherlock uncertainly. 

He said, however, “You’re quite right, Archie, and I thank you for the reminder. There are far too many niggling traditions surrounding weddings, but this is one to which I can give my unequivocal approval.” And with that he swept Molly up into his arms. 

Archie gave a cheer, and he and Mrs. Hudson (and the cabbie, and a couple of random passers-by) stood back, applauding as Sherlock carried his lovely, laughing bride up the steps and over the threshold of their home.

 *

 Mrs. Hudson’s surprise was a new kitchen, and a French chef to go with it. 

“It was your brother’s idea,” she said to Sherlock. “He paid for the remodeling of that old back parlor and the adjoining anteroom -- such a to-do, and the noise and dust! You wouldn’t credit it. But it’s done now, and really it has everything the modern kitchen ought to have. And Alphonse may be a little condescending and high-handed at times, but he makes the most wonderful food!” 

“Mycroft has always been quite the slave to his stomach so I have no doubt of that,” said Sherlock dryly, as they walked down the hall to the new kitchen to investigate. “Let’s see what this Alphonse has in store for us tonight.” 

But though Alphonse favored them with a polite bow, the look in his eye told a different story. He obviously didn’t like being disturbed in what he considered to be his domain, and, though he rattled off a menu at Sherlock’s insistence, it was all in a heavily accented French that Molly, to her mortification, could barely understand. Her old governess, Miss Beaufort, would be so disappointed. 

That wasn’t the worst of it, though. Sherlock was absolutely fuming as he and Molly made their way upstairs to change for dinner, and once they were behind closed doors he launched into a diatribe that basically consigned his brother, Alphonse, and the entire breed of personal chefs, particularly those of the French persuasion, to a special hell. Molly listened patiently and did her best to interject a soothing word or two, but it was not until just before they went down that his ill-humor was assuaged by her efforts -- and that seemed more to do with her appearance than with any words she had uttered. 

“You look beautiful,” he said, quite sincerely, looking her over with regret. “To think that I wasted the last hour complaining of such trivia when I could have taken you to bed -- or had you on the couch, or in the bath…” 

“Sherlock!” 

“You protest?” he exclaimed, obviously wounded. 

“Of course I do!” She came to him and brushed light fingers across his chest, over the heart that beat so strongly for her beneath the superfine broadcloth of his dress coat. “We would not have had enough time!” 

His expression lightened considerably. “My dear, I believe there may be something to be said for haste in these matters, if the moment is propitious. But time has run out and we must postpone that debate.” He bent down and gave her one last, lingering kiss, then straightened, looking quite satisfied that he’d once again left her dazed.. “Later!” he said, low and soft, and tucked her hand in his arm.

 *

 By the end of the meal, even Sherlock had to admit that Mycroft might be a slave to his stomach, but he was also a discerning gourmet, and apparently was well aware of Alphonse’s capabilities. The man could cook. Every dish was not only a prime example of its kind, but was made exceptional with Alphonse’s inimitable touch. Finally, after a pudding of apple tart and homemade ice cream, Sherlock had Archie fetch him in from the kitchen and told him, “That was probably the best dinner I’ve had in my life, sir, and I can only offer my deepest thanks -- and a small douceur.” Sherlock smiled and handed Alphonse a fifty pound note. 

“Hear, hear!” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, and began the applause to which the other three added their mite. 

Alphonse beamed, and bowed to Sherlock, then took himself off to his kingdom again. 

“Ah, I’m glad you like him,” Mrs. Hudson smiled. “He really is a marvelous cook, and it leaves me free to pay more attention to the rest of the house.” 

Sherlock sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to thank Mycroft. I wonder what sort of favor he’ll demand for this.” 

Molly frowned. “It was our wedding gift!” 

Sherlock lifted a brow. “If you think there will be no strings attached you don’t know my brother. I expect I’ll be off on one of his assignments within the week.” 

“Oh, dear,” said Molly, dismayed. 

“Hopefully, in light of the fact that we’re still newlyweds, it won’t be anything too long -- or dangerous.” 

She lifted her chin. “Perhaps I could come with you.” 

“Mmm. Now there’s a thought.” He smiled at her, then turned to their tablemates. “Mrs. Hudson, our thanks for playing hostess as we celebrate our first night as man and wife in Baker Street. Archie, it’s time for you to be abed, I have several errands for you to run in the morning. And it’s time for the two of us to get some rest, too, don’t you agree, Mrs. Holmes? It’s been a long day of traveling and I know you must be quite exhausted.” 

“Oh… yes. Of course,” Molly said, feeling her cheeks growing warm. She saw Sherlock’s laughing eyes and his imperfectly suppressed smirk and gave him a look of admonishment, even as memory and anticipation provoked the familiar yet still disconcerting physical response that he’d no doubt intended. Not that she was at all averse to retiring early… it would be the first time they would share his bed in this house… 

She cleared her throat and rose from the table. “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. Can we talk more about Italy in the morning, when I’m… um… more awake?” 

And Mrs. Hudson, actually giggled. “Of course, dear. Plenty of time for that. But don’t try to rise early on my account. I know very well how tiring long days of travel can be.”  

 *

 They’d left a lamp burning -- “The better to see you with, my dear,” Sherlock had said smiling wolfishly as he’d teasingly stripped her bare. But their laughter had faded, changing to something more akin to worship as they began to make love to each other, eyes wide open to take in every shadow, every pure line, every subtly changing expression. Her name had been a desperate prayer on his lips twice in as many hours, but before he had taken his own pleasure he had made her grasp the carved posts of the headboard of his bed -- their bed! -- and had done things to her body that would once have seemed barely imaginable to her, making her beg, making her shriek in spite of their housemates’ proximity; then crawling up and taking her that first time when she was still limp and far too sensitive. She had wrapped herself around him, crying out again and again as he moved within her, short, sharp strokes that presently -- miraculously -- brought her to completion a second time, and then he was overtaken himself. 

“Molly…Molly!...oh my God! “ 

His fingers had left bruises that time. On her shoulder, her hip. Something similar had happened before, in Florence, during the second week of their honeymoon, and she remembered how pleasantly sore she had been, wandering the Uffizi the following afternoon -- and how gentle he’d been with her for a few days until she’d finally had enough of that, had informed him that she was not some delicate flower, nor was she made of glass. He had apologized most sincerely, his eyes alight with laughter and love, and had rectified his fault in the most delightful ways from that time forward.  

This night, after that first time, they dozed, holding each other close, but they stirred again after a while, and again made love, slow and drowsy, with soft gasps and deep kisses and whispers of encouragement, languorous until the end when suddenly it was not, not at all. After that second time they lay close, facing each other, nose to nose on the pillow. 

It was after midnight, and the lamp was now burning low. She could barely see him, though she could feel his even breath. 

“Are you asleep?” she asked softly. 

“Mmm,” he replied, not opening his eyes. “Did you like that?” 

“You should know,” she said with a smile. 

And at that he did open his eyes, they glinted in the faint light. “I love you, wife.” 

She kissed him. “I love you, too.” 

He smiled back, boyish and content. 

Before his eyes were quite closed again, she spoke. “Husband…” 

“Hmmm?” 

“Are you… will you take me to Madame Celeste’s in Bennet Street, as we discussed in the train station? On our very first morning -- you remember?” 

“I remember.” But his smile had faded somewhat. 

“I… but don’t you want to?” she asked, a little worried. “It’s just… I want to give you as much pleasure as you give me.” 

“If you give me much more you’re like to kill me,” he murmured. But then he reached up and stroked her cheek. “Molly, I… I felt differently about things then. I don’t think… well, I know it sounds utterly bourgeois, like something your execrable brother-in-law would say -- either of your brothers-in-law, actually -- but it wouldn’t be fitting for you to go to such a place.” 

“Oh.” She was surprised, and really quite disappointed. 

“Perhaps I can find a book or two for you on such matters. They do exist, and some are most instructive. And you could speak to Mary Watson, over tea and cakes? God knows she seems to have the knack of keeping Watson happily tied to her apron strings.” 

Molly had to smile at both his bitter tone and the thought of discussing such things with a woman who was no more than a casual acquaintance, though it was true that she hoped to become better friends with the wife of her husband’s colleague. But she now said to Sherlock, “No, I could not! And books might be informative, but would not answer in the same way at all. I wanted to speak to those women… ask them any number of questions. In a spirit of scientific enquiry, you know.” 

“Ah. Well. I admire an inquisitive and perceptive mind as I do few other things in this life, but in this case, I fear you must content yourself with exploring sources of knowledge other than those available at one of the most notorious brothels in England. And further experimentation will not go amiss. I am certainly at your disposal.” 

“I daresay you are,” she said fondly, and gave him another kiss. But then she sighed, and said with some resentment,. “Very well. But you are a tyrannical beast, you know.” 

“Not at all. A benevolent despot at most. Now go to sleep, my love. Mrs. Hudson will be wanting to hear more about Italy -- and will probably have something to say about those shrieks you let out a while ago, when you were supposedly exhausted and asleep.” 

“Oh!” she cried. “You are a beast. How could I help it, when you were doing such things to me? It was entirely your fault.” And she shoved at his chest, and moved as if to turn away. 

But he pulled her close, subduing her, as she’d known he would, and kissed her, and then said, with laughter in his voice,. “Go to sleep, my darling, prickly little wife.” He drew the covers up around them both. 

She gave a dramatic sigh, resigned (and warm, and much cherished). “Good night, you horrid, wonderful beast.”