#he was so delighted I wish I had been more assertive about saying hi earlier

[quicksilversquared]

I've been at one of the biggest conferences for my field over the past few days, and one of my old professors from undergrad was there. I hadn't approached him because he was always talking to people when I was wandering around, but he had also gone zipping past me multiple times when I was standing around and hadn't seemed to recognize me, so I figured that it had just been too long. Tonight I was hanging around with a group outside, waiting for their last few people to come out so we could head back to the main hotel. Since we were outside, I had my mask off. My old professor and his group came out, he glanced over- and immediately went "YOU!" and insisted that I join their group so I could catch him up on what I've been up to.

...apparently my mask just makes me completely unrecognizable.

He then proceeded to introduce me to his group of students as "a recent graduate of <their college>" and I had to tell him that it's been eight years, actually, and he had to take a couple minutes to recover from that.

(possibly funnier is the fact that on the first day of the conference, my advisor- who has seen me in a mask plenty of times, since I wear one on campus when I'm not in the grad space or outside- went tearing right by me (literally within two feet) (I think looking for check-in?) and evidently didn't notice. Ma'am, my old professor has the excuse of eight years and a mask, you saw me a week ago.)

[kittyball23]

Hi is it okay if you write a story about baby branch and Floyd

It sure is 😊

Remember (a Trolls fanfic)

Dear Diary,

It’s been a pretty quiet evening at home so far, and I guess there’s a few reasons for that. For one, I guess it’s no secret that I’m the quietest among my brothers (they say I should assert myself more, but I find that I can’t - it’s just the way I am 0.0). Also, my older brothers aren’t here at the moment, and the bro that IS here is sleeping on my lap (it’s a little hard to write right now, but I can manage). I’m guessing you’re probably wondering where exactly my older brothers are. Well, John Dory is out running some errands with Grandma, so they’re hitting the grocery store and a few other places (plus, JD DID say he was going to try and get supplies for some new costume ideas he has planned for us and our band, BroZone).

Spruce is out on a date. He ran another one of his competitions, and the winner this time around is a girl named Doreen. I’ve seen her around town a bit, and she seemed very excited to be able to be with him. As for Spruce… I don’t think I could really say the same :( But, regardless, they were heading out to Senior Frosty’s. A lot of us like to go down there for some sweet treats (personally, I think Grandma’s stuff is the best, but they’re okay too ^_^). Spruce’s favorite is the Tropical Sunset sundae, which is an ice cream that I think is made from vanilla, with some kind of fruity syrup and chunks of pineapple on top. It sounds pretty tasty, but my personal preference is the strawberry delight (an underrated flavor, but delicious nonetheless!)

Clay headed off to another one of his sad-book club meetings. He’s sorta told me about them before, but I’m a little nervous to go to one, if I’m being honest. If it’s about sad books like he says, I’m probably gonna be in tears the whole time! I guess I’ll just have to make sure that I pack a lot of tissues when I do get the chance to accompany him :)

That leaves me and Branch, like I mentioned before. We had some fun with all kinds of activities around the house.

We frosted some sugar cookies that Grandma had baked earlier in the day (Branch got a little messy with the decorating, but he didn’t mind). We played some games (the usual - hide-and-seek, tag… freeze tag) and sang some of our band’s songs together. I’m very proud of him. Even though he’s only a couple years old, he’s got a great falsetto going. Golden! I can tell he’s going to be an amazing singer one day, and I can’t wait for him to start performing with us. John Dory thinks he’s ready, too. A few days ago, he actually suggested that we should start arranging for our first tour. Spruce and Clay agreed, and it’s going to be so exciting!

As Floyd tapped his pencil to his chin, pondering what to write down next, the light weight on his lap began to shift. He immediately put his journal down, and watched admiringly as Branch cutely yawned and stretched.

“Hey, Branch,” he cooed softly, stroking his brother’s delicate little cheek. “Did you have a good nap?”

The baby blinked up at him, rubbing the sleep out of his large blue eyes and grinning his sweet little one-toothed grin. “Uh-huh!”

Floyd chuckled and ruffled his rich blue hair. “That’s good.”

“What did you do, Floyd?” the small Troll asked curiously.

“Oh, I was just writing in my journal,” he said, showing him the book that he’d placed at his side.

“Ohhh,” Branch mused, cocking his head. “Can I see it?”

“Sure thing,” Floyd replied fondly, opening it up and allowing Branch to flip through the pages.

“I write all kinds of things in here,” the magenta-haired Troll explained while the baby stared in wonder. “Ideas, stories, wishes… but do you know what my favorite thing to write about is?”

“What?” Branch asked, his eyes twinkling with interest.

“All the stuff I do with you, and our brothers.”

“Wow! Really?”

“Definitely,” Floyd answered. “That way, when we want to remember something special, it’ll all be right here.” He gave him a little side hug that Branch happily leaned into with a giggle. Then, the little blue Trolling thought of something else.

“Do you write songs in there, too?”

Floyd nodded. “Yeah, I do.” Then he smirked. “But you know, I’ve been having a little trouble trying to finish the one I’ve been working on. Do you want to help me?”

His baby brother’s face lit up. “Yeah!”

And, as he and Branch made another cherished memory - harmonizing together and creating wonderful new melodies - Floyd made sure to recall every little detail of their experience so, in that way, he could notate it in his journal for them to always remember.

[sorcererrezan]

golden hour

prompt fill for @ataleofcrowns. congratulations on the chapter 6 release cherry! 💛

prompt: facade pairing: navid/xelef  rating: T word count: 2,042 warning: spoilers for X’s scene during chapter 6!

—

Xelef is rather partial to the color gold.

Gold meant a full belly. Gold meant a job well done. Gold meant having survived yet another battle.

Gold motivated him and the people around him. Gold got him into trouble as easily as it got him out of it.

So when gold eyes looked defiantly into his, a spark of light brightening that nebulous place where his intuition resides, and dropped a heavy sack clinking with a familiar sound, there was no other option but to say yes.

Xelef’s not quite sure when he starts thinking of the flash of cleverness in Navid’s eyes more than the sparkle of coin. 

Just the night before, Heval forced him to examine this new tendency and why they haven’t yet moved on from Marabad. He’d resisted giving Heval the satisfaction of his admission at the time, but that was before his tendency powered his sprint to the tunnels and the burst of fire that kept Navid safe. 

If Xelef’s urgency directed his aim closer to the kill than he intended, it was only because he wanted to do a thorough job. Certainly not because for a split second, the jagged edges of fear pierced through the hard acceptance that has fused with the shell of his heart. 

That was before he discovered just how common of an enemy he and Navid have. Before gold also became something to defend instead of just throw at his leisure.

He didn’t divulge anything to the Blades besides the public warning that the Palace issued—which he still disagrees with, but spirits know there’s a reason it’s not him making those decisions. 

Xelef felt Heval’s questioning suspicion curb somewhat, as well as the Blades’ recommitment to Navid. It helped him regain some stability in himself. As long as he’s not the only one with a soft spot for the newfound Crown he can tell himself that the way Navid affects him isn’t unique. 

None of them had embraced Navid until his tears and the grip of his nightmare dissipated though. The intensity of Navid’s vulnerability had stunned him that night. Xelef thinks he might be able to relate to the way that his walls must have crumbled under their own weight during that moment, when the relief of a mission accomplished finally gave way to exhaustion. If he ever experiences it for himself, that is. 

Instead of being unsettled by the raw display of emotion he’d had to insist on leaving Navid behind, lest the way his eyes wavered like coins at the bottom of a fountain compelled him to do something neither of them were ready for. 

Despite the magnetic tension between them, he knows that they don’t trust each other. He’d considered Navid’s feelings only briefly when he conceived his plan before deciding to just deal with the consequences. 

Well, now here they are. He’d anticipated how Navid might feel once his shrewd mind pieced it all together, but Xelef hadn’t foreseen how much he’d care. 

It needles at him, the way Navid takes his motivations regarding coin at face value when they discuss the coronation. And it needles at him that it needles at him. That’s what he wants the Crown to believe anyway, right? 

The dissonance isn’t really something he wants to entertain so he distracts himself by distracting Navid. 

It’s rather more fun to catch the Crown staring at him than contemplate why there’s a kernel of him that anticipates an opportunity to be seen. Not just looked at as he so often is, up for strangers’ interpretation as he is now so used to, but seen. 

The gold in Navid’s eyes is alive in a way coin could never be. There’s a playfulness that seems to live in Navid’s irises, which Xelef’s learning is partly a diversion for the cunning survivalist underneath. 

Xelef stares right back, shameless in the way he parts the seam of his lips to drag his tongue across the bottom before letting Navid see how the plump softness of it gives under his thumb. He delights in darkening that sparkling mischief into something imaginative and promising and it’s not long before he gives the two of them a reason to leave the room together. The indulgently sly way that Navid looks at him insists that Xelef get him alone. 

Awareness thrums between them as they walk together, but he can sense a contemplative mix of emotions from the man next to him. It’s enough to make him curious. “What are you thinking about?” 

“Oh, nothing much, only the fact that I’m now responsible for millions of lives,” Navid is just as practiced as he is at showing who he’s supposed to be. If Xelef couldn’t sense his anxiety he might’ve believed his blithe tone.

The stakes are high and Xelef can feel the weight of that reality on Navid’s shoulders as if it sits on him like a pauldron. It’d be a flattering and dashing pauldron the way Navid wears it, but a symbol of conflict and its inevitable consequences nonetheless. 

Xelef meets the slight bite of Navid’s sarcasm with his pragmatism, forged in fire and quenched to harden like steel. “If you obsess over the weight of your choices, you’ll become paralyzed by fear, and in that state you’re of no use to anyone.”

Navid eyes are sharp as he seems to consider not just his words but also his intent. Whatever he decides to himself seems to satisfy him because some of the spark in his eyes returns. Xelef wonders what conclusion Navid came to, to look at him like he knows something Xelef doesn’t. 

He thinks he sees some relief in there too, and Xelef tells himself it relieves him in turn because he needs the Crown to be clear-headed and not because of the possibility that sharing his genuine perspective might have made him rise in Navid’s esteem.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Xelef steers them back into familiar waters with a self-satisfied twist of his lips. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”

Navid lets out a huff of a chuckle. He must be more exhausted than he let on because they slide into silence again. Xelef’s attempt at distracting Navid is successful though and soon enough he’s unable to contain his amusement. Xelef puffs up at the suggestion of his altruism, sliding back into the easy role of carefree rogue. 

“Altruistic? Pah! Disgusting.”

But Navid promptly tugs at his facade. “You can drop the act, you know. I know you’re not wholly selfish at heart.”

“Is that what you really think, or is that what you hope for?” A devious rhythm softens the quick reflexes of his defenses even as his heart starts to race. Being exposed is terrifyingly thrilling. Or thrillingly terrifying. Both? 

“You do like to perform. The role of carefree mercenary suits you well, I admit. But that can’t be all that there is to you.”

Navid pins him with piercing gold and Xelef hardly realizes as he’s backed against a window. It’s been a long time since anyone cared to find out who he really is as much as Navid ostensibly does. 

Navid steps close enough that he has to tilt his chin down to hold his gaze and even he can’t deny that the proximity makes him feel like a live wire, like his pulse itself might jump out of his skin so it can press against the man who’s always so tantalizingly near.

Xelef considers that he might have met his match in Navid with a smirk.

Navid already has a decently apt approximation of him, despite Xelef’s penchant for misdirection and the fact that they’ve only really known each other a handful of days. Xelef’s moved quickly in the past but never quite like this. 

But then again, nothing gets him into trouble as easily as gold.

“Navid.” 

Xelef reaches a hand out, soothing a knuckle against the slightly puckered scar on Navid’s cheek. He’ll have to ask him the story behind it soon.

“If you wish for me to treat you tenderly, you need only ask.”

It comes out as a gentler murmur than he intends. Xelef doesn’t need to speak up to be heard after all, with how much closer Navid gets as he anchors a rough hand on top of his. It’s as close to an acknowledgement of Xelef’s complex and often contradictory thoughts and emotions about the man in front of him—the ones he prefers to leave unaddressed because they leave him feeling uncomfortably bare.

“Don’t tempt me, Xelef,” Navid’s voice is rough with restraint as his thick brows furrow with caution. “I’ll start believing you.”

“I lie about a lot of things, my dark-haired beauty, but never about this.”

“That’s a lie,” Navid purses his lips, eyes narrowing even as he considers his own assertion. It’s a look that Xelef has seen on him before, usually around a table with others, as Navid weighs the reality of what he knows against the possibilities of what he doesn’t to figure out how to move forward.

Just like earlier, Xelef feels the foreign compulsion for Navid to have confidence in him. It’s been a while since he cared to prove himself to anyone, and even now his better sense is reminding him that the distance he places between himself and others is there out of necessity. If he weren’t deep in the shit of it he’d find it amusingly fitting that they can both see glimpses past each other’s bravado. Of course the person that interests him most is also the one that directly challenges him to leave the familiarity of his facade.

“Perhaps.”

He doesn’t confirm or deny it, though it’s getting harder and harder to ignore his hope that Navid will just figure it out and acknowledge it for both of their sakes. Whether his evasiveness is a test of Navid’s understanding of him or his own hesitation to be understood, he can’t determine. 

Neither can Navid it seems, because he redirects them to less murky waters. “And what is this, exactly?”

Xelef doesn’t answer immediately, taking his time to admire the sharp lines of Navid’s handsome face to reinforce his memory of it for later, after they part for the night.

“Right now? I would call this a flirtation,” this part is easy to admit. Flirtation comes naturally to both of them. He’s noticed the easy compliments Navid gives to others, how he effortlessly keeps those he thinks he might have use for close. His motives seem genuine enough—Xelef himself knows what the line between manipulation and exploitation looks like—though his charisma certainly has a craftily calculating edge to it. 

“But we can make it anything you want it to be.”

Xelef leaves the rest up to Navid’s astute interpretation. An acute sense of anticipation holds him in place as Navid opens his mouth to respond and Xelef internally wills him to see—

—Magic displaces above Navid’s head, and the breath Xelef had been holding spills out as a laugh. Whatever Navid was about to say is swept up in him trying to recover from the spirits giving him away. 

Ah well. At least he’ll have something to tease Navid about later.

Xelef doesn’t question how easy it is to insist that he keep his dagger with him. What would it mean if he and Navid use the same blade the first time they have to kill? Maybe it wouldn’t mean anything at all, but it reassures him that even if he’s away he can still be there for Navid when it happens, when the world inexorably reminds him of why he’ll always have to protect himself.

Is that altruism? When he tries to correct his own buried regrets by helping someone else avoid having the same ones?

Even more questions he’s not sure he wants to find the answers to. 

But when he feels Navid’s resolve solidify inside him, sees the squaring of his shoulders as he lifts his gaze from the designs on his door and takes a steadying breath before stepping inside, Xelef knows he’ll have to accept that it might not end up being up to him anyway.

Gold just might be the death of him.

fin.

author’s note: i’ve been wanting to do a character study in X’s perspective for a while and there were so many LAYERS to their scene in chapter 6 that i took a one word prompt and wrote two thousand words about it lmao. i wanted to explore the duality between X’s persona and their actions and set a starting point for them early in the romance. 

there’s a really delicious tension right now when they’re not acknowledging their deeper interest in the crown despite the fact that they’re always eye fucking whenever they can so much as see each other. i also wanted to play with the fact that they both know that there’s more than meets the eye and ALSO that they’re being manipulated in the grander scheme of their own personal agendas. 

i also wanted to mold navid’s characterization from the perspective of someone trying to resist falling in love with him. spoiler alert X, it’s impossible. anyways! so many thoughts, head full of X. hope i did my favorite royal boy toy justice 🤎

[cycat4077]

When the Time is Right

Summary: Is it time to take your relationship to the next level?  Set at the start of S18 - roughly August 2016. Pairing: Sonny x Reader Warnings: Mature themes...of the NSFW variety, some cussing, fluff, feels, etc. Words: 1927 AO3 here

Technically part 12 in the Changes verse, but can act as a stand-alone.

Consider this a Valentine’s day themed thingy even though it’s set in August 🥰

"It's weird I guess," you say in between sips of tea, "how some parts of our relationship have happened so quickly, like meeting his parents right away, while other parts of it aren't rushed at all. For instance, the two of us were complete idiots and it took a couple of months to formally say ‘I love you’." The admission makes you chuckle, but as you look up from your drink, the devious grin pasted across your friend’s face tells you that she’s hung up on one small detail.

"You guys haven't done it yet, have you?" blurts Sydney, sitting wide-eyed across from you on her sofa.

You're normally a pretty private person so you can't help it when your cheeks start to burn, effectively giving away your secret.

"You haven't!" she exclaims, eagerly setting down her teacup, ready for details.

"Syd!"

The blonde raises her arms in mock defense. "Hey, hey! There's nothing wrong with it but it's kind of a rarity to not be in each other's pants by now!"

You grow even more self-conscious, tracing the rim of your mug handle as a distraction.

"Listen,” Sydney begins sternly, “he's super nice to you and charming and sweet, so I just wanna make sure he's not -"

But you interrupt her before she can make the accusation. "Sonny isn't like that," you state, adopting a firm tone of your own. "We just haven't gotten there yet...there's been no rush. I feel totally comfortable around Sonny and he's never once made me feel like we should be doing anything."

"Good," she asserts. "I just want to make sure you're not being played because the good ones are really hard to find."

Ever since you met in college, Sydney has been fiercely protective of you, and clearly that side of her is something that's never changed. Despite her thirst for details, you also know that you can truly trust her so you suppose there's no harm in opening up a little. "I mean, it's not like I haven't thought about it,” you confess sheepishly. “I went on the pill not long after we started dating because you never know, but our lives have been so busy and messy. Especially this summer. We've had our ups and downs - some beyond our control and some were issues that we've worked out together. I really feel like we've come out of it stronger and the more we experience together, the more I’m certain that Sonny is the person I want to spend the rest of my life with."

Sydney cracks a goofy smile.

"Yeah, yeah. Corny. I know," you wave dismissively, "but I can't help loving him more and more each day. Our relationship is so special to me and personally, sex is one of the most intimate things a couple can do. It's about love. So, waiting for the right time isn't a big deal. If anything, it will just bring us that much closer."

"Girl, you're crazy lucky!” chimes Sydney, affectionately. "And there's nothing wrong with waiting to bang. You remember me from back in the day and how I had my fair share of ‘promiscuous encounters’. Actually, with Geoff..." Sydney's eyes narrow as she recollects her ex, "fuck, do I wish we had waited! He said all the right things and made all the right gestures. Our relationship moved so fast! We hit the milestones at a hundred miles per hour…and I believed it! But then the cheating started. When I found out - and I still feel this way sometimes - when I think about having slept with him, I feel so dirty and cheap." She ducks her head and you can tell that the wound still smarts.

"You can't blame yourself for his behavior!" you rationalize, wishing your friend wouldn't be so hard on herself.

"I know! And I don't, but it's that shame and embarrassment of knowing I was so foolish to believe there was love there. Even the thought of having given myself over to him in that way makes me wanna upchuck. Hell, those one-night stands where the guy dips out as soon as he finishes don't feel as cheap or degrading. So, hon, there's nothing wrong with the pace you're moving at. Believe me. Maybe if I had waited longer with Geoff, his true colours would have shone through earlier..."

"It's in the past, Syd," you reason, "and you know what is special about that? It goes to show you how much you can trust and love someone. And even though Geoff was a total asshole, there's gonna be a guy out there for you someday who will be worthy of all that."

Sydney smiles despite herself. "You're a total sap, you know that, right?" You grin at her and nod proudly. "But I love ya for it." She then leans across the sofa and gives you a grateful hug. Parting, Sydney continues. "You'll know when the time is right," she reassures you. "You may talk about it or it may just happen, but you and Sonny are the mushiest, most in-love couple I've ever seen, so I know you'll be just fine."

-x-

Nights in with Sonny are the best. Lately you both had been so busy. Sonny was working overtime on top of double shifts, while you were occupied with perfecting your new course curriculum before the semester started.

When the two of you were finally able to have an evening off, you'd find something to eat and just lounge on the couch; maybe pop in a movie and sit snuggled up together. You didn't need to be doing anything in particular to enjoy each other's company.

Sometimes though, those cozy moments strayed towards other forms of physical affection. To put it in simple terms: you’d make out…And tonight happened to be no different.

"This movie's dumb," grumbles Sonny, leaning his head on the back of the sofa.

"Yep," you agree, staring blankly at the tv screen.

Sonny then turns his face towards you, offering a cheeky grin. "At least tha company's good."

You flop yours in his direction. "I suppoooose so," you tease with a roll of your eyes.

Sonny pouts and you laugh at how ridiculous he looks. When his put-on expression doesn't crack, you decide it's time to steer the evening towards a more preferable form of entertainment. "Y'know, if you don't stop making that face, I'm gonna have to wipe it off you myself." There's a deliberate hint of suggestion in your voice and you bite your lip to make your intentions crystal clear.

With a gleam in his eye, Sonny playfully deepens the curl of his frown which obviously leaves you with no choice but to reach out, nab his jaw and pull him to your lips. His arm encircles you and his hand presses against your back to coax you near. The quick peck blossoms into several more deep and passionate kisses; the two of you barely able to spare a breath in between.

As things continue to heat up you climb over and straddle Sonny’s lap. To your delight, this move elicits an 'Mmm!' of pleasant surprise from the Italian detective’s throat. Your hair falls over your shoulder as you peer down into his swirling blue eyes. "Hi," you grin quietly.

Sonny stares up at you in wonder. His hands fix themselves to the small of your waist. "Hey," he returns softly as the corners of his mouth cradle a gentle smile.

You hold his gaze a moment longer, soaking in the view. You're still in awe that the man before you is all yours, but as you lean down to capture his lips, you're reassured of your reality. Sonny mirrors your every move, matching your passion. The kisses grow even more heated. Your fingertips work at his silver temples while Sonny's hands burn up your skin where they've snuck themselves beneath your shirt. A gentle but firm squeeze is all it takes for your hips to involuntarily grind down against his.

Suddenly, Sonny raises your bum off of his lap. "What's wrong?" you ask with worry.

He shuts his eyes reluctantly before opening them to you, brow furrowed and expression vulnerable. "It's just...well, if we keep this up..." He winces and his cheeks turn pink.

You shift your knees on the sofa to steady yourself and raise your own eyebrows in understanding. "Oh," you say, growing quiet and nervous. The two of you never did get around to a discussion on taking things further, which left you to wonder where Sonny stood on the matter.

Ever the gentleman, he delicately tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, "I just don't know if we're ready for...this."

"Babe," you sit back on his thighs, rubbing your palms soothingly along his shoulders. "Do you want to wait? I know your beliefs are a little firmer than mine."

"Nuh-no! It's not that!" he exclaims. "I just don't wanna move too fast for you!" Sonny too, turns timid as he speaks.

You can't help but smile down at him. What had you done to deserve such a sweetheart? You recall the conversation with Sydney from a couple weeks ago. She was right.

"I believe in love," you breathe, running your thumb tenderly along his cheek, "and I love you more than anything."

"I love you too, doll," echoes Sonny, the confidence returning to his voice.

You kiss him again. It's long and lingering, reigniting the flame between you. Sonny draws you to his chest and you link your arms behind his neck. "I want this, if you do," you speak in a soft voice.

"I want this too. I want you...so much." The reply is almost a whisper, his lips mere inches from your own.

Emboldened, you withdraw and stand up, your skin tingling where his fingers brush along your waist. Never breaking eye contact, you reach out your hand. Sonny accepts and you lead him to the bedroom.

-x-

The next morning you awake to orange licks of early sunlight flickering through the blinds. Sonny's arm surrounds you, clutching you to his bare chest. His heavy breathing sounds beside your ear and you think it impossible for life to be any more perfect. You snuggle your naked form closer into his, wishing to stay in his warm embrace forever.

Then Sonny begins to stir. "Mornin' beautiful," he says, Staten Island accent heavy with sleep.

"Morning," you turn over in his arms to place a kiss at the corner of his mouth.

He releases you, propping his head up on an elbow. "Last night was..."

"Wow," you finish with a flirtatious grin.

Sonny sighs dreamily, "yeah." He then takes a finger and beings tracing light circles over your exposed shoulder. "Kinda wish we'd done that sooner." His tone is husky but his eyes are filled with affection.

"We've got our whole lives ahead of us, Sonny," you offer before delicately sweeping a piece of his hair away from his forehead.

You watch his blue eyes soften and crinkle at the corners. Dimples form from his smile. But instead of answering, he simply leans forward and kisses you.

Last night wasn't just physical; you found a whole new connection with Sonny. One deeply rooted in attraction but brought to life and nurtured by love. It was like you were completely in synch, giving and taking from one another wholly and completely. And, as you once again melt into his kiss, you know that everything had worked out just as it was meant to be.

---

Part 13 here!

A/N: I really love this fic. I've had it in my drafts for a long time and I really wanted to find the perfect place to add it into the series. I'm no expert but it kind of ticks me off how the media portrays physical relationships to be the holy grail...like it's a make or break type thing or that people need to be physical to fall in love. So, I tend to gravitate towards character-couples who do the opposite...and to me, Sonny seems like the type who values an emotional connection over a purely physical one. Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed reading this fic! The last paragraph is one of my favorite things I’ve ever written!

[odinsblog]

1. “I stopped in Singapore to meet with a guy named Lee Kuan Yew who most foreign policy experts around the world say is the wisest man in the Orient.”

2. “From Phoenix to Flagstaff, from Mesa to Yuma, to the red rocks of Sedona, this great state was settled by some of the toughest men and toughest — and most beautiful — women ever to walk the face of the earth.”

3. “I think I probably have a much higher IQ than you do, I suspect … I’d be delighted to sit down and compare my IQ to yours, if you’d like, Frank.”

4. “I’m not sorry for anything that I have ever done. I have never been disrespectful intentionally to a man or a woman.”

5. “I punched my music teacher because I didn’t think he knew anything about music and I almost got expelled. I’m not proud of that but it’s clear evidence that even early on I had a tendency to stand up and make my opinions known in a very forceful way.”

6. “I cannot believe that a Frenchman visiting Kiev went back home ... and didn’t say he discovered the most beautiful women in the world. That’s my observation … It’s certain you have so many beautiful women.”

7. “The press always asks me, ‘Don’t I wish I were debating him?’ No, I wish we were in high school — I could take him behind the gym. That’s what I wish.”

8. “I guess we’ll have to compare IQ tests. And I can tell you who is going to win.”

9. “Nobody has more respect for women than I do. Nobody. Nobody has more respect.”

10. “What I’m trying to do is go around from town to town. And I’m drawing as big of crowds — bigger than anybody. Have you seen anybody draw bigger crowds than me here in this state?”

11. “It’s packed outside, as you’ll be able to see. But it’s — they’ve never seen crowds like this over here.”

12. “You cannot go to a 7-Eleven or a Dunkin’ Donuts unless you have a slight Indian accent. I’m not joking.”

13. “When these people walk into the room, they don’t say, ‘Oh hello, how’s the weather? It’s so beautiful outside. How are the Yankees doing? They’re doing wonderful, that’s great. They say, ‘We want deal!’”

14. “I promise you ... you’re going to see the single most important thing that changes America. We’re gonna cure cancer.”

15. “We will come up with the cures to many, many problems, to many, many diseases — including cancer.”

16. “If you are feeling healthy, not showing symptoms, and not at risk of being exposed to COVID-19: please vote on Tuesday.”

Answers under the “keep reading” cut

1. Biden used the outdated term for Asia when referring to the former prime minister of Singapore during a get-out-the-vote rally in Iowa in 2014. Just hours earlier, he had apologized for using the term “Shylocks” to describe unscrupulous lenders in a previous speech.

2. Trump made the remarks during a visit to Arizona in 2018. “Now,” Trump added, pointing to reporters, “they’re going to say tomorrow, ‘He called women beautiful. Isn’t that terrible?’ It will be ‘Trump calls women beautiful.’ You’re beautiful. You are beautiful, beautiful. You always were and you always will be.”

3. Biden made the remarks responding to a question about his academic record during a campaign stop in New Hampshire during his 1987 presidential campaign. In his response, he also misstated his record, saying that he had received a full academic scholarship to law school, although his campaign later said it was a partial scholarship based on need.

4. Biden made the comment after a speech in Washington in April in his first remarks after several women came forward to say that he had touched them inappropriately or made them uncomfortable. During the speech, he also joked twice that he had permission to hug a union leader and put his arm around a young boy.

5. Trump recounted an anecdote about a time in the second grade in which he said he gave his teacher a black eye in his 1987 book, “The Art of the Deal,” saying that he was “a very assertive, aggressive kid.” In a 2016 interview with the Washington Post, he downplayed the incident, saying, “when you’re that age, nobody punches very hard.”

6. Biden made the remarks while speaking with Ukrainian President Viktor Yushchenko during a 2009 visit. The two were overheard by a pool reporter while drinking Cokes in the back of a pub in Kiev with other local officials. It’s unclear who the French person was.

7. Biden made the remarks while campaigning for Hillary Clinton in Pennsylvania in 2016. He was responding to the leaked “Access Hollywood” video in which Trump had boasted that he could “grab” women by the genitals because of his celebrity status.

8. Trump made the remarks during an interview with Forbes magazine in 2017. He was responding to reports — which he called “fake news” — that Secretary of State Rex Tillerson had called him a “moron” after a meeting with his national security team.

9. Trump made the remarks during his third debate against Clinton in 2016. He was responding to her criticism of his treatment of women. “Donald thinks belittling women makes him bigger,” she said. Trump’s response sparked snickers, leading moderator Chris Wallace to warn the audience to stay quiet.

10. Biden made the remarks while campaigning in Iowa in August. Fox News reporter Steve Doocy then responded that he had seen bigger crowds in Des Moines, prompting Biden to respond. “I know you’re going to go after me no matter what. … I’m a big boy. I can handle it. But … I notice that you didn’t ask me why I’m ahead in the polls still.”

11. Trump made the remarks after arriving in Indiana shortly before the 2018 midterm elections. “I think we’re doing very well in the Senate,” he told reporters. “There is something going on, okay? I’m just telling you, we all left Ohio together — you never saw crowds like this. Thousands and thousands of people outside.”

12. Biden made the remarks while talking with an Indian-American supporter in 2006. “The point Senator Biden was making is that there has been a vibrant Indian-American community in Delaware for decades,” a spokeswoman later said.

13. Trump made the remarks while campaigning in Iowa in 2015. He also used broken English to imitate the accents of the leaders of South Korea and Japan while at a fundraiser in the Hamptons in August, and the Washington Post reported that he “has been known to affect an Indian accent and imitate Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi.”

14. Biden made the remarks at a campaign event in Iowa in June. His oldest son, Beau, died from brain cancer in 2015, leading the then-vice president to launch a “Cancer Moonshot” campaign to fight the diseases.

15. Trump made the remarks at a rally in Florida in June, adding several other bold second-term goals. “We will eradicate AIDS in America once and for all and we’re very close,” he said. “We will lay the foundation for landing American astronauts on the surface of Mars.”

16. Biden claimed it was safe to vote during the COVID-19 pandemic and urged voters to cast ballots in the Democratic primaries even as coronavirus concerns were mounting.

(source)

[rhysanoodle]

Slow Hands

What might have happened if Lou and Reid’s bed sharing had turned into much, much more. Chapter 24: A Question of Pride alternate ending with smut, because of course.

Word count: 2936

AO3

A/N: How have I found no fic for this glorious book yet?! Welp, here you go.

“Relax,” I whispered to Reid. I was vividly aware of every inch of us touching, and the fact that Reid was stiff as a board. All of Reid was stiff as a board. “Quit being awkward.”

I could tell that he wasn’t allowing the full extent of his body to press into me on the bed. He was trying and failing to jut his ass over the edge so I wouldn’t discover how very much he was enjoying this with me. A witch. Ah, to imagine the look on his face if only he knew. It might just be better than an entire box of Pan’s sticky buns. Almost.

After a minute of torturous silence, I finally turned toward him, deliberately, letting him feel as my body hitched up against his own, his teeth grinding slightly, pulse ratcheting as we lay closer than ever before, chests touching but for the scraps of fabric between us.

Out of sheer curiosity and to fill the awkward silence between us, I asked him about his parents, only to drop a wet blanket over whatever tension had been building between us—oops—but it gave me a better insight into how he grew up in the church. I even managed to educate him a bit on witches, though still through the guise of my witch friend imparting this information on me. Close though we had become, I still didn’t trust Reid’s instincts and upbringing to be overridden merely because I was his wife now.

“She told you all this?” he prodded.

I rolled my eyes before lifting my chin and staring him down. “Of course. You should really educate yourself, Chass. A common street thief knows more about your enemies than you do. How embarrassing.”

Then, a sudden gust of wind whooshed outside, reminding me of how freezing I was. I burrowed deeper into the comfort of my nest of blankets.

“Are you cold?” He sounded almost concerned.

“A little,” I admitted sheepishly.

This caused him to inch closer to me, extending his arm, clearly offering to wrap me within it. “Will you accept an olive branch?”

I swallowed with difficulty and nodded, allowing him to pull me to his chest, both arms wrapping around me until his hands clasped at the small of my back. I tensed, unsure of where to go from here.

Clearly sensing this, Reid lowered his lips to my hair and murmured, “Relax. I don’t bite … much.”

Every nerve ending in my body lit up at the suggestion, as I imagined all the places where I would love to feel the sting of his teeth against my skin.

“Was that a joke, Chass?” I asked, in any attempt to defuse the bomb inside me whose fuse was rapidly shortening.

His arms only pulled me in more tightly. “Maybe.”

Shit. Reid was giving me this in with him, yet …

He pulled back at my hesitation. “Just say the words.  Ask me.” The nerve of the prick.

“You’re an ass.”

He merely shrugged his shoulders, saying, “Have it your way,” before deftly pulling his shirt up and over his head.

I immediately made a grab for it and threw it back at his face. “What are you doing?” The right little tease wanted me to break, but there was no way that was happening.

He caught it without a second thought and flung it to the floor, out of my reach. “I’m hot.”

“You—you— Get out of my bed!” I insisted. “Get out!” I shoved into his barreled chest with every ounce of strength I could muster, but he didn’t budge an inch, merely grinning back at me.

“This is my bed,” the giant oaf asserted, refusing to move. This stopped being his bed the moment he gifted it to me, and right now I very much so wanted it back to myself.

“No, this is where, I sleep. You sleep on the—”

“Bed.” The monumental ass had the audacity to flex those corded arms of his behind his head, looking for all the world as if he were relaxed, not at all worried about my rapidly growing urge to suffocate him with a pillow in the middle of the night. There was no way I was going to be falling asleep with him in such close proximity to me now.

My eyes darted across his body, from his pretentious face to that bulking chest. It was no damn fair that he had tossed his shirt to the floor, forcing me to keep my gaze from straying to that area I so desperately wished to discover further.

“I’ve had a knot in my back for two weeks. I’m done sleeping on the floor. This is my bed, and I’m sleeping in it from now on. You’re welcome to join me, otherwise the tub is still free.”

Mouth gaping, I felt the cogs in my head turning, yet not quickly enough. How deftly he had disarmed me. “I— This is— I am not sleeping in the—” And then I knew what I had to do. If I wasn’t going to be getting any sleeping done, then. Neither. Was. He.

I reached for the hem of my nightgown, watching his eyes grow wide as I wriggled it over my head, letting him fully take in my breasts, perking in the chill of the night air around us. They desperately begged for me to snuggle into his warmth, to let him protect them from the winter night which this ghastly tower failed to ward off completely, yet I denied them this comfort.

I let myself lie there, propped up on one elbow as his eyes roved. Clearly, I had broken whatever part of his brain was capable of intelligent thought for he did not stray for even one moment, his adam's apple bobbing, as I began to wonder …

“Reid, are you … a virgin?”

He nodded, and I had to fight the urge to chuckle—not because I pitied him anything but merely out of pure glee because that was just going to make tonight all the more fun for me. To be the one to wring him dry for the first time. To see his dopey little face when I had finished his him. His adorable, dopey, little face which I was aching to kiss.

Then, out of nowhere, his hand was reaching for me, a phantom on the wind as he wrestled with himself. I caught it in midair, stopping him in his tracks, though I had no doubt that he could easily overpower me if he wanted to.

“Nuh uh,” I clucked. “I haven’t asked you for anything, Chass.” If he was going to be a stubborn ass about this, then I was going to have my payback. There weren’t any rules about touching him, and I was going to delight in watching him squirm beneath me.

Immediately, his hand plummeted to his side, his persistence lost as he drank me in. You would have thought I had the moon hanging from my neck and the stars decorating my hair with the rapt attention he was paying me.

I allowed my finger to latch onto his chest, tracing small, tantalizing whorls across the plain of him, feeling him shudder beneath me, gooseflesh trailing in the wake of my touch. With just the force of one finger, I was able to push him until his back was flush against the mattress. Once so rigid tonight, he was jelly beneath my touch.

I swung my hips up over his until I had straddled him, his cock already fully ready for me as the brush of it against my bare pussy sent waves of heat through me as well. Bless all that was good and holy that I’d chosen to sleep without my undergarments tonight. It was not the time for him to get to sweetly unwrap me. No, he was getting so much more than he’d bargained for—and so was I.

I took a moment to steady myself, taking a few deep breaths. If this was going to be satisfying torture, I couldn’t give into my own desires too quickly.

I would let him touch me, but I wanted him to ask me.

Trailing intricate swirls down his chest to the loose waistband of his cotton pants, I felt his breath hitch as I let the fingers of my right hand trace it, the chill of them eliciting shudders from him as they coyly dipped below the band to the bundle of hair I found there.

With my other hand, I grabbed the edge of his waistband, inching it down gradually, until he was bared before me, already slick and ready for me to take him.

I couldn’t help the smirk which flew to my lips as I took in the length of him. Perhaps not once what I had imagined for myself, yet so wholly and incredibly mine, to do with what I wished.

I ran my finger up and down the length of him, relishing in the small whimpers which escaped his lips, all too conscious of his preternatural stillness beneath me. For whatever reason though, he wasn’t stopping me. Whatever preconceived notions the church might have given him about the notion of having sex, they had fizzled the moment I’d exposed myself to him.

Taking his shaft in my hand, I began stroking him, one hand moving to cup his balls as I felt him stiffen even further under my caresses. Using his natural slickness as a lubricant, I began to move on him, smooth strides up and down the length of his cock as his muscles locked.

I deliberately took my time, never increasing my tempo too drastically—never quite letting him soar so high that he was able to find his completion. While I had no misgivings that I wouldn’t be able to work Reid back up within a few minutes of him cumming, I still wanted to enjoy his first time and selfishly didn’t want to give him that release quite yet.

When his panting had grown labored and I could hear the little moans he’d given up trying to conceal from me, I finally slid down his legs, tossing my loose hair over one shoulder and taking him fully in my mouth.

If I’d thought that he’d been at my mercy before, the twitching I could feel tremble through his body as my tongue licked up the column of his member completely undid me, and I found myself having to restrain myself from just seating him within me. 

He would let me, yet somehow I felt I owed it to him to take it one gradual step at a time. Sex could come another night if I managed to wear him out entirely.

I teased his tip with my tongue, then began to move on him, with each thrust of my lips, moving inch-by-inch down his length, savoring the salty taste in my mouth from my ministrations with my hands earlier.

As I reached his base, his cock breaking the plain of my throat, his hands moved, one grabbing onto my shoulder, the other taking the tangled knot of my curls and fisting them in his hand, as he pulled them from where they rested on his thigh.

With only a few more pumps, I felt his fingers dig into my muscles, short nails leaving little pinpricks which I relished as I sent him over the edge, with a strangled cry of, “Lou.”

My name had never sounded more beautiful as it spilled from his lips. I kept engulfing him for a minute longer, emitting more strangled gasps and cries from him as my tongue tickled the delicate tip of his cock. 

If only I was able to use my magic in order to wring even more pleasure from him, yet I knew that the moment the sharp tang hit his nostrils, the mood would be broken, and I would have some serious explaining to do. So this would have to do for now.

As I pulled back, wiping the remnants of his seed from my swollen lips, I found him staring at me, mouth agape as he breathed me in, and then they came—the words I had been waiting for. “Lou, I need you. I need to touch you.”

“What are the magic words?” I teased, flirting with the delicate boundary between us.

“Please, Lou. Let me touch you.”

Instead of answering, I slid my frame up the length of his body, mouth capturing his, hands worming their way through his hair as I opened myself to him completely, letting him taste himself as my tongue flirted with his own.

He groaned, hands finding the delicate curves of my hips, before roaming until they were cupping my backside, pulling me even further into the heat of him.

Yes. This was exactly what I needed as I grounded myself into him, feeling him twitch beneath me in response. Once he had apparently had enough of my teasing, Reid flipped me in one deft movement, those years of training paying off in leaps and bounds as I found my back pressed into the mattress, ravenous eyes staring down at me before his head dipped and his lips found the hollow of my throat.

He sucked and bit, tongue moving to lick over the small hurts in apology before he trailed kisses down to my collar bone before taking a nipple in his mouth. The pressure of his teeth and tongue delicately teasing it unraveling me, sending shivers down my spine. Seven hells, this man was going to be the death of me.

Reid switched to my other breast, giving it the same undivided attention, as the heat pooled in my core, surely slicking the sheets beneath me already as I squirmed beneath him, drinking in the feel of his callouses against my smooth skin as his hands roved over my sides.

When I felt like I was going to combust underneath his touch, he finally migrated down until he came face to face with my awaiting sex.

Reid placed tender kisses along the lengths of my thighs, but when he found his target, there was nothing tender about the way his tongue plunged into me, exploring my depths as he drank me in. 

Once he had satisfied himself with the taste of me, his tongue began making broad lapping strokes which tore straight through to my core as he tantalizingly worked me from my base to my clit over and over, the fire which had been building within me raging into an inferno.

I was putty in his hands as one reached up to pin my stomach down to keep my back from arching, to keep me from riding his tongue of my own accord. The message was clear as day—My turn to return the favor.

It was excruciating as he slowed, exploring lazily with his tongue, letting me gain a false sense of being lulled into security before he drove into me, strokes speeding up until, even with that hand on my abdomen, I felt myself leaning into him, willing him to undo me completely.

As his tongue hit that sensitive bud between my legs repeatedly, unrelentingly, I found myself yielding beneath him, release shattering down my spine as I came for my husband, giving him all of me—letting him carry me through the throes before I lay there panting heavily, and his eyes raised from their focus on my abdomen and locked with mine. I could feel the question lying deep within them.

“I can’t believe you’ve never done that before,” I crooned, each word coming between labored breaths.

“That good, eh?” he prodded, that smile which he still gave so rarely beginning to take form on his lips as I didn’t bother to hide mine either.

“Yeah, Chass. I think you’ve got a promising new career to consider if you ever tire of working beneath that wretched, old codger.”

I could see the hardness flicker in his eyes for a split second before he laughed—actually laughed—and crawled up until we were face to face again.

He scooted me out of the way, as he lay on his back, before pulling me on top of him, this tiny cot of a bed suddenly feeling roomy, even with the two of us occupying it.

“Well, you never know,” he threw right back at me. “Though I think I’d only want to have one patron.”

“Nobody else who could tempt you, Chass?” I raised an eyebrow, but he merely used that as an excuse to plant a kiss to my brow before closing his eyes and yawning.

“Not a soul,” he murmured.

I planted my cheek on his chest. “You’re better than sticky buns,” I admitted to him, the closest I would get to sharing how my heart had soared when he had given himself to me. He merely ran a hand through my hair in response.

Listening intently to his heartbeat, I let it lull me to sleep, grinning the entire time.

***************

Better than sticky buns. The words rang in my ears long after I had felt Lou’s breathing slow, as she fully relaxed against my chest.

Something told me that I would be making a trip down to the patisserie early tomorrow morning in order to surprise her with a heaping box full of them. I smiled at the look on her face in my imagination as I presented her with the world’s best breakfast in bed, letting it carry me into a peaceful sleep.

***************

Going to tag everyone on my always-tag list outside the cut here since I don’t want to spoil this book for anyone, but if you would like to be tagged in any future S&D fic I write, let me know! 😘

Writing Masterlist

[fantastic-secrets]

Crossing the Line [1]

Fandom: Haikyuu!

Summary: Kuroo’s in a relationship with Tsukishima, but he feels that they’re in different places in terms of what they want, and thinking about it is distracting him from his work. But after talking to Kenma and getting his best friend's perspective, he decides to take the initiative and go on the attack.

Characters: Kuroo Tetsurou, Kozume Kenma

Warnings: Sex talk, Language

Word Count: 1.5k

"... roo, Kuroo!"

Kuroo started as he realized someone was calling his name, glancing at Kenma guiltily. The casually dressed young man stared back at him, one eyebrow arched slightly. They were sitting together in the conference room, surrounded by other members of the Japan Volleyball Association, and all eyes were on the representative of the Sports Promotion Division, making him wish he could just sink into the floor and disappear.

"As I was saying," Kenma continued, tapping on the sheaf of papers that sat in front of him, "I don't find promotional videos three and eight to be very interesting. I have provided a more detailed analysis of my findings on page eleven, along with suggested changes. I would like to see replacements for those two videos within one month's time. Would that be possible, Kuroo?"

"Uh. Yeah, that's fine," Kuroo replied, flipping through to page eleven as Kenma turned his attention to the next department. He supposed that he was lucky that it was Kenma that they were dealing with; any other sponsor would have probably taken offense to the fact that he obviously hadn't been paying attention, but Kenma really didn't care about that, as long as the work got done. Kuroo would probably still get an earful from his department head later, but it could have been a lot worse.

When the meeting finally concluded, Kenma left immediately, as he always did, and Kuroo rushed to catch up with his childhood friend, shoving the papers into his briefcase.

"Kenma!" He laid a hand on the younger man's shoulder, forcing him to stop and look back.

"What is it, Kuro?"

"Hey, you're done for the day, right? Let me treat you to dinner, as an apology for earlier."

"It's okay." Kenma shrugged off the hand, continuing to walk towards the exit, and Kuroo kept up with him, walking side-by-side.

"Please, Kenma? I want to talk to you about something, too. You're the most level-headed person I know, so I'd appreciate your perspective."

He watched as Kenma glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. 6:00. They'd run a little overtime to accommodate his schedule, since he was still in university, but nobody begrudged Kenma that time. His insights were incredibly perceptive and had contributed greatly to putting their entire program ahead of their anticipated timeline. Most of their other sponsors were satisfied to just give them money and leave the work to them, checking in on a quarterly basis, but Kenma was the same as he'd always been in high school. When he agreed to do something, he put his all into it: he might not have "guts," but he certainly did have a stubborn persistence and a determination to see things through to the end.

"I'm streaming tonight--"

"At eight, right? It won't take that long, and you've gotta eat sometime, anyway, yeah? Come on," Kuroo wheedled, and Kenma sighed. The taller man grinned broadly, recognizing his victory, and slung his arm over his former teammate's shoulders, steering him out the door.

Soon enough, they were tucked into a booth in Kuroo's favorite kappou restaurant, both of them sharing a bottle of sake as they waited for their food to come.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Kenma asked as he accepted another pour. Kuroo hesitated for a moment, then reluctantly admitted, "Kei."

Kenma's expression didn't change, though Kuroo wasn't sure if it was because his friend had expected as much or if he simply didn't care. Well, if he was being honest, it was probably the latter. For things that didn't interest him, Kenma spent no time or energy thinking about them: when Kuroo had told him that he was dating the tall middle blocker, Kenma hadn't even turned away from his game while he was congratulating him. He never tried to pry into their relationship either, but in a way, Kuroo was grateful for his friend's simple acceptance. Though it did mean that in situations like his, he had to do almost all of the talking, since Kenma wouldn't really hold up his end of the conversation.

"There's nothing wrong with our relationship, and I know that we both like each other a lot, but... I just can't get into it lately. Our sex started out great, because we were both happy to just be able to express our love for each other, and I tried to be loving and gentle, but really, I want more than that. Sometimes, I just want to fuck him up and pound him into the sheets until he's crying. But we've been doing it this way for so long that I don't know how to bring it up, or if it'll end up scaring him away. He's never expressed any dissatisfaction with our sex life or suggested that we try anything different, but..."

He fell silent as the waitress returned with two trays of food, placing one in front of each of them, using the opportunity to drink more sake. He felt like he should be more embarrassed, making a confession like this in the middle of a restaurant, but he could always be open with Kenma, bolstered by their years of friendship and old familiarity. Once the woman had left with the almost empty bottle and instructions to return with another one, Kuroo continued.

"But Kei's also the type who will just go with the flow. A bit like you, really. If he does stay and agrees to it, I won't know if it's because he actually enjoys it, or if he's just trying to make me happy. I'd hate for him to feel like he has to do something that he dislikes to satisfy me. I know that I should talk to him about this, but I don't know where to even start."

"Sounds to me like you should ask him?" Kenma commented, nibbling on a slice of fish. "Don't use leading questions, though. Something like you'd like to spice things up by trying something new, and ask him if there's anything he wants to do."

"And then what?" Kuroo demanded, acknowledging the waitress with a nod as she returned with a fresh bottle of sake.

"And then what? What do you mean?"

"What if there's nothing else he wants? Or if he's not interested in rougher sex?"

"Mmm..." Kenma paused, looking a little thoughtful. "I think you're worrying too much, Kuro. But if it comes down to it, then you'll just have to tell him."

Kuroo's eyes narrowed slightly as he stared at Kenma. It seemed like the younger man knew something, but he didn't seem inclined to share. He was far from stupid himself, but when it came to noticing things, especially about other people, Kenma could be very perceptive. Even though he had been considered a master of provocation in high school, Kuroo still had the occasional misses--like that first time with Kei--but Kenma's assertions had always been grounded firmly in reality, his fascination with the 2D world aside. When Kenma said something could be done, everyone simply believed him and acted without any hesitation or doubt.

Too casually, Kuroo leaned forward, snagging a piece of tempura from Kenma's plate and popping it into his mouth.

"Say, Kenma, how do you know so much about relationships in the first place? You've never dated anyone, at least as far as I know, and you're not an idiot like Tora who would play otomes to learn how to talk to a girl. Or a guy, I guess. Maybe it would have been better for me to have asked Akaashi for his opinion instead..."

"I know," Kenma interrupted, to Kuroo's great delight, "because I pay attention. You and Tsukishima have been together officially for almost a year now, and even before that, you kept coming back to Nekoma to practice even after you graduated whenever we had a match with Karasuno. There's no way that he doesn't know what kind of person you are by now, and you're still together. If he hasn't said anything about it, he probably also doesn't know how to bring it up. So I'm sure it'll be fine."

Kuroo laughed out loud, as boisterous as ever. Several other patrons were turning to look around while Kenma slumped down in his seat, throwing him an irritated look for drawing attention to them. But under his mirth, he felt a sense of relief at having provoked the explanation out of Kenma. It made perfect sense, and yet, he'd been worrying about it for so long. It really had been the right thing to do, getting his advice.

"Sorry, sorry," he apologized when he managed to get himself under control. "So that's how it is, then. Thanks, Kenma."

"Yeah, sure."

The rest of their meal was filled with more innocuous discussion, Kuroo asking him about his classes and his gaming career, talking about his own work in the Volleyball Association, and just catching up together. It was half past seven when Kenma glanced at his watch, his meal only half-eaten.

"It's alright, you go on ahead. Have fun," Kuroo told him as he waved the waitress back over. Kenma nodded, picking up his bag and sliding out of the booth.

"See you later, Kuro."

[polygamyff]

50. Part 6

I must admit, the shower here is nice, I mean of course my shower at home is ever better but it’s nice. When I woke up, it was late so I knew Reign would be with Marquis, like he wanted but I am not upset about it, I am happy because then I slept well. I found this Robe on the side so I took it but it’s so big, there is no vanity table here just a long ass mirror so I have to drag this random chair and plop it right in front of the mirror, I am tired still. This is what I hate about sleeping late, I feel all lazy now. Also, I had a lot on my mind, I feel like I was being harsh on Joy but then I need to make sure she knows that after this is over, meaning Marquis does pass on. She is not going to be all happy and in my home, she needs to show some emotion. I can’t have people fucking with what I built, it’s taken me time to do this with him and I won’t have it at all but anyways. Let me brush my hair out and get on with this, reaching down into one of my many make-up bags. Grabbing the brush “oh, morning” seeing Maurice in the mirror “I wanted sex” staring at Maurice saying that while he rubbed his face, half asleep with his stank ass “you wanted and you didn’t get” I smiled “awww is little man awake” looking at his morning wood “you had a shower on purpose” Maurice walked off, he is sulking “I didn’t actually, I just had a shower. I didn’t know you was going to wake up demanding sex” this man is really awake and sulking over sex, I mean come on “we can have sex at home? Shall I book you in?” rolling my eyes as I heard him pee, he is not speaking to me either “whatever” I breathed out, clearly he is sulking over sex which I would happily have with him, then again he was asking last night so now I feel bad.

Maurice finally emerged back out of the bathroom, and he is so adorable sulking. Poking my bottom lip out at him, he is so cute “mhmm?” I said, Maurice is stood behind me watching me just brushing my hair slowly “sulking over sex?” I shouldn’t laugh but I am because he is too cute “I just wanted to have sex and you had a shower which is annoying” my god, is it his time of the month. What on earth, I mean I didn’t do it on purpose “Maurice” I said shaking my head, let me just go back to getting ready because if I entertain Maurice I will be here all day with him, I can see in the mirror he is still stood there like some mass murderer, I am sure he will move. I just need to give it time, he will move eventually, I know he will. Dragging my eyes back to him, he is moving closer to me of course he is “Maurice please” I said, he lifted his hand and ran his fingers through my hair “ok?” I frowned at him “let me brush your hair” he said, something so random to say “what?” I said through my laughter, looking behind me and at his face, he is being deadass and my refusal will probably put him in a bad mood “but you have to be nice” holding the brush out to him, I can’t just flat out say no because clearly he is sulking about sex and then if I say no then he will sulk even more “I will be nice” he took the brush from me. He tenderly, so carefully, he brushed my hair, just watching Maurice’ concentration face, he is really taking this serious, his fingers lightly touching my neck, giving me shivers down my spine. Over and over he stroked the brush, Maurice’ eyes met mine “this is so cute Maurice” I admitted “anything for you, just call me Maurice the hairstylist. And it’s not a weave wooo!” I laughed hitting his leg “be quiet” shaking my head laughing “have you stopped sulking yet?” Maurice shook his head, I sighed out “you know what” getting up from the chair, undoing the robe “but…. Your hair?” he said holding the brush “who cares about my hair, you have been stood like this for far too long and my pussy is pulsating” letting my robe fall to the ground “you can’t let me down now” Maurice dropped my brush to the floor.

Twisting my nipple between his lips, Maurice rocked his hips, grinding the length of his erection against my core. I whimpered and moaned, banging my head back against the bed. I wrapped my legs around his body and locked my ankles together. Maurice grabbed my face and placed open mouth kisses along my shoulder and up to my neck. He continued to push his erection against my core. Holding my face between the palms of his hands, he rolled his hips so that I could feel his dick stroking against my pussy each time. With his mouth still glued to the side of my neck, Maurice moved his hands to my hips then down to my thighs and around to my ass. Squeezing my cheeks, he applied more force to the roll of his hips. I moaned; more so annoyed than pleased “this is you getting me back!” I pointed at him; he is playing the kind of games I didn't have time for. I pushed at his shoulder and he laughed “go away now!” I spat “then let be on top or we ain’t doing it” Maurice is an ass, just because I had a shower. Maurice flipped us over “you can do the work” letting my wet hair fall over my shoulder when I leaned forward just enough to stare him in his face and growled, “can you stop with the games!” Direct and assertive, I spoke “I did not ask to be teased or to be humped. I want to be fucked. Fuck. Me. Maurice. Stop being a clown” Maurice smirked, and I glared down at him, my eyes full of menace. I dug my fingers into his chest and waited for Maurice to respond but he looked more pleasured in my anger “sure” he finally spoke, I yelped out when he flipped us over again

He had my knees pressed to his chest and he slammed into me, I felt all of the air in my body just leave instantly, Maurice smirked. He knew he knocked every ounce of breath from me, from his length to the thrust he gave me which shut me up, I am mute. Maurice hovering over me just watching me intently, watching me gather myself because he sure did shut me up. He moved back and swung my one leg around and hooked it on his arm “I will play kind” I am still trying to recover from what he did earlier “my god” I finally said, trying to ready my body for the pleasure that was soon to come. A moan left my lips as he entered me, his full length filling me. Feeling whole with one another “yes, daddy” I said in a whisper, he held my leg up further and slowly pushed in deeper. My jaw dropped but I am mute. This feeling, he is not even doing much, it’s so slow an sensual but it’s making all the difference.

Women take forever to get ready, me on the other hand I am done “daddy is here, why did you take so long?” my dad said, fixing my cufflinks “erm” smiling at Reign “things” Reign was jumping in my dad’ lap “da!” she screamed “aww, I am here Mi Amor. Daddy had to put his suit on, he has a meeting on the jet” picking her up from my dad “was she a good girl all morning?” hugging her “she has been, she has been a delight Maurice. She reminds me of you Maurice but much louder, she knows she has my heart don’t you!” Reign smiled; she knows full well she has “well mommy needs to get you ready, I will take her up. I will be back dad” walking off with Reign in my arms “that is it now Mi Amor, we have to go back to New York don’t we” nearly hitting into my mom “woah!” I said and then moved back “she was so good all morning, your father would not put her down” smiling at Reign but she put her hand over my lips “ok, I won’t smile then. That is good to hear, I need to give her to Robyn before she gets at me” I chuckled “I don’t see that happening, she is not like that” she doesn’t know Robyn like I do, making my way up the steps “I wish we could have stayed longer my baby, maybe next time huh” pressing a kiss to her cheek “ew, you smell” pulling a face at her, Reign tried to mimic my facial expression “oh no, you smell!” I spat, Reign scrunched her face up because I was which made me laugh.

I thought I would leave Robyn to get Reign ready, I know I be annoying Robyn when I just fuck around and annoy Reign, so I left her to it. Walking into the living area with my hands stuffed in my pockets “back without my angel?” my dad is something else “your heart is here, come on dad” hitting his shoulder lightly laughing “you are my heart boy, stop it. I have a gift for you, Joy can you bring it” I gasped “oh wow, gift? For me?” I am in shock, sitting next to my dad on the couch “dad is getting me things now” watching my mom walk out, I mean what else do I need in life I have everything “your dad ordered this, he couldn’t help himself” my mom said as she struggled to bring in a portrait same height as her “it’s a picture, is it of Mi Hermosa?” I am intrigued, my mom turned it around “oh wow, this was the picture we took when we did that photohoot for the hotel, I like it” reaching over and holding it “you can put it in your office, or whatever” my dad placed his hand on my shoulder “me and you both” we look so good, both in suites, I look so serious in this picture “I love it dad, thank you” turning to my dad to hug him “me and you both forever son” I chuckled, I am so happy to see that “I will hang it up in my office, the man that started it all” getting up from the couch “it’s nice to see you both like this” my mom said “it’s a father and son connection” placing the picture on the side, propping it up against the wall. My phone started to ring “I love it dad, thank you” getting my phone out from my pocket, unknown number but I still have to pick up “hello, Maurice” you never know who it is “it’s me Malik” I am shocked to hear him “oh hi, how are you?” didn’t think he would call me, I am shocked “ok, just they asked who I wanted to call and asked for you. I am doing ok” nodding my head slowly “that is good, that is what I want to hear” walking out of the room “what are you doing? Tell me about your day, here is nothing. I need something different” I paused before I spoke “I am in Texas, at mom and dad’ home. Seeing them, they asked about you” I lied, it was a lie but I felt like I wanted to say it “bet, don’t lie to me bro” Malik laughed “in a perfect world Malik but yeah, I just had sex. If you want to know that” Malik is laughing “least you getting something, bitches be crazy around here. You know this girl said to me, get me cigarettes and I will suck your dick, I am like you have no teeth. Mental!” laughing at the fact I know Malik would have been so scared seeing that “people you meet in those places are not good at all, but uhm. It was good seeing you, I am glad I came, and it still stands what I said, be my brother and I will be yours. We got each other” I have a change of heart, I don’t know why I just want to move on and be good, he good with me “I can’t wait to show you how sorry I am, how sorry I am to Robyn. I will listen to you, until my dying day” nodding my head taking in deep breath “it’s good to hear you, like not this hateful, resentful guy. The brother I remember” this is all I wanted from him.

[ramblingshit]

Jane Eyre - 1934 - 4/5

Vodka-less and tired and very cold, we begin our journey to the very first talkie version of Jane Eyre.

ow my bra hurts. I wish I had vodka. this is so sad. wait i have a rokerdelig brb. depression strikes syet again - i drank it earlier. alright lets get started in the 30s whoop. wow audio quality 10/10 lolol. opening with john reed hunting her down and she's blonde oh no she's been found.  holy fuck he's throwing shit at her - SLAP BITCH GET HIM. nooooooooNOOOO why is it errored. okay fixed. aunt mary? oh damn she collapsed cause he pitched that cup at her what an ass - bessie is reading to her naw. she's cut out of a lot of them and never shown so kind at the time she's actually. oh shit. ahaha 'they're bad and i hate them.' 'since you hate us so much i bet you'll be happy to know i'm sending you to an orphanage.' 'yes i am happy' looool. 'go away! GO AWAY! goodbye!" hell yeah lil Jane you stand up to that bish. not quite the snappy shebang she says in the others but very satisfying nonetheless - a lot braver and more obstinate love it. oh no her curls snip snip. ohh her hair is cute af. and very 30s ahaha what a coincidence. wow she talks back like hey ahah. she's looking down at lowood preacher dude down her nose ahah. didn't say hell? ahahaha omg this is great so far. she's the best lil Jane I think I've seen. ohh interesting way to show passing of time - the flipping book pages and the showing of the top of the next chapter - skipping quite a few ahead. skipped helen? straight to her ahah oh shit -- teaching. she's standing up to brocklehurst like no ones business. 'you're dismissed! get out!' 'I'll get out - gladly!' ohmygod she's great she's so great none of that simpering and passivity she's taking the world by the balls.  'you cruel dingy childbeater!' 'you ought to be tarred and feathered you ugly old crocodile!' lmao im in love with her. she walks off laughing and happy about being dismissed. miss temple loves her and gonna miss her so sweet, brocklehurst was like holy damn wtf. ahaha her drivers a drunk, fukn flying across the road she's like bye m8. she's proud and above him and annoyed she has to walk rather than die in a carriage crash. oh damn now she meets no? yeah she's not even made it --oh fuck that horse FLIPPED. she helps unprompted and isn't hesitant in talking back and speaking up oh my god she just stalked off after helping him up ahaha. ahaha oh shit the drunk driver works at thornfield and when they asked why she walked instead of taking the carriage she covered his ass and said she just wanted to walk through the meadows and he's like oh thank fuck thank you jesus she just rolls her eyes with a smile. she speaks 3 languages and draws and plays - very accomplished. he's adele's uncle? Samuel Poole ey what a g m8. and he warns her out of the blue to keep her door locked at night. that 30s makeup is crazy awesome. round face, rosy cheeks, long brows and dark eye makeup and lips. short hair. Adele gives her the tour. she's proud and self-assured. poh damn they're only allowed on one side of the house - sam is married to grace poole. just dunno why she's blonde? probs cause she's supposed to be like angelic? anyway she's gorgeous and the angles are nice and the lighting is good--andw what era are these dresses jfc there's no way she could afford that dress fuck. and who curled her hair and that's a low bow whats happening it looks like a southern gone with teh wind situation. he's smaller than she is. he's bathed in darkness - the light is dimmer on him than her. she's even got a necklace. they're not sitting by the fire. he was too busy looking at her to notice her giving his tea. awkward sips ahaha. it's got like a diamond on the necklace. he looks like he's squatting on that tiny chair. oh shit she's gonna sing instead of play. yikes i hope she can--she's literally taller than him. oh she's gonna play and sing. she looks like blanche is supposed to look? and of course she can sing - all framed by candlelight and hanging crystals. the audio is crackling ahah wow incredible they can do it at all - one of the first talkies damn. 'lovely' wow she a mary sue? please don't be a mary sue.sings and yeets outta there not even finished her tea. far out that dress is not doing it for me. what world would a governess be dressed like that? she wears nothing but white. and journalling is never a good idea. but my god she's gorgeous---lots of SCREAMINGGG. and they're telling Jane that its just a servant and its clearly not grace poole doing the screaming? Fairfax knows? Jane can't blame Grace? Jane's like not freaked about it - i suppose she's journalling about it. Adeles a 'mischief' lol nice. she's ran from her lesson and climbed a tree and now she's stuck up there and Jane like doesn't hesitate just scales that tree after her 'uncle edward help! my foot's caught!' 'her foot's caught' 'her foot's caught, so i gathered.' he seems so gentle and kind and pleasant. gets adele out of the tree - 'and where would you like this package delivered, miss eyre?' ahaha cute ooh they know when rochester is leaving to london. he's handsome i'll give him that, it's better --wait when was blanche introduced. asking him when he's getting married and he says next month and adele asks if he's gonna marry blanche and he avoids the question and she starts on but is interrupted by a frantically gesticulating Jane shaking her head, and she cuts herself off and skips away all innocvently lol til she slips moron kid hit her knee ahahaha what a dumbass. Jane's helping clean the chandelier? and Adele is helping as well, that's cool. wtf this kids a moron getting herself headdown stuck in a vase and JAne smashes that shit and snaps at Rochester's amused quip at breaking his shit and blanche laughs and Jane turns on her lol what a savage and storms off. dancing around her room to the sound of the music downstairs that's nice and cute I'd do the same thing ahaha. she's all petulant cause brought blanche who hasn't been introduced properly? is she gonna put her fancy dress on? no? i hope not. damn they're in a ball room? nice. blanche has dark hair and looks much older than any other, not a bad thing just different. they call her beautiful and pretty - not even trying to pretend she's plain and simple. he's suddenly all over her staring intensely and accompanying her into the room and now they're dancing no way? no? no. governesses and landowners don't dance? she's down here without adele. he's sad she didn't dress up - she didn't want to appear as anything than what she is : a governess! at least she's proud of it. he's amused. and charmed. she thinks he's mocking her. now they're being introduced - an interesting way of doing things but rather natural compared to immediately knowing each other. Adele's sitting here with some old guy talking shit about people wow that's mean. fkn kids and this lord ingram is encouraging the hell out of her ahaha. but when she taunts him suddenly its not so funny ahaha. blanche is nice but sarcastic? it's a wedding party ooooh? adele m8 letting things slip? it's 2am and she's dreaming of him - and damn she's going straight for the curtains with that candle and its not lighting? then we see an altogether put together lady return with teh candle to the room upstairs before crazy cackling. god Jane is pretty. oh shit the house is on fire. nah just his room. there's no dramatic music - yes! she's the one to tear down the curtains and open the window - she's legit the most assertive main character i've seen - he's woken up and the fire is like already out. she's got this sorted all he has to do is give her a blanket 'why didn't you call for help?' 'I didn't think it necessary...' noice. here have some alcohol - from the same cup: might as well kiss. she burnt her hands and HE KISSED THEM. she's like bye. she is outies not taking any of his affections like she got better things to do, like sleep. he's in her room? he brought her a book. they're standing very close. he wants her to help redecorate the west wing - he's quite sure he's getting married in a month and that she'll have things to suit the lady's taste. eyeyeyeyyy. its a pupppppppppppyyyyy. oh it's adele's room. ohmygod so fuckin cute rochester is putting adele to bed and she's saying that she wants an aunt that she can choose and she wants it to be miss eyre and he says she wont have them and she says he has to ask her and she'll make sure she says yes. 'that'd be very nice'. cute af ma8. 'don't forget to ask her!' he grins happily. she chooses a cutain (?) and rochester jumps in 'we prefer this one!', and ol mate says 'i congratulate the lady on her discerning taste - the room will look delightful!' what a thing to say. she looks fkn miserable lolol she thinks she's choosing shit out for blanche - they're choosing out jewels now. she's fkn despondent. she flees the jewellers, he follows her and she cries and tells him she's off on holiday. he's not happy like did you think that would go well?? she's not even saying goodbye to him ahaha bye adele and fairfax nevermind here he is marching up the stairs weren't you gon' say goodbye????? tajes her bags and back upstairs to show her the room she designed? she loves it and he's happy and taking the coat off - 'it's incomplete' 'incomplete? everything seems to be in its proper place - what's missing?' 'you.' ohmygodddddddd. 'can't you see i've been falling in love with you all of this time?' rochester yaaaassss. she's not about to argue lol. whoops - 'you must never decieve me again' she chides lovingly and he laughs and shakes his head. like duuuuude i haven't forgotten this is Jane Eyre. okay he's very handsome and she's gorgeous what a lovely couple. now she's dressed in enormous dresses and jewels much more fitting now I suppose, though she did just say she didn't want to be lavished and pampered. oh what the fuck lol what 'edward my husband!' ahaha oh shit bertha just popped nicely out of nowhereeeee -'you can't separate me from my husband again! no one shall!' oh shit. oh shit. wow that was so brushed over - 1930s sensibilities??? Jane's like uhhhh what was that explain yourself he's like I love you you make me so happy i didn't want to tell you I was married to a psycho that I keep in the attic and take care of. she almost forgave him then he rushed off to help with his violent wife - what she gon do?? she waiting forever surely not she's better than that. yas ohmygod is she gone? SHES GONE AHAHAHA YAS DAMN GO GIRL. she wrote a goodbye note to Adele but not him ahaha savage I love her. ohh a star wars cut noice. he's just gon sit in his library? took mrs fairfax to be like yo dude she couldn't have gone very far ahah she's hiding from him in the shadows all misery and rain. searching for her in the dark- thornfield's on fire! oh yikes it's seriously on fire.  get out of there ya;ll. it's so odd not to have any action music oh damn he's going into the house to get bertha he's in his tophat ahaha fire effects! fire effects! fire effects! whoo. she's found herself in a soup kitchen very nice Jane you're an angel. she's going to india huh oh damn we speeding through this bit - 30 seconds after we meet Rivers he's proposing ahaha. she looks insulted, thanks him and storms out. she's pouring soup an hour before her wedding to Rivers and Sam's just popped up looking fucked uppp. i think he's just drunk tbh. bertha burned to death. Jane's frantic and upset m8 and yeah Sam's drunk af. so JAne went to him - he's blind and angry and an't see her and she's crying and he's shocked my god he's in the light and he's in the dark and he's reaching toward the light and touching her face - lol she raced back to thornfield in a day. lol you want some tea Eyre, it's nice for you to call. he's convinced ---ohhhhh--- "strange, you pity me when I'm blind and yet when I was worse than blind you had no mercy.' he's sending her awayyyyy noo he literally just told her they never belonged to each other and they never did like damn son that is fuckin colldddddd. she's so emotional and he's like yep I guess. She was awesome, he was handsome and had his fine moments. It was cute af m8 noice.

[taeguboi]

Blanket Kick (VMon) PART 04 [Smut Warning]

Notes at the end.

01 // 02 // 03

*******

Just a kiss to recall the past turns into a heated make out and it isn’t long before the two are engaging in passionate, lustrous kisses, and even though this time Namjoon is more willing to lose himself into this, Taehyung is still clearly the one with the power, guiding Namjoon back to the dresser and Namjoon can feel the back his thighs hit the drawers.

Losing his balance slightly, Namjoon does his best to support himself with his arms, allowing Taehyung to lift him up onto the dresser table, his lips failing to part from Taehyung’s. His back hits the cold mirror and Taehyung slams his hand at the side of Namjoon’s head onto the mirror for support and to assert himself as the one in charge and his lips continue to attack his elder’s.

Taehyung bites gently onto Namjoon’s lower lip as his hand wanders down to the jeans of the boy beneath him. He successfully busts open the top button and slides his hand down to palm Namjoon over his boxers, causing the elder to groan. Namjoon hadn’t even registered his own hardening member until Taehyung’s skilled hands made contact.

This is unfamiliar. But exciting. Namjoon now knows what he wants.

The two boys continue to explore and attack each other’s loose wet mouths as Taehyung begins to unravel the present in front of him, loosening several buttons. He has waited for this for so long, and already he knows the wait was worth it as he continues to create friction with his hands over a whining Namjoon.

“Fuck, hyung… You sound so sensual, all needy for me like this…” Taehyung smirks, planting a kiss on Namjoon’s sweating forehead

“Don’t fucking call me needy or I might end up changing my mi-- oh! Fuck!” Namjoon exclaims, unable to talk properly under Taehyung’s touch as the younger’s hands return to hover over his boxers.

“I think we know who’s in control here,” Taehyung begins, pausing the movement of his sensual touch “So I can say whatever the fuck I want to you… You want me so badly, don’t you?”

Figuring there is no point in arguing or answering back, and fully well knowing his younger isn’t going to give in, Namjoon decides he might as well embrace the experience and… well, learn, he guesses.

“Fuck, yes, I do…” he manages to produce through his weakening lips, which only encourages Taehyung’s hands to wander more over Namjoon’s slim frame, sensitively quivering in delight as the younger playfully hooks his long fingers around the waistband of Namjoon’s boxers, taking extra care for a moment to be gentle with the rapper, concerned that in this state, he might break under his touch; Namjoon seems so fragile in this way… and Taehyung loves it.

“Tell me Joonie… what do you want me to do to you?” Taehyung darkly asks, still fiddling with the waistband of Namjoon’s boxers teasingly.

Biting back a moan as Taehyung’s pinky accidentally strokes against the head of his pulsing bulge, Namjoon shudders needily almost unwillingly as he attempts to unscramble his confused mind. Admittedly, Namjoon has very little idea as to how this should go, and, failing to even briefly think before he speaks, his breath hitched, the only response he can give is.

“Do anything to me. Give me a first time to remember.”

Readily increasing the grip on the waistband, Taehyung slides down Namjoon’s boxers, admiring how mouth-watering Namjoon’s revealed erection seems to him, causing him to growl into Namjoon’s ear “Hyung…” he begins, taking a hold of Namjoon’s fragile wrists and dominantly pinning them above his head, ensuring intimate face to face contact “I’m going to make sure I’m forever your favourite” he breathes seductively with a quick raise of the eyebrows, warm breath brushing Namjoon’s hungry lips.

Struggling to be released from Taehyung’s powerful hold, Namjoon jolts forward to devour Taehyung’s appetizing mouth, wrists shaking in Taehyung’s hands, needing Taehyung’s touch. Everything that is Taehyung, he must have. His request for a kiss is briefly returned, followed by a firmer hold on his wrists.

“Keep these up here” Taehyung instructs, his gaze wandering downwards, leading his head downwards thusly and sinking to his knees. No sooner has Taehyung released his grip from an obedient Namjoon whose arms remain raised above his head, not unlike the position of Jesus on the cross, Taehyung’s mouth is worshipping Namjoon where he needs it the most, licking a stripe from the base to the head as his thumb hovers over the slit that leaks desperately with precum.

Namjoon gently caresses Taehyung’s hair, mewling at each expert touch that contributes to the building up of the roaring fire in the pit of his stomach. After a few more teasing licks and overpowering touches, Taehyung takes Namjoon almost whole in his mouth, trailing one hand up to take care of what he can’t take in. He bobs his head down and back up just once, having to release just to say “Fuck hyung, you’re so much bigger than Jiminie, it’s unreal…” before bobbing his head back up and down, working Namjoon up into even more of a desperate mess.

Practically sobbing at the feeling of being in Taehyung’s mouth, Namjoon tries his hardest not to keep his finger gripped into Taehyung's hair, fully well knowing that going against Taehyung’s wishes will result in a punishment… hopefully he hasn't paid enough attention to realize that as soon as Taehyung went down on him, Namjoon's arms failed to stay where instructed. Taehyung has made his authority over Namjoon extremely clear, so this, doing as he is told, should go without saying.

Taehyung has to take another firm hold, this time on one of Namjoon’s quivering thighs to control the elder’s trembling movements, continuing to feel proud to be the cause as he bobs his head up and down with prowess. It gives Taehyung an unusual rush of adrenaline when the multiple sounds of Namjoon’s arousal hit his ears, as well as an increasingly unbearable ache inside his own boxers. To his relief, Namjoon’s noises increase in volume and frequency, signalling for Taehyung to pull away.

Namjoon whimpers at the loss of warmth as Taehyung stands and unhesitantly rids himself of both his tracksuit bottoms and boxers in one go.

“Aw, hyung… were you close?” Taehyung devilishly questions as he takes his shirt off also, and a look on his face to match his sinful tone is revealed as he discards that final piece of his clothing.

Taehyung’s smirk is simultaneously confusing and a massive turn on for Namjoon who can do nothing but make a small nod in response and the elder’s gaze is drawn in to that of the younger’s. Staring back at Namjoon lustrously with dark and heavy eyes, Taehyung winks “You said you wanted me to do anything to you… I haven’t even begun my list of everything I want to do to you yet… You’ve proved you can be a pretty good boy so far Namjoonie… Keep it up, and let's see if you can do even better this time by getting on the bed, now. Face down, ass up.”

The elder had never even considered how hot it would be to be spoken down to in this way, but he quite fancies the direction that this is taking, ready to be taught in the most carnal, sexy way possible; by Kim Taehyung.

Complying with the younger’s orders, Namjoon discards his trousers and pants completely and readies himself on the bed as instructed, crawling onto his knees and burying the side of his face into the covers, awaiting to continue further into this new experience.

A large hand strikes Namjoon’s tender ass as Taehyung follows behind, eliciting a different type of whine from Namjoon, signalling that he thinks that spank was uncalled for.

“That’s for making a scene earlier, hyung…” Taehyung begins, walking around to the side of the bed. “Now tell me…” he instructs, resting an arm firmly on the bed sheet followed by his warm face against his elbow to be face to face with Namjoon again. “How many times back then did you raise your voice at me?...”

“About 7 or 8…” Namjoon replies, voice slightly muffled into the bed sheets.

“Now, now Joonie… 7 or 8? Which is it?” Taehyung demands, slowly stroking his hand over the elder’s sensitive, red cheek.

“7” Namjoon replies, lifting his head slightly, trying to sound as convincing as possible.

“You’re not convincing me one bit Joonie…” Taehyung growls, now kneeling behind Namjoon, “...so that’s 7 alongside the one I���ve just given you” Taehyung asserts, lifting his hand away from Namjoon’s heated skin, causing Namjoon to flinch, expecting the change of movement to mean another strike.

“Oh hyung, I didn’t mean to make you feel on edge...” Taehyung apologises, despite fully well knowing this is the state he has wanted to have Namjoon in for the past freaking half a year.

Leaning over to allow his hot breath to tickle Namjoon’s ear sensually, Taehyung continues “You’re going to count with me…”

Namjoon thinks he might be delirious right now as he decides to interrupt “Counting? Really Tae, that’s so…”

“I thought we’ve already been through this… I’m in charge” Taehyung counter interrupts, running all fingers and thumbs through Namjoon’s dark hair, then drawing him back towards his upright self. “Alright, we won’t count… You can trust me, hyung…” he mutters deeply. “I’m still going to punish you… but I’m going to do it whilst you tell me about your dreams… Because I know you’ve been dreaming about this for quite some time now, haven’t you hyung?”

Falling back down into the sheets as Taehyung releases his grip on him with a small push, forcing him back down, Namjoon wonders how the younger manages to make such an honorific change meaning completely. The way he says ‘hyung’ but with such assertive dominance makes Namjoon want to come undone completely.

“We were backstage, and we’d just finished a show… You pulled me aside down a secluded corridor, and…” his words are abruptly stopped by a strike to his other cheek.

“Keep going hyung, or we won’t get to the end of your punishment… and that would be a shame because we know what that means, don’t we?”

“...I’m sorry, Tae…”

Another slap hits Namjoon, and he involuntarily stops again.

“Don’t apologize baby… Just carry on with your little story for me, huh?”

Namjoon figures you don’t always know what you like unless you’ve tried it for the first time in instances like this; never has he ever been spoken down to, almost patronized, in this way before, but there’s this wonderful sense of security that makes him relax and untense a little more, opening up all his senses solely to the here and the now.

“Right, the corridor… You backed me against the wall, and all I could see was you staring into my eyes, and although we were really sweaty from the performance…”

*slap!*

“You looked fucking amazing nonetheless, and you looked so hungry for me to do something Tae…”

*slap!*

“Did I?...” Taehyung coos

“Yeah…”

“But not as hungry as you were for me, yeah?”

“Well…”

*slap!*

“Only 2 more Namjoon… if you don’t finish your story, then I might not finish you…”

*slap!*

“Now is that a chance you want to take…?” Taehyung slyly questions, finished with an “Oops… only one left… Better make it good Joonie…”

Namjoon makes no hesitations in his wording any longer, getting straight to the point with the sequence of events “You just took hold of my thirsty dick and touched me so well… I had never come so hard in my life… Even in reality when I woke up, I had to get changed…”

*slap!*

The final slap resounds the room and Taehyung climbs off the bed, kneeling at the bedside again to make eye contact with Namjoon, who is recovering from the sharp impact, yet doesn’t seem to mind as Taehyung can see the seduced look in his hooded eyes as he gazes back at him.

“Fuck, hyung…” Taehyung lets out with a sigh. “Now I kind of wish I gave you some mercy and listened to the full story… But then again, that straight-forward dirty talk got to me in a certain type of way…” he states, jumping up onto the bed, and almost like a tiger pouncing onto it’s prey, he manages to roll Namjoon onto his back, tearing away at the clothes that remain on him.

“Actually” Taehyung continues to speak, devouring Namjoon’s mouth like there’s no tomorrow. “Actually, no; I wanna hear about how you feel about me right here and now…”

“I don’t know what to say…” Namjoon shyly tells Taehyung as the younger bites down onto his collar bone, leaving dark colours of lust on his skin, purple and red… “Damn Tae… careful where you mark me…”

“Or what? People might start talking?” Taehyung replies with a hint of sass, creating another mark diagonally beneath the first. “Relax Joon-ah… It’s not on your neck…” he assures, brushing the back of his fingers against Namjoon’s cheek.

“Yeah but what if…”

“‘What if’ nothing… I told you already Joon-ah; relax…” demands Taehyung. “Or do I have to remind you how to do that? Can you do that for me baby boy?” he purrs, running a hand down to Namjoon’s butt, rubbing circles to tease.

“I guess, but…”

“Just let me help you lose all that tension, yeah?” Taehyung rhetorically questions into Namjoon’s ear before observing the elder’s face and pausing the circles on Namjoon’s cheek. “Wait… are you worried what the press will think? Again Namjoon-ah… Don’t worry… They’ll never find out how fucking gay you are for me now will they? Because that’s what you are at the moment, isn’t it?”

With a hitched sigh, Namjoon attempts to look backwards toward the ceiling to cease eye contact. “Tae, don’t make this feel any more awkward than it already--”

“When will you start practicing what you preach hyung?” interrupts Taehyung, leaning further over Namjoon, determined to keep being in the line of Namjoon’s gaze.

“Sorry?” questions Namjoon in confusion, relaxing his neck back down in defeat.

“You’re always so good with your words; you tell the world they can be whoever they wanna be…” begins Taehyung, brushing his hand all the way back up Namjoon’s now slightly trembling body. “But here, under me right now, you’re so… different…” he tells him, cupping his elder’s face with both hands in concern.

“But I don’t know…”

“You want me, don’t you hyung?”

“Well, yeah--”

“So you do know. And I know you know at least a little more what you think of me… Tell me. Just stop with the over thinking, okay?”

“Okay…”

“You’re an intelligent man Namjoon-ah… It’s sexy… It’s… inviting… Tell me something I don’t know when I do this…” instructs Taehyung, brushing back Namjoon’s hair with one hand and teasing at his entrance with the other, causing Namjoon to swallow hard and involuntarily produce a whine at the contact.

“I feel… esurient…” shudders Namjoon, overwhelmed by his own sensitivity.

“Esurient, hyung?”

“I’m fucking hungry Tae; for you…”

“That’s more like it hyung…” Taehyung rasps

*******

Lmao well I'm shit at completing stuff 😅 I remember writing this for WINGS era V and RM 😂😂😂

So I decided to complete this other part for this and this part may or may not be the end, it just really depends on whether people want more since I find myself more and more busy... so it's a cliff hanger that may or may not be continued.

[pass-the-bechdel]

Homicide: Life on the Street season three full review

How many episodes pass the Bechdel test?

65% (thirteen of twenty).

What is the average percentage per episode of female characters with names and lines?

32.96%

How many episodes have a cast that is at least 40% female?

Three (episode three ‘Extreme Unction’ (40%), episode sixteen ‘Law and Disorder’ (52%), and episode eighteen ‘In Search of Crimes Past’ (43.47%)).

How many episodes have a cast that is less than 20% female?

Two (episode eleven ‘Cradle to Grave’ (18.75%), and episode seventeen ‘The Old and the Dead’ (19.04%)).

How many female characters (with names and lines) are there?

Fifty-nine. Seventeen who appeared in more than one episode, three who appeared in at least half the episodes, and ZERO who appeared in every episode.

How many male characters (with names and lines) are there?

Ninety-four. Twenty-four who appeared in more than one episode, seven who appeared in at least half the episodes, and five who appeared in every episode.

Positive Content Status:

Strong. The show maintains a powerful awareness of the society it is situated within and the varied experiences of those within it; the analysis of racial issues - systemic and individual - is particularly impressive, and though it is not the subject this blog was created to explore, it seems wrong to talk about this show at all without acknowledging the good work it is doing on that front (average rating of 3.1). 

General Season Quality:

While not quite as strangely, darkly real as the beginning of the series, it’s still good, compelling, and meaningful television, and it does make the most of itself in terms of telling new stories which enrich and expand the world of the show; it does not rest on its laurels and repeat the same narrative patterns as earlier episodes, and it is the better for it. 

MORE INFO (and potential spoilers) under the cut:

For the record, I regret the decision not to write individual episode posts for this show. Not quite enough to go back and write them after all, but enough to complain about how I’m not doing it. This is a note to my future self, in case I try to convince myself that summary-only is a good idea after all: it isn’t. It’s just a way to guarantee that you’ll end up leaving things out and being less thorough than you want to be. It’s a dumb idea. Don’t do it.

To business: the season literally opens with Bolander watching a love scene on the tv in the break room and complaining about all the gratuitous sex on tv shows these days, prompting a conversation with Lewis and Munch about how ‘the networks make them put that stuff in’. It’s essentially a written-in apology to the audience for the fact that there are romantic subplots in this season; they might as well have broken down the fourth wall completely and had the characters look straight into the camera, that’s how transparent they are about it. The network demanded sex appeal as a condition of renewing the show for a third season, and the writers were NOT happy about it; I appreciate both their convictions, and the fact that they made this slim compromise which gave us more of this wonderful show to enjoy, even if there is a bare minimum of unnecessary sex in there. It’s a worthy trade. (the sex-on-tv discussion segues into a prediction from Munch about how the future will include a trillion different channels to watch, everyone communicating online, and never having to get out of your chair for anything. Bolander then says that he wishes they’d bring back Hawaii 5-0, which of course has since happened. It’s eerie).

Anyway; the sex mostly involves Felton, whose slightly-unhinged (and, in mercifully one scene only, gratuitously undressed) wife Beth has kicked him out of the house at the beginning of the season, to which Felton has responded by promptly jumping in bed with a new woman: that is, with the new woman, Megan Russert, whose presence in the main cast brings us to a grand old two women in the regular rotation. The show gleefully ditches the Felton/Russert romance three episodes in (but not until after we’ve been subjected to Daniel Baldwin in his little nineties underwear:

cheers network, I hope that’s what you were aiming for when you demanded more sex appeal), and the whole business manages to play out with relative grace, being blatant network-service but avoiding the common pitfall of useless hetero romance wherein the female character ends up seeming like she only exists to be sexy. 

Russert’s introduction isn’t entirely smooth - and the romance angle doesn’t help there - but despite being a much more traditionally-feminine and traditionally-attractive character than Howard is, and despite having the confrontation of sexism in the workplace laid on a little thick in those introductory episodes, Russert is still successfully established as a person in her own right, and not defined by her womanhood any more than Howard is. Like Howard, Russert can’t escape the way that the department and the men within it treat her gender as a conspicuous and dominant trait, and like Howard, Russert is not interested in letting the preoccupations of other people impact the way she goes about her work; unlike Howard, Russert refuses to engage with the idea of being a good example for other women because she feels that doing so means participating in making gender an issue when it shouldn’t matter in the first place. Howard - delighted to be working with an accomplished woman who meets her personal standard of conduct, and willing to openly defend Russert’s service record against her sexist detractors - is affronted by Russert’s refusal to fight the good fight on behalf of her gender, but the show wisely does not take a side. Both women’s approaches to their womanhood have merit, and neither is perfect; rather than pitting them against one another over their differences, the show acknowledges that Howard and Russert are, each in their own way, doing the best their  with a situation that has been stacked against them and in which there are no absolute ways to ‘win’, only ways to play. 

This season is much stronger on women than those preceding it, as evident in the statistics: over 12% better in the female:male ratio, and 57% better on the Bechdel (they were doing shockingly well with that one until they went and failed in the last four episodes all in a row, but still. This is far, far better than I had expected). It takes a broader, more detailed look at the way women exist (and are forced to exist) within the structure of society, and there is evidence of clear comprehension of the imbalances, the contradictions, and the illogical expectations and judgments that come with that. The serial killer Annabella Wilgis from the opening trilogy of the season asserts that she murdered eight women because she blames women in the workplace for ‘ruining everything’ by upsetting the strictly-gendered status quo of Wilgis’ childhood; Howard catches a killer back in her home town because the guy was so much of a sexist chump he wouldn’t wash his own shirt to get away with murder (as he is arrested the guy screams at his wife for not ‘doing her job’ and washing his shirt for him, and the lack of self-reflection is as bizarre as it is believable); the fantastic ‘Every Mother’s Son’ sees two women - both unaware that they are at the police station for the same case, one’s son having been murdered by the other’s - commiserating about the state of the men in their neighbourhoods and the lack of good father figures and role models for their boys (both women are black, and as they discuss also the number of funerals they have attended for their early-teen son’s friends, the conversation serves as a double-whammy observation of both gender, and systemic racial inequality. It’s powerful and sobering); Russert intervenes in the private life of her former detective partner when she discovers that he’s been beating his wife, and takes no excuses from either party about ‘the stress of the job’ or any other such tragically familiar lines; Beth Felton’s behaviour, while erratic and hurtful, finds some sympathy from Howard and Russert as they consider the dire lack of options open to Beth as a potentially-single mother of three small children. With the exception of Wilgis the serial killer, there is altogether an underpinning thread of women understanding and supporting each other, a factor which helps to give the women’s narratives a sense of their own gravity through recognition from outside; something particularly important when set against the ignorance and even complicity which can arise even from seemingly forward-thinking men.

Network-mandated sex brings us Emma Zoole, and with her, reflections upon the attitudes of some of our male characters, some of it good, some of it bad. Lewis makes a pushy fool of himself trying to chat her up, but he’s harmless enough and once he plays out his chance and is rejected, he respects Emma’s choice and declares unequivocally that he will not pursue her further (a declaration prompted by Felton suggesting that he just needs a new strategy). That said, there is a possessive streak at work when Lewis learns that Bayliss has hooked up with Emma instead; if Lewis didn’t feel some sense  of ownership for having called first dibs on Emma, he wouldn’t have anything to feel ‘betrayed’ about. For the most part, laughs are had as Bayliss literally falls over himself and clutzes around Emma’s apartment in the least-sexy way possible - it’s funny, it’s realistic, and it’s a solid fuck-you to the network - and the fallout as the entire workplace learns of his exploits (”what is a cuffoon?”) is a great time. But, on the other side of it all, things are less bright. Lewis is smothering his sorrows by eating cous cous, and Felton delivers a diatribe about how the idea of health food and men thinking they need to watch their weight is all about ‘women trying to dominate men’ (a double-standard view if ever there was one; at least Lewis ain’t buying it). Meanwhile, it turns out Emma has a boyfriend named Andy who takes it poorly when he hears about Bayliss; Andy knocks Emma down - Bayliss is aghast when Emma tells him, and his anger does feel like it is at least mostly coming from the right place, but under the circumstances one also wonders if there’s an extent to which he goes out to give Andy what-for as a possessive pissing contest and not in genuine concern. Emma breaks up with Bayliss for interfering with her relationship with Andy, and Bayliss...goes off the deep end and robs a convenience store at gunpoint after he comes up eleven cents short trying to pay for beer and cookies. Pembleton bails Bayliss out so that he winds up not suffering any significant ramifications for his actions, and the comedic tone of the whole piece feels decisively off, as if the writers have hit a major blind spot wherein they think men lashing out dangerously when a relationship falls apart is normal and understandable on its own, and therefore not worthy of harsh scrutiny. I mean, if the guy hurts or kills his former lover, that behaviour is condemned, but if he just threatens to shoot a store clerk for voiding a sale, that’s funny, right?

The idea of that unscrutinised blind spot is reinforced throughout the rest of the series so far; while none of the other central male characters have reacted quite as wildly as Bayliss, they do form a cohesive track record for refusing to do their own emotional labour in working their way through romantic disappointments. Felton is a slightly different case since his relationship woes are also tied up with custody of his children, and as such his spiralling alcoholism is not necessarily a consequence of the end of his marriage itself so much as it is about the messy way that plays out (it is very, very messy, though, and he does lean on the other women in his life throughout rather than taking control of his situation himself). Bolander was a total bear throughout the first season after separating from his wife, and Munch I already flagged in my previous review for his attitude toward his now-ex Felicia throughout the final ups and downs of that relationship. Lewis may just drag himself off to eat some cous cous all alone, but he still wallows over a relationship that never even began; Gee does the same thing after being rejected by Russert’s friend Amanda (though there is an additional factor there in which Gee - this guy:

- feels that Amanda - this lady:

- has rejected him because he’s blacker than she is, sparking what remains the only discussion on colourism within the black community that I have ever seen on tv. It’s an illuminating subject that deserves discussion, though we never find out if it really is the reason for Amanda’s rejection or if she was just not interested in Gee for any number of other, completely legitimate reasons). As Bayliss forgoes all self control, as Felton spins his ridiculous opinions on health food, and as Bolander commiserates with Gee about how ‘the way a woman feels about a man, that’s the way he’s going to feel about himself’, there’s a consistent theme of this notion that women have a responsibility to prop men up and protect their fragile egos, and it’s a theme that the show - for all that it is mostly very self-aware - doesn’t seem to challenge at all. 

While I’m griping, there are more imperfections this season than there were last time around: Munch makes a lot of jokes about women, not necessarily in disparaging ways but definitely in an othering fashion which lends itself to a perception of women as objects of desire rather than, um, people. His nihilistic attitude about pretty much everything combined with his regular gendered commentary can make him pretty hard to enjoy as comic relief, especially when you’re viewing the show with a deliberately critical eye (he also makes a joke about prison rape at one point, and rape jokes of any kind are a surefire way to vault straight into my bad books). Pembleton gets embroiled in a political quagmire involving one Congressman Wade: a closeted homosexual, Wade has filed a false police report to try and cover up his affair with his male assistant, fearing that said assistant might expose him by filing assault charges after Wade beat him up. While everyone involved rightfully agrees that being gay should not end Wade’s political career, they all kinda ignore the fact that committing assault probably should, and I’m not ok with the way that detail gets shrugged off. And the episode ‘The Last of the Watermen’ not only uses the cliche of having a character just-happen to catch a case while on vacation, it also repeats the cliche of having a former flame of Howard’s as a suspect, something we already did in season two (less than ten episodes ago, to make it even more egregious that we’re doing it again); the show is better than that kind of contrivance. 

To wrap this on a good note though, there were also some real gems in the piece: the episode ‘Colors’ delivers a great guest star in David Morse and tells a confronting story about the insidiousness of subconscious racism; it’s very easy for shows to do stories about racism that acknowledge it in a very obvious surface-level way (i.e. this person treats that person badly because of the colour of their skin, and that’s wrong), but it’s more difficult and more important to explore the subtleties of the ways racism can manifest both individually and systemically, and that’s what this show does so well. On the topic of great guest stars, Steve Buscemi is used to magnificent effect in ‘End Game’ as a character who is so very, very wrong in such very, very obvious ways, and yet so superciliously convinced of his correctness that he’s impossible to argue with (we all know at least one person exactly like that). Buscemi’s turn comes at the culmination of the three-episode arc surrounding the shooting of three of our detectives, which is masterfully handled both in the immediate shock and the ensuing tension, as well as in the complicated miasma of emotional fallout for the rest of the squad as they struggle and rally. The fallout from that arc continues to permeate the rest of the season, in much the same way as the suicide of our beloved Steve Crosetti does at the beginning of the season: the episode ‘Crosetti’ is the highlight of the season despite fierce competition, and watching Lewis bawl his eyes out while Bolander holds him still gets me every time, but it’s nothing compared to watching Pembleton provide a one-man Honour Guard for his fallen comrade at episode’s end. The heaviness of the episode has some serious emotional staying power, and while the ditching of Crosetti was another network-mandated dick move designed to up the show’s sex appeal, the writers well and truly made lemonade by crafting the loss into a powerful narrative which emphasises and reinforces the core of the series itself: the horror and the battle to overcome the darkness of a truly thankless job, and find the good glimmer of life that lies beyond it.

[blackaquokat]

Iv datective friends to romance

iv)    Somewhere along the way of getting into bar fights together, staying up allnight with movie marathons, other friendship things, I’ve fallen in love withyou but oh my god this could ruin EVERYTHING

For @dontworryaboutanything

So, inwriting this prompt, I’ve realized this is exactly the missing piece I need forpart of my DAtective series, ‘Law and Disorder’ and here we are! If you wish toknow the origin of this pairing, I shall direct your attention to how theymet inthis series. This work also foreshadows the next installment.

Oo00oO

Abe has no idea when it began.

Not the friendship, obviously. He will forever remember thatfirst meeting at the DA’s office, the way his lawyer friend took to the case likea shark to its prey. Then later, when the two of them were supposed to rejoice a job well-done, their close-minded asshole ofa coworker decided to ruin the celebration.

Although it wasn’t sobad. Their outing did end with a rather lovely sunset.

Since then, Abe has outright searched for reasons to spendtime with them in between cases. Advice on how to talk to a victim, checking inon them at home when appropriate, and sometimes just popping by without awarning because old habits die hard and he’s not so great at personalboundaries.

They haven’t kicked him out yet though, so Abe considers thata good sign. They’ve even taken initiative and dragged him to a few films,invited him out for drinks, and taken him to the pier again to watch thesunset.

He doesn’t even understand why he’s so intent to be around them. They’re easily annoyed,reticent, and not friendly at all,not in the typical sense anyway.

But then, maybe that’s it.

They aren’t typical. And neither is he.

True, the two of them are very different kinds of different, but hey, Abe likes to think that’sexactly why he’s drawn to them. The thrill of finding a kindred spirit willdwindle eventually, but he’ll drag it out as long as he can and then they’llboth move on to being mere acquaintances.

Which is what brings him to his current situation.

They’ve just completed their second successful case together,and rather than go to the pub, he drags them to the fair taking place in thecity.

“What part of ‘I really do not like crowds’ do you notunderstand, Lincoln?” they growl as he drags them by the hand down the street.

“What part of ‘Just trust me’ do you not understand?”

“Last time you said that, it was about the fact that you licked a corpse’s fingers beforeforensics could look it over.”

“Don’t start spouting logic, we’re supposed to be having fun.”

“You told me this in the courtroom.”

“Details, details, you’re still coming with me.”

Abe ignores the groan, because they’re only a few blocks awaynow.

“Abe, I appreciate that you’re trying to get me out of myoffice more, but I’m exhausted. Ijust want to go home and take a nap—”

They cut off when Abe pulls them to the entrance to the fair,staring wide-eyed at the bright lights everywhere, the countless tents andrides. The air smells of cigar smoke and fried food. Aggressively cheerfulmusic is played via strategically placed radios.

More importantly, however, there are a rather minisculenumber of people taking part in the festivities.

“Where…where is everyone?” they ask, looking at him withhesitant excitement.

“It’s the last day of the fair,” Abe answers. “It alsohappens to be Sunday, so everyone is at church right now. No lines, not toomany screaming kids, no risk of someone bumping into you and sending your foodeverywhere.”

“Abe that happened once!”they defend. “It’s not my fault you can’t watch where you’re going.”

“I could say the same about you.”

They laugh, making an enchanting sound that sends a jolt ofelectricity through his chest. “Anyway, um, the peanut vendor is over there, Ibelieve…” he mutters.

The pair spends a good two hours at the fair, sharing a bagof peanuts, making fun of the people looking at them with judging eyes, andtrying out a handful of the games offered. Oddly enough, Abe’s companion dominates the sharpshooter tent.

“You never told me you know how to use a gun,” Abe mentions.

They shrug. “It never came up. Is it really so surprising?”

“Not really, no.” Whey they glance at him, he explains, “Youdid tell me both of your parents were in the military. But, honestly, mostpeople just dissolve on the spot when you turn your Angry Eyes on, so youknowing how to shoot a gun doesn’t seem like much of a stretch.”

The corner of their lips quirk upward, and Abe suddenlynotices that they have dimples. Why is he just noticing that now? Why does that little detail make his chest thump faster?

Matter of fact, this entire evening has been an exercise in notstaring at them for too long, because damn it, this is a side of them he hasn’tseen yet. This utter delight, a smile bright as the moon, eyes lit up likefireworks, Abe wouldn’t be surprised if they started glowing of all things.

“I can’t believe you remembered that about my parents…” Theylook around some more before seeing, to his dismay, the Ferris wheel. “I haven’tridden a Ferris wheel in years.” Theystart heading in that direction and Abe moves with them.

They’re about to get on when they notice he hasn’t tried tojoin. “You’re not coming?”

“Uh…well…nah, I don’t…” Abe clears his throat. “Not too big afan of Ferris wheels. You go on ahead.” He shoves the last of the peanuts inhis mouth before he says anything incriminating.

They gaze at him a moment longer and he just prays they don’t read too much into hiswords. “Alright.” As they enter the ride, they turn back to him with a smirk. “Foryour information, if I could make people dissolve with my ‘Angry Eyes,’ therewould be four people left at the DA’s office, including myself.”

Abe chuckles so hard he nearly chokes on the peanuts.

After that ride, he walks them home in silence, which isuncharacteristic for him, but not so much for them. Normally their strollstogether involve him ranting about a case or his fellow officers while they nodin sympathy and occasionally throw in a complaint about their own coworkers.

This time the silence feels…different. If he didn’t know anybetter, he’d think they might have something they wish to talk about.

“Thanks,” they eventually say. “Thanks for, um, bringing mealong.”

“Not at all,” he answers. “These sorts of events aren’treally fun to take part in solo anyway—”

“I’m not done,” they interrupt. They take in a deep breathand roll their shoulders. “I’ve had exactly onefriend in my entire life. Due to our current career paths, we haven’t been ableto see each other as much, so I’ve been a little…lonelier than normal. I guess what I’m saying is…it’s nice to haveanother friend and not feel like I’m, um…too strange to be around.”

Abe’s mouth opens and shuts. What the hell is he supposed tosay to that? How does one respond to the realization that you’re one of two ofthe only acquaintances a kick-ass, emotionally distant ADA has?

Whether he would have found a response or not, Abe will neverknow, because they hurry to fill the awkward quiet with, “Also, the DA calledme into his office earlier today and said he planned on retiring early nextyear.”

It takes Abe longer than it should to switch gears. “Oh, um…that’sinteresting. Why would he tell you?”

They bite their lip, almost like they’re trying not to smile.The two of them stop walking. “God, I shouldn’t be telling you this…he basicallytold me that if I was interesting in being the DA, he would back me in aheartbeat.”

Abe swings around to face them, eyes bulging from his head. “I-you’reshitting me??!!”

“I had to pinch myself to keep from leaping with joy.”

He can’t help it. He grabs them into a hug and actually spins them around a few times beforesetting them back down, both of them laughing in joy as they start moving oncemore. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? We could have been doing something farmore high class, like eating at a fancy restaurant or crashing a prom—”

“No, I hate big fusses, you know that,” they dismiss. “I just…Ireally wanted to tell someone. I mean, obviously this isn’t a guarantee. He’sgoing to announce his upcoming retirement soon, so I really need to buckle downand get started on a campaign. I’ve built a reputation in the community andmade a few public statements about community outreach, but I don’t exactly havefunds—”

“Hey, all of that will work out,” Abe interrupts. He’s still grinninglike an idiot until a thought occurs to him and it disappears. “I guess thismeans you’ll be pretty busy for a while, huh?” He tries to sound nonchalant,but he doesn’t think it works. Much as he’s been expecting this relationship todie down, he doesn’t want it to do so this soon.

They give him a strange look as they stop walking again. Aberealizes they’ve reached their home.

“I won’t be too busy to spend time with my favoritedetective,” they assert in a determined tone. “Not when he still owes me aFerris wheel ride.”

A nervous chuckle rumbles in his chest. “Uh…yeah, yeah,definitely…”

It’s time for them to part ways, but Abe is suddenly overwhelmedwith the thought that he should do somethingbefore the night officially ends. But what?A handshake? A hug? The thought of kissing them flashes through his headjust long enough to make his face turn beet red. He desperately hopes it’s darkenough under his cap that they don’t notice.

“Well…I had a lot of fun tonight, Abe,” they eventually say. “Thanksagain. I’ll see you again soon, alright?”

It takes three gulps to actually force a sentence out of hisdry throat. “Absolutely. Have a good night.”

When they finally entire their house, Abe stares at the doorfor the longest time, feeling like a total buffoon, before cursing to himself andhurrying down the street.

He never looks back, so he doesn’t see the attorney part theshades a hint to watch him leave, a smile tugging at their cheeks.

Oo00oO

The months pass and, unfortunately, Abe and the attorney’s timespent together shrinks a rather significant amount, what with Abe’s suddencaseload and them taking on more and more court cases to further solidify theirreputation.

They make time to leave him notes though, at his doorstep,especially if weeks go by without them seeing each other. He starts doing so inreturn, though not as often, he’s ashamed to say. He’s still awfully shook upby that night, the way they looked under the porchlights and how the thought ofkissing them actually crossed hismind.

Now that it’s happened once, it’s been happening more andmore often lately.

Abe will look over a case and notice a quirky detail, whichhe then wants to share with his friend, butthen those thoughts dissolve into definitelynot friendly thoughts and he’ll endup spilling his coffee on his lap. These sorts of incidents have happened, invarious ways, more than he’d care to admit.

Damn them. This is their fault. He’s never been this distracted byanyone except three of his pastpartners, and look at how those turnedout.

He just…he can’t.

Not again.

And so time goes on in this cycle of missed calls and lettersonly sometimes answered. Before either knows it, the DA retires, gives a glowing endorsement to Abe’s favoriteattorney, and it’s only a month later that they’re elected into office by an overwhelmingmajority.

Abe wishes he could say that he was at the celebration whenthe news hit, but he was seeing someone about a new case.

His old friend Mark had finallycontacted him again, after almost two years of complete silence. Their meetingended up lasting several hours, both catching up on the latest personal events(he suspects Mark hasn’t been particularly forthcoming about why he’s been sounreachable) and discussing what Mark wanted Abe to do for him. It turns out tobe a simple recon case: check out the guests and employees for an upcomingparty Mark is throwing. Nothing too out of the ordinary, aside from the Mayor,of all people, being included in that list.

But when he returns to his car and switches on the radio, hehears the results of the election.

At first, Abe lets out a whooping cheer in the confines ofhis car. He is so proud. They’veworked so hard for this, fighting for justice in the courtroom and againstprejudice in their own office…

Simultaneously, however,he felt this awful guilt gather inthe pit of his stomach at the realization that his friend had won a positionthey’ve been struggling to reach for so long and Abe wasn’t there to celebrate with them.

So now, with these thoughts eroding his mind, he leans hishead back against the seat of his car and makes a new resolution.

Abe will finish this case for Mark, check out these peoplelike he wants.

Then…then he’ll make it up to the new DA, somehow.

For the moment, he needs space to clear his head. Otherwise, he’llruin the best thing in his life.

Oo00oO

@skidspace , @peaceiplier , @beereblogsstuff , @sassy-in-glasses , @chelseareferenced , @musical-jim , @sketchy-scribs-n-doods , @cosmic–frappucino , @wkm-detective-abe-squad

Sendme a prompt for Detective Abe/DA, Damien/DA, Actor!Mark/DA!

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: What Comes After (8/?)

Summary: Dead Like Me AU. After Belle French loses her life in an accident, she finds out that she has been recruited to join the ranks of the Grim Reapers, helping souls pass on. It’s a huge upheaval to deal with, but her fellow reapers are there to help her out, especially head reaper Gold.

Who says you can’t find love after life?

Rated: T

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [AO3]

====

What Comes After

Eight

The animal shelter was short-staffed at the moment, so it wasn’t unusual for David to come to the daily post-it handover later or earlier than everyone else. Today, Gold was quite grateful for the delay as it meant everyone else, including Belle, had already gone, and Gold was alone in their booth for the rather delicate chain of inquiry that he was about to undertake.

As much as he loved Ella as a dear friend, this was probably something that would be best followed up with someone who was somewhat younger than both himself and Ella and therefore a lot more with the times. David was really the best person available to understand his predicament.

“Hi Gold, sorry I’m late. I can never seem to make the shifts work out right these days, especially trying to get reaps in around them.”

Gold waved David’s apologies away as the younger man slid into the booth opposite him. “It’s quite all right, David. My shop will wait for me. Your life can’t wait for you. Well, sort-of life.”

David snorted. “Yeah, it doesn’t sound quite as impressive when you put it like that.” He grabbed the post-it that Gold held out to him and checked his watch, relieved when he saw that there was plenty of time before he would have to go out and find his reap. Granny brought over coffee and Gold took a refill as David got his breath back.

“I’m actually quite glad to get you alone, David,” Gold began, really wishing that he knew exactly where he was going with the conversation and what all David’s answers would be before he said them, but then that sort of undermined the need for having a conversation in the first place.

David raised an eyebrow. “Am I in trouble?”

“What? No, of course not. Don’t trust anything that Ella tells you about getting in trouble.” Although he had been dead for four years and had been on Gold’s team for two years, David was still considered the sweet young newbie by the rest of the crew; or at least he had been up until Belle’s arrival. He was probably quite glad that a new recruit had joined in order to get the yoke of ‘youngest and most inexperienced’ off his shoulders once and for all. Ella in particular had taken great delight in teasing him when he had first transferred over to Storybrooke, in a way that she couldn’t really keep up with Belle.

“No,” Gold continued. “No, I just wanted to… ask your advice.”

Asking for help was not something that Gold had done lightly. Considering the start that he had got in life and how his own life had ended, he had spent the vast majority of his death viewing asking for help as a kind of weakness that he was determined not to fall prey to anymore. Accepting that he needed advice was a huge step, and actually asking for it was an even bigger one.

David grinned. “Are you finally going to ask Belle out and you’re looking for tips on modern courtship methods?”

Gold looked up, completely agape. That was exactly what he had been about to ask, but how had David managed to figure it out?

“What? Yes! No! Possibly! How did you...?”

David shrugged. “It’s pretty obvious that you like her, Gold, and that the feelings are reciprocated. We’re all surprised that you haven’t made a move sooner if I’m being honest with you. You spend a lot of time alone together in that shop. Had it honestly never occurred to you to just follow that up with asking her out to dinner? Or maybe just going for coffee if you’re not ready to commit to an entire meal with each other yet. Although considering the amount of time we all spend here eating together, maybe that’s not the best idea.”

Gold felt his shoulders sag. “I feel like everyone around the table has just as much of a stake in my romantic life as I do.”

“Of course.” David reached across and slapped Gold’s shoulder. “You’re our boss. We need you to be bright and chipper and full of the joys of spring or you can make our lives hell, and it’s a hell we’ll have to deal with for a long time.”

“I honestly don’t know where my reputation for being a vindictive head reaper has come from,” Gold muttered. “I’m going to have to have words with Ella. I can’t be doing with her spreading rumours about me to new recruits.”

“Well, I think that if she has been spreading rumours, they haven’t reached Belle yet. She certainly enjoys spending time with you, so I don’t think that she’d be averse to spending more time with you in a date scenario.”

Gold sighed. “I think I’m a bit too old to be going on dates.”

“Gold, please, you’re way too old to be doing anything. You’re over a hundred; by the law of averages you should be on a Zimmer frame having your waffles fed to you through a straw, so I think you’re doing very well. Come on. You like Belle and she obviously likes you even if you’re the only one around the table who can’t see it. I don’t think you’ve got anything to lose.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very sure.”

“I don’t know how dating works.”

David spread his hands. “That’s why you wanted to speak to me, wasn’t it?”

Gold nodded. “Just so you know, I’m already feeling completely out of my depth here and I’m trying not to make it any more awkward than it already is.”

“This isn’t awkward,” David said. “I’m always happy to help a friend find love. You’ve waited long enough for it, I can tell you that and I’ve only known you for two years.”

“Thank you, David.” Gold drained his coffee and decided against getting another one for fear of being completely buzzed on caffeine when he did meet Belle in the shop later. Although he wouldn’t suffer the terrible crash later, he could still feel the effects whilst they were working, like with alcohol. “So… What do you advise?”

“Be honest with her,” David said simply. “Don’t try and be someone that you’re not. You two spend a lot of time together so she’s getting to know you as a person. Don’t try and pretend that you’re not the man in the antique shop. That’s the man she’s getting to know and to be attracted to. If you take her out and suddenly put on a different face, not only is she not going to buy it, but she’s going to think that there’s something seriously wrong with you.”

“But the person I am in the shop is…”

“Is…” David prompted.

“Boring,” Gold finished lamely.

David sighed and rolled his eyes. “Gold, do you seriously think that Belle would spend so much time in your shop if she found you boring.”

“Well, the shop’s not boring; it’s got lots of very interesting things to talk about in it. When you take me out of the shop, then it’s just me.”

“Gold, you’re not boring and when you’re a reaper age goes by the wayside, so you’re not old either. Belle is not going to suddenly stop finding you attractive or interesting if you take her out on a date.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“I am right, there’s no supposing about it.”

Gold laughed at the vehemence in David’s tone. “You’ve been taking lessons in assertiveness from Ella.”

“You know what they say: you have to learn from the best.”

Gold pondered David’s advice for a while. Just to be himself. That was all very well and good, but there were some points where Gold didn’t really know who he was himself. He had been around for so long and had gone through so many fake identities that it was easy to lose sight of the Alistair Gold that he had been all those years before, back when he had still been alive.

It was when he was with Belle that he felt the most like himself, to the extent where he had given her his first name and she regularly called him by it. His real first name wasn’t something that he gave out to anyone with any degree of regularity, and yet he had given it to Belle having only known her for about a week.

Some might say that was a sign of trust, and Gold knew that it was, but the fact that he had been able to give that trust so freely and openly worried him. He had been hurt before by people whom he had placed so much trust in, and like anyone who had been hurt, he was scared of it happening again. Ella had commented in the past that he never liked to get too close to people even though it was obvious that he cared deeply about them.

“Gold, I honestly think that you might have a chance at real, lasting happiness here,” David said. “Believe me. I know what it’s like to have that and to see it slip through your fingers. Grab it with both hands whilst you can, don’t let go of it. If it turns out not to be, then it’s not to be, but don’t let the opportunity pass you by. I can speak from experience here; you don’t want to do that.”

Gold sat back and looked at the man in front of him.

“You’re such an inherently good person, David, that after everything you’ve been through, you still want the best for everyone else. I don’t think that I could ever be that strong.”

David shrugged and looked out of the window, not really meeting Gold’s eye as he spoke again.

“I’m past being bitter about it all,” he said. “I know what it’s like to be unhappy and it’s not something that I would wish on anybody. I’m not one of these people who say that if they can’t be happy then no-one can be happy. There’s not a lot of use in that and it wouldn’t make me feel any better. Negativity’s like a leech. It’s draining, and it multiplies, and it doesn’t get anywhere. Everyone deserves to find their own happiness and I like to think that I’ll find mine again one day. In the meantime, I’ll just help everyone else on their way.”

Gold would never fail to be amazed at David’s selflessness and willingness to help, especially after the circumstances that had led him to Storybrooke in the first place.

“Have you been in contact with any of the California teams recently?” Gold asked.

David shook his head. “No. I find it easier not to know what’s happening down there. I’d rather not know, so that I can pretend that everything’s all right and that nothing bad ever goes on. I’d rather believe that they were happy than know that they’ve got other issues going on and be unable to help.” He paused. “Emma turns sixteen in two months.”

Gold gave David a sad smile.

“You can’t go back,” he said. “You don’t want to get in trouble with the powers that be again. They’ll only reassign you again, and probably put you somewhere even further away.”

“I know. It’s just difficult. I mean, we all leave people behind when we die, but any parent just wants to watch their kids grow up.”

Gold nodded. “I know exactly how you feel.”

Despite the vast differences in their ages and the circumstances of their deaths, Gold had found a kindred spirit in David from the moment that the powers that be had sent word that he would be transferring from California to Storybrooke to prevent what they called ‘meddling’ and what Gold called ‘desperate self-preservation’.

Both Gold and David were fathers who had been separated from their children long before their time and would never get to see them grow up and start families of their own. The impulse to hang around and try to be a part of their lives after death was a strong one; one that David had failed to resist on more than one occasion. He had been lucky enough not to have been caught by the living authorities whilst hanging around his daughter’s school, but the reaping superiors out wherever they were had decided that it was too risky, and that physical separation was the only way to make sure that David did not get himself into trouble.

Gold knew how much David missed his family and could sympathise completely.

“I want to do something for her,” David said. “I know I can’t go and see her, but I want to send her something to let her know that I’m still thinking of her and I still love her. Some kind of sign to let her know that although I’ve gone, it’s not forever. People talk about receiving signs from beyond the grave from their loved ones all the time, and it’s only since I’ve become a reaper that I’ve realised that it was probably reapers trying to communicate with their families.”

Gold nodded. “I think that could probably be arranged and the powers that be would be none the wiser.”

David raised an eyebrow. “Gold, you’re the one who’s always reiterating the importance of not having any contact with your old life.”

“I know, but people rarely listen to me, and this isn’t the same as hanging around outside your old house like a creeper. There’s a difference between trying to get your old life back as if nothing’s changed and accepting that things have changed and working with it. That’s the problem that Belle had when she first joined us. She was trying to live her old life.” Gold’s voice was sage and knowing. “So were you.”

“I guess you’re right.” David paused and held his cup out for a refill as Granny came past again; Gold declined. “I found a great card the other day. It had ducklings on it. I always used to call her duckling. I was thinking about getting it and sending it to her. Not signed, just empty. But she’d know it was from me, because of the ducklings.”

Gold nodded. “I would say that’s harmless enough. Contrary to popular belief I’m not a grumpy curmudgeon wishing to suck the joy out of everyone’s afterlife all the time.”

David just laughed. “Gold, I have never thought that you want to suck the joy out of everyone’s afterlife all the time. Maybe fifty per cent of the time.”

“Only fifty per cent?” Gold shook his head, tutting. “I must try harder. I have a reputation to maintain here.”

“That reputation has long since been ruined. We all know that you’re a softie on the inside.” David tucked his post-it into his jeans pocket. “I’m going to stay here a while and get some breakfast. You’ll want to get on, Belle will be finishing her post round soon and three to one says she comes over to the shop.”

“Yes.” Gold wasn’t sure that this was a good thing or not. Whilst his conversation with David had helped him somewhat, he still wasn’t one hundred per cent sure that what he was doing was a good idea in the long run. Some experiences cast long shadows and Gold’s marriage was one of them. On his one hundredth wedding anniversary he was reaping a particularly nasty car accident and he realised with grim irony just how much the wreck reflected his life with Milah.

At least everyone in the car wreck had got to move on to a bright new afterlife together with their loved ones. Gold was stuck remembering everything that had gone wrong between him and Milah for what felt like the rest of time.

Naturally, he was somewhat sceptical of his success with Belle, being as she was from a completely different time period.

“Just be yourself,” David said as Gold slid out of the booth and made to leave the diner. “That’s what she wants.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very sure, now just get going and ask her out before the rest of us resort to middle school tactics and ask her out on your behalf.”

It couldn’t be spun out any longer, and Gold left David to his breakfast, going back in the direction of the pawn shop. It was a rare sunny day in Storybrooke, although still bitterly cold with the early spring weather. His reap wasn’t until the afternoon, so there would be plenty of time to overthink asking Belle out and make a complete mess of it before then.  

Despite David’s words it was still too early for Belle to be arriving at the shop, and Gold was left alone with his thoughts as he opened up and began to wait for custom. The shop wasn’t the most lucrative of businesses and if Gold hadn’t had independent means from several lucrative investments that Ella had helped him set up back in the fifties, then he would probably have had to close down, but it provided a good front for reaping and the necessary forgery that went with the afterlife, and it helped him to keep abreast of what was happening in the world of the living. He wouldn’t call it eavesdropping per se, but he did hear a lot of interesting things when people were in the shop and had forgotten that he was there, standing quietly behind the counter, observing life as he did.

On darker days, he wondered how many of them he would reap before his time on the earth was done and how many of them would realise that it was him.

The bell above the shop door rang and Gold looked up from the candelabra that he was polishing to see Henry Mills coming in. Gold smiled; he liked Henry. The boy had been coming into the shop ever since he was old enough to be running around unsupervised, and he had just as much fascination for all of the antiques as Belle did, wanting to know all of the stories behind them. The difference was that Gold told Belle exactly how he had acquired the items personally throughout the years, whereas to Henry, the tales were always attributed to distant relatives.

“Hi Mr Gold,” Henry said brightly. “Have you got anything new in today?”

“Not since you were last here, I’m afraid. Shouldn’t you be in school, Henry?”

“It’s closed; apparently there was a sewage leak in the playground.” Henry wrinkled his nose. “Anyway, Mom’s working so I thought I’d come and hang out here for a while. If that’s ok with you, of course,” he added hastily.

“You’re always welcome here, Henry. You can help me with the dusting.”

Henry accepted the cleaning cloth with good grace and began work on the picture frames on one wall.

“So, are you seeing that pretty post lady again?” he asked, completely out of the blue, and Gold did a double take.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The post lady! I’ve seen her coming out just as I’m coming in, we say hi on the street outside. I know that she can’t just be delivering the mail because mail gets delivered in the morning and she’s sometimes here in an afternoon. And also I can’t believe that you get that much mail delivered here and not to your house.”

Gold sighed, leaning back heavily against the counter. If even Henry had noticed the frequency of Belle’s visits, then something was probably going to have to be done.

“I think she likes you,” Henry continued. “She’s always smiling whenever I see her so I reckon she must enjoy spending time with you.”

Gold nodded carefully. “That’s a reasonable assumption to make based on the evidence,” he said. “I enjoy spending time with her, too.”

“So, are you dating?”

“Henry, I think you’re taking far too much interest in this.”

“Well, you know. Mom always says that she thinks you must be kind of lonely, out here with only your antiques for company. It would be good if you had someone special. When I told her about the post lady she practically cheered.”

Gold took that statement with a pinch of salt. Whilst he and Regina Mills were cordial acquaintances as a result of Henry’s frequent visits to the shop, he really didn’t think that she could be that invested in his happiness. The extent of their interaction was limited to trusting that Gold had no ill intentions towards Henry and could be employed as a makeshift babysitter.

“I highly doubt that, Henry.”

“Ok, so she didn’t cheer, but she was definitely interested.”

Gold just narrowed his eyes. “Those picture frames won’t dust themselves, you know,” he muttered. “Once you’ve finished on them, you can start on the teapots over in that display cabinet.”

They worked in silence for a while, although Henry’s smile told Gold that the thought was still on his mind, but soon Gold was absorbed in his restoration work and he was startled when Belle walked in.

“Hi Alistair… Oh, hello.”

“Lacey, this is Henry, the mayor’s son and a friend of mine. Henry, this is Lacey.”

“Pleased to meet you, Henry.”

As Henry and Belle shook hands, Henry looked at Belle through narrowed eyes, as if he was trying to place her. There was the flicker of recognition, but if he was going to say something, then he thought better of it. Gold let out the breath that he didn’t know that he had been holding. It wasn’t the first time that he had thought there was something about Henry’s perception when it came to reapers, and Belle would be the first he had met whom he might possibly recognise from her previous life.

“Well, I should probably go,” Henry said, and the fact that he was grinning like the Cheshire Cat made it obvious that he was leaving them alone together. “I’ll see you around, Mr Gold.”

Belle watched him go and smiled. “He seems like a good kid.”

“He is. Too clever for his own good, I think. Would you like some tea?”

“Yes please. It’s freezing out there, not at all the weather for delivering post on a bike.”

Gold stepped back to allow her into the back of the shop, and once the tea was made, Belle accepted the mug gratefully. They drank in silence for a little while, but the expectation of something being said was screaming in the air between them.

“Belle, I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Gold began, at the same time as Belle said “Alistair, can I ask you something.”

“You go on,” she said.

“Would you like to maybe go out some time?” Gold asked. God, he sounded terrible, this was definitely not the smooth process he’d hoped it would be. “For lunch, or dinner, or… something.”

To his immense surprise and immensurate relief, Belle just broke into a luminous smile.

“I was going to ask you exactly the same thing,” she said. “I would love to.”

“You would?”

“I really would.” Belle was beaming with excitement. “How about that new Thai place that’s opened up around the corner from Marco’s?”

“That sounds great.”

“Tonight?”

“Even better.”

Gold knew how much he must be grinning like a lunatic, but he didn’t care. In the end, taking a chance had paid off. He had a date with Belle.

[multificsyay]

Spare Her

Fandom: Crimson Peak

Pairing: Thomas Sharpe x fem!reader

Warnings: Slight implications of incest, Angst, Thomas being so fluffy and in love it hurts, cursing

Word Count: 1,851

Prompt:I wanted this one to feel like Thomas met the reader first before Edith but backed out before marrying the reader haha

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n is the heir to her father’s thriving company in textile manufacturing. She is also an aspiring violin player and with little to no intention of ever continuing his father’s business. A determined young woman who knows her rights and believes that hard work ends in success.

She met Sir Thomas Sharpe in one of the her father’s parties. Much to the other ladies’ delight, when she walked into the ballroom, all of the guests attention was caught by Y/n with her beautiful violin performance and top notch socializing. She was the only woman in the ballroom with a line of gentlemen who wants a chance to dance with her. Christine Bligh and her mother who was looking for a husband for her daughter didn’t like it one bit.

Y/n of course, only chose the ones who were interesting to her. Those who were lucky enough to dance with her learnt about how she has half a mind about their family’s business and is thinking of not marrying for it will endanger their business from people who wants a part of her inheritance and being an only child, she wants to see to it that it will be protected.

All of that was thrown out the window when Sir Thomas Sharpe walked like a wolf in search for prey into the ballroom.

She then saw Sir Thomas talking to Christine and her mother who was basically selling her daughter to a handsome stranger. Y/n rolled her eyes at the sight. She fixed her dress and walked towards them with a smile on her face.

“I’m sorry but I couldn’t help but overhear that you’re talking about business here.” she smiled looking at them individually but lingering at Mrs. Bligh a little longer.

“I’m sorry dear, but I was introducing my beautiful daughter, Christine to Sir Thomas Sharpe here,” Mrs. Bligh said with a hint of anger in her voice. Y/n smiled and said

“Yes, business. More specifically in the art of selling. I’m sorry Mrs. Bligh, but you’re practically selling your beautiful daughter to this kind gentleman here,” She said as she looked at Sir Thomas Sharpe and gently touched his arm. Sir Thomas was covering his lips with his right hand to hide a slight laughter from y/n’s comment.

She could listen to his laugh for days and not regret every single minute of it.

Christine and her mother both had wide eyes and after what y/n had said and muttered “Well I never..” Sir Thomas, who regained his composure, cleared his throat and said “Ladies, would kindly excuse us for a minute?” as he offered his arm to Y/n and took her to less crowded place in the room.

“Well that was a show,” Thomas said in between his melodic laughter. “Well, they were smothering you and I saw the distress signal, so I saved you. You’re welcome.” Y/n said proudly. “Sir Thomas Sharpe,” He said as he held and kissed her hand with a bow. “Y/n,” she said as she did a curtsy.

“So, Sir Thomas, what is your business here in America?” Y/n asked startling Thomas with her knowledge of his family’s origin. “So, I’m interesting enough for you to dig into my files, huh?” Thomas said with a honeyed voice and a slight smirk on his face.

“No, Thomas, you should now by know that your accent is awfully tantalizing and difficult to not listen to,” y/n said glancing at Thomas who seemed relieved of Y/n’s obliviousness. Thomas replied with a laugh.

“Well, Lady Y/n, I came here to look for investors for my clay mining machine. And I was hoping that by attending Sir L/n’s party I’d be able to pursuade him into investing.” Thomas said a matter-of-fact.

“Yes, I’ve heard of your machine and I must say, you are quite an innovative man,” Y/n said loosing all the flirtatious tone in her voice. Thomas noticed that she was just as curious of him as he was of her. The opportunity for another one was dangling right in front of him and all he could think about was how her eyes would disappear every time she laughs. ‘No,’ he thought 'I can’t put her through that,’

Meanwhile, Lucille watches from afar, her face was emotionless as always but inside her head there was chaos. 'What is he doing?’ she thought to herself 'He said that bitch Christine was who he decided to go with?’

“Sir Thomas would you please come with me? I want to do you a favor after accompanying me this evening,” Y/n said. “Lead the way, my dear,” Thomas smiled and offered his arm. She linked her arms with his and led them towards a group of gentlemen her father was talking to. Thomas gave Lucille a quick glance and quickly turned away to listen to Y/n.

“Good evening gentlemen,” Y/n said with a smile. Every single gentlemen in the circle turned and greeted her. “Everyone this is Sir Thomas Sharpe,” Y/n said proudly, Thomas on the other hand was stunned to know that Y/n was actually Sir L/n’s daughter and the only heir to the business. That she was the girl who every gentleman in the ballroom was talking about. “Good evening gentlemen,” Thomas said.

He looked at y/n who was already busy bragging about Thomas’s accomplishments that he told her earlier. How she remember all of that information in just a short period of time he had no idea, but what he do know is that the longer he stuck with her the more Lucille will get curious and ask about her. He’ll be forced to tell her about this girl who’s as vulnerable as a body floating in the middle of the ocean.

After the party ended, y/n invited Thomas for dinner which he was definitely not accustomed to but quickly accepted. Y/n for Thomas was really assertive but in a really endearing way.

She was charming, smart and humorous. When they were at their hotel room and already in bed, he found himself stuck on the thought that he could never be with someone like her. That the disgusted look on her face once she learned about what they do would break his heart into a million pieces.

He didn’t wan to admit it, but he was definitely falling for her. He really didn’t want to admit it, especially to Lucille who kept on asking him why he was acting strange and would quietly giggle at random moments. Thomas, who was completely unaware that her sister already knows why, just told her that he remembered something.

“Are you choosing that girl over Lady Bligh?” Lucille glanced behind at Thomas who was helping her undo her corset. “Yes, I won’t pursue Lady Bligh any longer, I think this one is easier,” he said disgusted by every word that comes out to his mouth. “Oh and Y/n invited me to dinner,” Thomas said as Lucille turned to him.

“Invited you?” She asked “Yes Lucille, isn’t she eccentric? I’ve never been invited to dinner by a Lady before,” Thomas said with a smile. “I do, Thomas. Every night,” Lucille said through gritted teeth.

“Of course, of course darling,” He said placing both his hand on her cheeks, cupping them. “I just see this as an opportunity to gain her trust, is all. Please set every worry in your mind aside,” Thomas explained and kissed her forehead.

“Together forever,” Lucille said “Never apart,” Thomas continued hesitantly.

Thomas and Y/n’s dates turned from once to often with Y/n still unaware of Lucille’s existence, much to Lucille’s pleasure. They became closer with each meal, each book recommendation, each star gazing they had together. Thomas completely forgot about their objective when they came here to America. The only thought that ran through his mind was what kind of date they would have and what kind of flower he’d bring her next time.

He couldn’t sleep till he saw her ocean blue eyes, her smile that lit him up and warmed his once cold heart, or hear her melodic laughter that was too contagious. Oh god was he in love with her. But that kind of love was too dangerous and he knows it. He’s seen it. He’s seen what it does to people and he’s scared of it.

“Lucille, I’m going to see Y/n today. We’re going to the park to walk with her dog,” Thomas said during his lunch with Lucille. Suddenly there was food all over the table and he saw Lucille staring him down from where she was now standing.

“Why do you keep on seeing her like this? Just get her to Allerdale Hall as soon as possible so we can get rid of her! I thought she was easier?” Lucille screamed and her voice breaking in the last word. Thomas didn’t know what to do, he knew what his love would result to but he let it happen anyway. Now, he’s endangered y/n more than she already was and this was it. This is the end for their short love story that he dreaded since he realized he loved her.

“Yes, Lucille. Her trust was just much easier to get this way. I will take care of it,” Thomas said “Don’t make me take care of it myself, Thomas,” Lucille said walking away from the dining table. Thomas knows exactly what he has to do. Thomas went to Y/n’s house after their talk.

“I can’t come to our little get together at the park,” Thomas said in a dead tone of voice. “What? But you promised me, remember?” Y/n said with a small smile, but worry was emanating from her voice which she failed to hide. Thomas’s heart was already breaking, seeing that look in her face after he rejected her. After breaking his promise to her.

“Yes, I do not wish to continue this any longer. I was only using you to get to your father, to make him invest in my machine but you are just too difficult to be with. You act like everyone around you is your slave and you make people around you uncomfortable. And if you think I’d ever lay with someone as obnoxious as you then you are mistaken. I do not like you, not even a little.” He said again with a dead tone.

Before he could say anything more, he felt a sharp pain coming from his left cheek. Y/n was crying by the time he finished. Her eyes were red and looked so broken that Thomas had to look everywhere but her eyes when he said that.

“Well, if that’s is all you need to say, I do not wish to see you ever again. Get out of my life and never come back,” Y/n said as she shut the door on his face. Tears still streaming down her porcelain face.

Thomas stood in front of her door for a few seconds then pressed his hand on the glass. He then turned on his heel and walked away, leaving a piece of him and a single shed of tear behind.

[brilliantorinsane]

The Speckled Band on Stage:      Yep, Still Gay

Note: I tagged those who reblogged the first part of this series. Please let me know if you would prefer not to be tagged in future posts.

This is the second installment in my series on obscure Sherlock Holmes film adaptations and their depiction of Holmes and Watson both individually and in relation to each other. (For a discussion of the 1921-23 silent films starring Eille Norwood, which appears to have been Doyle’s favorite adaptation, see here.)

I really didn’t mean to write a post about this one, seeing as it doesn’t strictly fit the theme of this series. It is a play, not a film, and it is only sort of an adaptation—although a retelling of The Speckled Band, it is written by Doyle himself. But while researching a very gay and very terrible 1931 film, I discovered that it was loosely adapted from this play. Naturally I read it as part of my research, telling myself that I wouldn’t get sidetracked writing a post about it. The failure of my self-control now lays before you.

In my defense, this play really is … well it really is Something. All sorts of wonderful and all sorts of tragic. If you’d prefer to read it for yourself before encountering the spoilers in this post, hop on over here and scroll to the second half of the webpage. And if you’ve got your subtext glasses so much as perched lightly on the end of your nose, be ready to be sent reeling by what you find.

(Spoilers below the cut)

Production and Reception                                  

Doyle’s decision to adapt The Speckled Band for the stage was rather spur-of-the-moment. He had leased a theater for six months in order to showcase The House of Temperley, an adaptation of his novel Rodney Stone, but the play was largely unsuccessful (x, x). Threatened with considerable financial loss, Doyle set to work and within a week had written The Speckled Band. Despite its rushed composition the play was decidedly successful, and Doyle seems to have been quite pleased with it (x).

The play alters the original short story considerably. Some changes are so inconsequential as to be puzzling—the villain’s name is changed from Roylott to Rylott, the names of the stepdaughters are switched, etc—but other alterations are structural and make a significant difference. In particular, instead of following Watson’s pov, the audience’s perspective revolves primarily around the Rylott house. The scenes introducing Holmes and Watson are also considerably altered and expanded for potentially unfamiliar audiences, and a good deal more shouting and action is introduced throughout. 

Oh, and Watson is engaged to Mary Morstan. Yeah. More on that later.

I have two complaints: First there is an uncomfortable dash of orientalism (i.e., western depictions of the east which cast it as mysterious, dangerous, and Other, and which played a largely unintentional but nonetheless significant role in justifying British imperialism), which is present in the original story but rather more prevalent in the stage play. Second, the female protagonist, although commendably brave, loses what little agency she had in the original story. But aside from these elements, I loved this play. The pacing is good and kept me engaged even when neither Sherlock or Watson are present, Dr. Rylott is genuinely frightening and I was really rather tense at times despite knowing the ending, and the occasional humor is on point—I actually laughed aloud once or twice. Further, ACD’s allegiance with the oppressed is out in full force, and there’s some genuinely touching commentary on the debilitating effects of abuse. And then, of course, there is Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson …

Sherlock Holmes on Stage                                      

Guys. This is, pure and undiluted, Sherlock Holmes at his best. If you ever start to fear that Sherlock really might be the cold and detached reasoning machine some folk have fixated on, just read the way Arthur Conan Doyle writes him in this play. You will never doubt again that he is anything besides a snarky ahead-of-his-time genius with a heart of literal gay gold. We’ll get to the ‘gay’ part in later section, so we’ll set aside his interactions with Watson for the moment. There is plenty else to discuss.

You see, this Holmes does spout a variation of that much abused line from A Scandal in Belgravia, saying: “[love] would disturb my reason, unbalance my faculties. Love is like a flaw in the crystal, sand in the clockwork, iron near the magnet.” I understand that the statement, here and in Scandle, refers specifically to romantic love. Yet I cannot think it’s an accident that nearly the very next moment Holmes is flatly refusing to find the wife of a clearly abusive husband, asking only enough questions to ensure that she has found a safe refuge, even though the law is on the husband’s side and the man offers a whopping fee of 500 pounds. As if Doyle wants to drive home that Holmes accepts cases purely on the basis of empathy for the downtrodden and not finances, Holmes then remarks: “I’m afraid I shall never be a rich man, Watson.” Added to this, the manner in which he listens to, comforts, and puts himself in danger for Roylott’s step-daughter Enid is genuinely touching. As many of us have asserted for years, Sherlock Holmes is the champion of justice, ally of the oppressed, and altogether a beautiful smol man. ‘Love is a flaw in the crystal,’ indeed.

There is also a pleasing dash of Holmes the psychologist. It appears most obviously in an early analysis of Dr. Roylott, but most touchingly toward Rylott’s mercilessly abused servant Rodgers. The man is essentially good-hearted but entirely incapacitated by fear of his master, and this leads to his betraying Enid’s attempts to contact Sherlock. It was obviously a shitty move, but Holmes, who earlier expressed understanding of the thoroughgoing damage caused by the man’s long, forced dependence on a maniac for his basic needs, responds compassionately: “He is not to be blamed. His master controls him.”

Added to this we have Holmes in disguises, bamf!Holmes, Holmes calling people idiots and taking far too much delight in dancing circles around them, and of course utterly brilliant Holmes (though that’s a given), so it seems almost an embarrassment of riches that we also get peak sassy Holmes. He makes a number of delightful appearances, although my favorite is the following, which occurs after he has agreed to protect Enid from Rylott:

RYLOTT: What I ask you to do — what I order you to do is to leave my affairs alone. Alone, sir — do you hear me? HOLMES: You are perfectly audible.

As utterly delightful as all of this is, Holmes’s darker side is not entirely absent, at least in his personal habits—the cocaine does make its appearance. But more on that later.

John Watson on Stage                                             

To be honest, I found myself rather anxious about how Doyle would depict Watson. We fans have been in the habit of discovering Watson between the lines of the cannon stories—as the man is far more interested in talking about Holmes than himself, it takes a bit of digging to discover Watson’s outstanding qualities. But what if the Watson we love so dearly is our own invention, and Doyle himself was simply uninterested in the man except as a conduit to portraying Holmes?

I really shouldn’t have worried.

It is true that Watson rather disappears into the background once Holmes is working. But that is not to say he becomes at all useless. In fact, the Watson in this play is quite simply our Watson—kind, steady, intelligent, dangerous, and with something of a temper hidden beneath the steady veneer.

In the play, Watson is the doctor who examines the body of the first murdered sister (who is here called Violet) two years before Holmes becomes involved in protecting the remaining sister, Enid. Watson, bright fellow that he is, clearly suspects that something is off. Ultimately there is nothing he can do at the time, but his involvement allows for one my favorite moments: Watson employing Holmes’s deductive skills. True, it is for a single,  relatively inconsequential matter; but he does it and he’s right and he impresses the whole room and guys! Watson! is! an! intelligent! man! I mean, we’ve all known that for forever, but its rather nice to get such a clear nod of agreement from Dyole.

In addition to his intelligence, Watson exhibits a empathy and compassion that in this story will be matched (not surpassed) only by that of Holmes. As an old friend of Rylott’s now-dead wife, Watson acts as comforter to the surviving girl. We are told that he came immediately and probably well in opposition to his own convenience when first he heard of the tragedy, and his treatment of Enid is gentle without being patronizing. Unsettled by the Rylott household and clearly wishing he could do more, he also repeatedly urges Enid to contact him if she has any suspicion of danger. All of this prompts Enid to declare: “Your kindness has been the one gleam of light in these dark days.” It is a lovely description of the man who has been a light in the dark for at least one other—the sort of testament we would have been unlikely to hear of if this story were reported through Watson’s own narration.

Again, I’ll leave the majority of his interactions with Holmes for the next section, but it is worth mentioning that there is no objection from him when Holmes turns down an easy 500 pounds. Watson is intelligent and he is good—he saw the signs of abuse and he would not have his friend benefit on those terms. These scenes also provide a wonderful dose of protective Watson. And while Holmes is of course at the head of the investigation, he and Watson are wonderfully in sync, and Watson proves his worth.

When it comes down to it, the Holmes and Watson in this play are transparently the two deeply compatible men we seek to dig out of cannon: mutually sharp and compassionate, courageous and quick to protect, with Holmes giving Watson stimulation and purpose and the means to aid others, and Watson providing Holmes with a firm right hand and a ready ear and a steadiness that counteracts the extremities that drive Holmes to cocaine. Watson and Holmes as Doyle portrayed them—as no other adaptation would portray them for far too many years—are just kinda perfect for each other.

But Watson is engaged.

So … What About Johnlock?                                  

*buries head in hands* *giggles* *sobs* … Yeah. Yeah, it’s here. Yeah.

I really wasn’t sure what to expect from this play. I thought that perhaps the stage would strike Doyle as too exposed and vulnerable, or that perhaps he wouldn’t trust the actors, or that he would feel unsafe without the veneer of Watson’s narration—that, one way or another, he’d be persuaded to leave the gay subtext out of this one. But, um, Doyle? Buddy? Don’t get me wrong, I’m absolutely chuffed that you managed to avoid allegations a la Oscar Wilde. But also … how?

Honestly, I’ve always wondered whether Doyle was aware that he was writing a love story or whether that’s what wound up on paper regardless of his intent. This play just might be my answer.

a.) Sherlock Holmes: The Work as a disguise

The most blaring subtext is concentrated in Act II Scene II, where Holmes first enters the stage and his primary interactions with Watson occur. This play takes place during one of the dark times when Watson isn’t living at Baker Street, and when he visits Holmes to present him with Enid’s case, Holmes comes out disguised as a workman. (Before this Watson comments with dismay on the evidence of Holmes’s continued cocaine habits—this will be significant later). The disguised Holmes pokes fun at Watson, who doesn’t recognize him, accusing him of being responsible for Holmes’s untidy habits. There may be a rather tragic subtextual undertone to the whole conversation, but there’s too much else to discuss. So I’ll leave that aside and instead highlight the exchange that occurs when Holmes drops his disguise:

WATSON: Good Heavens Holmes! I should never have recognized you. HOLMES: My dear Watson, when you begin to recognize me it will indeed be the beginning of the end. When your eagle eye penetrates my disguise I shall retire to an eligible poultry farm.

Now, this could be innocent enough—just a fun way to introduce the clever detective. But if one is at all alert to the mere possibility of subtext, alarum bells should be ringing full force at the fact that the first on-stage interaction between these two characters consists of Holme demonstrating his ability to hide his true identity from Watson, and then saying that if he was unable to deceive Watson it would literally be the end of his life as he knows it. And it’s worth taking note of his phrasing: not “when you begin to recognize my disguises,” but rather “when you begin to recognize me.” Is this just a matter of professional pride, or is there something deeper that Holmes is afraid of having discovered?

But you know, maybe I’m just reading into this. This is a story about preventing Enid’s murder, its got nothing to do with romance or love, that would be thematically inconsistent and out of place—

HOLMES: Well, Watson, what is your news? WATSON: Well, Holmes, I came here to tell you what I’m sure will please you. HOLMES: Engaged, Watson, engaged! … The successful suitor shines from you all over.

Oh. Okay then.

Now, it is important to understand that Watson’s marriage has literally nothing to do with the Rylott plot. The engagement in no way affects Watson’s movements, and Mary never appears on stage. No; the first half of this scene is devoted entirely to introducing us to Holmes—the few clients he sees in this section are clearly selected to give us a sense of his character, methods, and values. That means that for some reason Doyle thought that a proper understanding of Holmes requires a discussion of love and marriage—specifically, Watson’s marriage.

Watson, being an imbecile as well as an intelligent man, thinks Holmes will be pleased with his news. Holmes rises to the occasion as best he can, calling the news “better and better” when he discovers Mary Morstan is the woman Watson has chosen, but not before he lets slip the sentence: “What I had heard of you, or perhaps what I had not heard of you, had already excited my worst suspicions.” Worst suspicions, Holmes? I thought this was supposed to be giving you pleasure? Well, perhaps he’s merely being facetious.

But next moment he slips again, saying, “You lucky fellow! I envy you.” When Watson suggests that Holmes might find a woman of his own one day, Holmes cryptically replies: “No marriage without love, Watson.” This might have been the first line that really floored me—the bare fact of Holmes’s conviction that he will never love a woman (‘woman,’ of course, being implied in the concept of marriage at the time). But when Watson asks why, Holmes falls back on the “[love] would disturb my reason” nonsense.

Now to be clear, I understand that Holmes is specifically discussing romantic love here, and that there is no connection between a lack of romantic attachment and a lack of sentiment and care for others generally. But here’s the thing: Holmes’s self descriptor doesn’t depict him as aromantic—i.e., ‘I just don’t feel romantic stuff.’ It depicts him as a reasoning machine—‘strong emotions disrupt my process.’ And in context of literally every friggin thing he does in this entire play, that’s nonsense. It is abundantly clear that reason is his tool, but compassion and sentiment are his motives.

One might argue that this is slightly sloppy writing (it was composed in a hurry, after all), or that Holmes simply doesn’t have the words to describe his aromanticism. Yet just moments before he said he envied Watson’s relationship, and moments before that revealed himself to be a consummate actor whose very existence as he knows it depends on disguise …

The already unwieldy length of this analysis requires that I speed a bit through the goldmine that follows: through Holmes punting aside requests from a royal family and the actual Pope because Watson has a case in which he has a personal interest—and I can’t resist pointing out that Holmes says he will of course take the case if Watson has “any personal interest in it.” It’s not ‘I’ll make time in my busy schedule if this is really very important to you,’ it’s ‘oh, you have a thing that you at least kinda sorta care about? The Pope can wait.’ I must gloss over Holmes transparently wanting to get as much of Watson’s company as he can, declaring that he has always seen Watson as his partner, and wishing for a plaque with his and Watson’s names on it, despite heavy implications that Watson has been almost entirely absent from Holmes’s work for some time. I’ll just mention in passing the truly remarkable number of “my dear fellows” and “my dear Watsons" Holmes manages to drop in a brief space of time, his clear desire to protect Watson from the dangers of the case despite later informing Enid that he is “a useful companion on such an occasion,” and his cry of “No, Watson, no!” when his friend leaps up to protect him from the poker Rylott is threatening him with.

I will not, however, pass over what occurs when Watson leaves Holmes, intending to meet him at the train station later that day. Watson’s final words on his way out are: “Good bye—I’ll see you at the station,” to which Holmes replies, “Perhaps you will,” adding to himself: “Perhaps you will! Perhaps you won’t!” Ah, what’s that? On about disguising yourself from your best friend again, eh Holmes? But then, within the play this refers to the fact that Holmes intends to actually disguise himself at the train station, so it has a literal meaning and not a metaphorical one, it has nothing to do with a deeper hiddeness, certainly nothing to do with love—

HOLMES: Ever been in love Billy? BILLY: Not of late years, sir. HOLMES: Too busy, eh? BILLY: Yes, Mr. Holmes. HOLMES: Same here. Got my bag there, Billy? BILLY: Yes, sir. HOLMES: Put in that revolver. BILLY: Yes, sir. HOLMES: And the pipe and pouch. BILLY: Yes, sir. HOLMES: The lens and the tape? BILLY: Yes, sir. HOLMES: Plaster of Paris, for prints? BILLY: Yes, sir. HOLMES: Oh, and the cocaine.

Oh … oh. Shit.

Please understand that this exchange—consisting of Holmes again raising the topic of love immediately after returning to the subject of his disguise, both of which he addresses as soon as Watson has left, as if he could not discuss them in front of his friend—comes apropos of nothing except Watson’s announcement of his engagement far back at the beginning of the scene. And I don’t see how the way he raises the subject and dismisses it can be seen as anything but the covering of some deep emotion—there is longing in the way he immediately brings it up, showing that it has stuck in his mind the whole while, and something tragic in the way he next-moment dismisses the clear preoccupation with the claim of being ‘too busy,’ clearly echoing the ‘I envy you … love is not for me’ progression of his earlier exchange with Watson.

And I get that in theory this longing for but dismissal of love could be read in a number of ways besides a socially forbidden love for his recently engaged partner. One might argue, for example, that he is aromantic but lonely and longing for the consistency of attachment others find in romantic love, or that he’s bursting with all sorts of hetero affections that he has chosen to sacrifice for the sake of The Work.

I would simply ask any inclined towards those arguments to consider the framing of this scene. I would ask them to question why ACD chose to introduce and conclude the scene which functions as an introduction to Holmes with the detective’s ability and need to disguise himself from Watson specifically, immediately juxtaposed with discussions of romantic love and Holmes’s desire for it which is clearly present but immediately veiled—disguised?—by his commitment to the work, with the cocaine hovering ominously behind. Then consider that between these mirrored book-ends we watch Holmes allow the man from whom he must disguise himself to disrupt the flow of the work which he claimed was supreme, making clear his wish that Watson be drawn into that work—a desire counteracted only by the transparent fact that he would prefer to risk his own bodily injury rather than put his friend in harm’s way. Add to all of this that Doyle works in a mention of the Milverton case and thus allows Holmes to comment on how his ruse to undermine Milverton involves courting and being courted by a woman and how distasteful he finds the experience and—well, you much reach your own conclusions. I have reached mine.

b.) Watson: Substitutionary desire

I began by speaking of Holmes because the subtext is monumentally more apparent on his part, and unlike Holmes it would be easy and even (though I cringe to say it) reasonable to read Watson as a comfortable heterosexual in this play. Does this mean that Doyle wrote one of those dreadful adaptations in which Holmes is pining away with an unrequited love for a Watson who is incapable of returning his romantic affections?

Not necessarily. As far as I can tell, without the clear implication of Sherlock’s affections one would be on shaky ground arguing that Watson was intended as anything besides a Hetero Bro. However, the clear coding of Holmes as in love with Watson causes one to wonder whether the affection might not be returned, and the results of investigation are inconclusive but intriguing.

Although he doesn’t make an appearance until the second act, Holme is mentioned by Watson in the first scene. Assuring Enid that she can turn to him if she is in any need, he admits that there is little he can do on his own. But he then adds: “I have a singular friend—a man with strange powers and a very masterful personality. We used to live together, and I came to know him well. Holmes is his name—Mr. Sherlock Holmes. It is to him I should turn if things looked black for you. If any man in England could help it is he.”

To be fair, it is not unusual in stories for someone to describe the hero in grandiose terms before he is seen directly by the reader/audience. Still, that’s quite a way to describe one’s friend. I find myself particularly fixating on “strange powers and a very masterful personality.” You do realize that you could have just said he’s smart, right Watson? I mean, maybe things were different back then, but if I described my friend as having a ‘masterful personality’ and then tried to claim they were my platonic bestie, I’m pretty sure I’d get my fair share of dubious glances.

Watson mentions his friend once more when his application of Holmes’s methods to clear up a detail of the investigation prompts an impressed exclamation from the coroner, to which Watson responds: “I have a friend, sir, who trained me in such matters.”

So at the very least, we have a Watson who idolizes, respects, relies on, and emulates his friend—all of which makes the fact that he is no longer living with Holmes something of a puzzle.

You see, the play never gives us a reason for Watson having moved out. The comment to Enid in which he mentions that they “used to live together” occurs two years before Sherlock becomes involved with the case and Watson becomes engaged to Mary, so it clearly has nothing to do with her. Yet not only has he moved out, his involvement in the cases is implied to have dwindled significantly or even stopped altogether—in one of the saddest lines of the play, Holmes comments that of course Watson wouldn’t remember Milverton because: “it was after your time.”

But why these degrees of separation? At no point are there signs of any ill-will between the friends. The danger certainly wasn’t an issue for Watson: when Rylott threatens Holmes Watson literally “jumps” to protect him, and he insists on sharing the danger of the Rylott house. Nor does it seem viable to speculate that Baker Street’s location became inconvenient for Watson—the speed with which Rylott makes his way to Watson’s home and from there to Baker Street demonstrates that they still live quite close. One might more plausibly theorize that Watson was becoming more invested in his medical practice and involvement in Holmes’s work was interfering, but why would ACD make an alteration so irrelevant to the story and then not even explain it? After all, the friends were still living together in the short story from which this is adapted. What could be the point of such a change?

Well, the fact is, while their bond is undeniable and remarkably strong, there are hints of something … off between the friends. Despite claiming to see Watson as his equal partner, Holmes fails to communicate with him about how they will be involved in the Rylott case, telling Watson to come on the 11:15pm train but neglecting to mention that he will be going to the house in disguise some hours earlier. The motive behind this omission is unclear—he previously tried to dissuade Watson from joining the case on account of the danger, so perhaps Holmes intends for Watson to give up and stay away when Holmes does’t appear. (Watson, of course, comes anyhow). Or perhaps Holmes wished to be apart from Watson for a time in the wake of hearing of his engagement (Holmes calling for the cocaine comes unsettlingly to mind here) but knew Watson wouldn’t allow him to go to Rylott’s alone. But whatever Holmes’s motive, Watson knows only that he has been excluded and cut out. Similarly, if in the past he has sensed that Holmes was on some level disguising himself from him would he would not have been likely to imagine a flattering cause. One cannot help but wonder whether it is these exclusions that cause Watson, despite inserting himself determinately when Holmes’s safety is at stake, to feel that he must offer to remove himself from the room when Holmes calls in clients. Certainly Watson has no inkling that Holmes might be in love with him—no kind friend who suspected as much would introduce his engagement by saying: “I came here to tell you what I am sure will please you.”

This then, is what we have: two men who deeply admire each other, long for one another’s company, and would clearly die for one another, and yet one of them is hiding and the other running first from the house and then into marriage. We have good reason to believe the one is hiding because he fears revealing his love; is it unreasonable to suppose the other is running for the same reason? Is it strange to think that Watson, feeling unable to trust to his powers of disguise in the way Holmes can, feeling the continual sting of Holmes hiding from him and cutting him off and unable to interpret those actions as anything besides distrust or indifference, would have sought safety in distance and ultimately comfort in binding himself to another?

A final note: we know nothing about Mary in this play. Despite having come in part to announce his engagement, Watson has no rhapsodies to offer on behalf of his fiancee—he seems far more interested in Holmes’s propensity for love, and, failing that, in Holmes’s work. Although Holmes’s (admittedly not impartial) deductions imply that Watson is genuinely pleased with his engagement, we learn precisely two details about Mary, both from Holmes: first that she has red hair, and second that Watson chose a woman who Holmes “met and admired.” Despite their seemingly limited contact over the past two years, Watson still seems unable to be married without at least some reference to Sherlock Holmes.

c.) Sorry … have some petty ACD as recompense

I feel I owe you an apology. I am aware that if you had the patience to read my ridiculously long ramble and are convinced by my interpretation of the Holmes and Watson’s relationship in the play, your ‘reward’ is having a dark but ultimately triumphant detective story transformed into a fucking tragedy that ends with two broken hearts. All I can offer is the comfort of knowing that for 130 years neither marriage nor death nor the near erasure of Watson from the first forty years of stage and film adaptations have been able to keep these two apart. They will find their way back to one another.

Oh, and you also might enjoy hearing that this play is totally ACD’s revenge on heteronormativity.

Okay, I can’t prove that. But it really looks like it. You may be aware of the 1988 play Sherlock Holmes, written by Doyle and William Gillette. If you’re like me a week ago, you may not know that Doyle wrote the original script himself, and Gillette became involved only when Doyle’s script was rejected and the producer urged him to bring Gillette on to rewrite it. I like to imagine that the rejection letter went something like: “Look, buddy, you can’t have Holmes staring forlornly after Watson while instigating a wistful conversation about love with Billy. You just can’t,” but realistically we don’t know why the first draft was rejected. But we do know that Doyle specifically requested that Gillette not give Holmes a (female) love interest, and that Gillette sent Holmes off into the sunset with a woman anyway (x).

Then, eleven years later with a failing theater on his hands, Doyle locks himself away in a room and says, “Fuck it. Imma write a Holmes play, and when I introduce him the first thing everyone is going to know is that he’ll never marry a woman, and the last thing the introduction will tell them is that he’ll never marry a woman and—you know what, I’ll take that Milverton story where Holmes groans about needing to date a woman and throw that in the middle.” And that’s true of the play even if you don’t buy the queer reading. But also, its super gay.

And frankly I just love that not only did Doyle refuse to give in to society’s attempt to fit his story into their heteronormative mold, it actually worked and Doyle made up all the money he was poised to lose and more by shoving a gay love story into his audience’s face.

Well done, ACD, well done.

Conclusion: Should You Read It?                            

I mean, I think my answer is fairly obvious by now. If you’re interested and have the time, it is 100% worth it. And I hope it doesn’t feel like I’ve spoiled all the good parts. There are reams of gems I didn’t even allude to—and that’s not counting everything I doubtless missed.

I just have one request: if you do read the play and end up posting about it on tumblr, would you tag me in your comments? Hearing someone else’s thoughts on this hidden treasure would be a delight. 

@thespiritualmultinerd @a-candle-for-sherlock @missallainyus @steadymentalityengineer @iant0jones @devoursjohnlock @disregardedletters

[mhsn033]

VJ Day: UK commemorates 75th anniversary as royals lead tributes

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Media captionThe Prince of Wales and Duchess of Cornwall attended a provider of remembrance for VJ Day

The Royal Family is leading the UK’s commemorations on the 75th anniversary of VJ Day – the day World Battle Two ended with Japan’s resign.

The Prince of Wales led a two-minute silence at the Nationwide Memorial Arboretum in Staffordshire, as segment of a provider of remembrance.

The Duke of Edinburgh is moreover featuring in commemorations, acting in a portray montage with other veterans.

And a message from the Queen thanked those “who fought so valiantly”.

She said: “Those of us who bear in mind the conclusion of the Far East campaign, whether or no longer on energetic provider out of the country, or attempting forward to news at home, will by no components forget the delighted scenes and overwhelming sense of relief.”

The Prince of Wales attended the occasion at the arboretum with the Duchess of Cornwall.

He laid a wreath at the Kwai Railway Memorial, as a little desire of veterans and their family sat on benches dotted spherical the backyard, to preserve social distancing.

A Fight of Britain Memorial Flight flypast moreover venerated of us that fought.

Characterize copyright Reuters

In a speech, Prince Charles said the veterans’ provider “will echo thru the ages.”

He referred to the description of them as the Forgotten Military, noting how many troopers, nurses and other personnel felt aggrieved at the skill one of the indispensable public linked the tip of World Battle Two with the victory in Europe in Could impartial 1945.

“Permit us to ascertain, they and serving veterans need to no longer forgotten, fairly you is vulnerable to be respected, thanked and cherished with all our hearts and for all time,” he said.

The head minister, who moreover attended the remembrance occasion, thanked of us that fought for restoring “peace and prosperity”.

Characterize copyright Reuters

Characterize caption The Duchess of Cornwall speaks with a extinct

Characterize copyright Reuters

Characterize caption Boris Johnson laid a wreath and browse the battle poem Exhortation – asserting “they shall develop no longer light”

The Crimson Arrows – who were because of the attain a flypast over the capital cities of all four nations of the UK – were compelled to murder their flights over Edinburgh and Cardiff because of the wretched weather stipulations.

They did land at Prestwick airport to refuel and meet veterans, and remained on schedule to omit each Belfast and the Royal Health heart Chelsea in London – home to three Burma Superstar recipients.

At some level of the day, grand screens in locations right thru the country will characteristic a portray montage of veterans – each pictured with an portray of themselves from their time in provider.

The montage is a rare look for Prince Philip, 99, who has only been seen a handful of cases in public since retiring in 2017 – most currently for a militia occasion at Windsor Citadel.

Prince Philip used to be a young Royal Navy officer aboard a warship in Tokyo Bay when Japan surrendered.

Earlier, Defence Secretary Ben Wallace used to be joined by militia chiefs as he placed a wreath at the Cenotaph in London.

Prisoners of battle

VJ Day – or Victory over Japan Day – on 15 August 1945 ended undoubtedly one of many worst episodes in British militia historical past, in the course of which tens of thousands of servicemen were compelled to suffer the brutalities of prisoner of battle camps.

It is estimated that there were 71,000 British and Commonwealth casualties of the battle against Japan, including extra than 12,000 prisoners of battle who died in Eastern captivity. More than 2.5 million Eastern militia personnel and civilians are believed to own died over the course of the battle.

The combating in Europe had ended in Could impartial 1945, nonetheless many Allied servicemen were mute combating against Japan in east Asia.

Japan rejected an ultimatum for peace, and the US believed that dropping a nuclear bomb would power them to resign. The US dropped two atomic bombs on Japan, killing an estimated 214,000 of us, and two weeks later Japan surrendered.

To stamp the 75th anniversary, Japan’s High Minister Shinzo Abe sent an offering to a controversial battle shrine in Tokyo, nonetheless did no longer lend a hand in person.

Alternatively, two of his ministers did discuss with the Yasukuni Shrine, wherein 14 leaders who were later convicted by the Allies as battle criminals are venerated.

At the remembrance occasion

John Maguire, BBC News

The Nationwide Memorial Arboretum seems to lend itself perfectly to the intention that of a socially distanced commemorative provider.

Veterans of the Burma campaign, their families, and other guests sat on chairs spaced out on the grass between the timber.

The court cases focussed on the multinational and multicultural form up of the Allied forces that fought the Eastern.

Gurkhas, alongside Sikhs, sat next to troops from Welsh and Scottish regiments, representing the 40 nations pondering regarding the Far East.

After sitar track, readings from British Asian actors, and speeches from descendants of of us that fought, the cry of plane engines might well be heard overhead. A Lancaster, Storm and three Spitfires from the Fight of Britain Memorial flew over in formation and in tribute.

Then of us that can perchance well stand, were invited to total so for a two minute silence.

The Prince of Wales then laid a wreath at the Burma Railway Memorial.

Plant life had been placed between the sleepers and track that form up the memorial. It used to be is named the “Dying Railway” and 16,000 prisoners of battle died in the course of its development.

It makes an incongruous but extremely poignant peep amongst the granite and brass of the opposite memorials.

Boris Johnson earlier joined other world leaders including US President Donald Trump in recording a video message to thank veterans.

Within the video, each chief says in turn: “To all who served, we thanks.”

Characterize copyright PA Media

Characterize caption Defence Secretary Ben Wallace (a long way correct) laid a wreath at the Cenotaph in London on Saturday morning

Characterize copyright PA Media

Mr Johnson added: “On this 75th anniversary of the tip of the 2d World Battle, we pay tribute to the heroes deployed thousands of miles away in the mountains, islands and rainforests of Asia.

“Unable to celebrate the victory in Europe, and amongst the final to come again home, at the new time we recognise the bravery and ingenuity of of us that, in the face of adversity, restored peace and prosperity to the sector.

“Their immeasurable sacrifice changed the course of historical past and, at at the new time’s commemorations, we opt the different to screech what need to be said on each day foundation – thanks.”

In a letter namely addressed to Far East veterans, Mr Johnson said: “You were the final to come home nonetheless your achievements are written in the lights of the glittering capitals of the dynamic feature we peer at the new time.”

“All of us who were born after you would also impartial own benefited from your braveness in adversity. On this anniversary, and on each day foundation hereafter, chances are high you’ll perchance be remembered,” he added.

Labour chief Sir Keir Starmer moreover recorded a message, paying tribute “to the wartime generation, who thru the horrors of battle showed us the spirit and resolution that we wish to constantly bear in mind and constantly be delighted about”.

“It be important that as we face the challenges of at the new time, we opt inspiration from that generation,” he said.

Characterize copyright Getty Images

Characterize caption At the 70th anniversary of VJ Day there used to be a parade in London

Within the meantime Capt Sir Tom Moore, who served in the Burma campaign has inspired the public to affix in the commemorations, describing VJ Day as “the most particular occasion”.

“It used to be VJ Day when the trouble of battle might well at final commence to plunge away as peace used to be declared on all fronts,” said Sir Tom – who raised thousands and thousands of kilos for NHS charities by strolling laps of his backyard in the course of lockdown.

“I respectfully attach a matter to Britain to pause no topic it’s miles doing and opt a while to place confidence in.

“We need to all opt the time to pause, heart of attention on and be thankful that were it no longer for the final sacrifices made all those years ago by this type of audacious band of males and ladies, we would no longer be taking part in the freedoms we own now at the new time, even in these most up-to-date sophisticated cases.”

What’s taking attach at the new time?

The commemorations began at morning time, with a piper taking part in Fight’s Over at the Imperial Battle Museum’s HMS Belfast in London.

Militia pipers moreover performed at morning time in India, Australia, Recent Zealand and Nepal. In Japan, national memorial companies and products were held in Tokyo.

Prince Charles and the Duchess of Cornwall attended a national provider of remembrance and led a two-minute silence from the Nationwide Memorial Arboretum in Staffordshire.

Mr Johnson read the Exhortation – the segment of the battle poem foundation “they shall develop no longer light”. A Fight of Britain Memorial Flight flypast moreover venerated of us that fought.

The Crimson Arrows are performing a flypast over Belfast (14: 00) and London (17: 30) – the main time this type of flypast will happen for the reason that London Olympics.

Characterize copyright Reuters

Characterize caption The flypast is undoubtedly one of many few bodily events marking VJ Day this one year because of the coronavirus

A portray montage featuring Prince Philip and other veterans is being shown on a desire of grand screens right thru the UK.

On Saturday evening, the BBC will air a pre-recorded programme from 20: 30 known as VJ Day 75: The Nation’s Tribute, that can uncover the story of of us that served in the Far East and consist of a message from Prince William.

The provider at the Nationwide Memorial Arboretum used to be broadcast on BBC One between 09: 30 and 11: 30 BST.

VJ Day 75: The Nation’s Tribute shall be aired from 20: 30 BST.

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