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hedgefairy · 4 years ago

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Okay, I know, I know, it's already old news, everybody and their uncle in the costuming community has already talked it over, but anyhoo, I made notes when I crawled my way through effing Bridgerton and I will be damned if I don't vomit them onto this site. I have 32 pages of this shit, I'm not gonna throw that away.

I'm also typing this on my phone because I'm stuck on a trainride that's just doubled in length because this is the 2021 Northern German snow storm. What, there's snowflakes on the rails? We cannot possibly keep up our schedule, say goodbye to 90% of the connections.

Okay, on to Bridgerton, Episode 1

We're in Britain (oh, London, okay), allegedly 1813. I see people who are clearly meant to be asympatico, but is this size incusivity I spot there? Daring! Gasp! Me li...

Oh wait, no. The character is promptly shamed for her figure (which is mostly caused by the horrible cut of her dress. Every size can look great in Regency garb, but never mind, we need to make the "fat one" look bad!).

Also, no shifts under the stays. Why. There was obviously enough budget, don't tell me you couldn't afford a few strappy tops - it's not like the rest is historically accurate, so it would have sufficed to send some poor underpaid intern to H&M and get some. Nvm, that wouldn't be sexay.

Wait, is the garishly dressed (always a sign of a character of bad character in a costume drama) woman Delphine from Selfridge? Does she always have to play bitches? That's not nice, and just because she has a recognisable face, which by modern (read: americanised) standards is not favourable enough. Ugh. But I like the actress, so I'll let it slide (for now).

Lol, buttocks.

Not sure about the girls' dresses. Also, the Queen is a WOC, cool!

Oh no, one of the Featherington sisters faints! But that's okay because the Featheringtons are just comic relief and foil anyway.

I get weird incest vibes from the Bridgertons.

So the court is clearly 18th century and the show is set in the 1810s. I've by now seen several explanations for this decision, I still think it robs the Queen of reproductions of her actual historical gowns which were heavily inspired by the 18th century but so. Magnificently. Weird. It would have been so neat, and more of a "hey, I'm kinda out of touch with things" vibe, but hey, I'm not the one getting paid for making those taffeta gowns here (her hair is glorious, tho).

I'm very into the intro.

That Regency gossip girl is a real b, not unlike the Dowager Countess of Downton (unpopular opinion, I think she's pretty overrated, yes, I like Maggie Smith).

Again, no shifts.

Where do I know the "pragmatic" Bridgerton sister from? Ah, it's The Paradise. And Jonathan Strange. (Wait, she's my age. And she's supposed to be a teenager. Man, do I love a good Dawson casting. I like the actress, though, she has a face ™!).

Aaaah. We get it. She's the spirited one. She also doesn't care about dresses because she's not like other girls™. I really like her voice (but she still doesn't sound like a teenager).

The heck is up with Lady F's dress and that of her friend? Oh, yeah. Antagonist fashion.

Of course the Featheringtons are Horrid Hags™ aside from Penny who's nice, but the pudgy one (at least we don't get a case of "she's not conventionally attractive so she's bad").

Oooh, the cousin! Supposed to suck, but ofc she's a stunner, and only Penny (who's the nice one, remember!) is delighted to have her around. She's also a POC, which is nice but apparently that means she does not follow fashion, hair-wise. I would have loved to see some Regency hair on her, it would have been so pretty *cries in Greek updo*

Ugh, we're still in Ep. 1, typing this on my phone was a bad idea.

Lady Danbury and the Duke guy are delightful with each other (more POC! So neat!).

The girl the oldest Bridgerbro screws is apparently a singer, which isn't up to status for his doucheship, and she doesn't wear a shift.

The music at the ball sounds like something from the Top 40s, but I'm woefully ignorant of contemporary music charts so I can't tell what it is. I like it when they do that in historical-ish works, making well-known pop or rock stuff work for the ambience (ugh, that dance scene to Golden Years in Knight's Tale. My heart. In a good way.)

I dig the Ducktail hair of Penny's crush. Oh, wait, that's a Bridgerbro. I don't quite get why the hair trends of the time don't apply to the POC characters or extras, but seeing how most white characters also show a shameful disregard for the weirdnes and gloriosity (that's not a word) that is early 1800s hair (the 1830s take the cake, tho) despite those hairdos being basically designed for white people hair, I don't think I care much (well, I do, but about all of them). Overall the hair is horrid and not very 1810s. Let's just leave it at that.

Like a good old romance novel (I've since been told that Bridgerton is supposed to be a pastiche of such novels, but I really couldn't tell from the series, not at all, and I'm not inclined to read the books) we have

a pretty, kind, superpure daughter of the main family

the mean matriarch (could have been an aunt, too, but here she's the mum) of the rivalling or antagonist family

a spirited daughter of the main family (in most romance novels this would be our heroine but so far she refreshingly lacks a love interest and pretty daughter seems to get the most screen time)

a Horrid Suitor™

a Hot Suitor™ who doesn't want attention

a really good and doting good parent

Lol, misheard Greece for Grease with Ducktail Bridgerbro, whose name is Colin, apparently. This is funny because of his Danny Zuko memorial hair.

Overall a bit too much bling for my taste, and too few pearls. It looks like an episode of My Super Sweet Sixteen with a Regency theme.

Of course the romance is going to be the Pretty One aka. Daphne and the Duke and he's even bros with her eldest bro. Wait, are they exes? I can haz bi? No? Aww, shucks. Maybe in another episode (spoiler: no).

Okay, WHAT is it with Lady F's dresses and hair. Like, she reminds me of Mars Attacks. Which, as you might remember, was not set in the Regency period.

Lord B (Bridgerbro the Eldest) sucks, he's screwing Opera Girl without any intention of marrying her but he's bitchy about his sister being ogled by his Eton (or wherever) bestie?

Oh, I'm in Hamburg now. And my train back home got canceled, so back to Berlin it is because there's not a single option to get to Hanover tonight, at least that's what the lady from the train station is saying, "oh well, you'll have to go back and try again tomorrow", so that's awesome...

Honestly, if it weren't so late and I didn't have things to do at home I'd find this terribly exciting.

Back to Bridgerton!

Where were we? Ah.

I can't even read my own annotation. Something about George III. I think I was upset about how they totally ignored that it's called Regency because George IV acted as the regent king, and he doesn't even feature in the series, I guess because they wanted to play up the Queen? Not a fan, because thanks to Horrible Histories I'm quite fond of that guy.

Again, no shifts.

Oh, look, it's Horrid Suitor™, destined for leftovers.

The Featherington cousin gets all the attention but no fleshed-out character.

Penny Featherington's dog is named Lord Byron, which ❤️

I like the Duke! He's there, drinking in his club (even though they're a patriarchal remnant of the past I have a weird appreciation for stuffy Gentlemen's Clubs, I blame Bertie Wooster and the Drones), calling Lord B out for his general fuckery.

Oh no, Ducktail Colin is more into the Cousin than Penny, who obviously pines for him!

Thank you, Lord B, for enabling Horrid Suitor™. Nobody asked you to be such a fucktwit.

The Queen is, of course, a bit of a bitch, but patronage from cool Lady *scrolls up for name* Danbury ensues for Protagonist Girl™ Daphne.

"I wish they had found a better trend language", what the heck did I even mean by that? That's what you get for just scribbling down notes while watching and simultaneously sewing. 18th century pants, in case you wanted to know.

Cousin is angry, probably because Lady F behaves like Cinderella's evil stepmother, because Cousin is prettier than her daughters and gets, like, all the suitors because Lord B bitched away everyone who wanted to get into Daphne's dowry ifyouknowwhatImeanwinkwinknudgenudge, right across the street into Cousins parlour.

The Bridgertons are annoyingly perfect. Ugh.

Oh look, it's "banter" between Daphne and Dukey! It's so Pride & Prejudice! It's almost a tiny bit Shakespeare! I put banter in parentheses because wow, nope, I'm not getting any chemistry here.

Uh, Lady B calls out Lord B (aka. her son aka. Bridgerbro the Eldest) for his screwery with Opera Girl and his outpimpery of his sister to Horrid Suitor™, buuuurrrrrnnn. He promptly calls of his affair with Opera Girl.

No shifts!

Penny gets to dance with Ducktail Colin at the thing! Good for her, but it's a country dance with jumping and fun, because she's a) the pudgy character and b) a Featherington, so it can't be something romantic and pretty (I personally like country dances, but they aren't protagonist dances).

Oooh, Cousin had her period, oh no, oh snap, oh she didn't, because she's PREGNANT! Shit, that's problematic, and not because she's an unmarried woman in the 1810s, but because she gets close to no lines at all so far, and suddenly she's pregnant and telling Lady F that she sucks for being privileged, violence ensues, this is ugly. Man, I get what some critics mean by "the POC actors*actresses get all the problems" and that not exactly being great.

Horrid Suitor™ makes property claims about Daphne, eeewwwww, thanks to Lord B's general suckiness, ewww, r@pe attempt ensues, was that really necessary? It doesn't really fit in with the rest of the series and generally nope, yay, broken nose! (which was indeed totally necessary). Nice one, and probably the only scene so far (spoiler: overall) in which I actually like Daphne. Dukey thinks a mean left hook is attractive, and, generally speaking, he's not wrong.

Daphne and Dukey come up with a pseudo-shakespearean plot to pretend to be totally into each other so she can attract suitors by being not available and he gets not to have fangirls by being not available, and as someone who has read a few too many historical-ish bodice rippers I know exactly where this is going. I mean, come on.

I can't see enough of the following choreography to complain about it. Man, I miss historical dance classes.

And that concludes Ep. 1! Finally! Thank you for getting this far, sorry for all of it (especially typos, it's the bane of unwanted autocorrect), I guess?

Update on the train situation: I've been told by the ticket control person that I shouldn't get my hopes up until noon tomorrow.

To be continued,

because I didn't take these 32 pages of notes for nothing.

#Bridgerton #Hedgewatch #historical costuming #Well not really because wow these costumes #Thank you for travelling with Deutsche Bahn #2021 norther Germany snow storm #Trainwriting #Snarky commentary #I wish I was better at captions but it's late and I've been wearing a mask for four hours straight now and I'm hungry #Bridgerbore

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arcticdementor · 4 years ago

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But police violence, and Trump’s daily assaults on the presidential competence standard, are only part of the disaster. On the other side of the political aisle, among self-described liberals, we’re watching an intellectual revolution. It feels liberating to say after years of tiptoeing around the fact, but the American left has lost its mind. It’s become a cowardly mob of upper-class social media addicts, Twitter Robespierres who move from discipline to discipline torching reputations and jobs with breathtaking casualness.

The leaders of this new movement are replacing traditional liberal beliefs about tolerance, free inquiry, and even racial harmony with ideas so toxic and unattractive that they eschew debate, moving straight to shaming, threats, and intimidation. They are counting on the guilt-ridden, self-flagellating nature of traditional American progressives, who will not stand up for themselves, and will walk to the Razor voluntarily.

They’ve conned organization after organization into empowering panels to search out thoughtcrime, and it’s established now that anything can be an offense, from a UCLA professor placed under investigation for reading Martin Luther King’s “Letter from a Birmingham Jail” out loud to a data scientist fired* from a research firm for — get this — retweeting an academic study suggesting nonviolent protests may be more politically effective than violent ones!

Now, this madness is coming for journalism. Beginning on Friday, June 5th, a series of controversies rocked the media. By my count, at least eight news organizations dealt with internal uprisings (it was likely more). Most involved groups of reporters and staffers demanding the firing or reprimand of colleagues who’d made politically “problematic” editorial or social media decisions.

…

In the most discussed incident, Times editorial page editor James Bennet was ousted for green-lighting an anti-protest editorial by Arkansas Republican Senator Tom Cotton entitled, “Send in the troops.”

I’m no fan of Cotton, but as was the case with Michael Moore’s documentary and many other controversial speech episodes, it’s not clear that many of the people angriest about the piece in question even read it. In classic Times fashion, the paper has already scrubbed a mistake they made misreporting what their own editorial said, in an article about Bennet’s ouster.

…

As Cotton points out in the piece, he was advancing a view arguably held by a majority of the country. A Morning Consult poll showed 58% of Americans either strongly or somewhat supported the idea of “calling in the U.S. military to supplement city police forces.” That survey included 40% of self-described “liberals” and 37% of African-Americans. To declare a point of view held by that many people not only not worthy of discussion, but so toxic that publication of it without even necessarily agreeing requires dismissal, is a dramatic reversal for a newspaper that long cast itself as the national paper of record.

Incidentally, that same poll cited by Cotton showed that 73% of Americans described protecting property as “very important,” while an additional 16% considered it “somewhat important.” This means the Philadelphia Inquirer editor was fired for running a headline – “Buildings matter, too” – that the poll said expressed a view held by 89% of the population, including 64% of African-Americans.

…

The main thing accomplished by removing those types of editorials from newspapers — apart from scaring the hell out of editors — is to shield readers from knowledge of what a major segment of American society is thinking.

It also guarantees that opinion writers and editors alike will shape views to avoid upsetting colleagues, which means that instead of hearing what our differences are and how we might address those issues, newspaper readers will instead be presented with page after page of people professing to agree with one another. That’s not agitation, that’s misinformation.

The instinct to shield audiences from views or facts deemed politically uncomfortable has been in evidence since Trump became a national phenomenon. We saw it when reporters told audiences Hillary Clinton’s small crowds were a “wholly intentional” campaign decision. I listened to colleagues that summer of 2016 talk about ignoring poll results, or anecdotes about Hillary’s troubled campaign, on the grounds that doing otherwise might “help Trump” (or, worse, be perceived that way).

…

All these episodes sent a signal to everyone in a business already shedding jobs at an extraordinary rate that failure to toe certain editorial lines can and will result in the loss of your job. Perhaps additionally, you could face a public shaming campaign in which you will be denounced as a racist and rendered unemployable.

…

Even people who try to keep up with protest goals find themselves denounced the moment they fail to submit to some new tenet of ever-evolving doctrine, via a surprisingly consistent stream of retorts: fuck you, shut up, send money, do better, check yourself, I’m tired and racist.

…

Each passing day sees more scenes that recall something closer to cult religion than politics. White protesters in Floyd’s Houston hometown kneeling and praying to black residents for “forgiveness… for years and years of racism” are one thing, but what are we to make of white police in Cary, North Carolina, kneeling and washing the feet of Black pastors? What about Nancy Pelosi and Chuck Schumer kneeling while dressed in “African kente cloth scarves”?

There is symbolism here that goes beyond frustration with police or even with racism: these are orgiastic, quasi-religious, and most of all, deeply weird scenes, and the press is too paralyzed to wonder at it. In a business where the first job requirement was once the willingness to ask tough questions, we’ve become afraid to ask obvious ones.

On CNN, Minneapolis City Council President Lisa Bender was asked a hypothetical question about a future without police: “What if in the middle of the night, my home is broken into? Who do I call?” When Bender, who is white, answered, “I know that comes from a place of privilege,” questions popped to mind. Does privilege mean one should let someone break into one’s home, or that one shouldn’t ask that hypothetical question? (I was genuinely confused). In any other situation, a media person pounces on a provocative response to dig out its meaning, but an increasingly long list of words and topics are deemed too dangerous to discuss.

The media in the last four years has devolved into a succession of moral manias. We are told the Most Important Thing Ever is happening for days or weeks at a time, until subjects are abruptly dropped and forgotten, but the tone of warlike emergency remains: from James Comey’s firing, to the deification of Robert Mueller, to the Brett Kavanaugh nomination, to the democracy-imperiling threat to intelligence “whistleblowers,” all those interminable months of Ukrainegate hearings (while Covid-19 advanced), to fury at the death wish of lockdown violators, to the sudden reversal on that same issue, etc.

It’s been learned in these episodes we may freely misreport reality, so long as the political goal is righteous. It was okay to publish the now-discredited Steele dossier, because Trump is scum. MSNBC could put Michael Avenatti on live TV to air a gang rape allegation without vetting, because who cared about Brett Kavanaugh – except press airing of that wild story ended up being a crucial factor in convincing key swing voter Maine Senator Susan Collins the anti-Kavanaugh campaign was a political hit job (the allegation illustrated, “why the presumption of innocence is so important,” she said). Reporters who were anxious to prevent Kavanaugh’s appointment, in other words, ended up helping it happen through overzealousness.

…

The traditional view of the press was never based on some contrived, mathematical notion of “balance,” i.e. five paragraphs of Republicans for every five paragraphs of Democrats. The ideal instead was that we showed you everything we could see, good and bad, ugly and not, trusting that a better-informed public would make better decisions. This vision of media stressed accuracy, truth, and trust in the reader’s judgment as the routes to positive social change.

For all our infamous failings, journalists once had some toughness to them. We were supposed to be willing to go to jail for sources we might not even like, and fly off to war zones or disaster areas without question when editors asked. It was also once considered a virtue to flout the disapproval of colleagues to fight for stories we believed in (Watergate, for instance).

Today no one with a salary will stand up for colleagues like Lee Fang. Our brave truth-tellers make great shows of shaking fists at our parody president, but not one of them will talk honestly about the fear running through their own newsrooms. People depend on us to tell them what we see, not what we think. What good are we if we’re afraid to do it?

#matt taibbi #journalism in action #new progressive orthodoxy #unofficial official religion #great awokening #purging the heretics and unbelievers #freeze peach is not just an ice cream flavor

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baldwin-montclair · 5 years ago

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Baldwin’s Nightingale (Part 9)

Characters: Baldwin Montclair/OC

Timeframe: After the S1 Finale, TV Show canon MOSTLY (some S2 and Shadow of Night).

Spoilers: Shadow of Night, Book of Life and Time’s Convert

Summary: Baldwin and Alisha attend a charity silent auction where she gets to meet his other nephew, Gallowglass and a strange young witch with interesting abilities.

Tag requests: @christi14 @poemfreak306 @pookie-cleary

———

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

PART 5

PART 6

PART 7

PART 8

———

The drive was passed in relative silence but Alisha sensed Baldwin trying to think of something to say, deciding against it, then rewording, and then abandoning his train of thought, the entire time keeping his eyes on the road.

No small feat to render the world’s oldest politician speechless.

“You decided to drive yourself!” She pointed out, thinking of something to encourage him to speak.

“Seemed safer.” He answered, still intent on the task at hand, even more so than the night of their ‘date’.

Something had definitely changed in his demeanour, he was more alert to every source of movement.

“You don’t trust your driver?”

“I trust myself more.” He glanced across at her, “be careful tonight, do not go anywhere alone. Do you understand?”

“You really think a bunch of vampires and witches are going to crash a formal event?” She teased.

He sighed and shot her a warning glance.

“Okay,” she held up her hands in mock surrender, “at your command, my lord!”

Finally, he cracked a smile at this.

“Marcus is right, I think I might like hearing you say that a bit too much!”

“Good.” She noticed his bare wrist.

“Did you forget your watch?”

In what could only be described as instinct, he placed his hand over where it should be.

“Fuck! How did I forget that?”

“Are you alright?” She regarded the usually unflappable vampire with concern.

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” he admitted, “this is an unusual situation.”

“You’ve never gone to one of these fancy events with a plus one before?”

“I have, more times than I can count.”

“Wow, I feel so special now.” She teased.

“No, that’s...that’s not what I meant.”

“I know, I was just messing with you.”

“Are you up for this? Truly? If you don’t want to do this tonight, we don’t have to, I’ll think of something else.”

“No, I want to, I’m curious. Usually end up in the corner with the rest of the orchestra at these things, will be interesting to see it as a guest. Besides, you told me the congregation are worried you’ve kidnapped me or whatever. Seeing us at an event together will put out that fire.”

He glanced across at her.

“What?” She asked, sensing the question he was unsure about asking.

“How are you, really?”

“I’m sad,” she admitted with a shrug, “I miss Michael. I’m also fucking furious at this Gerbert bastard who’s the cause of what happened to him. But, at least I can say that now because I’m not hyper focused on being terrified, thanks to you.”

“I didn’t do anything.” He reiterated.

“You know that you don’t have to do anything beyond just be there? Not everything needs a response or a fix. Besides, I’ve been living your space for a couple of days, you bought me this probably insanely expensive dress and this terrifyingly heavy jewellery to go with it.”

“That’s nothing and you’re staying with me until it’s safe.”

“You think that’s not doing anything? Just be you, it’s helping.”

“‘Me’ can be kind of an asshole.”

“Don’t you dare talk about you like that!” She ribbed gently, making him laugh.

“I’ll try.”

“Feel a bit less uptight?”

“Yes,” he nodded, “the last time you did that we hadn’t even spoken yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“The first time I heard you play, I was so close to firing the entire trading floor. You saved a lot of people their jobs.”

“I knew there was a vampire there that night, your stare is kind of intense. Then, it actually softened, I thought I was imagining it.”

“Your playing is amazing, I would love to hear it again, when you’re ready.”

“Well,” she grinned, “if you’re good, I might treat you to a private concert later!”

Alisha had entered this building possibly hundreds of times in her life, the New York Public Library. Between returning books for Michael or as part of an orchestra for an expensive wedding reception, she thought she knew it well enough.

It was much different being on the other side of the complimentary champagne, especially when Baldwin seemed to be the guest of honour.

“I feel like I’m on a date with Bruce Wayne.” She whispered to him as they made their way through the obviously wealthy crowd.

“Who?” He asked, then smiled when she gave him a shocked look.

“Hilarious.” She retorted.

“Baldwin Montclair,” a man she recognised as the mayor approached, “I always invite you in the vain hope you’ll attend. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate your contributions. That said, I was surprised to receive your bid for this one. It’s not a collection you’re usually interested in.”

He turned his attention to Alisha.

“Do I have you to thank for this Miss...” he held out his hand in greeting.

“Black, Alisha Black,” she accepted the handshake, “Mr Mayor, I don’t believe anyone could influence his mind on anything.”

“That’s not true, I believe both myself and Mr Montclair here share the same weakness. Beauty, my dear.”

Baldwin cleared his throat.

“Speaking of which, I haven’t see your lovely wife, is she quite well?” The forced look of innocence on Baldwin’s face as he asked the question was something to behold.

“Uh, no...dear thing she is quite poorly this evening. If you’ll excuse me!” He hurried off.

“What was that about?”

“Mayor Family Values is sleeping with his intern,” he nodded towards the twenty-year-old he was approaching, “the reason his patient wife is not here.”

“How do you even know that?”

“Vampire senses, sometimes we pick up things we wish we hadn’t.”

“And I though daemons cornered the market on gossip, that must be really quite handy for you.”

“How so?”

“Blackmail, spying, that sort of thing.”

“This from the woman who introduces herself like she’s 007, Black, Alisha Black.”

“I knew it!”

“What?”

“You might not follow popular culture but I knew you’d like James Bond!”

“Perhaps my particular talents have helped me in some cases.”

“Baldwin the spy, that’s interesting.”

“I was never the spy, that’s Matthew’s domain.”

“What’s yours?”

“Tactics, discovering the chinks in the armour, the break in the ranks. Finding weaknesses and exploiting them.”

“What if there’s no weakness?”

“There always is.”

“Ah, you’re the General.”

“I suppose.”

“So what’s the General’s weakness?” She asked playfully but the way his eyes flit from hers to survey the room told her she may have overstepped.

“Sir,” a waiter stood with a silver tray on which rested a crystal whiskey glass, “and for the lady?” He asked when Baldwin lifted the glass.

Baldwin saved her by handing her the glass.

“I’ll have the same again.” He told the waiter.

“Thank you, I had no idea what I was supposed to ask for.” She told him before taking a drink.

“You ask for whatever you want,” he told her pointedly, “always ask for whatever you want!”

Alisha felt the flitting sensation of cold from across the room as an alarmingly tall but genial enough looking vampire approached them both.

Even if he did have an expression of surprise.

“Uncle, I really did not think you would be here.” The blonde greeted with the same respectful tone Marcus used.

“You’re Gallowglass, right?” Alisha asked.

“Yes,” the vampire’s expression lightened, “he’s been telling you about me!”

“Not exactly,” Baldwin scowled, “this is-“

“Alisha, I know,” Gallowglass gave her a polite nod, “Marcus has already shared the gossip with me about the beautiful violinist who has utterly enthralled our dear Uncle Baldwin!”

“Tell him it was nice to meet him, he left before I had a chance to say so myself. I doubt your dear Uncle Baldwin will pass that on.” She answered to receive a hearty laugh before he went back to looking around with a slightly nervous air.

“Why are you here, you despise these events?” Baldwin asked.

“That’s not true, I-“

“Gallowglass, there you are.” At his side was a smaller young woman, still taller than Alisha and with an athletic bearing. Stunningly beautiful with long, dark, curled hair and piercing blue eyes.

“Becca, you can’t be here right-“

“Nonsense!” She responded with some excitement.

Baldwin’s attention was elsewhere, he did not see the amused and familiar gaze the young woman was giving him.

“Apologies, Gallowglass, keep Alisha entertained for a moment.” Baldwin stated distractedly.

“I’m kind in the middle-“ Gallowglass protested.

“That wasn’t a request!”

“Yes Seur!” Gallowglass responded like an army private given an order by a superior officer.

“I’m sorry about that,” Alisha told Gallowglass when Baldwin left, “he’s-“

“No need, I know my Uncle,” Gallowglass answered with a comforting smile, “where are my manners, Alisha, this is Rebecca.”

“Becca.” The girl held her hand out and Alisha accepted the gesture, a witch, possibly.

It was difficult to tell.

“Are you a friend of the family?” Alisha asked her, eliciting a giggle.

“That’s an interesting way to put it.” She checked her watch.

It was an odd selection for such a stylish young woman. Antique, brown leather straps with a custom hole to fit her slender wrist and a large clock face with multiple dials, most likely a man’s timepiece, like an old fashioned pilot’s watch from the 40’s.

It was definitely an antique.

“You stay, I’ll deal with that small problem,” Becca told him, turning back to Alisha, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Gallowglass frowned at her statement but she was gone before he could voice his displeasure.

“She’s strange! I like her!” Alisha told him with a smile.

“We’ll see!” He answered just as cryptically.

“Apologies.” Baldwin returned.

“I should have known!” Gallowglass rolled his eyes.

“What?” Alisha looked between them.

“I’ll tell you, when the bid is successful.” Baldwin answered.

“What’d you bid on?” She asked him.

“You know that Matthew has one in his tower? Just ask him for it...when he gets back.” Gallowglass suggested.

“We have a winner of our Lot One. A recently uncovered Guarneri Violin. Created by Bartolomeo Giuseppe Guarneri, del Gesu circa 1725. Congratulations to our anonymous benefactor Bidder 45, and thanks on behalf of the arts of this great city.” The mayor announced to a round of applause.

“That is at least seventeen million.” Alisha told them both.

“Is that all?” Gallowglass grinned.

“I don’t understand, how’s anyone supposed to know who won, or what bid won?” She asked as the Mayor proceeded to announce the winners of the other lots.

“That’s kind of the point, the lots are worth a fortune. For security and privacy the bidders are kept confidential.” Gallowglass explained.

“That makes sense. I saw a necklace that had to be at least a million dollars.”

“If it’s the one I think you mean, times that by at least five!” The blonde laughed.

“I’m sorry, I think I just had a stroke, what did you say?” She stared, stunned.

“Marie Antionette owned it, for a time.” Baldwin chimed in.

“Yikes.”

“Exactly.”

“So, did you win?” She asked Baldwin.

He retrieved his phone from his pocket, reminding her that she still needed to replace the one Christina broke.

“I’ll let you both get back to it, I have to go see what kind of trouble that Lass got herself into. I’ll catch up later. Alisha, you have put me on equal gossip footing with Marcus,” he put his hand over his heart, “I thank you.”

“I’m glad to have met you Gallowglass.”

“The witch? Be careful.” Baldwin told him sternly.

“Uncle, you have no idea!” He left them and Baldwin turned his attention to his phone before standing behind her.

“Baldwin, what are you-“

“Shh,” he whispered lightly in her ear, “I have a gift for you, close your eyes.”

Excitedly, she did as he told her as he took the glass from her and put the phone in her hands.

“This had better not be that necklace.” She warned him jokingly.

“Open them.”

The words on the phone didn’t register initially until she realised what she was seeing.

Baldwin Montclair - Bidder 45

She dragged in a breath that seemed to stick there.

“You can’t.”

“I did, it’s already paid for.”

“It’s far too much, seventeen million dollars.”

“There was some light competition, so it was actually twenty-two million.”

“But-“

“You don’t like it.”

“Like it? I’m terrified to look at it in case just doing that decreases the value.”

“At that price you’ll do more than look at it.”

“You’re not suggesting-“

“It was created to be loved by someone and it deserves that person to be you.”

“I really want to say thank you but that is so not enough.” She turned to look at him, oblivious to the judgemental eyes around them.

“Words can be inadequate, for what matters. We sometimes have to let our actions speak for us.” He agreed, tucking her hair behind her ear, his faint smile thoughtful.

“Do you understand?”

It wasn’t the expense, or even the before-believed-unreachable-prize, but what it meant and what he was saying with it that moved her to lean forward, close enough so that only he could hear.

“I love you too.” She told him and started to pull back to see his reaction, with slight trepidation, hoping she hadn’t misread his non-verbal statement.

Instead he held her close

“We need to go home, now,” he told her, his voice just above a growl, “or there’s a danger that I take you right here in front of these people.

“What makes you think I’d try and stop you?” She hit back, the change in his voice and his possessive words igniting her own arousal.

“Tempting, but I don’t think so. I want you, to myself, in my bed and gasping my name because you’re hoarse from screaming it!” He took her hand and led her quickly out of the hall and towards the valet.

All she could do was marvel at his ability to claim the last word as there was nothing she could say to follow his detailed plans for the rest of the evening.

———

Rebecca watched Baldwin and Alisha drive off from her place on the balcony of the building as Gallowglass joined her.

“You don’t know who she is, do you?” He asked her.

“Of course I know who she is.” She looked him in the eye as she answered, completely truthfully.

“Aye, but you’ve never met her before!”

“You know I can’t tell you about the future I’m from.”

“I remember that from when your parents tracked me down the first time, dear cousin. For them that’ll be happening now! Time-walking is a guaranteed headache!”

“She’s his mate, isn’t she?” She asked him and he gave a nod.

“All things considered, I wish she wasn’t.”

Rebecca gave him a questioning look.

“I’ve always gotten along with your father more than I have our Uncle, but to find and lose his mate in so short a time, I wouldn’t wish that on him.”

“I didn’t say-“ she started.

“Just because I’m pretty, doesn’t mean I’m dumb!” He joked.

“Who knows, maybe all this time messing we’ve been doing will change something!”

“Becca!”

“I’ll see you...soon!” She grinned and gave the vampire a hug.

“It’ll be a while before you can talk and even longer, I imagine, that you stop!”

“No, otherwise how would I get a word in with you around!”

“Oh, so I am still around am I?”

“Merde!” She swore.

“You are your father’s daughter!”

———

PART 10

#baldwin montclair #baldwin de clermont #adow spoilers #baldwin’s nightingale #adow fic #adow #a discovery of witches

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winteringinrome · 5 years ago

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Tuesday 2 February 1819

SH:7/ML/E/2/0103 | SH:7/ML/E/2/0104

7 40/60 12 1/2

Before and after breakfast from example 2 p.233 to question 7 p.237 vol.1 Hutton A Course in Mathematics1 – At 3 1/2 down the new bank to the library – Miss Browne was there. Walked with her past Chase Hall, the Shay2, Black Wall, and up Callista Lane as far as 1/2 way between King Cross and Willow Field. Returned down Callista Lane, took 3 or 4 turns up and down there and parted with Miss Browne at their own gate at 5 o’clock by the church (our clock 1/4 hour too soon).

Miss Browne said she had felt much better for what I said to her on Saturday about Mr. Kelly3. My style of manner and conversation was flattering as usual – surely they must spoil her for other people. She seemed to relish my (well wrapped up) compliments. Better than she ever did before and certainly likes me. I think I could succeed in time.

Went immediately to the Greenwoods’, Cross-hill, staid tea, as was my intention, thinking I ought so to do or they would fancy, from my never going, I was offended – Mrs. Greenwood and all the 5 young ladies at home, the 2 youngest scarce spoke a word – Mrs. Browne called there the other morning – a repetition of her conversation about cooking and eating etc., an account of Miss Browne’s unbecoming dress at the assembly, a sort of quiz4 upon her excellence and practice in domestic matters, and spoke of her in a sort of genial style of ridicule – her unassuming quietness and constant attention to propriety cannot be supposed to suit the Greenwoods.

Account of a party 10 days ago at Miss Pollard’s – Played ‘rural games’, French blindsman’s buff etc. Mrs. Pollard (of Green hill) set as a forfeit, that Miss Greenwood should sit down on the floor with the man she liked best, and that they should kiss ‘wheel-barrow fashion’5 – all this going on when the servants brought wine and cake!!

The Greenwoods said they heard I was going to be married to Mr. George Priestley6 – they little know me. Talking afterwards of society, I said how very much I preferred ladies to gentlemen and, when each was to choose a walking companion for each day in the week, I said Miss Browne should be mine at least six days out of the seven. Married ladies were not to be named.

The Greenwoods vulgar as ever. I felt thoroughly ashamed of my company and, upon the whole, I know not when I had paid a visit that has displeased me so entirely. It was a few minutes after 10 by our clock when I got home. I could not resist saying I thought, without my mind changed, I should not drink tea at the Greenwoods again in a hurry. I know not how it is, I can less than ever get over the vulgarity of all the set of them. I shall waste few hours at Cross-hills in future.

Having had no dinner except a little tea and muffin, had a couple of slices of cold veal and some bread and butter just before I came upstairs.

The Misses Greenwood, while they were in the town this afternoon, met Mrs. Mitchell in great distress about her son Daniel concerning whom there had been a letter from London to say he was so much worse (of a fever caught in the dissecting room), that he could not survive many hours. Two of the students were already dead of the same kind of fever caught at the same time and place.

Fine frosty day – the roads very slippy. I did not look but the Farenheit must have been lower 2 or 3 degrees than yesterday.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––

[1] If you want to Math-along-with-Anne, you can read Hutton’s Mathematical Tracts here (NY edition rather than London so the pages don’t quite match up, but I imagine much is the same).

[2] Home of Jeremiah Rawson Snr. (Jeremiah and Christopher Rawson’s father)

[3] “From what was said I judged the connection would be only tolerable. I bade her however be consoled for if the match would be a prudent one and if her heart was set on it, her parents would certainly consent. But if not she had much better give it up at least till he had made his circumstances sufficiently eligible.” (Sat 30 Jan 1819 – (SH:7/ML/E/2/0102)

[4] Mockery

[5] Literally no idea what this would involve

[6] Probably the cousin of William Priestley (married to Eliza), but on the father’s side rather than the mother’s (which is Ann Walker’s side of the family)

#gentleman jack #anne lister #the real anne lister #anne lister's diaries #annelistercodebreaker #anne lister diary transcription #wir:annelisterdiarytranscription #wir:gentlemanjack #anne lister x maria browne

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chasingthecosmos · 5 years ago

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Call Me But Love

Fandom: Doctor Who Rating: T Pairing: The Doctor/Rose Tyler, Twelfth Doctor/Rose Tyler (The Doctor/Clara Oswald, Twelfth Doctor/Clara Oswald) Chapters: 15/40 Read on AO3 here.

“‘Oh, dear. Looks like we might have picked up an extra passenger,’ the Doctor grumbled to himself. His gaze raised to Rose’s once more and she was struck by the sheer intensity of it and the way that he managed to look at once so familiar, and yet so different from what she was used to. ‘Best find something to hold on to,’ he warned her ominously.”

A Season 8 & 9 AU centering around Rose Tyler and her newly-regenerated Doctor as they both struggle to maintain their relationship in the face of some unknown force that seems to be drawing them together. Will they be able to solve the mystery of who is pulling the strings before it’s too late?

This is a direct sequel to “By Any Other Name” and might be a bit confusing if you haven’t read that first. Tags will be updated as I go.

The destination that the Doctor seemed to deem "just the place" for their unexpected and unplanned date appeared to be some sort of train - and not just any train, but the Orient Express. And not just any Orient Express, but an Orient Express in space.

Rose took it all in with her usual expression of wide-eyed wonder, though there was an undercurrent of nervous tension that she couldn't quite seem to shake as she hesitantly searched the Doctor's thoughts and attempted to gauge his current emotions.

"Why are you smiling like that?" he asked her curiously as they stood near the doorway and stared out at the crowded dining car that he had led them to. When Rose turned to glance at the Doctor out of the corner of her eye, she could see that he was watching her as intently as she had just been searching his thoughts.

"Smiling like what?" she asked hesitantly.

"It's the sad smile. It's a smile, but you're sad," the Doctor insisted, his own expression darkening as he continued to watch her and he steadily grew more and more frustrated at his inability to puzzle her out. "It's confusing. It's like two emotions at once. It's like you're malfunctioning."

"I'm not sad," Rose assured him lightly, her hand curling tentatively around his elbow as she cautiously waited to see if he would push her away or not. When he didn't, she gently picked at the sleeve of the dark, fancy suit that he had donned for the occasion and added, "I'm just ... nervous."

Her hesitant declaration of nerves seemed to set off a fresh wave of anxious twitching for the Doctor as he sighed heavily and shifted awkwardly beside her. "I just thought this would be a good one to ..."

"Yeah. It is," Rose assured him eagerly, cutting off his grumbling words and flashing him a true, sincere smile. "It's a good choice."

"Yeah?" he mumbled hesitantly, his blue eyes searching her expression warily as though he expected her to dart back in the direction of the TARDIS at any moment.

Rose's smile widened as she tightened her grip on his arm and gently urged him forward further into the dining cart. Come on, Doctor, she whispered quietly against his thoughts, I seem to remember I was promised a date.

She quickly procured them each a sparkling glass of what was probably champagne (or, at least, a futuristic, alien-version of the classic Earth beverage) and hoped that it would be enough to loosen them both up enough to clear the air and allow them to actually have a pleasant evening out.

It didn't take long for the Doctor to go off on one of his long-winded, rambling explanations as he eagerly gazed out at the map of stars positioned just beyond the window that stood over the table that they had claimed as their own. Rose was only half-listening to him as she ran her gaze over his wide, excited eyes and the sharp-looking suit that he had donned for their special night out.

She supposed that she really should have known that he was taking this whole thing quite seriously when the TARDIS had gifted her with an elaborate, early-twentieth-century beaded dress and the Doctor had shown up back in the console room all done up in fine, evening wear. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen the Doctor dress up for one of their adventures out, and she knew instantly that he had done it entirely for her benefit. She made sure not to waste the precious gift as she slowly drew her gaze over the sharp, handsome figure that he cut against the backdrop of the fancy, old-fashioned dining car.

I'm trying to tell you about Thedion Four, Rose, the Doctor reminded her as he silently pulled against her thoughts and attempted to get her to focus back on his detailed explanation of the long-dead planet, though Rose could sense the pleased, smug turn that his thoughts had taken as he subtly returned her appraisal and let his gaze drop to her new dress.

You know, I'm beginning to suspect that the TARDIS isn't gifting me these outfits for my benefit at all, Rose murmured wryly as she primly sipped her glass of champagne and trained her gaze on the stars outside to give the impression that she didn't noticed the way that the Doctor was now watching her as intently as he had been analyzing the black hole outside just a moment before. It seems that every time she gives me a new costume, you're the only one who gets any enjoyment out of it.

Well, you can't always be teacher's pet, the Doctor teased her silently as he subtly dropped his hand to her waist and let his fingers gently grip her side for a moment before casually returning to fiddling with the edge of his champagne glass once more.

Rose could feel her pulse spiking within her veins as she finally put the last of her doubts and fears behind her and determined to make the most of this night that the Doctor had so graciously gifted her.

However, no trip with the Doctor could ever be completely without difficulties, and as word about a mysterious death and an eerie, folk tale mummy began to circulate through the rest of the passengers on board, Rose suspected that her impromptu date with her husband might have to be cut short. For that reason, she decided to waste no more time on dinner plans and instead quickly urged the Doctor to lead them back to their room for the night in an attempt to savor as much of the evening as she could before he inevitably led them off down the trail of some mystery or another.

The private car that the Doctor had procured for them was small and inherently intimate, but Rose decided to use those qualities to her advantage as she squeezed into the quiet space within and stepped as close to the Doctor as she could while still looking him in the eye.

"Thank you," she murmured quietly under her breath. She made sure to point out across their bond that the gratitude was for so many different things - not just this quiet evening planned specifically for her and another trip to see the stars. She was grateful for his forgiveness, for his patience, for his trust. She was thankful that they were still together after all of this time, and that he had at last fully opened up to her and let their telepathic bond be what it was always meant to be - a lifeline that connected her to the man who she loved most in all of time and space.

Over two-thousand-years out there wandering the stars, the Doctor mused silently as he gently cupped her face between his two hands and slowly let his eyes trail down to her lips, you're still the only one I've never been able to say "no" to.

Over a hundred-years and two different universes, Rose agreed bemusedly as she quietly parted her lips and held her breath as she waited for him to cross the small distance between them, there's never been anyone else but you.

The Doctor's eyes met hers for just a moment before he finally leaned in to kiss her, and Rose could sense that he continued to watch her even after her own eyes had slipped shut under the soft press of his lips. His touch was gentle but insistent as he slowly backed her up against the wall behind her and let their bodies become flush with one another as Rose eagerly returned his kiss and began to let her hands roam distractedly over his chest and shoulders.

The barest brush of the Doctor's tongue against hers was all the encouragement that Rose needed for their tender kiss to suddenly turn heated and passionate, and before long they were both fumbling blindly in the direction of the bed. They spent the rest of their time in their private quarters losing themselves in one another and silently reaffirming their love for each other as they whispered all manner of secrets and promises and devotions into one another's thoughts to make sure that the other person knew beyond a doubt that they were never, ever going to leave.

At the end of it all, Rose ended up collapsed against the Doctor's chest, silently counting his heartsbeats and breathing in his scent as he distractedly ran his fingers through her hair and traced nonsense patterns over her skin.

"You know, I'm sure it's nothing," the Doctor muttered quietly, his voice rumbling pleasantly in Rose's ear and making her eyelids slip shut involuntarily as her heart overflowed with quiet adoration for him. "Nothing. Definitely. Sure. Ninety-nine-percent sure."

"Mmm-hmm," Rose agreed distractedly, sensing the Doctor's thoughts running off down a million different rabbit trails all around them but not being able to bring herself to chase after any one of them. "What are you ninety-nine-percent sure of?"

"Well, that's quite high, isn't it?" the Doctor amended with a weary sigh. "Okay, okay - seventy-five."

"Well, that's jumped quite a bit," Rose mused teasingly.

"Yes. That's not good, is it?" he continued, his fingers distractedly drawing numbers and calculations across her sides and shoulders.

"You want to go chase down the mummy, don't you?" Rose grumbled as she heaved a long, weary sigh against him. She screwed up her expression as she slowly stretched her limbs in an attempt to motivate herself into moving again. She could already tell by the pattern of the Doctor's thoughts that there would be no talking him out of this mystery, it was now just a matter of whether or not she would join him on his newfound adventure (as though that could ever be in question).

Should have known this wasn't just some simple date ... Rose thought silently to herself as she slowly extricated her limbs from her bondmate's embrace. She made to get up and start rooting around the room for their abandoned clothes, but she came to a halt as she sat up on the edge of the bed and she instantly felt the Doctor's warm arms snake back around her middle once more, effectively locking her in place. If the solid familiarity of his chest at her back wasn't enough to take her breath away, the tender kiss he pressed deliberately to the skin of her neck certainly was.

"Yes, I'm interested in the creature that has the ability to kill someone in sixty-six seconds flat," he admitted quietly, his breath ghosting against her skin and making her shiver uncontrollably. "But no, I didn't plan this." I didn't plan any of it, really, he admitted silently through their bond. I just knew that wherever we ended up, I wanted to be there with you.

Rose shifted her weight slightly so that she could turn and meet the Doctor's gaze as she flashed him a dubious look that was completely ruined by the small, self-satisfied smile that she could feel curling up around the edges of her lips. "You know, Doctor, this whole angry, scary persona you put on really doesn't work when you go and say things like that."

Should have known you'd see right through me, precious girl, he muttered wryly as he leaned forward to press his lips to hers once more. Just like before, what started as a gentle, sweet gesture quickly turned heated when Rose instantly melted back into him and the Doctor slowly urged her back so that he could over her and press her into the mattress of their small, borrowed bed once more.

However, before they could let themselves grow too distracted, Rose ran her thumb gently across the Doctor's cheek and silently reminded him that there was a monster on board who was currently hunting down and killing passengers, and that such a threat might need their attention.

"Have I mentioned lately that I love you?" the Doctor whispered as he pressed a hard kiss to the underside of her jaw and silently thanked her for giving up her quiet night out for the sake of the other innocent lives on board. Without using words, he made it abundantly clear that he was so ridiculously proud of and pleased with her and that he could never in a thousand regenerations ever ask for anyone better.

Rose grinned as she pressed a final kiss to the corner of his mouth and then regretfully released her hold on him so that they could return to redressing and saving the day. "It could always do with repeating," she replied teasingly. "You certainly made me wait long enough the first time around."

"I love you," he whispered again, the soft look that he flashed her nearly undoing Rose's resolve and sending her crawling back into bed with him again. However, she forced herself to remain firm as she silently reminded them both of the many innocent lives that still remained on board and the pressing need to keep them all safe.

Still, they had both been waiting quite a while to get back to this point, so she decided to indulge herself for just a moment more as she leaned in one last time to level her face near his and whispered in reply, "Say it again."

"Rose Tyler ..." he began, his voice low and gravelly in a way that Rose simply couldn't resist, so she closed the last small space left between them and claimed those three precious words with her lips instead.

They eventually did uncover the truth of the mummy and saved as many of the remaining crew and passengers as possible, but neither of them could ever come to regret the night that they had spent together making up for lost time and missed opportunities on the Orient Express.

#doctor who #dw #fanfiction #fanfic #dw fanfic #dw fanfiction #doctor who fanfic #doctor who fanfiction #the doctor #rose tyler #twelfth doctor #twelve/rose #twelvexrose #the doctor/rose #the doctorxrose

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rovvboat · 6 years ago

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Painted Flaws - Colossus/Piotr Rasputin x villian!Reader

Part 1

A/N: i’m dead (in a good way) from writing this. Hope you enjoy from the bottom of my heart. A lot more to come! (this is also my first colossus smut uwu)

Word count: 4.8k

Warnings: smut, n s f w

Summary: You’re a villian with a moral grey area. You meet Piotr at an art exhibit, but both of you are there for completely different reasons. Though the attraction was inevitable, will it be enough? A growing passionate love wrought with secrecy, both of you try to move through this maze. But when the ball drops, what will you choose?

They all looked as pretentious as they were.

Prancing around, pretending to understand the art around them. As if they weren’t deliberately being conned by massive price inflation of seemingly valuable pieces. A bunch of rich snobs who could do better things with the money than hang it on their fucking wall in their private mansion and villas and– okay calm down. That’s not the priority here. You just have to look for the supplier, and make sure she gets the message.

You strode along the long hallways in your lace black long-sleeved, knee-length dress; complete with a cream clutch and pastel beige heels, and you undoubtedly got your fair share of stares from men and women alike. You didn’t look like the models on T.V., but you had your own allure that rendered you irresistible – much to your annoyance. On a normal day, you would prefer to dress a lot more like a hobo, just to keep yourself as much in the background as possible.

But on days like this, with these high-standing people, you had to put your best, charismatic-self out. And that means getting ogled at, but whatever.

You kept your eyes on every inch of the party, looking out for exit points and persons of interest. You had to judge every person you came into contact with, and for the most part they were all your standard issue snobs, with only a selective few who were genuinely interested in the art and artists. The other high-level celebrities were just there to hype up the party. It was a big event – but for you, it was important for an extremely different reason.

The supplier for today would make or break all future plans of The Hand, and it was pertinent for you to get the meeting set up with her.

After a few more moments of wandering, you spot a lady in a wheelchair, looking to be in her mid-40s with hair greying off at the edges; dressed in an elegant outfit of her own. Though she looked fragile, beneath that act lay an evil in its own right. The lady in question was your ‘’supplier’’, at least, that’s what you were told to call her ever since the beginning. You casually move towards her, but before you could make your presence known, two huge men in black suits, eyes covered by black visors, block your path. You stare them down, before showing them your business card – as if this wasn’t the thousandth time you’ve met with her. They inspect it and allow you past them, as you finally approach the lady.

‘’You look lovely, darling’’

You take her hand and kiss it, as is custom with her. ‘’I always look my best for the job. I can say the same about you.’’

She laughs heartily, ‘’Flattery will get you everywhere, love.’’ She motions for you to lean in, and you do.

‘’Tell me now, what is the important message I was supposed to receive?’’

‘’I’m sorry, I am not allowed to tell you here. But we have arranged for you to meet the Boss at midnight at a more private section of the gallery. If you wouldn’t mind, I could bring you to the room that we have arranged for you for the night. I’ve seen the place, and I can assure you that you will not be disappointed. May I bring you there personally?’’

‘‘Of course, darling. If that’s what you need to do.’’ She obliges.

You move to push her wheelchair, and before you do, you ask if she allows you to do so. She waves a hand granting permission. You slowly wheel her to the room, letting her take in the surrounding of the gallery and tell you about her long trip to New York, before allowing her to settle down in her private suite.

Once she was taken care of, you had the rest of the day, and you certainly did not want to spend it around these snobs. You walk along the string of the lesser coveted art pieces, bored out of your mind, when you hear a voice quip up from the end of the hallway. A large man was standing with a lady with short, styled hair by his side. They looked like they could siblings, from what you could tell.

They seemed very out of place in this gallery, though. He was a tall and brawny man, but he wasn’t dressed like a body guard, or a rich snobby collector – which raised some alarms.

Could he be a spy?

He’s wearing a navy-blue turtleneck with medium-khaki pants. He looked fashionable enough to seem like the artistic kind, but much too dressed down to be part of the target audience for this event. He was also at least 6 ft. tall, and you decided that those strong curves peeking out from under the sleeve fabric were definitely something worth investigating.

‘’Look NTW! This piece was made by one of the artists that inspired me when I first came to America. The use of colours is absolutely astound– ‘’ the man explains before he’s cut off.

The teenage girl next to him yawns. ‘’I’m sorry, Colossus. I’m just not an art person.’’

‘’Da. That is alright. You may go back to the mansion if this is not something you like. I just wanted for you to try something new, instead of being stuck inside all day.’’

‘’I think I’m going to go find Yukio, maybe she’ll be more interested in this than I am.’’ The girl pats him on the back and bids him farewell, walking past you to the exit.

You stride over towards the mysterious man, as he studies the details of the painting in front of him – even making sure to read the inscription on the plaques.

‘’I have never seen you around here before. Are you new?’’ You open. He jumps a little at your presence. He takes you in for a moment, his eyes wide. You smile and tilt your head at him, jolting him back to the conversation.

‘’Uh yes. I saw the sign outside about an art exhibit… and bought some tickets.’’ He responds in a thick accent – clearly Russian.

‘’You might have wandered too far from that particular art exhibit, my friend.’’ You point out. ‘’This one’s a little more of a… private event’’

‘’Oh, I am so sorry. I did not– ‘’

You laugh. ‘’Hey, it’s alright. If I’m being honest, out of everyone here, I think you probably deserve to be here the most. The rest of them… just look for prestige. Reputation is what matters to them, no matter how good the work might be. They might pretend to admire the work, but it’s all a game of who knows who.’’ You lament. He looks at you intently, curious about your thoughts of the art world.

You laugh again. ‘’I’m so sorry! It’s only been seconds since we’ve met and I’m already venting. Tell ya what, handsome. Since you had to listen to me be all negative about something you love, I’ll put your name on the guestlist, and you can spend the rest of the day admiring the artwork how it’s intended to be. The showcase ends tomorrow at 2am, so you can take your time and come back tomorrow as well.’’

‘’Oh no, I didn’t mind listening to you… I also think there are some things worth fixing in the community. But that is… very kind of you to put me on the guestlist. May I know your name?’’

‘’Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N. And yours?’’

‘’Piotr. Piotr Rasputin.’’ He puts out a hand to you. You go for a handshake, and revel at how big his hands were.

‘’Nice to meet you, Piotr. Well, I have some time on my hands. Maybe I could show you around? I would love to hear your perspective on certain works as well. Would that be alright with you?’’

‘’To have a beautiful lady offer to escort me around this wonderful gallery, I would be a foolish man to say no.’’ He remarks. You giggle as you loop an arm around his.

You spend the rest of the day sticking close to him. You talk to him about art, all its intricacies and your general disdain for the insincere – before enquiring more about himself. Piotr tells you about how different things are here and talks about his time as a farm boy and how he’s always been interested in painting and drawing. The time passes far too quickly for either of your liking – before a tall, brawny man in an expensive-looking suit approaches you, with urgency in his steps. Piotr tenses, and moves to stand between you and the man, but you hold him back gently with a hand to his shoulder.

‘’It’s alright, Piotr. This is an associate of mine.’’ You tell him, turning to the tall man. ‘’Do you have any updates for me?’’ You ask, your face stoic and devoid of all the emotion that you freely showed when you were with Piotr, who watches your change in demeanor with intrigue.

The man moves close to your ear and whispers something, before a look of disappointment crosses your face.

‘’I’m so sorry, Piotr. I’m going to have to cut our private tour short. But you are welcome to enjoy yourself for the rest of your evening. It was a pleasure talking to you.’’ You say before shifting to make your way to the problem.

‘’Wait!’’ A hand reaches out to grasp you, stopping you in your tracks. ‘’I apologise if I was too rough, but… will I see you again?’’

You give him a sad smile. ‘’Maybe.’’ You could tell he was crestfallen – as he let go of your hand – at your response. But you had no time to be thinking about prospective relationships at the moment, especially not when your job was on the line. He was sweet. And amazing company. But it wouldn’t be worth your time if you weren’t going to pursue him in the long run. He probably deserves better anyway.

After making a few calls, it turned out that the problem was that your Boss was caught up with a different matter, and because of that the meeting was postponed to midnight the next day; which only meant there was a whole day for you to focus on other areas of work. In the meantime, you ran some errands outside the gallery and returned the next day to make sure everything was going smoothly.

It had been a long day of checks and monitoring around the gallery, but your mind kept wandering to the man you met yesterday. Was he here today? You check your watch. It was already 11:50pm. You push your thoughts of the man away, and make your way to the meeting venue to ensure last minute checks.

As you walk down the long hallway, you spot a familiar figure – it was Piotr – studying the same artwork that he did the day before. From the back, you could tell he was dressed up for the venue this time around.

You wanted to approach him, but decided that would only serve to distract you. You got your priorities straight before making your way to the meeting.

Everything went according to plan, and you finally exit the room an hour later and out into the main room. You look around, your eyes searching for the familiar build of the man whose face shows up whenever you had the time to daydream. His piercing blue eyes, crinkling as he laughs heartily at a joke you made, or wide-eyed at your explanations of how certain industries work.

You realized that unlike all the other sleazebags you were exposed to, he never once touched you without permission or tried to cop a feel, but would always apologise if he felt he was pushing it.

But, alas, he was no where to be found. You escort the remaining visitors out of the gallery as a security guard comes up to you.

‘’Thank you for the assistance, I think there is one more person who is still around the ‘Hues’ exhibition. He said he was waiting for someone so I left him alone. Not sure if he’s still around though.’’

‘’I’ll handle it. You go ahead and take off’’ You smile at the guard. He gives you a nod before wandering off.

Your heart quickened at the words of the guard, and your feet took off toward that particular exhibit.

Please be there. Please be there.

The words ring through your head – you felt as if life was giving you another chance. Your heels clink furiously on the floor, in sync with the thumping of your heart through your chest, as you gained ground towards the exhibit. Everything felt so terribly loud, and you felt like he was going to slip through your hands if you didn’t catch up to him on time – and thinking about it made your heart pump faster still.

You look at your watch – 1:12AM. There was no way he was still here. You stop abruptly at the doorway to the Hues exhibit, and your hopes start to fall. You try to regain your composure, when you look up in front of you.

And there he was, in the dimly lit section of the gallery, taking in the sight of one of your most favourite pieces. A deep relief washes over you, as you let out all your tension in a sigh.

He looks at the painting for a long time, eyes wide in awe, before leaning down closer – hands in his pockets – to read the inscription.

The piece is one with a black background that slowly fades into lighter hues of grey then white, littered with smaller strokes of all the possible colours, but only in one of shade of each. The strokes form a spiral through to the medium grey in the middle – which ends off with a short vertical line of gold, and a horizontal line of silver – both of the same length – all of which came together to make it look like a telescope. It was a masterpiece in its own right – and you personally knew the artist behind the work.

‘’That’s a one-of-a-kind piece.’’ You say as you gracefully make your way into the smaller section of the gallery – meant for the best of the best works – as the sound of your stilettos against the marble flooring echoed through the room, catching Piotr’s attention; his head swivels around to catch your gaze, as you come to a stop next to him.

‘’It is… most beautiful.’’ He says, looking at you. You turn your head to him and smile.

‘’It’s nice to see you again, Piotr. What brings you here at 1am in the morning? And dressed to the nines, might I add. You look even better than you did yesterday.’’ You remark, as he gives you a shy smile in return – the blush on his cheeks stark against skin. You can’t help but want to eat him up. But before he responds, an ideas pops into your head.

‘’C’mon, I want to show you something,’’ you grab his wrist and tug him along behind you. You guide him up the steps behind the curtains at the very end of the room that has a ‘’restricted access’’ sign prominently hung on it.

‘’Are you sure we are allowed back here?’’ Piotr whispers to you, lowering himself to make sure that you could hear him. You laugh in response, but continue tugging him deeper into the studio.

Once you arrive at your destination, you walk over to the far wall and flip a heavy switch with a loud chunk. Lights buzz open to reveal an art studio with high ceilings and exquisite furnishing – fit for only, one could imagine, the ‘’royals’’ of the art world.

Beyond the small lounging area, there is a huge floor-to-ceiling length window which overlooks onto the front entrance of the art gallery, placed adjacent to a small area with tall shelves that also reached the ceiling. They held every colour you could ever imagine. Further into the room there were smaller windows, all made to adjustable to ensure that the lighting was always constant in the room. These windows faced the canvases and easels that were in the room – which were placed in a circular arrangement facing away from each other.

‘’This all looks so… fancy. And professional. Does this studio belong to you?’’ Piotr asks, awe-struck as he runs his hand along all the cases containing all the different paint colours.

‘’No. I’m not an artist, but I remember you told me yesterday that you were. This belongs to the painter of the piece you were looking at from before. And this– ‘’ you wave an arm as if to present the room to him– ‘’is where all the magic happens.’’ You say proudly, perched on the edge of the sofa. You look up to see Piotr, who’s now walking towards you. He looks like he has something to ask you. You tilt your head – your heart beat picks up again – and you straighten up to show that you’re listening. ‘’Got something on your mind, Piotr?’’

He gets close to you, and all of a sudden, his face is against yours, noses brushing past, as you melt under him – his lips eagerly meeting yours. You stand up to deepen the kiss, as his hand holds one side of your face.

He pulls away abruptly, but still looking at you with hooded eyes – the intensity of his gaze absolutely driving you wild.

‘’I am sorry to be so forward. But I… I could not stop thinking about you.’’ He breathes heavy.

‘’Me neither.’’

You let your palms run over his chest before tugging at his black tie, pulling him back into a kiss.

A few moments pass and you push him back, breaking the kiss abruptly. You stare at him, your eyes needy, as you walk towards him. You push him a little more and he relents, until his back is against the wall.

You push against him, your lips meeting his with an insatiable hunger – the warmth of your lips follow, inching down to his neck as his face lifts up to allow your presence; sucking and nibbling, leaving loving bruises in your wake. You unbutton his shirt, one by one – untucking it from his pants – leaving his bare chest exposed. You lift your face back up to kiss him. He pulls your face closer to deepen the kiss still; your tongues, impatient, gently get a taste of each other.

Your hands wander over every perfect line of his physique as you kiss – yearning to feel every part of him against you – as they finally loop around his neck to bring your body closer to his. He lowers his hands to your waist, holding you close, before slowly letting them trail down – grazing over your ass and gently caressing it. The sudden action causing you to moan against him.

Your hand moves down to his crotch – feeling up his stiff member through the fabric. You hear a sharp inhale from him, as you rub your palm up and down against his hard on. A shaky breath escapes him.

You gently push yourself away, and shift to get down on your knees – before Piotr’s hands hold up your shoulders, stopping you from moving down.

‘’I… would prefer to take you out to dinner first…’’ He says, somewhat sheepishly. You smirk at him. What a sweetheart.

You lean in close to him. ‘’Tell ya what big guy,’’ you say slowly, painstakingly trail a finger down his chest, ‘’we can do dinner after this. How’s that sound?’’ You whisper slowly into his ear. If he wasn’t on edge before, he sure as hell was now.

He puts his hands back down to his side, as you move to your intended position. You unzip his pants, his length springing up as you tease his cock; pumping it from base to tip, as you bring it out in all its glory.

Suddenly, the lights go out, engulfing the room with a dull blue glow, courtesy of the windows. Piotr jumps a little at that and looks up around him – clearly tense.

‘’Hey, don’t worry. They’re automatic lights with sensors.’’ You reassured him. ‘’Besides, we’re not gonna need so much light now, are we?’’

You get to work, holding his cock in your hand, and licking up its length. Once at his tip, you let your saliva pool in your mouth, before bringing his dick close – getting it nice and fully wet with your tongue, your saliva covering every inch of him. You tease his head, swirling over it with your tongue before using the pad of your thumb to swipe over his slit. ‘’Bozhe moi…’’ Piotr hisses in response, which tells you everything you need to know.

You open your mouth wide, and slowly take him in. You were only halfway down his shaft before he hit the back of your mouth. You slowly retract before going in again. And again. And again. Piotr’s breathing hard and raspy, peppered with stifled moans as your mouth moves up and down – your hand trailing behind, as your grip tightens and untightens – stimulating him to no end.

He brings a hand to your head, following your pace, then urging you forward into a quicker rhythm. You wanted to take all of him in, and knew that he wanted that too. You gaped wider to allow more of his length into you. He let out an exasperated breath in response, his head up; eyes closed, facing heavenward in a silent prayer.

His cock was now past the back, and inside your throat. You knew how to keep a gag reflex down, and it was especially helpful in this situation.

You quickened your rhythm, moving up and down his length with ease – releasing him from your mouth at one instance with a loud ‘pop’ and giving him a few strokes with your hand – before going right back into it. You pressed your tongue against his cock at each move. He hisses at the sensations, following them immediately with moans, before suddenly pushing his dick into you in a swift motion – as you take him in deep – but he quickly pulls out. You hold onto his cock with a hand, and let his release pump into your mouth, tongue out and flared to get every drop of him. You lick his head of residual cum – and once it’s over – he moves to get his composure in check, and is dressed up in seconds.

You lick your lips and swallow, before you give Piotr a satisfied smile.

All of a sudden, he kneels before you, both of you now at eye-level. You look at him quizzically.

‘’It is not in my nature to let myself be pleasured and not return the favour. Please. Allow me.’’ He asks, a different kind of need in his voice. Your lips curve into a smile.

‘’If you insist.’’

He sits down with his back against the wall, and pulls you onto his lap, letting your head rest against his shoulder. He hitches up your dress, before running his finger down the fabric of your panties. He places a hand under you as he gently pries your legs open, slowly running it up and down your inner thigh in the process. Your face scrunches up as you feel the growing arousal in your core. He brings his lips next to your ear, a string of Russian escaping him in a heavy breath.

‘’I don’t know what you’re saying, but keep saying it.’’ You whine as he starts putting pressure all around your sensitive spots – two fingers moving up and down over your entrance.

‘’I said… Just relax for me, I will take care of you.’’ He quickens his motions, before placing his finger directly over your clit. He presses down, and a deep moan emerges from you against his ear. He continues, circling over it – pressing down every time he hits full circle. You try your best to contain your pleasure, but with no such luck. Your grasp at his free arm to ease off the pressure and put a hand over your mouth to stifle your moans.

He realises he’s found your most pleasurable spot, focusing entirely on the bundle of nerves that’s driving you insane – with each movement of his finger eliciting moans of alternating pitch. You bite your lip before your head tilts back abruptly, mouth open wide, threatening to release a much-too-loud indication of pleasure. Piotr quickly brings a hand over your mouth, as you moan into it, dampening the sounds of utter pleasure coming out from your mouth. He slows down his actions, but doesn’t let up. He moves his finger closer to your core, shifting your panties aside to gain access, before pushing in slowly.

One… two fingers in, as he pulses into your pussy – which had been aching for this very moment. You were already wet all over. Panties soaked, but he’s still at it.

A little bit of you flows down your thighs, and onto the fabric of his pants. But he didn’t seem to mind. He pushes deeper into you before adding one more finger – now three – while using his other hand to stimulate your clit, edging you into climax. You use your hand to shield your mouth – you knew you were close, and didn’t want a repeat of what happened before. ‘’Piotr…’’ you whine, ‘’I’m so close, baby. Take me home.’’

‘’kak pozhelayete.’’ (As you wish) he breathes into your ear.

He picks up speed, drawing circles onto your clit with just the right amount of pressure that makes you squirm on his lap – his fingers still moving in and out inside you. You twist your upper body to face him and draw him into a deep, fiery kiss, just as the orgasm found you.

The sweet sensation of release flows down your core, as you throw your head back onto Piotr’s shoulder, holding on tightly to his arm as the climax takes over you. He holds you still with a hand around your waist, as your body trembles through the sensation, and removes his fingers from inside you.

Heavy pants fall from your mouth, as you turn around to face him, straddling over his lap.

‘’That was… I’m sorry if it was…‘’ He begins.

You interrupt him with a kiss, softly placing a hand on his cheek, hooking the other arm over his neck – keeping him close. He instinctively brings his hands up to your waist.

‘’Don’t be sorry, babe. I enjoyed it… enjoyed you.’’ You say as you pull away from the kiss.

You gaze into each other, as time stood still around you, with only the dancing lights from the headlights of cars and streetlamps from outside world to illuminate the moment in its familiar dull blue glow.

For the first time, you notice just how serene his blue eyes look – and the dim lighting did nothing to impede their beauty. What was more bewitching was the person they belonged to – you could feel the warmth that this man exuded, and it made you feel magnetised to him; like you didn’t want this moment to end. This was bad. You weren’t meant to have anyone for the long term – one night, one timers were more suited to your lifestyle, but you didn’t know if you wanted to let go of a man like him.

‘’When can I see you again?’’

His deep, raspy voice breaks the train of your thoughts, and now you’re here again in this moment.

‘’Oh, um… yeah I…’’ You preemptively look at your watch. ‘’Let’s get you out of here first.’’

You walk him back to the entrance of the art gallery. Debating whether it would be worth the trouble to move forward with him. You think about your Boss, and a deep hatred is lit within you.

Piotr’s eyes linger over you, as you both make your way out onto the driveway. It was a cold night, and just as you bring your hands up to brace yourself from the cold, Piotr immediately put his jacket – (when did he take it off?) – over you. With that one action, you had your mind made up for you.

You smile tenderly at him. ‘’Piotr?’’

‘’Yes?’’ All his attention was on you at this moment. A rush of adrenaline pushes through him as he awaits your next words.

‘’I’m free next weekend. Is that alright? I’ll give you my phone number, and we can work out the details later.’’

‘’That sounds perfect, Y/N.’’

Just as he responds, you hear the sound of gravel popping, followed by a pulling screech, as a cab arrives at the driveway. He holds your gaze for a moment, moving to open the door. You pull him back and give him a kiss on the cheek, before walking briskly away from the driveway; leaving Piotr to watch as your figure disappears back into the gallery.

#Colossus x reader #piotr rasputin x reader #marvel fanfiction #x men fanfiction #colossus #piotr rasputin

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notyoongiswife · 7 years ago

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♡ — au where yoongi is a rapper and a producer while jungkook is a music student trying to become a singer (40/?)

“THE PLAN” (aka make yoonkook real) The whole thing was a setup. Jungkook sensed it the moment they arrived at the studio and the others weren't there, except for Jin, who had a blush creeping on his cheeks. He was putting some bowls full of food - that smelled amazing - on the table Namjoon usually used to put part of his Ryan collection that normally stays in the producer's room. However the plushies were nowhere to be found. "Ah! The others are arriving... in a couple of minutes... Yeah. Hm. " He had said, looking all nervous. "I've gotta run, yeah, I think I forgot to turn the oven off back home, you guys know how I am, right?" If he was trying to sound sincere, he was doing a poor job. Jungkook knew Jin. His cousin was a little lost and scatter-brained, but never - ever - in the kitchen. It was his sacred place, he would never do such thing as leaving his oven on to leak gas. “Are you kidding me?” Yoongi sounded annoyed. He probably sensed that something was wrong too. “Ahhh… I’ll be back in a few, boys! Bye!” He said, already closing the door behind him with his coat halfway up his arms. They then heard a soft click from the door being locked. Jungkook sighed and looked over at Yoongi, who was taking off his coat and throwing himself on the leather couch. “They're up to something” ♡ ♡ ♡ "Well? Do you think they believed it?" Hoseok asked, while practically jumping in the back seat Jimin placed his hands on his hips and tried to settle Hoseok down but failed, as expected. "Not for a second. Yoongi didn't buy my excuse, but whatever. The important thing is that they're together, and alone, with the best cooking in the world. Everything is going as we planned!" Jin said while closing the passenger side door, and leaning to give the driver (his boyfriend) a sweet peck on the lips. "Now we just have to wait until they contact us. I'm pretty sure that Yoongi will be calling to ask what's going on soon enough." Namjoon started the car and left the front of the building where the Cypher Studio was located. Their plan was as simple as it could be. Make Yoongi and Jungkook believe they were all going to meet and celebrate the 3 year anniversary of the studio, pretend that something came up and leave the boys alone. Jin had made some of his best dishes, brought some wine and had the stereo ready to be activated from his phone, set to play some playlist that Taehyung swore on his life that it was romantic. He hoped so. No one could stand Yoongi and Jungkook dancing around each other anymore, saying that they were friends, when everyone could feel their sexual tension from miles. But it wasn't just that. They clearly had feelings for the other but they acted like it was nothing. They would spend all night talking, absorbed in their own little world when all of them were around. Their touch would linger way longer than friendly acceptable and they kept staring like they were reading the other's mind. It was creepy but, at the same time, it was beautiful. Namjoon had known Yoongi for years and he never saw his friend like that, happy, giving so many smiles and taking care of himself. The boy driving the car was praying that everything would work out and his two friends would acknowledge their feelings so they could finally be together. ♡ ♡ ♡ GROUP CHAT Yoongi: Where are you guys? Yoongi: ??? Yoongi: ??????????????? Jimin: Oh, hey Hyung! Yoongi: Hey?? Where are you, brat? You guys were supposed to be here Kookie and I are waiting for 40 minutes Aren't you guys coming???!!! Taehyung: No Yoongi: What the fuck, Tae? What do you mean by "no"?? Taehyung: It means we're not going! Sorry, Hyung! Yoongi: I knew! I knew you were all up to something What's going on? Taehyung: You're a smart boy You'll figure it out Hoseok: Shut up, Tae What he meant is Why don't you and Jungkook just enjoy the night? Jin-hyung left some food and wine in the kitchen You guys can talk And enjoy the night... Taehyung: Smooth, Hobi-hyung Yoongi: I can't believe this Are you guys seriously playing matchmaker with us?? Jimin: If this is what it takes To make you guys realize you should be together Then yes, we're really playing matchmaker Good night, Hyung! ♡ ♡ ♡ Groaning, Yoongi threw his phone on the couch and turned to look at Jungkook, who was sitting at the piano, softly touching the keys almost like he was afraid of the sound. He took his time staring at the boy. He was dressed like he always was; skinny jeans, a sweater that is clearly too big for him and the damn timberlands he insisted on using every freaking time. With his hair looking like a planned mess, in the strange yellow light of the studio, casually playing the piano, he looked like a model. Yoongi didn't know how that was possible, how could the boy look like he was at a fashion shoot all the time. Like he knew that Yoongi was thinking about him, Jungkook turned around and smiled, showing his bunny teeth and closing his eyes. Yoongi never stood a chance. He should have known, from the beginning, since the day that Jin-hyung called to invite him to a special welcome dinner for his little cousin that was moving to Seoul to study music. The boy had a captivating personality and boyish smile. He looked like he was really naive and shy, but as soon as he was comfortable, he would become playful and touchy. He was smart and good at nearly everything. But, above all, Jungkook was passionate about music and that really did a number on Yoongi, himself being a music lover since he was little. And then, when he sang for the first time for the older, with a sweet voice that could reach amazing tones, apparently, it reached Yoongi's heart too. Maybe it was the long periods of time they spent together, maybe it was the way Jungkook was always up to eat tons of lamb skewers, or maybe it was the way that he seems to really get Yoongi understand him like no one else could. He knew when the older boy needed to chat about random things like new music equipment and anime, or when he just needed the company, just needed to know that Jungkook was there for him. Whatever it was, Yoongi knew he was too far gone, his feelings for the boy with the bunny smile too obvious to pretend they weren’t there. Smiling back, Yoongi got up from the couch and headed to the piano, sitting with Jungkook. “This is one of my favourite songs, and I never showed it to anyone… Until now” he heard Jungkook let a little-surprised sound before he started to play the notes he knew too well. “It's called I Need U” ♡ ♡ ♡ The song was a beautiful mix of delicate and melancholic, while still sounding a little happy. Jungkook felt mesmerized every time he heard Yoongi playing and he allowed himself to really watch him. The older never looked so angelic as he looked when his fingers were sliding over the piano keys like it was the most natural thing in the world. He looked at his face and he had his eyes closed, looking so peaceful and... passionate. It was overwhelming and it felt like Yoongi was showing his soul. Jungkook felt warm inside. Looking at Yoongi's face and hearing the song felt like it was too much. This was, probably, the most beautiful scene Jungkook has ever seen. Even if it wasn't the first time he listened to him playing, he still needed to catch a breath. It was like every time he was with Yoongi, he had to force himself to breathe. He would constantly catch himself staring at the pianist, getting lost in his moonlight-kissed skin, his lazy eyes and his lips, that looked oh-so-soft, that these days seemed to be a constant theme in his dreams... And before he noticed, his face was almost purple, both from embarrassment and for the lack of oxygen. When the music came to an end, the notes slowing fading, it was like the melody still remained in the air. Yoongi took a breath, his hands still ghosting over the keys , like he refused to part ways. Like it was the most natural thing to do, Jungkook slowly took his hand to the piano, his fingers brushing onto Yoongi's and softly caressed them, like some sort of “thank you” for the song. The boy felt like the warmth he was feeling inside was spreading through his whole body, contrasting with Yoongi's cold hand. "Jungkook-ah..." His name sounded like a breath, a whisper. He waited for the older boy to complete the sentence but he didn’t. Instead, he moved his hand, their fingers intertwining into a loose grip. Jungkook felt Yoongi's thumb slowly move like he was drawing something on the back of the boy's hand. It felt oddly normal to stay like this, even though they had never held hands this way before. Sure, they touched each other's hands once or twice but it never felt like this. So personal, so meaningful. It felt right. Jungkook already had some plans in his mind, about how to approach Yoongi and tell him about his feelings, maybe ask him on a date or at least make his intentions a little more clear, but while holding the older boy's hand, he figured this was as good time as any. "Hyung, I..." his voice cracked a little, He couldn't hide how nervous he was feeling, even if he tried. Hearing his name, Yoongi looked at Jungkook, their hands never parting. While gazing into Yoongi's eyes, it was hard to get his month to work and say the words he wanted to say for so long, to ask for the things he craved so much, things that made him lose countless hours of sleep. But Jungkook couldn't and wouldn't let this chance slip away. "Hyung, can I kiss you?" Yoongi blinked a few times but didn't seem like he was shocked, as Jungkook had imagined he would be. He just kept staring at the boy, like he was seeing into his soul, until he let a hard breath leave his lungs, his voice sounding a little strange. Almost desperate. "God, Jungkook-ah... Just... Yes. Yes, please." And as soon as Yoongi said the words, Jungkook moved closer, their face mere inches from each other. Yoongi’s hot breath brushed against Jungkook’s face and both held each other’s gaze, like repeating the question, just to be sure. They were so close, their noses almost touching , when Jungkook finally gave in and closed the distance between them. The young boy couldn't help but let out a little whisper, as soon as he realised that yes, Yoongi's lips were just as soft as they looked. Maybe more. Jungkook felt that his fingers were no longer intertwined with Yoongi's, but soon enough he found out why because he felt the pianist grab his sweater and pull their bodies even closer, their lips never parting. Yoongi pressed his lips against Jungkook's, softly, before tracing the boy's bottom lip with his tongue. He let go of the boy's sweater, just to let his hands move to the back of his neck. Jungkook reacted taking his hands all the way to Yoongi's hips and holding him in the place like he was afraid of the older boy leaving. Even in the awkward position, they kept kissing and breathing on each other's lips, their tongues slowly touching every now and then. Jungkook craved for Yoongi's lips, like he never wanted anything in his life. He tasted like coffee and warmth, and Jungkook felt addicted, a sound of contentment leaving his lips without him noticing. They broke the kiss reluctantly to catch a proper breath, feeling like they had been kissing for hours, but their bodies remained close. Their lips were still touching when Jungkook murmured on the other's lips. "Kiss me again. Please kiss me again" Yoongi didn't have to be asked twice, kissing the boy with desperation, all the want and longing he had felt for so long finally being paid, with their lips locked together and their tongues caressing the other. It felt like heaven and Jungkook was feeling dizzy from happiness and want, a shiver running through his body like there were sparks dancing all the way down his spine. Nothing had ever felt this good.

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bornasghosts7165 · 7 years ago

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All I Want: Part 40

Previous Part

After standing in silence for what felt like hours, but was really only a few seconds, you slowly approached Harry. He was holding strong and still had not turned around to face you even though he had to know that you too were not going to back down. You didn’t make it this far only to chicken out and turn around. Your anxious mind simply wouldn’t allow it. You had to talk to Harry and it was either now or never. You prepared yourself for the worse and hoped for the best. Both scenarios had been playing on a loop in your head for hours and both seemed extremely likely especially since Harry was ignoring you with expert fashion. You had never seen this side of Harry and had no idea he was this good at the silent treatment. It would be impressive if it wasn’t so hurtful. It was daunting, but you were determined to crack that shell and get to the Harry that you did know.

“Fancy meeting you here.” You say shyly, trying to break the ice.

Your pathetic attempt was met with more silence. Humor obviously wasn’t the way to go. Probably should have guessed that. Perhaps something more direct.

“So, I guess Louis told you what happened last night.” You say.

Still nothing. Maybe something even more direct? What was more direct than that? Having a conversation with the back of Harry’s head was proving difficult.

“I couldn’t be sorrier for everything I’ve done, Harry.” You tell him.

He didn’t even flinch. It was like talking to a wall. Had you turned your sweet, kind, and compassionate Harry into a seething, cruel, non-Harry like thing? You didn’t know how to break into his hard exterior that he was putting up just for you. You had hardly even began and already you were feeling defeated. The overwhelmed feeling that you encountered last night was back. It was feeling like the life that you finally figure out you wanted was slipping away from you too fast for you to grasp it. Not only had you lost control of everything, but it appears that you had ruined Harry’s kind heart. You had dragged through the mud the only thing that kept you going during this tour, and the thing that you most loved about Harry. You may have finally figure out what you wanted, but what if what you wanted didn’t exist anymore?

“Harry,” You say as your voice cracks. “Will you please look at me?”

At the sound of your voice breaking Harry looks up and into the mirror at you, and makes eye contact for a couple seconds before looking away. He was only looking at you for a second, but that was enough. Your Harry was still in there somewhere. The heart that you messed with was broken, but salvageable. He was hurt and angry, and his cold shoulder was warranted, but you didn’t break him completely. After everything that happened he was still Harry. Even if he couldn’t forgive you it was comforting to know that what you had done didn’t change him. And in the split second that he held eye contact with you, you could see that it was probably just as hard not talking to you as it was to talk to you. He wanted you to hurt like he did, but at the same time hated every second of it. You could have sworn you saw concern on his eye when he looked at you. He cared. The feelings were still there, he just didn’t know what to do with them. Harry didn’t know what to do any more than you did.

“Okay,” You say and step in closer to him. He stared intently at his hands but you knew he was listening. “You don’t want to talk, but there are some things that I need to say to you.”

Without his protest, you continue.

“I screwed up. Royally. There is no way around that, and you have the right to hate me forever for how I treated you. I owed you so much more; the truth for one thing. You deserve so much more than I gave you. But I never, never meant for it to get this far.” You explain. “When I first saw him here I didn’t know what to do. It was all so confusing and you know he hurt me, but with our history and what he was dealing with…I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. Obviously, this wasn’t the answer, but somewhere along the way feelings started to get mixed up.”

You could see Harry’s expression tighten in the mirror. He hated hearing about Liam. He probably hated you even saying his name. Normally you would stop. You didn’t want make Harry uncomfortable, but you had to get this out. If you were honest, you hated rehashing all this too. It was like reliving the nightmare that was your love life over and over again. Like you hadn’t done that enough over the past few days. If there was going to be any hope of his forgiving you he had to know exactly what happened. You just had to talk it all out one more time and then it would all be over. This next part, however, would be a little trickier.

“The more he and I talked, and the more I knew about his situation the more I felt for him. But, I also wanted you. I was trying so hard to keep everyone happy. My feelings for him were so complicated, but I knew what I felt for you. It sounds ridiculous now, but for a while I thought…I thought that I was in love with both of you. But now I know that that’s just insane. I just thought that because we were together for so long that it was my responsibility to fix him; that all this was my fault. Like we were supposed to have a second chance. But the truth was that was never what I wanted. Liam is my past. I’m not the same person that I was when I was with him, and he’s not the kind of person I want to be with. I’m not in love with him. All this time I was having a hard time figuring out what he and I were supposed to be this time because none of it felt right. Making him happy just became this thing that I thought I had to do, but the more he pulled me to him the more I realized that there’s only one person I want to be with and one person that I love, and that’s you, Harry.

“I know that this is the worst timing, and believe me I wish that I had figured this all out before everything got so out of control. This whole time it felt like I was underwater and everything was so blurry and it was like I couldn’t breathe. He made me feel like I wasn’t me. The only time I ever felt like I could come up for air was when I was with you. I wished it could see what that really meant to me before it was too late. When I saw you in the café and you came over and talked to me I was so happy. For a minute, it felt like everything was going to be okay; everything always seems okay when I’m with you. And then when you left me in the street like that I’ve never felt worse. Ironic that it took you walking out of my life to know that you’re the only one I want to share it with. I had never seen you to hurt and upset. I’ve never heard you talk to anyone like that, but I deserve it. I know that I betray your trust and I know how badly I treated you when you have only been kind of me. I don’t deserve your compassion and understanding. I don’t deserve the peace that you bring me and I know I don’t deserve how happy you make me. So, from the bottom of my heart, I am sorry. You didn’t deserve all this. So, uh, that’s what I wanted you to know.”

It wasn’t until you stopped talking that you realize you were crying. Not sobbing, but tears were streaming from your eyes and your bottom lip was quivering ever so slightly. You wipe your face, and exhale sharply. You wanted to be strong for this. You didn’t want Harry for feel like he had to comfort you because this was about him and how he felt. Finally, everything was out in the opened. Harry knew everything that you had been keeping to yourself. He knew how you felt about him and why all this happened, and finally he knew what you wanted. Nothing would be left unsaid. Not on your part at least. Harry sat motionlessly in his hair, but he was still looking at you in the mirror. His expression was blank; it was a lot to take in after all. You tried you hardest to read him, but you weren’t even sure if he knew what he was feeling. In a matter of weeks his life as he knew it was turned upside down. Everything was different and there would be no turning back, but you hoped that in time you could move forward.

He spins his chair around and keeps his head low. You could see that he was thinking of anything to say. Anything would have been better than this silence. You would have begged him to say something if you didn’t think it would ruin any chance you had to his forgiveness. You didn’t want to push him, but you were so nervous for his response that you could feel your heart beating in your throat and your palms were starting to sweat. The only consolation was that Harry seemed to be just as nervous as you for some reason. He rubbed his hands together and cleared his throat. It would almost be funny how nervous you both were around each other if the circumstances weren’t so messed up.

“I..uh…” He began. “I don’t know…how to talk to you, (Y/N).”

“That was a pretty good start.” You say lightly. You couldn’t help but smile a little. He didn’t throw you out of the dressing room so that was a start.

“I don’t hate you.” Harry said. “I couldn’t hate you.”

“I’m really glad to hear that.”

“And believe it or not, I kind of understand.” Harry says. “But it still sucks.”

“I know it does.” You say empathetically.

“I thought that calling it off the other day would make me feel better because it would finally be all over, but this, being without you for even just a day, is just as bad. And I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that.” Harry explains. “Does that mean that it was the wrong choice, or does that make me a complete sucker.”

“You’re not a sucker, Harry.” You tell him. “It’s okay to be confused.”

“How do you expect me to be okay with any of it? For weeks you didn’t even know what I meant to you or if you wanted to be with me, and now you come here and tell me that I’m the one again? I want to believe you; I do. I just don’t know how you expect us to get through this. I mean do I just forget about it? Do we pretend it never happened? I mean this is just insane, and you were-”

“Harry,” You begin, and take a few steps toward Harry. “There is no one in the world that could make me doubt this, now. This was just something I had to go through to know that you’re everything to me, and now I know there’s no one else out there for me. And I’m sorry it took all this for me to know that, but it’s true. I am sorry for the lies, and I am sorry for making you feel like a fool. I am sorry for making you doubt everything you know about me; about us. But I want you to know that you’re the real love of my life; not him. Everything that happened between us is real. You know me now. You know me better than I know myself sometimes. But you’re wrong about one thing. Liam isn’t my one. I don’t love him; not anymore. You’re my one now. I want to sit with you and just talk like we did before everything got so messed up. I want to travel the world with you, and sit in random cafes and just enjoy your company. I want you to know everything about me, even if it’s hard for me to tell you because I know you would never hurt me and you make me feel like I can do anything. The relationship that we have…er, had is perfect to me. I want you, and I have all along. I trust you with my life, Harry. More importantly, I trust you with my heart because that’s what love is. I love you. I am in love with you. I know it’s a lot to ask and I understand if you can’t, but I hope you can find it in you to forgive me because you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m lucky to have ever been with you, Harry, and I’d be lucky if you give me another chance. Hell, I’d be lucky if you could trust me again. Nothing and no one will ever come between us, and I’m not going to let anything even remotely close to this happen again. And I know you have to do what’s best for you, and I’ll understand if that’s not me, but you are all I want.”

He looks you in the eye as if to read your mind. If he were he would know that you never wanted anything more or that you were never more serious about anything. You would do anything for a second chance. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. He was conflicted, and confused. For weeks, you had given him every reason to doubt everything you just said. But he wanted to believe that it was all true. He wanted to believe that he knew the real you, and that nothing like this could ever happen again. He wanted to believe that you could be happy together. Everything you just said came from your heart, and you wished you could convince Harry of that, but the rest was up to him. Now the ball was in his court. He could either forgive you or not, and with the mess you made you had no idea which to expect. After everything that’s happened you had learned to be prepared for anything. Hope for the best and prepare for the worst; you keep that in mind as you wait for any response from Harry.

“I don’t know.” He said again. “Uh, I’ve got sound check.”

He stands up and starts walking toward the door. You walk after him urgently.

“Wait.” You say. “Will you just please stay and we can talk this out.”

“I’m sorry, I just can’t right now, (Y/N).”

“I’m sorry, Harry. I am so so sorry, but please just-“

“I need some time!” Harry shouts.

You take a step back, surprised by him raising his voice. “Okay.” You say. And without another word Harry leaves you alone in the room.

#one direction #one direction imagines #one direction one shot #one direction fanfiction #liam payne #liam payne imagines #liam payne one shot #liam payne fanfiction #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot

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emm-doubleyou · 8 years ago

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BONES 12x02 Recap: The Brain in the Bot

With the mystery of The Puppeteer gearing towards a resolution at the end of last week, the second episode of the season was back to the typical Bones style of storytelling. But there was mention of Zack, just not prominently sprinkled throughout the episode. No hour of this show is truly stand alone. Every episode builds on the previous. And every episode illustrates the profoundly remarkable development of these characters.

The opening scene depicts a “traditional” body find at the Virginia Regional Dog Show. I put traditional in quotes, as there is usually nothing traditional about body finds. Two canine participants escape from their owners, as I suspect their olfactory receptors sensed a rather potent set of human remains. How could they resist? The dog owners are horrified. And I presume there is not enough time to visit a groomer before the competition. I absolutely love dogs, but I will never understand show dog grooming trends. That poor poodle…

Have I mentioned that car scenes are among my very favorite? I will undoubtedly be repetitious here by saying that I will never get enough of car scenes featuring Booth and Brennan. And the two of them had some really wonderful ones in this episode. Booth and Brennan are in the car heading to the crime scene near the dog show. Booth calls Brennan “incredible” for already putting together such a robust case file without having ID’d the body. But these are not case files. They are files she has pulled from the archives. Given Zack’s recent disclosures, she has begun reexamining the evidence from the lobbyist case. Booth is proud of her, and assures his wife that she is doing the right thing. In true Brennan fashion, she responds “I am simply looking for the truth.” But so far, the evidence is inconclusive. Booth comments on the volume of files she has assembled for the case. But the other files are actually for Brennan’s “surprise party.” I’m about as confused as Booth at this point. “Bones, you do know you’re not supposed to plan your own surprise party.” When has Brennan ever been conventional? Okay there have been a few instances in her history. But in this case, I shouldn’t have been at all surprised that she would plan her own party. “The traditional custom is illogical. Being startled is unpleasant, while engineering a surprise for others is proven to be quite pleasurable.” She is truly a gem. Also, I actually agree with her. Though, birthdays have never been my favorite thing. Moving on.

Booth really just wants to know what Brennan wants for her birthday. Even before she answers this question, I predicted the answer. Brennan has never been interested in presents, at least not in the traditional sense. She has treasured gifts given to her by Booth in the past. And this is because they meant something more. They were not particularly valuable in the monetary sense. But the thought and intention behind the gifts is what ultimately rendered them irreplaceable- Jasper and Brainy Smurf certainly could not have cost more than a few dollars. Though Booth has surprised Brennan with a few more conventional gifts in the past, including the lingerie and the necklace. But what do you get someone who has everything and wants nothing? Booth would eventually figure it out. But not just yet. Brennan lets Booth know that her party has a “strict no-gift policy.” But it’s a milestone birthday, and Booth cannot just let it pass without getting her something special. She assures Booth that she has everything she needs. And I believe that. Because she once said she wouldn’t travel to any other moment in time. And because she also realized she did not need a bucket list. She’s genuinely happy. She loves her family and her life. And while she wishes the lives of herself and her family were threatened a bit less, it’s a life she would not trade for anything. I did enjoy how Booth wanted to get her a “chunky stone necklace.” He knows her taste, for sure. He brainstorms other types of gifts he could give her. He throws around the idea of going to a concert. “The Tuvan Throat Singers already passed through town last month.” “Not quite the concert I was thinking of, Bones.” I love them. Could you imagine these two at a concert together? I’m going to pause here and think about that.

At the crime scene, Hodgins seems to be having a good time scraping evidence off the poodle. The dog’s owner is not quite as jovial. She begs Hodgins to be careful with the dog’s fur. Cam and Brennan examine the body, and Brennan determines the victim is a male in his 40s. Cam finds it strange that there is a piece of plastic fused to the victim’s wrist, but no evidence of burnt tissue. “Huh...almost as mysterious as Dr. B’s birthday party.” Cam wants a hint on the dress code for Brennan’s surprise party. “Yes, wearing clothes would be advisable.” Knowing what I know now, Brennan really kept this secret well. Brennan’s acting has certainly improved. She gives Cam a sly smile after that statement, which affects me more than it should. Because Brennan is teasing Cam. And there was a time when she was 100% no-nonsense at a crime scene. Actually, both of them were. It’s always the little things for me. Booth comes back to the scene, as he has found a pipe on the trail. Hodgins asks for any leftover marijuana, and Booth shoots him a perplexed look. But Hodgins only wants to take it back to the lab for a forensic workup. Meanwhile, the poodle’s owner is growing more impatient by the second. She is panicking about the blood fused to her dog’s coat. Brennan instructs the woman to be patient, and Booth tells her they are trying to solve a murder before dismissing her completely. But she’s still worked up. And promises “hell to pay” if the blood turns her dog’s coat pink. Hodgins is fed up too, and attempts a quicker approach to gathering the evidence off the dog- shaving the off. However the owner was not going to let him butcher her dog’s coat. She sprints down the hill and tries to pry the electric razor from Hodgins’ hands. And poor Hodgins accidentally shaves off one eyebrow. He asks if it’s as bad as he thinks it is, and his colleagues just stare at him in wonderment. Yes, Hodgins. It’s not great.

On the platform, Brennan observes evidence of post-mortem blunt force trauma and fractures to the legs. Angela receives a call from an unknown number and chooses to ignore it. Brennan posits that the body could have sustained such intense trauma after death by being dragged. Daisy takes this moment to ask Brennan if she would serve as her reference for a position at the NFL- NOT to be confused with the National Football League. Now that Daisy has finally completed her doctorate, she has applied for a job at the National Forensic Lab. Brennan agrees to be a reference, but advises “Dr. Wick” not to get her hopes up. “In light of your young age, landing a job of that status would be a long-shot at best.” Angela points out that Brennan got her job at the Jeffersonian when she was still in her 20s. Actually, if my math is correct, Brennan was in her early 20s when she first came to the Jeffersonian. “Yes. But that was clearly an exceptional circumstance.” She really is just telling the truth. And obviously Brennan believes Daisy is an exceptional intern as well- Again, based on what we know now about the ending. At that moment, Angela ignores yet another call. I wouldn’t point this out, except it becomes more relevant in a few scenes. The unknown number has now called Angela three times at this point. That’s about when I would block a number, but I suppose it’s a good thing she did not.

Hodgins ascends the platform and is ready to share that he pulled prints from the pipe found at the scene. But the ladies on the platform cannot look at him without laughing. Poor Hodgins. “You’re...asymmetrical.” Apparently Angela told Hodgins that his missing eyebrow was barely noticeable, which makes me love the two of them even more. Hodgins attempts to continue explaining his findings, but the rest of the team cannot hold it together- especially Cam and Brennan. Long story short, the person smoking the pipe in the woods was likely there when the victim was killed. And I can hear Brennan’s laughing still echoing off the walls. Bless, Emily.

Aubrey corners a man stumbling down the street named Randy Stringer. He claims he did not call an Uber. But Aubrey assures him he’s not Uber. Randy was in the woods the night the victim was killed, and the pipe found near the crime scene belonged to him. Randy was arrested twice for selling LSD and once for assault with a deadly weapon. He denies selling drugs, but he does sell sausages? All he witnessed that night in the woods was “a dude” walking around with a flashlight. He attempted to explain when and where he saw said “dude.” And FOX got a nice Sunday night Animation Domination shout out. Randy asks why he’s being questioned, and Aubrey informs him about the body dump. Randy then spouts off some nonsense about Mother Earth. This man just seemed far too random to be completely innocent in all this. And Aubrey looks so done.

Brennan enters Angela’s office to check her progress on the facial reconstruction. But this case did not require any reconstruction. The victim could be identified by the piece of metal on the his wrist. It was a “skin mounted bioelectronic fitness monitor.” Hodgins chimes in on how Angela can find the ID using this monitor. But Brennan is surprised and seemingly delighted to see that Hodgins has somehow produced a new eyebrow since last she saw him. “Sorry to ruin your laugh fest there, but yeah!” He constructed the eyebrow using hair from his beard. This man is as precious as anything. Brennan and Angela try to keep from laughing, as the eyebrow still does not quite look normal. Hodgins is frustrated that he has not managed to shut down the ridicule yet. Suddenly, Angela’s phone rings yet again. Obviously, it is not a prank call and not a wrong number. She picks up the phone and tells the mystery caller on the other line that she has no debt and is not interested in buying a cruise. But mystery caller must have said something to pique her interest. And also incite a bit of confusion. She asks if the caller is sure that they have reached the right person. She exits the room to talk, and leaves a seemingly perplexed Brennan and Hodgins behind. Brennan takes that opportunity to shift focus back to the case. She was unaware these types of biometric fitness devices were available to the general public. Hodgins hypothesizes that the victim may have had some sort of occupational connection to the tech world.

Angela returns to her office and with a look of pure astonishment on her face. “You guys are never going to believe this, but I just won a MacArthur Fellowship. You know, the one that everyone calls the ‘Genius Grant.’” Hodgins is absolutely thrilled for his wife. “That’s unbelievable.” Brennan agrees with that assessment. To her, it is “truly” unbelievable. She explains that it’s one of the most prestigious awards a scientist can get. “They said my work with the Angelatron was groundbreaking.” Hodgins goes onto say “I always knew I married a genius.” “Technically you did not. Though Angela is incredibly talented.” Angela is a bit put off by Brennan’s lack of enthusiasm. Hodgins tells Brennan that Angela is her best friend and she should try to be happy for her. And she says she is happy for her. She just never imagined Angela would achieve this honor “let alone before I did.”

Here’s the thing: The way this scene seemed to be playing out at this point, well, let’s just say that we have seen that particular storyline before. I had ample time to think about this storyline between the time the sneak peek came out and the west coast airing. There was once a time when Cam won the Outstanding Women of Science Award. Brennan struggled with the fact that she was not the recipient. It’s not as though she discounts Cam’s intelligence or contribution to forensic pathology. But in her mind, objectively speaking, she is the most outstanding. Whether or not you think it’s right, you really have to attempt to understand her perspective. It’s obviously not her intention to come off as jealous or bitter, by any means. This is her friend and her colleague. Brennan only works with the best in their field. And she knows Cam is certainly that. A conversation with Booth would make her reconsider her stance on the award.

Booth, do you think I'm being small-minded about Cam getting the award and not me?

Yes.

What?

You might want another answer, but I can't give that to you.

But I'm clearly the best scientist.

And are you a worse scientist because Cam's getting the award?

Of course not.

See? Yeah. So you're just being petty because you want to win.

I thought you would take my side. I am on your side, okay? I'm on your better side.

Booth can see and read people. He understands their motivations. And what’s most impressive is his understanding of Temperance Brennan. That’s a tough nut to crack. But he knows how her mind works (for the most part), and he’s not going to tell her what she wants to hear. He’s going to tell her what she needs to hear. And it’s effective. Brennan is truly exceptional in so many ways. She is the best in her field. And she is one of the best scientists in the world. She is still exceptional even if someone else is honored. I am about to go off on a major tangent here. But I can relate this to Meryl Streep and the acting world. That woman has been in countless films and has hundreds upon hundreds of nominations. She is arguably one of the greatest actors of this particular generation (some would disagree, I happen to believe she is brilliant). But she cannot win every single award. In fact, she will be the first to tell you she is the biggest loser in the history of the Academy Awards. Does that make her any less exceptional? Absolutely not. With Brennan, she is still the queen of forensic anthropology. It’s not a bad thing to have someone else recognized for their invaluable work. Whether it be Cam or Angela or Hodgins. They are all exceptional at what they do. That is why they all work at the Jeffersonian. Brennan knows this. It’s ultimately why she apologizes to Cam and supports her as the award recipient. Though when Cam surprises her with the announcement that the three Jeffersonian women + nine other exceptional women of science would be honored, Brennan is stunned. And she is duly impressed at the credentials of the other women who agreed to be in this rather unconventional spread. All of them are brilliant. And all of them make key contributions to their field. It’s important to celebrate different people and different achievements so as to encourage more people go get into science.

My reasoning for bringing the past up is that it would be a recycled storyline to have Angela receive an award and make Brennan react poorly to it. It would also be a gross example of regression for this character. It’s not as though I knew in that moment that it was all a ruse to throw Angela off the trail. But I did know that it was going to play out in a different way. We are much too eager to jump to conclusions sometimes. I simply was not willing to believe Brennan had not evolved past these feelings. In that moment in season 9, she learned. And she grew as a result. She realized that it was okay for others to receive accolades. She can still certainly believe she is the best. But how many times has Angela and her brilliant technology helped crack or solve a case? Bones has taught me several lessons over the years- not to jump to conclusions, look at all the evidence, and that sometimes it’s okay to rely on your gut. The evidence tells me that Brennan has evolved since season nine. And also that she is a constant surprise. And my gut tells me there is something more to this story. This was a very roundabout way of getting to this point. But that’s how I reacted to this particular scene. On a semi-unrelated note, it’s also how we should approach teases and certain spoilers. I think there would be an overall reduction in blood pressure levels if we did.

Angela refocuses her attention on the Angelatron, as it has come up with an ID from the fitness monitor. It belongs to a man named Ian Goldberg, who Hodgins recognized. He built robots to help children on the Autism spectrum. The three of them watch one of his videos featuring AMI, a robot, interacting with a young boy. “There’s someone who deserves the genius grant.” The trio cannot understand why someone would want to kill such a kind-hearted man.

Booth and Brennan are back in the car on the way to visit the victim’s work. I did find it strange that the two of them were listening to the radio, since we never really hear them do that when they drive. But I suppose I didn’t think too much more of it. Booth notices that Brennan has been quiet during the ride, and asks if she is at all upset that Angela won the “McDonald’s award” But Brennan claims that she is not the slightest bit jealous. She is still quite focused on planning her surprise party. “It’s not every day that one turns 40.” I grew considerably more curious with every mention of this party. But it should be no surprise to anyone that Brennan was going to make sure everything was planned and perfect, down to the very last detail. Daisy calls with evidence that indicates someone punched the victim repeatedly in the back of the head. Booth calls it a “rookie move.” Daisy figures that whoever punched the victim must have sustained a serious hand injury.

After Brennan hangs up with the lab, Booth asks her about Social Cybernetics. He makes a Star Wars reference, which of course goes right over Brennan’s head. She talks a bit about the work Ian Goldberg did with robotics. She explains that he created complex systems designed to emulate the human brain. Booth believes that it’s insane to think that a robot’s brain could come close to a human’s. “At the end of the day, humans have something that robots will never have...a soul.” “The existence of a soul has never been proven with scientific data.” But Booth begins to explain that you don’t prove the existence of a soul. He’s interrupted by a very familiar tune. And even louder, he tells Brennan that a soul is “something you feel!” And now I definitely recognize the song. “You hear that? That’s our song!” Their song. I may melt. “You hear the soul in that?!” All Brennan can do is look on at her goofy husband and laugh, with so much love and adoration twinkling in her eyes. Booth begins to sing along to Hot Blooded- and while I consider it to be the most adorable sound in the world, I’m not sure he would win a Grammy for his performance. That’s what makes it so endearing. Brennan continues to smile the brightest and most dazzling smile I’ve ever seen. She’s utterly charmed by this man. And I am charmed by them.

I do believe my reaction to this scene upon first viewing was a series of offensively loud shrieks. There is something so special about a Hot Blooded moment. Sometimes it’s hard to believe there have only been (now) four of them. Because it seems as though it has been such a constant over the years. I am about to go off on yet another tangent…

The Hot Blooded phenomenon began in season one with Two Bodies in a Lab. Booth and Brennan were still getting to know each other, and this was also the first time Booth had been in Brennan’s apartment. He was there because he refused to let her out of his sight- someone had tried to kill her. They shyly interact and discuss music. Booth is surprised to see that his partner owns so much jazz, and she explains why she loves it. He looks dazzled already. And then he finds a CD, which excites him. He puts the disc into the player (this was 2005, iPods were a thing, but not everyone had them…) and Foreigner began to ring out from the speakers. Booth started dancing and singing, and then Brennan joined in. It was the beginning of them. And if we ignore the fact that Booth was blown up in the next minute, it’s such a sweet moment.

The second occurrence of Hot Blooded was in season five. Booth and Brennan were recovering from that fateful night outside the Hoover when Booth asked Brennan to give “them” a chance. She couldn’t. She didn’t believe she had the kind of open heart required to be in a relationship with this man. She could not give him all that he needed. And she couldn’t risk her friendship with Booth. That friendship was the most important thing in her life. If they took that next step, she would surely ruin it. And he would leave her. Because everyone eventually leaves. Booth stayed because she asked him to. And because I think he couldn’t actually bear to leave her. He only decided to go back to the Army at the end of the season when finding out that Brennan was leaving. I never look at that time as awkward. They were both in pain. But Booth was there for Brennan. And she was there for him. And during this particular case, they were able to engage in a carefree and somewhat nostalgic moment. Hot Blooded began to play at the “fantasy camp” and Booth is energized to hear “our song” playing. He convinces Brennan to go up on stage with him and sing. And they do. It’s an emotional marker of where they are in their relationship. But it’s also a vital component of their story.

The third (and most recent before this episode) time Hot Blooded resurfaced was when Booth and Brennan were living together with a baby. They had just wrapped up a very emotional case with an adolescent victim. Before the boy died, he made a mixtape for the girl he loved. Brennan wondered why Booth never made her a mixtape. But she chalked it up to the fact that she is not a very romantic person. I actually would disagree with that. In the end, Booth finds Brennan playing “dancing phalanges” with their daughter in the kitchen. He tells her he has made a mixtape for her. “I find I think that is very sweet.” I’d be willing to bet that no one has ever thought to make her a mixtape before. Which makes me both sad that no one ever understood her enough to truly love her like she deserves, and thankful for Booth. Booth adds that it features their song. “What, we have a song?” “Every couple has a song.” And she finally realizes which song is playing. They dance around the kitchen with their little girl. And it is perfect. Because you think back to the previous times this song was played in the show, and where this couple was at that time. And how far they have come. And now, this fourth time. They are married. That little girl is nearly seven. They have another baby boy who is likely walking by now (we know he is highly skilled at utilizing a spoon!). Each Hot Blooded marks a significant time in Booth and Brennan’s story. I find that beautiful. So when I react to the inclusion of Hot Blooded. It’s not merely because it’s their song and it’s recognizable to me. It’s that my mind barrages me this montage of flashbacks detailing this couple’s beautiful journey.

Booth and Brennan arrive at the Social Cybernetics lab, where they come face to face with a robot named AMI- an acronym for Advanced Modular Intelligence. Both Booth and Brennan appear quite impressed with AMI. AMI assesses each partner's’ facial expressions. “Dr. Brennan appears 78% curious and 22% jealous. Agent Booth is 94% amused and 6% skeptical.” That seems about right. The woman showing them around is “100% nervous.” She claims it’s only because she’s being questioned by the FBI, which for the time being I believe. She tells Booth and Brennan that she and Ian had a “fruitful” working relationship, and that they would have likely reached singularity with their technology within the next decade- making these machines indistinguishable from humans. After watching Westworld last year, I’m not certain that’s the best endgame. Booth notices a man with a wrist brace, and questions him about it. The man claims it’s Carpal Tunnel Syndrome, but don’t try to pull that with Brennan around. She semi-aggressively grabs his hand, and informs Booth that he has a Boxer’s Fracture. “You don’t need a robot to figure that out.”

Back at the FBI, Booth and Brennan interview Alan (the suspect). His injuries are an exact match for those found on the victim’s skull. Alan admits to hitting Ian, but not to killing him. Booth attempts to get Alan to admit to murder, but the man sticks to his story. Brennan notes that if one of her employees struck her in the back of the skull, she would have immediately fired said employee. But Alan claims he would have been too hard to replace. He is the best coder they have. Booth inquires as to where he was on the previous Friday evening. His answer- his desk as Social Cybernetics. Rather than waste their time on him, Alan recommends that Booth and Brennan speak to the “nuts” from “Stop the Robopocalypse.” I laugh about this now, but I’m sure it’s a very real fear, relative to the future and the advances being made in robotics. Apparently, Ian used to go onto this organization’s blogs and bait members into fights. This baffles the partners, as it seems out of character for someone who has dedicated so much of his time and energy to helping Autistic children through this advanced technology. Alan explains that while Ian was an invaluable asset to the field, “in reality the guy was a dink.”

Did he just say dink?

I think he did.

Cam finds Daisy in the bone room and asks if she has heard from the NFL. I find it really difficult to not to think about American football when this acronym is mentioned, even after having watched this episode dozens of times already. Daisy hasn’t heard from the organization yet, and cannot stop stressing over it. She’s concerned about what Brennan might say if they call her for a reference. Daisy wonders if she could call the NFL herself, and make Cam a reference instead. I know Brennan can be blunt. But let’s say we didn’t know how this particular story plays out. A reference from Temperance Brennan probably holds more weight than any other person in the world, no matter what words she uses to give the reference. Additionally, Brennan would not have agreed to give Daisy a reference if she believed she wasn’t capable of handling the job. And she would tell Daisy that- because she is blunt. But Brennan agreed. Which means that she likely had positive commentary relative to Daisy’s skills and intellectual acumen. Though looking at it from Daisy’s perspective, I know what it is to stress over a job like this. I understand how your mind will not shut off and stop worrying when you’re essentially in limbo waiting to hear about a position you legitimately desire. I’ve been there. It’s excruciating. You wonder if you should do something more. Should you follow up? Should you send another reference? It can drive you to the brink of insanity. But if Daisy could just breathe and think rationally, she would understand that it’s in the NFL’s hands now. And if it’s not the right job for her, then she will find something else.

Cam recommends that Daisy focus on her work in lieu of worrying. Daisy has found multiple incidences of blunt force trauma, but there is no rhyme or reason to any of the injuries. The trauma occurred both before and after death. Cam leaves to ask Hodgins to swab the skull, but she turns back to Daisy before she goes. “If the NFL doesn’t hire you, you’ll always have a job here.” Daisy smiles, though I think it would take her a little while longer to really process what Cam was telling her. These two make me so happy. All of their scenes together lately have been all too lovely.

Angela confirms that Alan was telling the truth about working on the Friday night the victim was murdered. Aubrey begins talking about robot conspiracy theories to Angela (who thinks AMI is actually adorable), and he is starting to sound a bit like Hodgins. “Wow, Aubrey, I never knew you were so paranoid.” They are interrupted by news that a member of Stop the Robocalpyse crashed one of Ian’s speaking engagements last year and struck him in the leg with a baseball bat.

In the Ookey Room, Daisy finds Hodgins creating a map. Ultimately, he wants to pinpoint the victim’s injuries to different locations in the woods. His explanation is a bit more complex and detailed, and Daisy listens intently. “I have to say, it’s good to see you back to your old self, Dr. Hodgins.” She doesn’t mean his eyebrow, nor his legs. She’s talking about his demeanor. She’s talking about that zest for life and passion for science. Hodgins is back. And it’s a wonderful sight to behold. She then asks Hodgins if he thinks she has a chance at the NFL job. Daisy really seems to be obsessing over this. Bug again, I understand. “The thought of not getting it makes me feel like such a failure.” This is not necessarily relevant to the point, but not getting a job does not make one a failure. And that’s not a reason to want a job so desperately- fear of failing. If that’s the most dominant emotion, the job is probably not the right one anyway. You want a job because it’s something you’re passionate about. Not because NOT getting that job would make you a failure in the eyes of your peers and yourself. Hodgins tells Daisy that while they have a history of getting on each other’s nerves, he truly believes that she is a highly skilled scientist. Daisy agrees, but notes that Brennan was younger than she is when she was running the Jeffersonian. “Yes, but life is not a competition, Daisy. Trust me, if I’ve learned anything being in this chair, it’s that happiness comes from accepting what you have.” Daisy is worried that all she has is “one big question mark.” Hodgins can certainly relate. He refocuses his attention on the map, and realizes that the killer could have purposely dragged the victim through the woods to obscure evidence.

While Aubrey and Booth are walking to speak to Matthew Coburn, the head of Stop the Robocalpyse, Aubrey brings up Brennan’s birthday. “You’re really not gonna get your own wife a birthday present?” But Brennan swears she doesn’t want anything. And Booth seems fine with that. I mostly just wanted to write the word “wife” because no matter how many times I hear it, I still need to pinch myself. Aubrey thinks it sounds like a trap. But Brennan is not like most women. She says what she means. And Booth knows that. When she says she doesn’t want a gift, she means it. And so he will have to think outside the box on this one. When they locate the suspect, he takes off running. And the two agents are forced to chase him up a fence, through an abandoned building, and finally catch him before he can jump another fence. Why do they always run? During an interrogation session, Matthew admits he never intended to hurt Ian. He was merely trying to smash his robot, but Ian stepped in to protect it. He explains to Aubrey that the government is weaponizing this technology. Aubrey is a bit confused, as Ian did not make weapons. He created these robots to help Autistic children. “So he said.” Matthew claimed that Ian was going to sell out to the highest bidder. On the night of Ian’s murder, Matthew was in his RV writing a blog post. Aubrey is going to keep this man in holding. But I’ve seen this before. The head of an opposing organization is never actually the killer in these tales. Too obvious.

Daisy is back in the bone room, this time examining the bones with Brennan. She is tense. And before she can even say anything, Brennan tells her that she has not yet heard from the National Forensic Lab. I like that Brennan can read Daisy. She knew exactly what she was thinking. Development. Cam enters with evidence that someone tried to rip the victim’s arms from his sockets. Brennan notes that a human could certainly not inflict that level of damage. But Hodgins has found evidence of AMI’s materials on the victim. Could AMI have killed her creator? There’s a frightening twist.

At the FBI, Booth and Brennan bring AMI in for questioning. Booth is a bit in disbelief that they are actually interrogating a machine. But Brennan points out that AMI is no different than they are. “That is not accurate, Dr. Brennan. Unlike you, my memory will never degrade with age.” Brennan’s reaction is adorable. As usual. AMI says she did not hit Ian. Not even by accident. Brennan asks AMI to share any memories she has of Ian from the previous Friday. But she has no memories of Ian from that day. Since she cannot lie, this is a very startling admission. Ian was seen programming the robot that day. As it turns out, someone deleted her memory. When Brennan asks who deleted the files, AMI shuts down completely.

Brennan returns to her office to find Max waiting for her. I already had a very sinking feeling about Ryan O’Neal’s appearance in this episode. He doesn’t show up for no reason. And sadly, I already figured I knew the reason why Max was there. She asks Max what he’s doing in her office, since her party doesn’t start for another seven hours. He just wanted to come by and have some one on one time with his “favorite” daughter. She is genuinely pleased to see him. And my heart aches that much more. Brennan has to continue working on the case, but he doesn’t mind. He only wants to spend time with her- it doesn’t matter how they spend that time. For a second, I thought maybe Brennan had figured something out. She asks Max if everything is okay. His answer does not have me convinced. But Brennan has a lot on her mind, and she believes him. Max heard from Hodgins that Angela won the MacArthur genius grant. “We’re all very proud.” Max tells her it’s normal to feel a little jealousy. She doesn’t have time for “such petty emotions” because of this case and planning her surprise party. This must be one doozy of a party. It’s taken a great deal of planning. Max wants to know if there will be dancing at the mystery party, as he has been taking salsa lessons. That’s a surprising admission, in my opinion. When people find out they only have a certain period of time left on earth, they sometimes try to fit in new experiences and learn new skills in the time they have left- like salsa. Brennan is amused that her father is learning salsa. “You have to live life to the fullest. None of us live forever, you know.” And it is at that point that I think most of our worst fears were essentially confirmed. Max continues dancing as Brennan works, and he makes her laugh. Please, stomp on my heart a little harder, show. Their relationship has evolved so much since we first met this man in season 2. And it took Max a considerable amount of time to earn his daughter’s trust. Where they are now is just astonishing. Because I can only think back to that time on the bench, with Max dressed as a priest. I don’t even want to think about Brennan’s reaction when she finds out what he is hiding. At this point I don’t know specifically what is wrong. I just know it’s nothing good. This is a man who understands that he does not have much time left. That much is obvious.

Daisy is second guessing herself while examining evidence in the bone room. “No wonder the NFL hasn’t called.” Brennan tells her to stop being so hard on herself. “So far, your work here has been perfectly adequate.” Brennan would have given Daisy a “solid B” had she been grading her. This does not assuage Daisy’s worry. She is capable of A+ work. Brennan knows this as well. But if she wants to be a lead forensic anthropologist, Daisy needs to be doing A+ work at every moment. Daisy is inspired to think more critically about the case. She realizes that the body could have been hoisted up into something after death. Brennan commends her discovery. A+ work, indeed.

In the Ookey Room, Cam is surprised to see Hodgins gliding over his map. “...or should I say Peter Pan.” Hodgins is a lot like Peter Pan, when I stop to think about it. Obviously he’s not stuck in some fairy tale. But there’s a part of him that never wants to “grow up.” He looks at science with a childlike wonderment. It’s completely pure. Sure, it’s nice to have money. But all he really wants to do in life is explore, and dream, and play. He does all this through his job- which has always been more than a job. Aside from a brief dark period, he has always been that way. In 11x18, he said he wanted to be someone who never stops looking. He always wants to be inspired to explore something more. He wants to perform experiments. He wants to play with bugs. He wants to build giant maps of the woods and glide over it with a pulley system he built. This is Hodgins. This is who he is. And like Daisy, I am elated to see him back to his old self as well.

Hodgins still has yet to figure out a pattern within his map. Cam goes to look at Hodgins swab results, and notes that they should help narrow down where the victim’s body was hoisted. Cam walks back over to the map and is surprised at how quickly Hodgins managed to make a nest. But it is not a nest. It’s Hodgins’ makeshift eyebrow. This show...Hodgins cannot get what he needs from this map. He has to go back into the woods (and now I want to sing Sondheim).

Angela finds out that Ian was the one who deleted AMI’s memory. She digs up a record of AMI’s neural network, and finds the last item recorded before her memory was wiped. It was a call from Ian, and he mentioned an address. The address in question belongs to something called Patriot Industries, which happens to be a warehouse in close proximity to where Ian’s body was found.

Booth and Aubrey are exploring the warehouse. They posit that perhaps Ian was selling his technology to a weapons manufacturer. But they couldn’t be more wrong. They open one of the many crates stored in the building, only to find a sex doll lying inside. They ask the manufacturer about his meeting with Ian. The agents bait the man into telling them what they want to know by implying that he could have killed Ian for his technology. But he claims that he and Ian were about to go into business together. “Sex bots are the future my friend.” I love this show. Ian was alive when he left the meeting. So where did he go? Who got to him? And why?

Out in the woods, Daisy and Hodgins are combing the area for any evidence they can find. Hodgins cannot seem to find a compelling motive for hauling Ian’s body so deep into the woods. But Daisy wants to take a break from the case and discuss something personal once more. She has been mulling over Hodgins’ words to her earlier in the episode- about accepting circumstances in life when things do not go your way. “And even if the NFL doesn’t hire me, I love being at the Jeffersonian and working with all of you.” Hodgins agrees. I know that staying at the Jeffersonian may not be ideal for her. She would never be lead forensic anthropologist so long as Brennan was there. She finished her doctorate and it was time to start her own career. But until she finds that first great job, the Jeffersonian isn’t such a bad place to work. It’s become her home as much as it’s been for any of the other characters. During her time there, she fell in love. She also lost that love, more than once. She gained a family. And that family has been there for her through it all. And they have been there for her son as well. It’s more than a job. She won’t lose that family by leaving the Jeffersonian. They will still always have those ties. And maybe it is a safety net. Who cares. Even if she went out on her own and failed, these people would still welcome her back with open arms. She will always have a place there. She will always have a home there. It just took a few words from Hodgins to make her realize that. Both she and Hodgins have lost so much recently. But they have found solace in this place with these people. They were able to heal because of it all. So I love seeing them share like this. But I always love Hodgins’ unique interactions with all the interns.

They find the tree where Ian’s body was hoisted. Hodgins realizes that it was also the spot where he was murdered. He finds a speaker made out of the same materials as AMI. So the robot is innocent. Whoever killed Ian must have hit him in the back of the skull with this speaker. What the two haven’t quite figured out is why the body was dumped a mile away.

While Brennan cannot detect fingerprints on the speaker, she does find evidence that Ian was stabbed in the neck with a very small knife. Brennan explains that this type of injury typically implies an attempt at decapitation. Booth has a realization in that moment. What if they weren’t looking for a brilliant computer scientist? What if they were actually searching for a “knucklehead stoner” who admitted to having a pocket knife earlier in the episode. And now we know who the killer is- Randy Stringer. Randy and Ian were taking LSD together the night he died. Apparently, he killed Ian over a gift. For whatever reason, Randy thought he was going to get a substantial chunk of change from Ian. And all he got was (this lousy) a bluetooth speaker. He was the one who came up with the idea of putting AI into sex dolls. And he should have gotten credit for his “brilliant” idea. This revelation not surprise me one bit. Another case closed.

That night, Booth and Brennan are back in the car presumably driving to Brennan’s surprise party at their home. Brennan is concerned that Booth lured Randy into confession by claiming they had conclusive evidence. When in fact, what they did have was not necessarily definitive. But Booth instinctively knew it was Randy. And he was right. He used his “gut” to feel out the situation. He notes that robots cannot do that. Before Brennan can continue arguing, Booth stops her. She doesn’t want to spend her birthday arguing about robots. He wants to give her his present. Brennan is not happy, as she specifically requested that there be no gifts. But when have Booth’s gifts ever been just gifts. They always hold a deeper meaning. Even if said gifts have no intrinsic value. He knows she’s going to love this present. “We’ll see.” She opens it up to find a letter approving a court date for Zack’s appeal. Booth wanted to go ahead get it on the books, though it is still a few months out. The reason for appeal lists that new osteological evidence is being considered. Brennan is concerned that she has no such evidence at this moment. But Booth has faith that she will find it. “I cannot embark on my research with the presumption of Zack’s innocence.” She doesn’t have to. She can embark on her research as she would any other case. Booth tells her once again that he has faith in her. And I may die from a heart attack. This episode contains so much sweetness. “But your belief in me does make me very happy.” Brennan may not rely on or even believe in intangible constructs such as the “gut” or faith, but Booth does. And so his faith in her means something to her because of that. With a huge smile, Booth tells her that he is glad she likes her gift. They are too perfect. Remember when Hot Blooded came on earlier in the episode? It’s not relevant to this moment but it’s all I can think about, apparently.

Brennan’s guests are waiting for her back at Booth and Brennan’s home. Angela is nervous about Brennan’s reaction to her grant. “She can be a bit competitive.” Hodgins claims that most people freak out when they turn 40. “Well my daughter isn’t like most people.” Truer words never spoken, Max. Christine announces that her parents are home. And the team doesn’t know whether to hide or not. No one knew what to expect from this party. No matter, Brennan opens the door yelling “surprise!” She instructs Booth and Aubrey to open the large box on the table to reveal three very different and distinct cakes. Daisy takes notice of the (American) football cake, and reads the message. It congratulated her for landing the job at the NFL. “Though I did not ask for your cake to be decorated in this manner.” I can only imagine the conversation she had with the cake decorator. Angela notices that there is a cake for her as well. And that’s the surprise. The party is a celebration for Brennan and all of her friends and family. The camera quickly pans to Max who has a very strange look on his face. He is likely feeling conflicting emotions- proud of his daughter for the remarkable person she has become. And devastated that he will not have much time left to see what extraordinary things she does in the future.

As it turns out, Brennan recommended Daisy for the NFL job. And she nominated Angela for the grant. Angela is shocked, as Brennan seemed to have made such a big deal about her not being a genius. Brennan gives the credit to her much-improved acting skills. I have to agree with her, finally. In the past, she wasn’t much of an actor. But she did an absolutely stellar job keeping these secrets. Even Booth was impressed. “That’s one of the many benefits of growing older, we grow wiser in the process.” The camera pans back to Max who is wearing a giant smile across his face. Daisy is growing emotional, as she is going to miss Brennan and the rest of the team. “You are a highly-skilled scientist, Daisy. You deserve all the success in the world.” Brennan and Daisy have come so far. And it’s really beautiful and rewarding to witness this moment.

With so little time left, I wondered whether this episode would delve any more into what secret Max is keeping. I didn’t have to wait much longer. Christine finds a hospital bracelet on the floor next to her grandpa. She picks it up and hands it back to him. He tells her it’s nothing, and quickly stuffs it back into his pocket. Christine isn’t at all worried. But I spent the remainder of this party crying my eyes out. Booth lights the candles on the cake, and everyone starts singing Happy Birthday to Brennan. She looks so unbelievably radiant in this moment. And Max looks haunted. He cannot even manage to continue singing with everyone else. He watches his baby girl blow out her birthday candles, knowing full well that this could be the last birthday he spends with her. And maybe, one of the last times he can be with her and her family. Flipping back and forth between a joyful Brennan (pun intended) and Max is one of the more emotional experiences I’ve had watching this show.

I do not know the exact details of what is ailing Max. If I had to guess, I would have to say that he is terminal. From what, I do not know. When he came back into Brennan’s life in season 2, it was a confusing time. She was so guarded, and couldn’t trust him. After all, Max and her mother abandoned her when she was just a teenager. Fifteen may seem old to some. But she was still just a child. She managed to survive on her own, but she shouldn’t have had to. That’s part of the reason Brennan was so vehement about finding Christine the right school. She wanted her daughter to have stability- a luxury she never had. But in season nine, Max does remind his daughter that her childhood wasn’t always so bad. If she can look beyond the painful memories, she can recall that her home was filled with love. She has always been different, and was treated as such in school. But at home, she was celebrated. She and Max always shared a love of science. Her life was enriched by this man. And the only reason her parents left was to save their children. So in time, she was able to forgive. Though she never forgot.

It took Max and Brennan so long to get to this place. And there have been little missteps along the way. But Max proved that he was not going to leave her again. At least not indefinitely. He went to prison to show her that he was here to stay. And while Brennan still couldn’t fully trust her father, she concocted an alternate story for the jury to save him. She couldn’t bear to let him go. Not after she just got him back. His resurgence may have reopened old wounds, but we know it’s better to feel sad than dead inside. She was learning how to open her heart and trust again. Booth helped her with that. Angela helped her with that. Max still engaged in some illicit behavior, but generally it was only in the interest of protecting his family. Max and Booth are alike in many ways. Maybe that’s why Max took an instant liking to his daughter’s “partner.” He could see this man was good for his daughter in so many ways. If only they could both see that themselves, they could be something wonderful- like he and his late wife. Max only killed to protect his loved ones. He has a clear conscience because he would never kill in cold blood. His kids were threatened, so he removed the threat. He’s a good man. Booth would have done exactly the same.

Thinking about where his daughter was when he reentered her life and observing her during her 40th birthday, there’s a stark difference. Of course she is still the same Brennan at her core. So much of her is the same as when we met her over a decade ago. But she has also experienced immense growth. All of these people with whom she has surrounded herself have changed her. New experiences have affected her. She has a family now. She has more love in her life than she knows what to do with. And she can trust that these people are here to stay. She no longer lives with a constant fear of abandonment. She is strong, yes. But she allows herself to feel. She took a chance on love. And while it has brought her some degree of pain every so often, it has enriched her life in such profound ways. Max sees what his daughter has done for her friends. This is the little girl he knew growing up. He has always known that she has such a kind heart and giving spirit. She just doesn’t show her emotions and relate in the same way other people do. But she found people who understand her and celebrate her in the same way he and his wife did when she was growing up. Max always knew that Brennan was special. And she is. He couldn’t be prouder. I almost want to say he had a “my work here is done” face on. I know that’s completely reaching, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. His daughter has it all now. And he can rest easy knowing she will be well taken care of when he is gone.

What worries me now is Brennan’s reaction to whatever Max is keeping from her. Logically, she knows that people die every day. Obviously she sees that on a daily basis. But her father- she lost him for 15 years. They are in a good place now. They are finally at peace. And now he’s going to abandon her again. At least that’s how I feel she may take it. Because even the most rational person can be affected by death in unpredictable and highly illogical ways. I am also going by the teases for upcoming episodes. Something is going to affect Brennan in a deeply emotional way. I don’t know if Max is going to tell her what’s wrong. Or if he’s just going to die without having ever warned her. I really don’t know. I am terrified of either scenario. I am terrified to see this strong and brilliant woman completely fall apart. When Booth or Brennan fall apart, I fall apart. But she will get through it. Eventually. There will be a beautiful resolution. Because that’s what this show is all about. It’s never death for the sake of death. It’s always an enhancement to the show. There is always a purpose. Both Brennan and Max will never regret the time they did have together. It was like bonus time when he came back into her life. Max surely wouldn’t have traded it for anything. And I assume this life with his daughter was more than he ever expected from her. In time, she will heal. But it will take time.

I believe we have one more lighter episode before the one that is going to set the next Big Bad killer arc in motion. I am looking forward to all of it. Every single moment. But again, can we slow down time? FOX should have aired an episode of this season once a month. Anyway, no use in talking about that right now. I am already too emotional over this episode’s ending. As I have posted this late, I’ll be back soon with the next one!

#bonestv #bones #12x02 #the brain in the bot #recap #thoughts #this was really late and i considered not posting it because who cares at this ppoint #but i was very sick and exhausted last week #so #i guess i'll post

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conorfashionblog-blog · 8 years ago

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Fashion Focus: Sakamichi No Apollon (Part 1)

I thought it would be fun to take a look at appearance throughout some of my favorite series! I hope you enjoy! Be prepared for spoilers.

I wanted to start off with a show that I actually use as a gateway for people trying to get into anime. Sakamichi No Apollon (Kids on the Slope) brands itself around jazz, but I’ve always seen the music as the backdrop for a group of kids experiencing post WWII Japan. I won’t go into any details yet, but I plan on covering the first two episodes here, so I do suggest watching them! Though I invite you to read even if you have no intention of watching it. That being said, the spoilers will begin below with an introduction to the first three main characters.

Kaoru is a transfer student moving in with his aunt in her well off Kyushu home. His father is hinted as having some sort of distant military role and his mother’s absence is explained as abandonment. He is used to constantly transferring due to his father’s position and has clear difficulty interacting with his peers.

Sentaro is a loner with a passion for jazz and drumming. He is pegged early on as being a typical delinquint. He skips class to sleep and fight and latches on immediately to Kaoru after a fateful encounter.

Ritsuko is the caring childhood friend who constantly watches out for Sentaro. Early on she is the driving force to push Kaoru to be friends with Sen, both of whom have difficulty making friends for very different reasons.

The basic events of the first two episodes involve Kaoru becoming romatically interested in Ritsuko and feigning a friendship with Sentaro to become closer to her. Kaoru tries to switch from his classical piano training to jazz in an attempt to both one up Sentaro and woo Ritsuko. While Sentaro opens up to Kaoru the feelings aren’t really mutual. One day Kaoru has his first jazz session where he meets Junichi (Brother Jun), an old childhood friend of Risuko and Sentaro. After the session Kaoru makes plans for a supposed study date with Ritsuko. She instead brings Sentaro along for all three to enjoy a beach day. Their day ends with Sentaro intervening in the harassment of a classmate, Yurika. Sentaro becomes love struck by her.

Most of the first episode takes place at their school so not a lot is to be said for the fashion except for Sentaro’s. Where everyone else’s uniform variation ends with different undershirt colors, Sentaro rocks rebelous tones. His roughed-up cap, wide-striped tucked-in undershirt and plain-white sport shoes give you an immediate impression of who he is. He even has a few scrapes and bandages for good measure. I’d like to do a comparison to Marlon Brando and Lee Marvin’s iconic roles in ‘The Wild One’ (1953) for attire and to James Dean for posture, body language and footwear. This late 40s/early 50s bad boy attitude comes across Sentaro perfectly.

America had begun influencing men’s fashion by this time, but it also makes sense for Sentaro to have aspects of Western influence. Some reasons for this are obvious and some less so this deep in the story. As for the look I think its a great classic style. I’d never put all the pieces together in a way Sentaro has as current day it would come off as costume-y. All of these elements would be wonderful to play with but seperately.

While Kaoru’s fashion isn’t of note for the first episode, his body language is. Sentaro’s loud thuggish movements contrast with Kaoru’s reserved, timid and held back nature. He keeps to himself with soft toned movements when possible because that is what he has had to be. There is one distinct exception to this.

Ritsuko off-hand comments on how beautiful Kaoru is without his glasses. From this point on he makes a point to take off his glasses whenever he sees her, and you might not think of it unless you looked for it. Even in his dream sequences of her, he isn’t wearing his glasses. I think it is interesting to note a huge change of appearance and perception the choice of wearing glasses can make. When he takes his glasses off he acts a bit like someone he hasn’t been, which is more open. The symbolism is certainly there for glasses representing his wall he puts between him and the world. Up to this point it is also worth watching Ritsuko as her body language comes off very motherly or protectorate of her friends.

The second episode gives us much more to work with for fashion, the setting now summer vacation.

Brother Jun emanates cool. You don’t need to question it. His soft but smooth movements mixed with a casual pinstripe shirt and sunglasses on display gives a good set-up for his character. He comes off as carefree which is what he wants Ritsuko and Sentaro to believe he is.

Somewhere in all this Ritsuko was told to manage their family’s record shop by herself while everyone else had their jazz session. She managed to have an outfit change between the start and finish of said session. No one else noticed, but I did, Ritsuko. I love the square neckline and the color combinations of the full outfit but the silhoute feels a bit droopy, especially with her hairstyle. She isn’t someone necessarily trendy which something she thinks of herself in a future episode.

I don’t have a lot to say about these two outfits but I love the thick windowpane check on Kaoru’s shirt. I normally wouldn’t be a big fan of something like this as it reminds me of old-fashioned mint candy. You see this specific print and color-set often but usually very thinly lined.

I was curious however to see what swimsuits might be like by this time in Japan compared to how they were portrayed here.

I was happy to find this picture of live-modeling of swimsuits in post WWII Japan. The bottom right woman’s swimsuit has a similar neckline to Ritsuko’s as well as a similar cut around the waist. As you can see from the photo, it was not the only style of one-piece swimsuit out there, either.

Because its a huge topic piece in the show I won’t go too into it but Sentaro constantly wears a cross around his neck. To him it does hold great importance and he quickly stops any conversation about it. I think having something to wear with sentimental attachment is something that should be treasured. It is a kind of value that is unique and it is worth thinking if you have something like that as its very easy to overlook it.

Yurika only makes a brief appearance at the end but you get such a sense of beauty from her. Her traditional tote bag, floppy hat, flowing white beach dress and complimenting hair gives you the idea that you at least know she is a fashionable girl.

And that is where I am going to leave this one! I hope you take the time to watch Sakamichi No Apollon. It is an amazing show and you honestly don’t even need to be an anime fan to enjoy it. If you have any ideas for something you’d love to see me talk about let me know!

Thanks again everyone!

#blog #fashion #anime #sakamichi no apollon #kids on the slope

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addictedtojohnandsherlock · 8 years ago

Text

Chapter 40

(The next few days pass as normally as they can. John, Sherlock, and Molly continue taking shifts with Greg. Mycroft even takes two or three. Seems the two older men have more in common than one would think and the times they spend together are some of the most comforting for Greg. The practice ends, however, after about a week when Greg informs his four friends that he is going on sabbatical for an undetermined period of time. He assures John and Sherlock that Sally, who will hold down the fort while he is gone, is under orders to bring them tricky cases and pretty much any murder. In much the same way, Mycroft informs the duo that he has arranged for someone to keep an eye on Greg during his time away.

A few days later, John and Sherlock have an unexpected visitor...)

S: John?

J: Hm?

S: What’s the air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow?

(John looks up from the newspaper in his hands to see Sherlock bent over the dining table, looking intently into a microscope. The table is littered with slides, culture dishes, and his laptop. John furrows his brow and sips his tea.)

J: Well, that depends.

S: Depends? On what?

J: D’you mean an African or a European swallow?

(Sherlock straightens and looks at John with interest.)

S: Does it matter?

J: Wha... of course it matters.

S: (shrugging) A swallow’s a swallow.

J: (pursing his lips, glancing away and then back) No. They are different, Sherlock. (The tall man crosses his arms. John puts down his paper and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.) Look, it’s a simple question of weight ratios, yeah? If the average adult European swallow weighs...

(There is a rapping at the door.)

J: Someone’s knocking.

S: (eyes fixed) Yes, ignore it. This is far more interesting.

(John simply rises from his chair and, giving Sherlock a scolding look, walks into the hall to answer the door. Sherlock shrugs again and returns to his microscope.)

J: Sherlock, look who’s come to pay us a visit.

S: (without looking up) Inspector Donovan, charmed, I’m sure.

SD: Holmes.

J: Tea?

SD: Thanks, but no.

J: Well then, what can we do for you? Please, have a seat.

SD: I’ll stand, thanks.

S: (straightening up again and giving her a patented look of annoyance) For god sake, what do you want? Because if you are here just to...

SD: (with a sharp voice) Now, look, if you’re going to... (She stops herself and lets out a slow breath. She looks from one man to the other and continues in a calmer register.) Whether we like it or not, we need to work together until the DI returns to duty.

S: (petulantly) Oh, I don’t know. You could just not bring us cases.

J: (with a warning look) Sherlock.

SD: Yeah, right, and accept my reprimand as soon as he’s back. No thanks, fre... (She stops short as John bristles.) Holmes. My time with the DI has taught me a lot and one of those things is that your help can be invaluable. Now, I have a case. Will you work with me?

(Sherlock looks at her steadily, no doubt deducing all she has to tell. To John’s great surprise, his expression softens minutely and he clears his throat.)

S: I must admit you have become more useful over the years. I was not surprised when Lestrade told me of your promotion.

(Sally glances at John, who gives her an “as good as it’ll get” look. She shifts her eyes back to Sherlock.)

SD: Good. If you’ll come with me, I’ll explain on the way.

S: Fine, but not in a police car. We’ll follow in a cab.

SD: (rolling her eyes) Fine.

* * * * *

(Sherlock and John follow as Sally leads them through a steel and glass office building. Various uniforms stand around at guard in the main floor lobby. Sally nods to a few of them as they pass on their way to the private elevator to the penthouse office. She starts talking as soon as the doors close.)

SD: You’ve heard of Alan Piper of Crimsas Industries?

J: The American entrepreneur being investigated for smuggling, murder, various other crimes? (she nods) The supposed mastermind behind the White Mafia in London?

S: Not just supposed, John. He is the mastermind. (glancing at Sally) Or was. We’re going to his office.

(Sally and John’s eyebrows raise in unison.)

SD: We are. We’ve worked long hours to prove he’s our man. Months of work. We know it’s him and this morning, the last piece of the puzzle fell into place.

S: And then he was murdered.

SD: We got the call around eight. His secretary got in and noticed something was off right away. She found him in his office. Bullet through the head, close range.

S: When?

SD: (sighing as the doors open) We don’t know.

(She walks into the rather large and impressively decorated office. Sherlock rolls his eyes as he and John follow.)

(One wall in the office is nothing but glass with a view of the city - The Thames, The Eye, Big Ben and Parliament. The opposite wall is mahogany shelving covered with books, statuettes, and abstract pieces of art. The wood is only broken up by an enormous flat screen with luxurious leather couches positioned before it. Every piece of furniture is mahogany with a wide, Chippendale desk as the culmination on the far wall. A tall and thick wooden door lies on either side of it.

John glances here and there as the walk toward the desk, passed officers dusting for prints and collecting evidence. He can’t help but note that there is no body to be found.)

S: (irritably) You have examined the body in at least some rudimentary way. How can you not have a time of death?

SD: He told his secretary to go home around 6pm, so...

J: Sometime between six yesterday and eight this morning? Surely you can be more precise.

(Sally just gives them a look as she opens the large door to the left of the desk. A rush of cold air hits both men in the face. Sally motions them in and they enter slowly.)

J: A freezer?

(They see a man sitting against the wall across from where they are standing. Sherlock surges forward to examine him.)

S: (mumbling) Cold obscures the time of death.

(He sets about his work, pulling on a pair of latex gloves Sally offered as he walked by walk her.)

J: Why the hell does he have a walk-in freezer in his office?

SD: (nonchalantly) Secretary said he liked his ice cream.

(John looks from one wall to another, all covered with shelves packed full of ice cream in gallon, half gallon, and pint containers.)

J: Jesus.

S: John, what do you make of time of death?

(The compact doctor walks the twelve feet to the opposite end of the freezer and squats next to the body. He looks at the lips and then asks Sally for some gloves. He picks up each hand separately and studies the fingers. Once he is finished, John moves down to the right foot and removes the shoe and sock.)

J: (rising) Based on the frostbite, I’d say no less than twelve hours. That would make it about eleven last night at the latest, so sometime between six and eleven.

SD: (nodding slightly) That jives with what we’ve found thus far.

S: Mmm. (steepling his fingers under his chin) The secretary’s still here?

SD: Down a couple of floors in the conference room.

(They follow her to the conference room and question the secretary, a Miss Jane Marsh, but the interview yields nothing useful. As one uniform escorts her from the room, another enters and speaks quietly to Sally.)

SD: Show her in. (She looks to Sherlock and John as the uniform leaves.) The wife is here.

(The uniform enters with an impeccably dressed older woman. Sally steps forward, offering her hand, which the woman accepts with a strong grip.)

SD: Mrs. Piper?

SP: Sylvia Piper, yes.

SD: Inspector Sally Donovan. I’m in charge of your husband’s case.

SP: (with an approving nod) So nice to meet you, Inspector.

SD: You’re a difficult woman to find, Mrs. Piper.

SP: Yes, I must apologize. I was at a dress fitting and had my mobile on vibrate.

SD: (walking her to the conference table) Dress fitting?

SP: My daughter is getting married later this month.

SD: Oh, well, congratulations. (Indicating the detective and his doctor as she and Sylvia Piper approach the table.) Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. They’re assisting with the case.

(They shake the woman’s hand in turn while she gives them both a scathing look. All four have a seat around one end of the long, rectangular table.)

SD: You know your husband was murdered in his office last night?

SP: Your officers told me he’d been shot, yes.

SD: You don’t seem too broken up about it.

SP: (smiling minutely) Forgive me, Inspector. I was raised in a high-ranking family in which the presentation of outward emotion was strongly discouraged. I’m afraid it has become something I can turn off and on like a switch.

(As Sherlock observes the woman, he notices slight reddening of the eyes, freshly applied eye makeup, and rouge to what were once tear-stained cheeks.)

SD: Mrs. Piper, I don’t mean to insinuate, but I need to know where you were last night, starting at six.

SP: (coolly) Of course. I was in a meeting to discuss the upcoming release of a new fashion line until 6:30 or so. Around seven was dinner with friends at Gorgio’s. It was, oh, sometime between 10:30 and 11 before I got home. Then I had a glass of wine, packed for a bit, took a sleeping pill, and went to bed.

J: Packed? Are you going somewhere?

S: You were going to run. (All eyes settle on him as he watches Sylvia Piper.) You and your husband. Were the attempts on his life getting too close? Or were the authorities?

(Sally and John’s eyes float back to Piper’s. She ignores them in favor of continuing her icy glare at Sherlock that would have easily crushed anyone else.)

SP: I’m sure you are all aware of the rumors. My husband was the head of the White Mafia and the...authorities, as Mr. Holmes calls them, were on the cusp of proving it. My husband was afraid of nothing. (raising a brow at Sherlock) Except prison. Mongolia was to be our new home.

J: Mongolia?

S: No extradition treaties with the United States or the UK.

SP: Precisely. Alan had connections everywhere. Our children were staying here. (She straightens her spine proudly.) Our son plans to make everything with the name Piper legitimate. He has never shared his father’s affinity for crime.

S: Dismantling an entire crime organization... Difficult task. And dangerous.

SP: Not dismantle, Mr. Holmes, disassociate from it. He’s already begun the work and he will succeed. I guarantee it.

S: How did you feel about giving up your own business, Mrs. Piper? You have built quite a fashion empire. Stepping down because of your husband’s indiscretions cannot have sat well. (with a condescending smile) And, not being involved, you are free to do as you like.

SP: (shrugging) I plan to leave it in my daughter’s capable hands.

SD: Plan to. You’re still stepping down?

SP: (turning her head to look at Sally) Yes. I’m ready to enjoy myself for a change. I deserve a break, Inspector. (She glances around the table.) Do you have any more questions?

SD: Can you think of anyone who might want to harm your husband?

SP: (nearly chuckling) He led the White Mafia. Who wasn’t gunning for him, Inspector?

SD: Yes, I know, but I was hoping you might help narrow the list.

S: (experimentally) Do you think your son had any interest in seeing him dead?

(Piper’s demeanor changes on a dime. Clenching her fists on the arm rests and sneering at the detective. John shifts in his chair, physically feeling her hostility towards his lover and readying to protect him if the need arises.)

SP: My son is beyond suspicion. Alan gave everything to him willingly. He may not have liked the decision to legitimize, but he respected that it was Joel’s decision to make. (She and Sherlock stare at one another, piercing through one another.) Do not interfere with my children, Mr. Holmes. You do not need another enemy.

(Sally stands suddenly.)

SD: I think we have all we need, Mrs. Piper. I’ll contact you with any developments. I assume you’ll be staying in London now?

(Rising and smiling warmly at Sally, she shakes her hand.)

SP: I will, yes. I wouldn’t miss my daughter’s wedding for the world.

(John and Sherlock rise. John walks around the table and offers his hand to Piper, which she accepts readily.)

J: It was very nice to meet you, Mrs. Piper. My condolences.

SP: Thank you, Doctor. I must say you are far better mannered than your colleague. (smiling) Bedside manner?

J: (with a chuckle) I try to balance things out.

(Something catches John’s eye just as he and Piper release from their handshake.)

J: That’s a nasty looking burn. Would you like me to look at it?

(Piper glances down at her wrist and runs her fingers over the wound.)

SP: Oh, no thank you, Doctor. I put some salve on it last night. It will be fine.

SD: (gesturing toward the door) After you, Mrs. Piper. I’ll have an officer see you out of the building.

SP: Of course. Thank you. (nodding to John) Doctor Watson. (glaring at Sherlock as she and Sally begin to head for the door) Mr. Holmes.

S: I’d keep Mrs. Piper here a while longer, Donovan. Unless you want to release Alan Piper’s killer.

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

Author’s note: Obviously, I borrowed a little from a certain Britcom at the chapter’s beginning. The case is also based on/inspired by an old Murder, She Wrote episode.

#Sherlock #sherlockholmes #sherlock fanfic #johnlock #Johnlock fanfic #john watson

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