#hey sherlock might be... a bad liar actually

[variousqueerthings]

another thing about sherlock in elementary, is that whenever he's particularly scathing or dismissive about something -- for example his sobriety chip -- it's usually because there's something he's trying to hide. he's mostly someone who lies by omission or misdirection

either he'll simply refuse to fill in the blanks (I was at boarding school -- i fell off a fence -- i did not take her passing well) or he'll heap scorn onto the concept to make it seem like it's not important to him

i see you mr holmes, and so does watson (and so, for that matter, does alfredo)

[queen-ofsunflowers]

My favorite moments I've written for Shujin Assassins so far:

Kayano: How do you say ‘unkillable’ in Japanese? (Ren pauses and thinks about it.)

Ren: Korosenai. (The entire class whips around at the sound of Ren speaking.) Korosenai… Koro… sen...nai… Koro...sen...sei? ...Korosensei? Huh? 

Nagisa: Korosensei? (Ren pauses. Oh crap, he said all that out loud.)

Korosensei: A pleasure to finally hear more of that voice of yours, Amamiya. Five whole words!

---

Korosensei: Shoot and stab all you want, class! Even with this handicap, I am too fast for you! (Ren looks up and takes the gun from Nagisa.)

Nagisa: Hey, what—

Korosensei: Only in your dreams do you have any hope of getting the deed done— (Ren fires, not aiming for Korosensei but the rope tied to the tree. The rope breaks and Korosensei, stunned, falls. They watch as the rest of the class takes the initiative to attack him, forcing a panicked Korosensei to roll around on the ground.)

Ann: Wow. I didn’t know a BB could break a rope like that!

Ren: It was starting to break anyway.

---

Ren: You’d really help me?

Ryuji: ‘course. We’re friends, aren’t we? (Ren blinks. But they’ve only known each other for like… a week and half. He still smiles all the same.) Ain’t that right, Ren-Ren? (A shiver goes up Ren’s spine at the sound of that nickname. Of all things to call him…) So call me Ryuji, got it?

Ren: Thanks. I think I’ll stick with Sakamoto.

Ryuji: Oh man, that's cold.

---

Kataoka: Does anyone else think it's weird that she’s all over Korosensei?

Ryuji: I dunno. Maybe she’s into tentacles. (Someone swiftly kicks his seat.) OW! Hey! What was that for?!

---

Ann: But we bought those for ourselves! *groan* I was so looking forward to that for later…!

Shiho: I’m starting to think that he just used this lab to feed his junk food habit until payday.

Ren: Why does an octopus need to get paid a teacher’s salary…?

Shiho: Huh. Eleven words now.

Ren: What?

---

(And the door opens before Ren can run away.) Oh.  

Ren: Uh… H-Hello. Sir.

Principal: (more warmly that Ren expected) I look forward to your midterm results. Let your mother know that I said hello, would you? (Ren swallows and nods. When he leaves, that warmth disappears and is replaced by ice cold.)

---

Ann grabs Ren’s wrist to pull him back to her.)

Ren: Huh? What’s up?

Ann: Did you really mean all that? (Ren raises a brow.) What you said to those guys back there. About us. Did you really mean it?

Ren: ...Every word. Why?

Ann: ...Like I told Kayano, I always thought I was an outcast because of my looks or the fact that I didn’t grow up here. So hearing all that… Thank you. I really appreciated it.

Ren: No problem. It’s like Ryuji told me. We outcasts have to stick together, don’t we?

Ann: *giggle* Right! ...um, hey. If you want to, you can call me Ann, alright?

Ren: Okay.

Ann: Okay! And… thanks again. ...Ren-Ren. (Ren bristles, turning bright red. Ann laughs out loud, patting his back.) I’m just messing with you!

Ren: Please don’t do that… (Nearly killed him…) Can you maybe… not call me that?

Ann: Okay, okay! (She’s still laughing.) I promise!

---

Nagisa: What did you even do to them?

Ren: I have no idea. I got this really bad headache… and I think I heard a voice in my head? There was this thing… I’m not sure what it was.

Nagisa: Whatever it is, I could help with it. We’ll figure out what it is.

Ren: You don’t have to.

Nagisa: I’m already figuring out Korosensei’s weaknesses. Who knows? Maybe whatever that was 

Ren: You’re not… freaked out?

Nagisa: Amamiya, our teacher is a giant yellow octopus. Whatever happened to you is the least strange thing that I’ve seen this year. We can figure out what it is. And hopefully it’ll help us with our assassination.

Ren: *nods* Right! Let’s do this! (He holds out his hand. Nagisa stares at it for a moment before shaking it.)

---

Ryuji: Wow, she’s seriously cute.

Ren: She doesn’t really look like an assassin.

Shiho: Neither do we. But still… I’m curious about what this new girl’s all about. Amamiya turned out to be quite the joker.

Ren: Joker?

Shiho: A wild card! I mean, you didn’t hesitate to jump out a window or off of a cliff.

---

Ann: Uh, no offense but I don’t think your usual tactics will fool Mr. Karasuma. He knows your M.O.

Irina: Don’t you think I don’t know that!? (She sighs.) It’s like a paid escort trying to put the moves on her old man. (Ren shivers at the image.) If I don’t get this done, I’ll have to leave.

Ann: What?!

Irina: C’mere, I wanna try something. (She drags Ann off.)

---

Kayano: Here’s the thing, if they really are related… I mean, don’t you think that Korosensei would’ve known about it?

Fuwa: Hmm… not necessarily.

Ren: Right. They could’ve been separated at some point.

Kayano: Um, that still doesn’t explain why Itona’s human.

Fuwa: Easy. He’s a mutation.

Kayano: You’ve totally glossed over the core issue here!

Ann: Uh, no offense, but the whole separation thing is really kinda cliche.

Fuwa: Hey, no one asked for your criticism.

Ann: If you didn’t notice already, we’re sorta dealing with real life!

---

Sugino pitches and Shindo swings again. The ball hits the bat, and Ren leaps back just in time, flipping backwards and actually sticking the landing.)

Karma: (jumping up to catch the ball.) Oh, now you’re just showing off. Heads up, Nagisa! (He tosses the ball to their catcher, who tags the home plate.

Ren: Maybe.

---

(The whole time Ren had been taunting Takaoka and keeping everyone’s eyes on him, Nagisa had come around to sneak up behind him. The cat and the snake both strike, Ren flipping over Takaoka’s shoulders as Nagisa brings him down to the ground, knife at his neck and a hand covering his eyes.)

Nagisa: Looks like we win.

Ren: Nagisa, you’re using the back of the knife.

Nagisa: Huh?

---

 (She jumps onto his back.)

Terasaka: What the hell?!

Shiho: What the heck did you mean when you called me a rabbit?! If I’m a rabbit, does that mean you don’t think I can kick your ass?! Because I can! (Her weight eventually toppled them both over and they landed in the water. Ann laughs as she goes to help them up. Ren moves over to get his glasses from Karma.)

---

Ren: And finally, the grand overachiever himself holding the top spot: student council president Gakushu Asano. He got the top spot in the National Mock Exams, and tends to get perfect scores in just about every subject. He’s the principal’s only son, so I think that might have something to do with it. if we could somehow catch him off guard, surprise him somehow, it could get him to mess up and make a mistake. He’s always been like that as far as I can remember. For example, despite being adept at martial arts, he didn’t remember how to catch himself when he fell after I… might’ve shoved him.

Shiho: You know a lot about Asano. It’s kind of creepy. (Ren only hums in reply. It’s not that creepy when you think about it.)

---

(Ren’s eyes widened. He… He actually did it?)

Ryuji: Way to stick it to that know-it-all, man! (Ren softly smiles.)

Ren: I guess.

Ryuji: You guess? The guy’s ranked nationally! Even Nakamura only beat him by the skin of her teeth!

Nakamura: What was that, Sakamoto?

Ryuji: Uh, nothing! Just sayin’! Ren challenging the King of the Hill is definitely awesome!

---

Ann: Yup! (as she and Shiho take the drinks from the waiter passing them out. Ann takes a sip from hers) C’mon, guys! Drink up! These things are like… super good. So sweet!

Ren: (holding up the water bottle he thought to bring with him) I’m fine.

Ryuji: Don’t mind if I do! (He takes Ann’s, which is still at least a three-fours of the way full. He drinks right from the glass)

Ann: Hey! Get your own!

Ryuji: Too late! My backwash is in it! It’s mine now. I LICKED the glass! (He does so to drive his point home. Ann huffs as Shiho chuckles, downing the rest of her glass.)

---

Karma: Oh, sorry ‘bout that. Let’s see if there’s a way to help you out there. (He gestures over to another classmate, who brings him a sea slug. Karma plops it on the sphere.) This do anything?

Ren: (as Korosensei screams) Karma, knock it off.

Karma: Why should I? Not like he can do anything about it. (Ren pulls himself out of the water and the sea slug off of Korosensei.) Now, I wonder if we could find a creepy old beach hum anywhere. I want to shove Korosensei down his pants. (Ren groans. What the hell…? In hindsight, taking this form probably wasn’t the best idea. Especially around Karma. That is why Ren snatches up Koro Sensei and runs over to Mr. Karasuma.) Hey!

---

Ren: ‘Eliminate the impossible and whatever remains is the truth’. 

Fuwa: Hey, yeah! I didn’t know you read Shonen Jump, too!

Ren: I uh... 

Karma: He doesn't. I saw him reading a little something else on the way over. Sherlock Holmes, wasn’t it?

Ren: Maybe… ...okay, no. ...It was Arsène Lupin. ...I finished the Sherlock Holmes books a while ago. A friend recommended Arsène Lupin to me and I haven’t been able to put it down.

Ryuji: Nerd.

Ren: You were reading over my shoulder.

---

Ann: Hey, are you okay?

Ren: Yeah… just a little bit of a headache. I’ll be fine.

Ann: How long have you had it? (Ren looks down at the ground.) Ren, how long have you had it?

Ren: ...Since the mastermind called, saying he poisoned everyone. It’s just a small one, Ann. I’ll be fine.

Ann: Liar. You know what happens when you get those headaches, though. Don’t act like none of us noticed. I saw your phantom try to come out when that guy had Karma. Ren, I know it’s hard, but you need to keep calm.

---

Ren: Ryuji, you’re-- (Ryuji puts a hand over Ren’s mouth, shushing him.)

Ryuji: I’m fine. It’s just a fever. Ann and I split the drink, so if she’s fine, then I’m fine, too. (Ren takes Ryuji’s hand off of his mouth.)

Ren: Ann barely drank any of it at all. You drank most of it. The virus is deadly, Ryuji. 

Ryuji: I don’t care! It’s like everyone said earlier. I’m the fastest in the class. I can’t just sit and wait for help while this creep gets away with it. I don’t care if I’m sick, I’m not gonna let everyone down!

Ren: Ryuji--

Ryuji: Please. Don’t tell anyone. Especially Ann… I think she already blames herself for what happened to Shiho, I don’t want her to blame herself for not stopping me earlier, too. (Ren bites his lip but nods either way. Once Ryuji decides to do something, it’s hard to stop him. But still… He really hopes that they can get that antidote.)

---

Ren thrashes against whoever’s holding him and loudly screams, dropping to his knees and letting it all go. He doubles over, catching himself on forearms as wind whips around him.)

“Nagisa, back away from him! NOW.” (There’s a blue light streaming around him, travelling up his body as the voice in his head now echoes in his ears.)

“I am thou, thou art I. Thou who would accept blasphemy for the sake of thine own justice, call upon my name and release thy rage!” (Ren shakily pushes himself up, his knees feeling like they’re about to give way as he stands. The light shifts and morphs into a figure behind him.) “Show the strength of thy will to ascertain all on thine own, though thou shall be chained down to Hell itself!”

(A single name appears in Ren’s mind.)

Ren: ARSÈNE!

[darkacademicfrom2021]

The Dark Team (part 7)

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Join the taglist in here (Taglist: @lucywrites02, @louieboo87, @the-departed-potato, @jesuswasnotawhiteman)

Warnings: mentions of suicide and murder, awfully cheesy petnames (yes I have to put a warning on that).

The streets were so cold you had to rub your hands to your neck as you walked. You had only one piece of information that could’ve been possibly linked to that murder, and therefore that stick.

Saying you weren’t worried about being very undercover was a lie; an almost seven feet tall “man” that dressed like a millionaire, and a man with a metal prosthesis and abnormal sized muscles were not exactly the definition of discrete, much less once they were being categorized as “wanted”.

“Are you sure it’s this way?” asked Loki impatiently.

“No”.

“And why…?”.

“Stop torturing me with questions you know the answer of. Shut it and let me do my thing”.

“What is exactly your thing?”.

“Trying to not stab you in the balls, if you keep being this annoying”.

“Alright, guys, keep it down”, mediated Bucky. His role in the team was starting to be more and more like a third wheel in a car that’s trying to break down purposely, and he hated every second of it. “Can’t wait for this mission to be over”.

“Talking about that, we still have a game of cards on hold”.

“We could never play that with Loki, he has mind powers or some shit like that. He’d cheat”.

“Me?” he held a hand to his chest dramatically, “I would never cheat on a cards game. That is dishonest and I would never do such mischievous thing”.

Your phone beeped and the address changed suddenly. You stopped dead on your tracks and both Loki and Bucky, who were walking in line behind you, stumped with each other and almost made you trip.

“Careful, guys”.

“Are you fucking…”.

“Leave it there, Barnes”.

“What happened?”.

“I don’t know, the address suddenly changed. This isn’t supposed to happen”, you hit a few times your phone after it froze, and realized it wouldn’t work anymore. “Well, we’re gonna have to do this the old fashioned way”.

“And how’s that?”.

“How am I supposed to know? You’re the one that's a thousand years old and he’s a hundred and six. I’m barely around the two decades”.

“I’m beginning to think maybe you’re not one for this job. Aren’t you the one in charge of the planning? How did you even get to this Stank Internship in the first place?”.

“Hey, don’t be mean to them. They’ll cry”.

You rolled your eyes and ignored them. Meanwhile, you looked around. You had to find this person. A person who saw the “death” of the man with the pendrive, but the only one who said nothing about it. Only thing you knew was that he was a worker in a coffee shop. Which coffee shop, you’d ask? Well, that’s a good question.

It had to be in the neighborhood, that was for sure. You looked around a bit more, trying to drink in all the information the streets and its habitants could give you.

“The man was killed being thrown off that building. They said it was suicide. It was not”, you finally said out loud, pointing at the direction of one of the tallest buildings of the city. You were too concentrated to even realize you had stopped talking again.

The man you were looking for had to have a full view of the window the guy was thrown off from, so it would be in… that direction. A reasonable distance to see both guys would be less than two blocks. And it happened in an unreasonable hour for a work break, so… it had to be… alright. I think I got it.

“What are we looking for, then?”.

“There has to be a coffee shop maximum two blocks away from one of these three streets, the counter of the bar has to be near the window (or showcase) and the showcase should be tall enough to see the high part of the building, so I’d say at least three meters tall. I assume the man we’re looking for is old and introverted, quiet, not very friendly. Not less than fifty years old”.

“Alright Sherlock”, said Bucky, patting your back. “I’ll write down not to mock your intellect. Now you don’t have to pretend like you just figure that out all by yourself”.

“Okay”, you said, not paying any attention to his words. You were still juicing all the information you could.

“I got lost in the description of the man, how did you reach that conclusion?”, asked Loki, who apparently was reading your mind, following your thought process.

“Well, he’s the only one who didn’t testify at all. The witnesses in this sort of cases go through a polygraph. If all he saw was a suicide, then he wouldn’t be lying, he’d go through the lie detector and go out as if anything happened. Since he saw more, and didn’t say anything, it’s probably because he wanted to protect himself against the law, or just too lazy to go into all the bureaucracy it’d imply”, you explained. Loki had a full blown smile across his face, not even hiding it. “What are you smiling at?”.

“Nothing”, he brushed it off and pretended to fix his tie.

“No, please, do give me your input”.

“I can’t read whether you’re being sarcastic or not”.

“Wanna find out, dear?”.

“Hey, the aggressive pet names are my thing. Get your own passive-aggressive mechanism”.

“Can you concen…? You know what? Whatever. I’m going there”, cut Bucky. He was so done.

You walked as fast as you could down the nearest street out of the three possible ones, and kept rubbing your (now almost numb) cold fingers.

“Buck, do you have a gun with you?”.

“I don’t think this is the best moment to kill yourself. Let us finish the mission first”.

“Though, honestly, I think it could speed things up a little”, added Loki.

“Wow, you guys are especially mean today. We might need something to threaten the guy with”.

“Just a pocket knife. Do you think it could help at all?”, he searched for more weapons in his pockets, but found none. Going undercover, you all had to leave your suits and armor in the hotel room. Loki cleared suggestively his throat and you gasped.

“Really? You can make it out of nowhere?”.

“No, but give me a weird shaped branch or anything similar and I can transform it. Transfigurations have been my specialty lately, though”.

“I love you wholeheartedly”.

“I’d literally marry you on the spot”.

“In fact, I think I might kiss you right now”.

“You guys have no idea how glad I am to know you’re lying”, said Loki, patting Bucky’s back.

To find the place was way easier than you had anticipated. Firstly, because it matched every single aspect you had predicted. Secondly, because it was the only coffee shop in the whole place.

The clicking bell filled the silent place as the scent of fresh coffee and baked goods infested your noses. There was only an old lady reading a paper and the fifty year old you were looking for. Bucky sat down on a table near the counter and you and Loki greeted the man.

“Hi, how are you?” you said with a fake warmth that would assure you his confidence. “We would like a black coffee…”, you looked at Loki, still acting, and he reached your thoughts telepathically to hear your “act, dude; you’re frowning”. He immediately softened up his expressions. “What would you like to drink, dear?”.

“Same as you, darling”, he smiled even faker than you. “So are we pretending to be a couple, now?”.

“Alright, two blacks, please”, you went back to the barista. “Yes, old people get all softies for young couples. Just follow me, we need him to like us”. “And a strawberry milkshake with extra cream and a cherry on top, for the gentleman on the table”.

“Going right up”, said the old man.

“Do you ever take vacations on mocking people?”.

“Never. It’s a true blessing”.

“So, what’s the plan?”.

“Same as it was before, except we can’t actually cause any harm while threatening him, if we do”.

“Why?”.

“Old lady at twelve o’clock?? Man, you really lack any empathy for innocent civilians, don’t you?”.

“Only with mortals. Don’t really care for them”.

“You’re probably lying. I know behind that shell there must be a big soft heart longing for...”.

“Alright, shut up, here comes our order”.

“Thank you, ah, wonderful”, you said, grabbing the cups. You pretended to just notice the news behind the counter, and Loki made the illusion of a highly realistic periodistic note on the suicide of the man with the stick. “Oh my… is that what I think it is?”.

The old man raised his eyebrows, intrigued.

“Uh, is just… don’t watch that, darling. It’ll make you feel sick”, said Loki tenderly, caressing your shoulder. “We sort of saw that… happening, you know?” he explained the old man.

“Oh, really?”.

“Yes, it was really close from here. Oh God, we saw it all happen, this poor man”.

“Very disturbing. Never seen such a gruesome situation in my short, very, very, very short life”, added Loki.

“Alright, we get it, humans live short lives”. “Believe me, you’re so lucky you didn’t have to see that”.

“Really?”, said again the barista, visibly nervous. “That terrible?”.

“Well, it’s a common tragedy, to be honest. But, you know, the cops and investigators were on our backs all night long”.

“Finally free now”, added Loki, still with his arm protectively wrapped around your shoulders. “You’re truly lucky to miss it”.

“Oh, yes. Sounds terrible. Glad didn’t see it, then”, he lied. And he was a bad liar. You didn’t even need Loki to tell you what you could so clearly see.

“And you know… I didn’t think it’d work, but we…” you chuckled innocently, as a kid telling their devilry to a friend, “we sort of lied to the lie detector, and it worked”.

“Love!”, gasped Loki, and lowered his voice “we shouldn’t be telling this to anyone. What if it spreads around?”.

“But, honey, have you seen this man? Why would you think he could wrong us?” you pointed at him and he, as you predicted, blushed with a smile.

“What did you lie about, if I may ask?”. He fell into the trap. You bent over the counter and lowered your voice.

“We saw it was not a suicide”.

Your expressions drew all seriousness and a terrifying look on your eyes gave the man the trust that you were being honest with him. He bent down on the counter too.

“What do you mean?”.

“We saw… oh God”, you started saying, but your eyes watered and Loki didn’t hesitate to hold your head to his chest, comforting you while you sobbed.

“I know, sweetheart, it’s terrible. I know”, he cooed. “We don’t know what to do with this piece of information. The man was thrown off violently, and the things they did to him before…” Loki hinted. The man swallowed hard and started sweating. Loki muttered nonsense, and you continued his empty explanation with sobs that sounded like words but nobody could actually figure out what you meant.

“That sounds awful, wow”, said the man, pretending he heard. Truth was, he didn’t need to insensitively ask for you to repeat yourself. He knew what had happened.

“We wonder what kind of deals could be behind all that, you know?”.

“Yes, very strange, to try to strip the man like that” started saying the old man, too affected by the situation to actually notice he was spilling the true tea. “It sounds like all a very weird business”.

“And that thing they pulled out of him!”.

“Ah… yes”.

You and Loki had started to lose your patience, and figured the man would be harder to interrogate like this than you’d expected. Loki squeezed your shoulder.

“My love, we should get going, don’t you think?”. And with get going he meant knocking the guy off and getting into his memories through Loki’s magic.

“No, my dearest, let’s stay here”, you insisted, without wanting to cause the fuss this was going to make. Ever since you came into the coffee shop, three other family groups had entered and were waiting for their order.

“But, sweet pie… I think we’re shocking the man enough”.

“Oh, please, I just want a normal day, honey bunny. Let’s stay and drink a cuppa here”.

Bucky chuckled at the pet name war you two were having, and the old man looked at you suspiciously. You sighed.

“Alright. Fuck it”.

“You’re cops, aren’t you?”, asked the old man. You fell off your character.

“No… but sorry anyways”, you said, kicking him on the face and smashing his head against the counter, leaving him unconscious.

“That was unnecessarily violent, I could’ve made him sleep with seiðr”, stated Loki, watching the man drip blood from his nose.

“Guys'', said Bucky, watching how all the clients were running away in fear, “I thought we said ‘keep it low, threaten discreetly’. What happened?”.

“For Fuck’s sake, just get into his head already, sweet muffin”.

“Hold his head, baby cakes”.

[ikesenhell]

The First Thing

You can find all other IkeSen/IkeVamp works of mine here! NOTES: AT LAST I RETURN. I made this almost explicitly to annoy @a-shout-to-the-void. I had to make an entire playlist to write this... you know that ‘boyfriend’ by Ariana Grande actually is very helpful for this? (and ‘bitches broken hearts’ by Billie Eilish, who knew) ---

When she started looking at him--really looking at him, investigating his features and cadence, memorizing the sound of his voice--she noticed his hands first. She never told him. If she’d asked what he wanted her to notice, she assumed Arthur would chuckle (in that delightful, infuriating, charming accent of his) and say, “Darling, aren’t there a thousand things about me you could look at?”

Famous author he was. ‘Pain in the ass’ could be added to that list. 

His mouth was a liar and she wished it would shut up more often (the man wrote Sherlock Holmes and couldn’t catch a clue, apparently; his motor-mouth flirtations drove her insane). His eyes went along with the facade. What a liar the body could be! 

But his hands? They were the crack in his armor. She learned the way he curled his fingers slow around mugs when he was thinking, curled playfully in teacup handles, rapped annoyance against his pockets. When nothing else in his flirtations gave him away, that did. 

(As much as it was the chink in his mask, it was hers, too. It was the first thing she’d liked about him. His hands made her think he might even be tolerable.)

The second thing she liked was his idiosyncrasies. She wasn’t too given to sweets--she’d always preferred savory things--but the day she rapped on his door to deliver a fresh mug of coffee and a block of fudge, he was too distracted to disguise them. 

“Set it down there,” he gestured, not rising from his typewriter (a horrific, spiderweb contraption that the Comte got for him and he so obviously hadn’t adapted to). “I’ll get to it.”

She set the platter down within his arm’s reach and set about collecting the other stray mugs around his room. When she turned, he was absently breaking off hunks of fudge and dropping it into the coffee, brow furrowed, chewing on his lip, pecking away with a single finger on the keys. It was almost charming. She thought about her grandfather doing his best with his home computer, hammering out emails punctuated with ellipses between his pointer fingers. 

“Has no one taught you how to type on that?” She asked. 

Arthur blinked owlishly over his frames at her. “Is there a certain way?”

Did Arthur Conan Doyle write by hand? She cast the thought from her mind and instead savored that he’d addressed her like a human being and not a snack conveniently wrapped in a skirt, that out of his vest and with his shirt slightly unbuttoned and the sweet abomination of chocolates in his coffee, he was almost lovable. She placed the last dirty mug on her tray and balanced it against her hip. “There is. There’s a hand placement that makes it easier. After that, it’s just practice.” A beat. “It’s sort of like playing the piano. Have you played?”

“No. I play violin.”

She almost asked, ‘like Sherlock Holmes?’ and thought better of it. “Well, I suppose it could be a little like that. Do you need anything else?”

“No. Thank you.” Arthur cast her a smile--a wonderful, ordinary smile. “I don’t suppose you’d teach this old chap how to type sometime?”

“I suppose I could do that, if Sebastian doesn’t need me at some point.”

Arthur’s eyes crinkled. “Well, do let me know.”

When she left the room, he was back to pecking away at the keyboard. She cast one glance back--he was slurping down the sludge of chocolate and sugar and coffee--and wondered if the warmth in her chest was something she ought to worry about.

---

The third thing she liked was his puppy. Vic was adorable; watching them cuddle and romp on the lawn behind the mansion warmed her heart. The spaniel bounded after her skirts as she hung the wash, rolled on her shoes and looked longingly up at her. 

“Hey baby!” His head was silky under her fingers; obviously, he was cared for. Arthur, panting, caught up a few moments later. 

“My apologies, my dear.” He played at an approximation of Napoleon’s bow, but too loose and formless, smiling all the while. It was so boyish and delightful that she smiled despite herself, heart surging. “It seems he’s gotten away from me. I’ll get him out from under you.”

“It’s no problem. I love dogs.” She scratched under the puppy’s chin, watching the tail wriggle on the grass. “I had one, actually. Her name was Neo, short for Neopolitan.”

“Neopolitan! What a divine name.” Arthur dove over Vic, nuzzling the spaniel. “Almost as regal as you, baby boy!”

She grinned and flapped out another shirt (one of Arthur’s, incidentally), pinning it to the line. “You’re not getting blood on your shirts anymore.”

“Am I not?” He shrugged, as if it were nothing at all. “Interesting. Vic! Want to play fetch?”

Vic yelped happily, darting away once more, and as Arthur cursed and scrambled to his knees after, she found herself watching as he ran. 

---

Seasons turned, and so did they. As gradual as the waning months from summer’s height into the shimmering twilight of fall, everything changed. 

“You know, my dear,” he said one night, hunched over the typewriter he still had not mastered (but he was using all of his fingers now at her instruction, which she considered a win), “I’m rather fond of you.”

“You’re fond of all women,” she replied easily, fixing his hand placement on the left. “You hit the ‘enter’ key with your little finger. Trying to use your ring finger like that is causing you problems.”

He wasn’t looking at the keys anymore. Those blue eyes were trained on her, mouth set in a long frown. “I’m serious.”

Was he? She faltered, uncertain of where to turn. Arthur showing vulnerability was almost impossible to comprehend. Was this a ploy? Was this how he lured so many women into his arms? Was this why his shirts were so often flecked with stranger’s blood? Come to think of it, that hadn’t happened in a while. 

“I…” She trailed off. “I don’t know what you mean by that. I guess I’m getting close to everyone.”

His correction was as swift as sharp. “That isn’t what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“Have you seen blood on my shirts recently? I’m not out looking for any old skirt to bring home.” He peered intently at her, waiting for a reaction. She stood stone-faced. 

(Because what if he was just saying that? What if he--with all his quirks and humor and love of animals and quick tongue and razor mind--was playing the latest caper on her? What if he truly just thought she was someone to play with? What if this was all a sick game? Her heart hurt--it hurt, it hurt, it hurt under the weight of imagining him wrapping her in those arms, with the imagined long evenings in his room reading the latest books.) 

“What,” she scoffed, disbelieving, “should I give you a piece of paper to check off to ask if you ‘like’ me or ‘like like’ me?”

Arthur cocked a brow. “Would that clarify things for you?”

She turned on her heel and left, swinging the bedroom door hard behind her. 

---

Damn him, he was telling the truth. 

Quizzing Theo was exactly as illuminating as she’d suspected it would be. He’d noticed Arthur’s recent change--that he came home from the bars at the same time without vanishing into some side room, that he was ordering alcohol (which he never did when he was chasing a woman), that he was drinking blanc like water (and he was, she could vouch to that--he kept ordering it to his room). 

“Is there a reason for all the questions, Hondje?” Those piercing eyes cut straight through her. Determined to stay them, she slid another warmed pitcher of syrup to him. 

“I mixed it with butter this time,” she told him. “The way my grandmother did. You’ll probably like it like that.”

He frowned, placated for the moment, and tested it on a bite of pancake. Success; his whole face illuminated. “Not bad, Knabbeltje.”

“Glad you like it.”

Theo reached out and caught her by the wrist before she could turn away, expression serious once more. “He’s fallen for you.”

(And she wanted to say ‘Good for him’ and pretend not to care, but she remembered the way his shoulders curved over a piece of paper as he wrote with an ink pen, how he could take the tiniest pieces of information and discover everything about it, how he’d smuggled so many of the encyclopedias into his bedroom that the Comte caved and bought Arthur a shelf full of his own, how he smiled when he was really and truly enjoying himself.)

She swallowed. “How do you know?”

Theo released her and leaned back in his chair, scowling as if he’d never cared to begin with. “Pretty sure you knew that already. If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here asking me all this.”

---

It was raining cats and dogs that night, and she hadn’t talked to Arthur in three days. But he was heading out with Theo to the pub, and Sebastian was nowhere to be found, so she took it upon herself to find their raincoats. By the time she returned to the hall, only Arthur was standing there. 

“Where did Theo go?” She asked. 

Arthur shrugged and pointed up the steps. “He forgot his wallet.”

It sounded like a lie, but it wasn’t delivered like one. Arthur’s hands remained telltale still at his wrists, picking at the buttons. She draped Theo’s coat across the rack and held out Arthur’s, helping him into the sleeves. He let her adjust his raincoat, eyes never leaving hers, not once. She  just busied herself with the buttons. Then he took one step forward, gloved hands pinning hers to his chest. 

"I know what game you're playing," he whispered. Was he serious? Joking? It was impossible to tell. "You're waiting to see if I’m serious or simply indulging a passing fancy."

Theo wasn't back yet. She swallowed hard. "Am I?"

"You are." A pause. He trailed his nose against the ridge of her ear and she shivered. "If I break and pick up a skirt at the bar. If I come back with blood on my vest. If I have someone else's perfume on. You don't trust me--not yet."

Her fingers, somehow, were bunched in his vest. She tried to ease up, turned her head away from him. He just followed. The slope of his mouth skated down against her neck and she wondered what it would be like for him to leave a hickey there instead. Would it burn like her heart did around him? She could smell his cologne and coffee and fudge and ink and it all spelled ‘Arthur’ in cursive letters, etched in the most primal part of her soul. 

"Maybe," she hedged, breathless.

"No 'maybes', Love," he sighed against her. "But I'm a stubborn man. You'll see. I meant every word."

---

His whole body wrote love letters to her. 

She knew it, too. He was so touchy when she’d first arrived at the mansion, and now--now the gulf between them was thick with the promise of all he might do. Arthur lingered around her shoulders, his hands deftly handing her pins to hang the laundry when she dropped them in the garden, appearing as if summoned when she needed something from a high shelf. It made her ache. 

“You’re doing this on purpose,” she fussed at him in the pantry, soft so Sebastian couldn’t hear. Arthur smiled at her over his coffee mug, finger tapping. She was right. 

“Am I?” He evaded. 

“You are,” she pressed. 

“What, praytell, am I doing?”

(Making me want you so badly I could scream. Ghosting around me.)

“Being a fucking dick.”

Arthur’s eyes blew wide with surprise, and then he laughed so loud and genuine that Sebastian appeared around the corner and squinted. “My! That’s a turn of phrase I didn't expect.”

“You deserved it,” she announced. “I’m not taking it back.”

She still corrected his typing when she came through to fetch his coffee mugs. He was fast now. The metallic hammer of keys echoed down the hall, silencing only when she entered. Thick flakes fluttered past his windowpane, falling in sheets over the gazebo, and Arthur looked up with a paintbrush and a capful of white oil paint. 

She paused. “What are you doing?”

He scowled and motioned at the page. “Typo. That’s how I know I’m old; misspelling words that I ought to know better about. I found that it’s much easier to simply paint over the word, wind it back, and retype the blasted thing on top when it dries.”

Was that how White-Out got invented? She didn't mention that and instead commented lightly, “Smart.”

Arthur shot her a wink and a smile, turning in his chair and taking his coffee with murmured thanks. “What are you doing after this?”

“Nothing, I suppose. I was thinking about doing some journaling.” 

His smile vanished into nothing, fingers rolling thoughtfully along the ceramic mug. At long last, he said, “Is that pressing?”

“I guess not. Why?”

“Then stay.”

Somewhere above them, Mozart’s piano started, a sonata he’d been slaving on for months. Apparently he’d finished it; the notes glided through the ceiling, echoing against her hammering ribs. Arthur waited, silent and pensive. 

She swallowed. “What happens if I stay?”

“Nothing.” A beat. “Everything. Whatever you like.”

“What did you have in mind?”

Those blue eyes roved around the room, as if hiding all the things they could invent. “If I’m perfectly honest, I was thinking of a cuddle.”

“A cuddle? Just one?” She teased, propping her tray on her hip. “You Brits have to specify.” 

He chanced a grin. “Well, perhaps more than one cuddle. We could sit together on the couch, perhaps read a while. Something quiet. Would that suit you?”

Overhead, Mozart hit a sour note of frustration and fell silent once more. She inhaled sharply. 

“Two conditions.”

“I’ll have them.”

“One, I have to bring Sebastian his tray back. Two, I’m bringing you some rouge. You have to drink it beforehand.”

Arthur clicked his tongue, but smiled again. “You drive a hard bargain. I’ll take it.”

---

He was pacing when she returned, sleeves rolled back, a few books lying on the coffee table as if he would need to sell her on any of them. He didn't. She shut the door tight behind her and handed him the rouge (which he drank a little too quickly, fingers fumbling with the stopper as if he’d never seen the bottle before). 

“Well.” He slumped into the couch, bringing his legs up with him. “I laid out some novels--”

“Great,” she replied, and settled inbetween his legs to rest on his chest. “You enjoy them.”

Arthur inhaled. His pulse thrummed wildly against her ear, the smooth plane of him comfortable and easy. “Do… do you want any of them?”

“No. I’ve been working all day. I’m alright with resting.”

He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her shoulder, hands cool and nervous on her skin. “I’ll admit, I didn't expect you to just go for this.”

She paused only a moment before admitting, “If I didn't just do it, I knew I was going to be too scared.”

“Too scared for…?”

“Doing what I wanted to do.”

Arthur’s hand--one of those honest, understanding hands--slid upward into her hair, easing her body upward along his. He was all high-strung sinew and bone and flesh, reassuringly solid and hypnotizing. His mouth against her forehead was a relief; against her ear, a taste; against her jaw, a promise; against her shoulder, a tease. 

“Stay tonight,” he whispered in the curve of her skin. Only Arthur could make begging sound seductive. “Here, with me. Don’t make me let you go. You’ve only just arrived, I can’t possibly let you go now.”

She entwined her fingers with his (the very first thing she’d ever liked about him), relishing the ghost of his mouth against her skin, and then--oh, there he was, his lips near hers, and regardless of who leaned first she tasted him with abandon. She was more given to savory things, but when it was him, she supposed a little sugar didn't hurt. His tongue tasted of chocolate and coffee and moved so slow and smooth that when they parted, she gasped. 

“Please,” he murmured, and punctuated it by sucking on her lower lip (damn writers; they always knew how to end a sentence). 

“I’ll think about it,” she breathed, knowing full well the answer. “But you can try and convince me.” 

[it-me-ari]

“The devil may care” (Gabriel does NOT like it)

I woke up with a pounding headache. And not, as you probably think, because I was partying the day before. It was because some lousy demon knocked me out and frigging kidnapped me! He should know that this was a very bad decision. Sam and Dean and probably every other hunter they could reach would search for me, plus my boyfriend is literally an archangel who would also search for me and would not be happy when he finds me in hell. Although I had to admit that Gabriel wasn't able to look for me, since he had some very important business going on in heaven.

As you might know heaven is powered by the number of angels being in heaven. The problem was that there were barley enough angels to keep heaven up and running and they needed every angel they could get, especially an archangel. So Gabriel was there with Jack and together they were trying to find a solution before heaven collapsed and every one of the intrusted souls would fall back to earth.

Anyway, I was captured and it was unlikely that anyone would find me in the nearest future, so I looked around and realized that I wasn't alone in the dark, bricked cave. There were three demons (at least that's what I suspected, given that it looked like I was in hell) standing in front of me, clearly waiting for me to acknowledge them. "Why am I here?" I finally said and the person who was most likely a demon started grinning. "Because I, Lucius, captured you." I sighed, not the brightest bulb apparently. "No shit Sherlock. I was asking what the hell do you want with me?" Lucius frowned and his eyes turned black, showing me that I was right about my demon theory. Then he smiled again, desperate to hide his anger with me: "Word is that you're Gabriel's new toy..." I sighed again, typical demon behaviour. "I'm his girlfriend and not his toy. There's a difference. Google it."

The demon called Lucius frowned as I didn't seem frightened at all. "I don't care what exactly you are to him, what matters is that he cares about you." I just raised my eyebrows, seemingly bored but with the growing fear what they wanted from Gabriel. Lucius continued when I didn't react: "You see.. I've heard about Asmodeus' little trick with the archangel grace. I want to overthrow Crowley and take over the position as king of hell, but for that I need more power." "You can't overthrow Crowley. You're not the first one who tried." I was acting more relaxed than I felt. I was worried about their plan to overthrow Crowley by using Gabriel's grace, that wasn't good at all and for once I was glad that Gabriel was in heaven and couldn't go looking for me until he and Jack had found a solution for the power problem. I didn't want him near these demons who wanted to use him like Asmodeus did.

"Asmodeus did! And he had archangel power!" Lucius argued and smiled complacently. "Too bad he got himself fried." "Yeah yeah I get it. But what do you want with me?" I asked, sounding annoyed to hide my fear for Gabriel and Crowley. Lucius smiled again and leaned forward a little: "You are going to tell us how to neutralise Gabriel and where we can find him." I snorted and rolled my eyes. "Keep on dreaming." "So you decide to say nothing?" The demon asked and seemed almost excited by my answer. "Exactly." I answered and held up my chin high. Lucius stepped back, now openly grinning and turned to his two followers: "You know what to do." And so they did.

They brought me to another room and undressed me. They then proceeded by strapping me on a table and putting on aprons. And then they tortured me. They did things I don't wanna remember and never speak of. After a few hours they brought me into a cell and left me alone with my injuries. I would have healed myself but they forced me to wear handcuffs witj runes that suppressed my powers. At least they couldn't squeeze the information they needed out of me. I was exhausted and wounded form the torture and so I fell asleep. Not a good idea. The moment I closed my eyes it all came back. I didn't scream or cried at the memory of what these demons did to me. All I did was whisper one name: "Gabriel." Again and again, until it stopped.

"Awww too bad my baby brother isn't here." I heard a voice say and opened my eyes. There, in the corner of my cell leaned casually the devil himself and looked at me with fake pity. I was so surprised to see Lucifer that I flinched at the sight of him. He saw my reaction and pouted: "Am I that ugly?" "What the hell are you doing here?!" I asked, confused as fuck. "Oh, I was just seeking some entrainment and I gotta say, watching someone being tortured is highly amusing." I raised my eyebrows: "That's all?" He nodded with big, innocent eyes and put one hand at his heart: "Promise." "But when you're in hell... Are you the ruler of hell again?" I frowned pondering and continued talking before Lucifer could answer: "No, that can't be.. Lucius said that he wanted to overthrow Crowley, which means he's still king.." Lucifer was listening to me patiently and then answered: "Yes, I tried ruling hell before and it's soooo boring! So I leave the throne to Crowley and mind my own business." "Such as watching me being tortured?" I asked sarcastically. "Jup! Exactly!" He grinned, proud like a four year old, at me. "Amazing." I sighed and slumped back against the wall. "Heyy, I might not be Gabriel but I am still a better company than thos demons!" He seemed genuinely offended and I couldn't help but smile a little.

Gabriel was in a room full of angels when he heard me whispering his name, I suppose he heard it because it was like a prayer? He froze immediately and tensed. "I have to go." The other angels looked at him, horrified by his statement. "No! You can't!" They spend the next half hour convincing him why it was absolutely necessary for him to stay in heaven. He knew they were right and so he stayed, although he hated it, not knowing if I was safe or needed his help. Nevertheless, he still had a problem to solve so he returned to Jack and together they started pondering over it again.

"Good afternoon, how are we feeling today?" Lucifer asked, acting like a psychiatrist when he appeared in my cell, like he did every day after the demons brought me back from torture. I smiled weakly: "Awesome." He sighed and for a moment it looked like there was a hint of compassion in his eyes. But then the moment passed and he was his usual devilish self. "You look like hell." He finally stated and pursed his lips. "No surprise there, considering I am in hell." I replied with a weak grin before I passed out. The last thing I recalled was Lucifer sighing. "I can't believe I'm doing this." He murmured and walked towards me just before it all went black.

It was around that time when Gabriel and Jack finally found a solution to heaven's power problem. They had created a spell that would turn every worthy soul in heaven into an angel. As soon as the spell was at work Gabriel left heaven and went looking for me. He was surprised and anxious to find me at a luxurious hotel in Lebanon. He was furious when he saw me lying unconscious on the bed, wounded and thinner than he last saw me. "Oh hey brother, I was wondering when you would show up." Lucifer greeted him casually. Gabriel immediately turned around and pinned his brother against the wall. "What did you do to her?" He growled, his angel blade pointing at Lucifer's chest. "Wow easyyy Gabe, I didn't do anything to her!" He glanced down nervously at the blade. "Liar!" Gabriel snarled and was about to stab his brother.

"No! He saved me!" I wanted to shout the words but that didn't work very well since all that came out was a whisper. Gabe immediately was at my side, looking at me with wide eyes. "What do you mean he saved you? From what?" I then explained what had happened to me and his eyes grew dark. "This is my fault. I should've never leave you!" I gently placed my hand at his cheek and smiled weakly: "You had to." He was about to answer when he saw the handcuffs that still kept my powers at bay. He frowned and with a thought he made them explode, then he placed his hand on my had and healed me. "I am so sorry." He whispered and stroked my cheek softly. I smiled at him and hugged him tightly. "Don't be. It's not your fault."

Before he could answer we heard someone behind us clear his throat and we both turned around to see Lucifer standing there, arms crossed in front of his chest. "Don't you think you should apologize?" He demanded and looked at Gabriel. "For what?" Gabe answered and kept his arm around my waist. "For attacking me without reason! I mean I did save your girlfriend from cruel torture!" As much as he hated the fact that his brother, the actual devil, would do something good, he had to admit that he saved me. "Yeah yeah sorry for attacking you." I smiled at Lucifer, if he hadn't kept me company I would be in a much worse state, mentally speaking, which caused me to see him in a different light. "I'd never thought I'd say this, but thank you, Lucifer." Lucifer grinned and bowed jokingly. "Everytime." Gabriel didn't like that very much. "Hey! Don't get too friendly! You're still the devil and I don't want to see you around my girlfriend." Lucifer just rolled his eyes and disappeared, not before winking at me and mouthing 'call me'.

After that Gabriel turned to me, pulled me into his arms and I felt his wings folding behind my back. He felt guilty for bringing me into this situation with his absence. Of course I tried my best to reassure him but I think a part of him will always hate himself for not being there to protect me. "I love you." I whispered and looked into his eyes. "I love you too." Gabriel replied softly and looked at me with love in his eyes.

Part two: “You and me and the devil makes three”

[seelaa26]

8. Start A War

“Bang, shots fired. Pain is what you desire. The pen is mightier than the sword then how did we get here, my God. Sail among liars, blame the deniers. So you want to start a war. So you want to be immortal with a loaded gun”

As we had done in the interrogation of Pete, Sara, Brass and I entered the interrogation room while the FBI agents stayed in the viewing room. As soon as we entered, Brian got mad and started talking.

-Finally! What am I doing here? You have no right bring me here when I have done nothing!

-Are you in a hurry, Mr. Reid? –Brass asked.

-In fact, yes –he nodded seriously- I have to stop by my ex-girlfriend’s house to pick up my stuff before she gets from work.

-So you didn’t break into her apartment? –He frowned like if he had no idea about what I was talking about- The door was bashed open.

-What? No! I have a key –he exhaled and tried to calm down- Just call Portia. She’s angry with me but she’ll back me up.

I opened my mouth in surprise. Brian didn’t know what had happened, which meant I had to tell him. This was going to be the first time that I had to communicate someone’s death. I looked at my colleagues and they nodded at me. With their support, I quickly thought about how to say it.

-There was a fire at the spa.

-A fire? Oh God! Is she OK?

-Unfortunately, Ms. Weismann never made it out of the mud bath.

-The mu.. you mean sh.. it can’t be!

-Mr. Reid, we’re sorry for your loss –Brian closed his eyes and put his hands in his head- We have no evidence implicating you right now, and we know it must be a shock to hear about Portia. We need your help to figure out what happened to her. You mentioned that you and Portia were no longer together. Was this a mutual decision?

-No, I broke it off with her. She.. her, her drug problem was getting in the way. Weed. She knew I couldn’t.. she knew I had a problem with it.

-Was Portia self-medicating? –Sara asked- Cancer patients are sometimes prescribed medicinal marijuana to help them cope with the side effects of treatment.

-Cancer? Well, that may have started her habit, but her cancer’s been in remission for years.

-Portia’s cancer had come back. The autopsy found mesothelioma in the lining of her heart. She didn’t have long.

-But she never told.. I didn’t know.

-Where were you last night? –I asked- Can anyone verify your location between the hours of three and four a.m.?

-I don’t think so, no. I was at home hanging with my body Jack for most of the night. But by then, Jack was gone and I was pretty much passed out. -Can your buddy Jack confirm your story?

-Well, I try not to ask the bottle too many questions. People look at me funny.

-Mr. Reid or should I call you Captain Reid? –I could see where Brass was going.

-Not anymore, I’m no longer with the Las Vegas Fire Department.

-I bet you’ve seen a lot of buildings burn and I bet you know a lot of ways to light ‘em up.

-You know something buddy? You are way the hell outta line! –Brian snapped and hit the table with his fist- I devoted my life to jumping into flames and saving people. So for you to sit there and insinuate that I may be an arsonist.. is the most offensive thing anyone has ever said to me! And Portia? You think I set Portia on fire?! I mean, I don’t know what kind of animals you people have to deal with, but that’s not me!

-Being a firefighter was obviously very important to you so it must have hurt to lose that. I think you failed a drug test..?

-Portia made pot brownies. Now, she says she didn’t dose mi intentionally but she did leave the damn things right where I would find them and she didn’t tell me what they were! And then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, happy Monday! Go pee in a cup.

-You dumped her because she dosed you.

-Tell us about this tool –Sara showed him a picture of the tool used to break in Portia’s apartment- It’s a firefighter tool, isn’t it?

-It’s called a Denver Tool. Firefighters use it for getting into and out of places.

-The drywall at the spa was ventilated with a Denver Tool.

-Well, it wasn’t mine. Anybody can buy one on the internet, even my gir.. even Portia had one. She wanted it for protection. Said it creeped her out to be alone in that place all day.

-How often did she do that? Spend hours alone at the spa? –I asked him.

-Just about every day. You know.. there were times I started to believe that place might be some sort of front for money laundering. Portia was convinced and she was keeping her own records.

I looked at the mirror, knowing Killian and his partner were behind it watching the interrogation. Brian gave them what they were looking for.

-Did anyone else know Portia was keeping financial records?

-I think she might have mentioned it to her boss which seemed like the wrong guy to talk to about it, but she trusted him. After she talked to him, she got all paranoid.

I left the room feeling satisfied. Besides clearing up my suspicions, Brian gave us a reason for Pete to start the fire and the pressure point we wanted to start dismantling “The Queen of the Hive”. Next stop? Pete Baxa’s barbershop.

***

When we got to Pete’s office, the barbershop, we saw the blinds down and the sign closed hanging on the door. Killian and I exchanged a daring look and knocked on the door despite being closed. We were willing to wait whatever it took, but luckily, Pete opened the door holding a piece of paper around his neck.

-Hi, uh, sorry. I was shaving.. cut myself –he threw the paper in the trash next to the door- What can I do for you?

-We’re looking for a tool –I said directly- Portia Weismann owned a firefighter tool. She kept it at the spa for security. Have you seen it?

-No, she had some kind of weapon at the spa? That’s totally against company policy.

-That’s all we need right now. We’ll be back.

-Uh.. looking forward to it.

After that phrase, he closed the door and disappeared. It was clear that Pete wasn’t a very smart pawn, because if were, he wouldn’t have given us his DNA. When the evidence is in a public place and in plain sight, we don’t need a warrant, so we took the paper.

Still with the DNA lab doors closed, you could hear the music Greg was playing but once I opened the doors, the sound flooded the room and Greg was lost in the song. He moved his leg like he was hitting the drum’s pedal and moved his arms like he had drumsticks.  

-Good morning to you too, Greg! –I yelled in his ear and he jumped in fright.

-What can I say? A man need his pleasures –he answered with a smile while he removing the music.

-Especially, when those pleasures include Marilyn Manson’s Holy Wood album.

Greg’s eyes lit up and his mouth fell open at what Killian said. Love at first sight.

-Greg Sanders –he introduced himself and shook hands with Killian- It’s always a pleasure meeting someone who values metal music.

-Killian Hayes.

I was surprised to see that Killian didn’t introduce himself as a Special Agent, which is normally what they should do, but with Greg he did it on a personal way. Like if he wanted to meet him beyond the profession.

-I don’t know why but I knew you two would get along –I smiled at them and handed Greg the piece of paper with Pete’s blood- I need you to compare this blood with the black hair from the bead curtain. I need it ASAP, please.

-C’mon love, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee while we wait.

-I bet you can get it for free with that charm of yours –I said as I walked out the door that Killian was holding for me.

-You don’t like it? -he put his arm around my shoulders and brought me closer to him as we walked down the hall being the center of attention of my colleagues. I looked at his blue eyes and his devilish smile and forgot about everyone and everything around us.

We left the lab and went to a cafeteria that was on the opposite street, so we were close in case we were needed. We sat at a table at the back, by the window, and ordered two coffees. He ordered an Irish coffee, which was curious but predictable.

-Feeling homesick? –he raised an eyebrow and nodded slightly- How did you become an FBI agent anyway?

-Had some connections with the IRA. One day the FBI showed up at my door, offered me a deal to be their informant, I accepted and since I helped them take down the operation I started working with them until I got my position.

-That’s.. quite impressive, actually.

-What about you?

-I thought you were Sherlock Holmes, why don’t you give it a shot? –I dared him. Killian placed both arms on the table and stared at me.

-Divorced parents clearly marked by the absence of a father, broken home and growing up with different difficulties. Short-tempered and with a certain tendency to fight–I swallowed and leaned back- I’m sorry Laura, but you’re from textbook.  

-You’re right.. –I nodded with a certain sadness- About everything.

-Hey, it’s better to come from a broken home than to live in one –the waitress brought us the coffees, interrupting that beautiful scene- So, what was your method to get the rage out?

-Boxing.

-Suits you –he smiled like he expected that answer- Keep practicing it?

-Not since I moved here.

-Why’s that?

-Well, coming to Vegas was a new chance for me and I wanted a different life than what I had in Barcelona, so I left it all behind.

-In my opinion, I think you should box again. I’m going to give you some advice, Laura. You need to find something outside of work to disconnect. Anything. Otherwise, the things you see and the people you meet, they’re going to be stucked in your head. For a girl like you, with that kind of fire inside, boxing is one of the best options.

***

Greg sent me a message confirming that the DNA matched, which meant we had a search warrant. Brass, Sara and I got in the same car and we headed to the barber shop.

-Mr. Baxa, Las Vegas Police, open up! –Brass yelled while he knocked on the door- Looks like he’s not here. We’ll have to execute the warrant without him.

The police opened up the door and Sara and I handled the scene investigation. The barber shop was small, way too small to be a normal business, so we figured that everything had to be in his office. We found an empty financial portfolio with the spa’s logo on it.

-Those records we found in the victim’s oven are just the kind you’d keep in a binder like this –Sara concluded.

-Hey Sara, look what I found –I held the bag in my hands- Vegan blueberry muffins. They look almost edible.. and flammable.

Next to the office, there was a small room with shelves, but the first thing we saw was some boots on the floor. Sara picked them up and observed the sole of the shoe. It was similar with the shoeprint the intruder had left at Portia’s apartment.

-I wonder why they need so much acetone –I said to my colleague pointing to a 5L litter of acetone- Place is a little too masculine for manicures.

-Mmm.. Laura? Guess what my favorite city is.

I turned around and looked at the tool she picked.

-Denver.

Back in the lab, it was time to get some physical evidence of Pete’s tampering with the Denver Tool, since finding it in his office wasn’t enough. We needed him on the weapon that caused the fire and killed Portia. I had the tool on the table and everything I needed to search for fingerprints, when someone entered the room. I looked back and saw him.

-Hey Nick.

-Hey, how you doing with the case? –he asked when he stood next to me.

-Good, actually I was about to examine the tool that caused the fire.

-Can I help you with something? –he nicely offered.

-Well, if you want you can examine the portfolio –I pointed to the portfolio next to him on the table- I was going to do it after finishing with the tool, but if you help me that would be great.

-Let’s get to work then! –Nick put on some gloves and I looked at him with a kind look, thinking him for helping me.

With the magnetic powders I dusted all the parts of the tool, but there was only one fingerprint on the handle. I looked at Nick with a satisfied smile while he looked back showing me the portfolio with another fingerprint. We had both been successful.

-Now, let’s photograph them and run them through AFIS.

-So, ..Where’s the Super Agent? –Nick asked like he was interested.

-I don’t know, I’m not his mom.

-Yeah, I know.. I was just asking because you’ve been spending so much time together.

-Well, yes, we’re working a case.. together.

-I’ve worked cases with FBI agents and they haven’t been holding me in the middle of the hall.

I had never seen Nick react like this; he seemed annoyed and even jealous. Before saying anything, I stopped to look at him. He kept his gaze steady, jaw clenched and darken eyes.

-Nick, what’s all this about?

-About that you two should have a professional relationship. I understand that he’s handsome and charming, but don’t let that cloud you. Especially when he’s playing with you.

-Excuse me?! –I opened my mouth and took step back- What if I like him? What do you have to do in my love life? Do I tell you who you should be or shouldn’t be with? Besides, I think it’s funny and hypocritical that you advise me to keep it professional. Like you did with Kristy?

-I guess I had that one coming.

The sound of the AFIS search separated us from the discussion to look at the result. Portia’s fingerprints were the ones in the financial portfolio, confirming she took the papers and Pete’s fingerprints were the ones on the handle of the Denver Tool, confirming he started the fire.

As fast as I could, I went to Brass’s office to get an arrest warrant for Pete. I knocked on his door and when he let me in, I realized that both officers were in the office and looking nervous.

-Guys, I think I know what happened –I explained- Baxa was laundering money and when Portia confronted him about it, he panicked. Then he decided to rig the spa to explode. Portia probably showed up after Pete was gone. Doc Robbins said she had marijuana in her system, so she might not have noticed the acetone. While she was there burning to death, Baxa was at her apartment, looking for the records she was keeping.

-Laura –Brass made a dramatic pause- We have a visitor. Ms. Beatriz Salazar.

-You serious? She’s here?

-“The Queen of the Hive” herself just walked in and asked to talk to the CSI in charge of the Pedro Baxa case.

-Do you mind if I sit in on this one, Captain Brass? –Agent Huntby asked.

-Be my guest, you can even take my seat. I’ll hang back and watch from the viewing room.

Agent Huntby and I entered the room with some intimidation and fear, we couldn’t deny it. Agent Huntby remained standing while I sat across from Beatriz. She was a woman in her 50s, she had brown hair with highlights. Her suit clothes showed a scar on her chest from an open-heart surgery and a tattoo of a crow.

-Hello, Ms. Salazar. My name is Special Agent..

-Gene Huntby. I know who you are. But she.. –she looked at me with narrowed eyes- I am unfamiliar with. I shall presume you are the one persecuting my poor, clumsy Pedrocito?

-We’re not persecuting anyone. The evidence speaks for itself, ma’am –I wasn’t going to let Beatriz intimidate me- Why are you here? Usually. When someone wants to talk to us in this room, they want to confess. So, is there something you’d like to get off your chest, Ms. Salazar?

-You think you’re very clever, don’t you? –She got mad- Perhaps I know you better than I thought, but I’m here for Pedro. He’s family.

-Family, huh? You know, I might actually be moved by that, if you weren’t still the primary suspect in the execution murder of your first husband –Agent Huntby spoke boldly.

-My husband’s murderer remains at large, Agent Huntby –she smiled at him- Pedro’s family, all three of his sisters, they live in the house I provide. So, as you can see, I have s significant investment in the future and well being of this young man.

-Sorry about your investment, but, like I said, the evidence speaks for itself and it never lies –I spoke again.

-What precisely is this evidence saying to you?

-I’m not at liberty to discuss the specifics of an ongoing investigation.

-Very well, I understand. Sometimes a man is called upon to be more than he has been in the past. Sometimes he fails.

-A woman is dead because Pete Baxa was trying to clean up a mess. Do you think it was his own or yours?

-I think if this evidence is speaking to you, miss, then something must be lost in the translation, regardless of whatever mess there was, Pedro is incapable of violence. Pedro is not a murderer.

-You’re very bold to come here. Aren’t you afraid you’ll leave some trace behind? A hair or flake of skin? Something with your DNA.. that we might be able to use against you.

She looked at me with a sideways smile and then she spat on the floor.

-Wouldn’t want to make your job more difficult than it has to be. I believe I have made myself very clear to you. I shall not waste anymore of your time. Muchas gracias.

Beatriz got up from the chair, gave me a last challenging look and left the room. A few seconds later, we all met again in the hallway. When we were about to talk about what happened, Brass got a phone call.

-Two police officers came by to serve that arrest warrant again –Brass explained as we walked into the barber shop and saw Pete dead on one of his chairs- They found him like this. Called it in.

There was a video camera aimed right at him, so we hit the play button. Pedro was sitting in front of the camera making his confession.

-My name is Pedro Baxa. I am an embezzler.. and a murderer. I set fire to the Superla Spa in order to cover up the fact that, for some time now, I have benn fraudulently reporting its earnings –he really looked sad and sorry- I poured acetone all over, I cut the gas line, and left a muffin to burn in the toaster oven. I swear to God the place was empty when I rigged it go up. I know it’s small comfort, but I apologize to her family and to anyone close to her. I’m so sorry for taking her away. Please, tell my sisters this. I made a deal with the devil to keep you safe, to give you a better life. I beg you to remember me if you are ever tempted to make a deal of your own. So it’s come to this.. Good bye.

Pete Baxa put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

***

-So all the forensic evidence supports what Pete Baxa confessed to on the video? –Killian asked.

-Yes, it does. But Pete Baxa’s confession wasn’t for us.

-Neither was his suicide. I think he was trying to make amends.. to his Queen.

-Well, this case may not have resolved itself the way you hoped. Now, we’ll have to find another way to trap Salazar.

-Yeah.. and maybe we’ll trap her together –Killian nodded and looked at me. Noticing we were in the middle of the hallway, he got close- Look, I’m not leaving until tomorrow and I was wondering that maybe you’d like to have dinner with me. Now that the case is officially over.

Killian’s seductive and daring gaze was a force that attracted me to him. His hand brushed mine lightly and I couldn’t help but blush. There was no reason for what I felt when I was with him. So, when I was going to say yes, Nick appeared on the scene. He and Warrick were talking and laughing and then Nick realized that I was there with Killian. His face changed.

-I can’t. I’m sorry.

-I understand love –Killian nodded and approached me to give me a hug- Maybe some other time. I’ve left something in your locker accompanied by my phone number. Call me.

After that farewell, the first thing I did was go open my locker to get my things and find what he had left. It was the business card of a boxing club in Vegas.

[toomanyfeelings5]

the definitive ranking of pulp! the classics covers and summaries, from worst to best

(Note: Pride and Prejudice was not included in this list, as there were only poster and greeting card options for the work, and not an actual book or summary. Had a book and summary been provided, it would have ranked lowest for unoriginality. It’s literally just 1995 Colin Firth staring moodily at you. The caption is “Lock Up Your Daughters...Darcy’s in Town!” which is just unfortunate, frankly, and honestly laughable.) 

16. Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte 

You take a novel that’s positively overflowing with drama and give it THIS cover? THIS summary? Absolutely uninspired. 

Here’s looking at you Cathy...

Childhood sweethearts turned star-crossed lovers, fuelled by bitter jealousy and dark revenge. She’s pretty and posh, he’s a moody brooding bastard. Heartbreak, alcoholism and plenty of illegitimate kids – it’s a perfect Northern drama.

Where is the feeling? The screaming violins playing as we read? The moors? The time skips? A hint of the positively bonkers plot that only a Bronte could compose?

15. The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde 

 Oh, the heterosexuality of it all. On an Oscar Wilde novel, no less. 

Hey girl...I’d sell my soul for you!” 

Dorian Gray might be as pretty as a picture, but he's paid a devilishly high price for it. He'll stay drop-dead gorgeous, but there's something nasty festering in the attic...

Pretty as a picture and still lusting after ladies? Please. Pulp! Classics, you can do better. 

14. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald 

Again, we must speak the ancient chant: Oh, the heterosexuality of it all. 

When it came to loving...He knew which Daisy to pick! 

Sorry old sport, but Gatsby has a bigger house than you, prettier friends than you and a Rolls Royce to cart them all round in. To a backdrop of popping champagne corks and orchestral jazz, our hero bids to buyout his old adversary, perennial jock, Tom Buchanan and reclaim Daisy, his favourite bit of High Society totty.

Nick Carraway gets not one mention, which is odd given that he’s the narrator, the protagonist, and Gatsby’s most ardent love interest. Also strange is the cover’s insistence that Jordan Baker, known lesbian, would swoon over Gatsby. Doubly strange is how tiny the women are in comparison to Gatsby’s massive frame. What is, again, bamboozling, is how the slogan on the cover seems to imply that Gatsby knows how to pick a woman. He doesn’t know how to choose anyone, let alone love them. All Gatsby truly knows is the desperate pursuit of a fruitless dream. 

13. Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare 

Romeo looks like he could be Juliet’s father. Juliet looks like an Upper East Side Widow, not at all like the tween girl she really is.

Too wild to live...too young to die!

Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou…. Oh wait, he’s hanging around in the garden again. Will young Romeo and his Juliet ever be able to express their raging hormones? Or will their feuding families make this romance blossom into a poisoned flower? Either way, both their houses are totally plagued!

“Wherefore” means “why,” not “where,” though I do have to award points to the summary for placing the blame squarely on the feud and not on these doomed young lovers. Though again, young isn’t the operative word I’d use to describe this version of Romeo and Juliet. 

12. Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe 

This is what one would expect upon seeing a pulp cover of a classic novel. Not much originality or flair is present, but at least some sense of the story is conveyed. 

Solitude was driving him nuts!

Cannibals! Captives! Coconuts!

One man’s love of the sea leaves him stranded on a desert island with nothing but a few goats, a bible and a parrot for company.

Will he ever escape? Will his new pal Friday learn to efficiently press a goatskin jerkin? Or will solitude send him totally barmy?

WILL Friday learn to efficiently press a goatskin jerkin? One must read to find out, I suppose...

11. Tess of the D'urbervilles 

Marilyn Monroe?????

She’s...no angel.

The original Wessex girl!

Tess is just a humble milkmaid when the local landowner has his wicked way. Her new beau, the smarmy Angel Clare, is none too pleased when he finds out she’s already been deflowered. What is a girl to do? Bloody revenge of course, and an ending to touch the hardest of hearts.

At least the summary blames the terrible men in Tess’s life rather than Tess herself, unlike the tagline on the cover. And while Marilyn Monroe seductively lounging about with a drink doesn’t recall the faintest essence of Hardy’s novel, one would like to imagine Tess relaxing in whatever clothes she pleased, a straw dangling out of her drink, a smile on her face as she answers to no one and spends her quiet evening in solitude. 

10. Three Men in a Boat by Jerome K. Jerome

An innocuous cover; the men’s faces hint at the comedic nature of this novel, and yet...something nags the brain upon looking at this.

To say nothing of the dog...

Incompetence, embarrassment and general disaster - no it’s not PMQs, it’s a trip down the Thames! Three hapless fellows and a world weary dog decide they need a holiday from their exhausting hypochondria. Hilarious mayhem ensues.

To say nothing of the dog indeed: Why does the dog on the cover have a human face?

9. The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka 

All one can say upon viewing this cover is: Jeff Goldblum, is that you?

Change really BUGGED him! 

Poor old Gregor. One day he's depressed about his dreary travelling salesman gig, the next, he's roaching around the apartment and disgusting his family. All that's left is creeping the walls and eating garbage. How's his sis ever going to find a sugar daddy with her grotty bro in tow?

Gregor isn’t grotty, he’s our six-legged hero in this tragic tale. 

And yet in the end, the question that haunts us all echoes in our minds in an unceasing echo: is that Jeff Goldblum? 

8.  Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland 

Alice as a hippie is eye-catching, but not particularly creative. 

This cupcake was off her head!

What HAS happened to little Alice? Taking 'shrooms, hanging out with hookah smoking ne'er-do-wells and being dragged to court. That's gonna be one hell of a hangover!

As much as I’m intrigued by Alice wearing heart-shaped sunglasses and a peace sign necklace, the summary and the cover consist of one joke and one joke only. 

7. The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde 

I just like how Dr. Jekyll in this cover looks equally as fucked up as Mr. Hyde. 

No more Mr. Nice Guy... There’s a sinister man about London town with something of the night about him. Mr Hyde is mad, bad and has a penchant for bumping off MPs and other kindly innocents. Will his friend Dr Jekyll be able to stop him? Or is there something more to their relationship than meets the eye…? Only the intrepid Utterson can get to the bottom of this mystery, but what will he find in Dr Jekyll’s lab?

Points to this summary for including Mr. Utterson, and for insinuating that Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde may be clandestine lovers. 

6. A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens 

Ladies, gentlemen, and otherwise, don’t we love it when a greedy rich man gets bludgeoned by a mace into being more generous and kindly towards others?

This cat was a drag....’til a midnight wake-up call...

Christmas?! What a load of Humbug. Mistletoe and Wine just don't do it for Scrooge; he's a workaholic miser with an attitude problem. If he doesn't change his ways, he'll end up with no friends and Tiny Tim won't last the year. Let's hope some spooky night-time visitors can put the jingle back in his bells!

Ring-a-ling-a-ling, Mr. Scrooge. The mace is raised and the bells are ringing.

5.  Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad 

The tag-line made me, as the youths say, laugh out loud. 

Whoops! Apocalypse....

The horror! The horror!

Kurtz might be the apple of every brutish imperialist’s eye, but his God complex is getting wildly out of hand in the depths of the jungle. What on earth will Marlow find when he finally gets downriver? Devil worship? Savages? Heads on sticks? Or just another nutty white man with his knickers in a twist?

Surprisingly anti-racist summary made this jump to the higher echelons of this esteemed list, though of course that doesn’t excuse this novel’s abhorrent and embarrassing fake-deep racism. It also must be noted that the tag-line should have been “Whoops! White supremacy!” and the text of the novel should have entirely consisted of Chinua Achebe’s essay on the work. 

4. The Hounds of Baskerville by Arthur Conan Doyle

The cover alone is a winner. A rabid chihuahua out for blood? Inspired. 

Murder...Mystery...Walkies!

A desolate moor, a diabolical dog in need of a muzzle and some inbred locals; Sherlock Holmes is really up against it. With the help of his trusty sidekick Dr. Watson, Holmes pieces together a mystery that has captured the imagination of readers across the decades. All whilst practising a serious coffee and cocaine habit.

The tag-line is fun and catchy, but sadly this summary must be admonished for insisting that Dr. Watson is merely a “trusty sidekick” to Sherlock Holmes. Heterosexuality strikes again, reducing the impact of the striking cover design. 

3. Dubliners by James Joyce 

Finally! Some style, some panache, some flair to accompany these short stories about being sad and horny in Ireland. 

Stuck in the Liffey with you...

Booze, Sex and Hot Floury Potatoes… Those Dubliners are at it again!

Liars, thieves, whores and priests… James Joyce sure knew how to throw a party! This relentlessly downbeat collection explores the very worst aspects of human nature, and doesn’t leave out the juicy bits. It might not be in the best possible taste, but who doesn’t want to get down and dirty in Dublin?

The summary and cover work in tandem to wholeheartedly convince me that Dubliners is an action-packed, slick collection of stories detailing the wild escapades of a motley cast of ragamuffins, and I gotta hand it to the folks over at Pulp! Classics for injecting some bonafide vintage cool into Joyce’s work.

2. Othello by William Shakespeare 

I have so many thoughts on this. Mr. T. as Othello is fascinating, as is the tagline, “Some kind of Bard...aaaaasss.” Is this a commentary on blaxploitation media? One can’t help but recall Mr. T.’s reasoning behind his mohawk, his gold chains, to honor his ancestors and assert his living, unshakable humanity in a racist society. Is this is a genuine effort on the part of Pulp! Classics to imply that a blaxploitation-influenced adaptation of Othello could reveal deeper truths to the play that we have had yet to glimpse? 

Some kind of Bard... aaaasss

He’s a bardass brother with the love of a fine woman. That is until some cloven hoofed honky starts talking crazy about variously hued sheep tupping the hell outta each other! You gotta pity the fool who gets shafted by the green eyed monster. Let’s hope Othello can work out who to trust before it’s too late…

The fast-paced alliterative language of the summary harkens to Shakespeare’s own wit-fueled dialogue and penchant for creative language. The summary also calls Iago a devil, which is apt, and implicitly criticizes his racism, hinting at the play’s greater tragedies to come. The cover and summary also work in tandem to emphasize Othello’s jealousy and destruction: the “green-eyed monster” is mentioned, and the cover itself is a putrid green. An excellent example of what a vintage cover and summary can achieve. 

1. Frankenstein by Mary Shelly 

You all knew this was coming. 

This kid was born on the wrong side of the lab...

Frankenstein’s monster is on the rampage; terrorising the locals, unleashing murderous hell… and reading novels in his spare time. Can his petrified creator stop this reign of horror before his girlfriend gets the chop?

A James Dean-inspired creature, thereby making them a queer icon? Masterful. The creature being “born on the wrong side of the lab?” A stroke of genius; that they’re called a kid puts the poignancy of the monster’s plight into even greater relief, while simultaneously emphasizing their tragic charm. The clear distinction between Frankenstein and the creature? Reader, I exhaled in a cathartic release of tension. The loving detail that the creature reads novels in their spare time, like any other leather-jacket wearing, motorcycle-riding ruffian with a heart of gold? Beautiful. 

Truly, the obvious queer energy of this cover and summary highlights an overlooked dimension of Shelly’s great work while also paying homage to what draws us to this Modern Prometheus time after time. Do we care about the petrified creator in this summary? Not at all. He’s not on the cover, appearing both rebellious and gentle. We are here for the creature, in their leather jacket, on their motorcycle, novel sticking out of a back pocket on their jeans, ready to whisk us away to a place where even monsters like us can find solace, and be at peace, and commune with each other. We need only take their outstretched hand, and be willing to leave the mundane world for something better, for the chance to no longer be alone. 

[onisionisacanceronthisearth]

Greg vs Alleged Classmate Part 5: Skipping information and Relationship With Skye

So this one is hilariously suspicious, Greg totally skipped over the section about Skye, this was one of the biggest things in M’s posts and honestly one of the biggest parts of this interview. I’m not sure if Greg accidentally skipped too far or if this was deliberate but either way I’ll mention all that he skipped before going onto his rebuttals again. Also, this is two-thirds into the video. We’ve got half an hour left. FINALLY. Wow, I didn’t realise just how long this would take. And it isn’t just cause I’ve got one hand. This is a long one. Greg doesn’t actually counter anything but goes into detail of his relationship with Skye and reveals a lot about his personality. Spoiler alert: it’s disgusting!

What Greg skipped:

Skye was ignorant to Greg sleeping around and using girls

She also didn’t know about how he acted with other students

When they started dating, he suddenly changed as a person for a while. He was acting nice, no mood swings, and treated her as an equal

This apparently changed when he started doing things online but M doesn’t know much of that as he was busy doing other things in life. He just knew he went to his old manipulative ways (Greg listened to the tail end of this, just the superiority and manipulation part)

You know, one part of this is a bit suspicious, Greg said he met Skye in computer class the first time but didn’t really notice her because he was dating Shiree at the time. I wonder why Skye didn’t know anything about Greg if she did know him before dating (or at least of him). Too bad Greg totally skipped this cause he could have brought this point up himself

Greg is manipulative and his influence on Skye

Greg doesn’t counter him being manipulative, just asks for specifics. He then takes M saying he saw less and less of Skye to mean she didn’t ever go to school and went into a big thing debunking that thing instead of listening to the rest of this section where M explains it as Skye spending all of her time with Greg and none of her other friends anymore. We get it, Greg, you’re a moron. (oh my god he’s googling the number of days a person can miss per year wtf??)

OH MY GOD GREG YOU IDIOT, HE’S NOT SAYING SKYE DIDN’T GRADUATE OR THAT SHE MISSED CLASS. YOU ARE ACTUALLY THE DUMBEST PERSON ON YOUTUBE HOLY SHIT

Ok, now he’s talking about how terrible M is for just giving up and not reporting the abusive relationship to the authorities and how “isn’t M playing hero?”. M never said that, while yes I wish that if he is real that he had actually reported this issue, I can understand feeling defeated and not knowing the best course of action when you see someone in a relationship like that at that age. Or any age for that matter. I can say with certainty though is that if you see a friend in a situation like this, please talk with them about it. And if they’re too far gone that they even stop being friends with you over it, please talk to your, or their guidance counsellor. It’s hard, but it could save them.

Also Greg, please keep in mind that hearsay isn’t all the same. To say someone has sex with goats for no reason is different from saying that they heard (but cannot confirm) that Greg started controlling Skye because he was scared she might leave him. Sure it’s not as solid as if they witnessed it themselves, but that’s why they gave that disclaimer. Especially as they said everything after the first story is based more on hearsay than events witnessed

Greg is now acting like people talking about how they stopped seeing Skye after high school took place in high school and is saying “with what money” could he have taken Skye. But it’s well known she went to Korea with you so....? Also, his dispute that he was living with Skye doesn’t actually dispute him potentially stopping her from going out and seeing her friends. It doesn’t matter where you are as long as you have influence over her. And I’d say living with her gives you that influence, even in her own home. During high school you spent all your time with her, then afterwards you stole her away to Korea and she didn’t see her family for a while. Not all that wacky when you take Lainey in mind. She spent all her after school with you, then when she graduated you stole her away to Washington and got married while her parents thought she was in university. Is it true? No idea, but it isn’t outlandish for Greg. Especially when his defence is that he, Skye, and her sister constantly played games together which plays into the idea that when they started dating her whole world had to be him.

Now Greg is going into the old videos he made with Skye and her 14-year-old sister where they pretended to have sex. Lovely

Side note, Greg mentions he can’t remember exact details of a story involving Skye and the order or date things happened yet apparently M needs to remember everything. And if he doesn’t, he’s a liar based on that. Oh btw, I’m guessing Greg doesn’t like Skye’s dad cause he just called him a perv, how routine of you Greg. Can’t you come up with some better character slander than “he’s a pedo and a perv”?

Greg keeps up the narrative that M is saying he literally kidnapped Skye instead of her dropping contact with friends and arguing that that would be illegal. Good thing M didn’t claim that, cause that would be stupid

Greg dodges how he treated Skye

Greg is avoiding the point of how he treated Skye by still talking about kidnapping her despite it being clear we’ve moved onto M’s opinion of events he found out about later through people’s videos on Greg.

Greg is now victim-blaming by saying he told Skye he could never make her happy. True, but cheating on her and telling her you were in love with her younger sister is still out of left field and crazy to experience

Greg is also still showing that despite his experience with a chronically depressed Skye, he still thinks one just gets over depression by getting happy things. He even pointed out that buying her a house because she liked it wasn’t enough (no shit Sherlock, that’s why rich people can be depressed). This whole thing makes me feel so much worse for Skye, she was a person suffering from depression and she gets Greg of all fucking people. How fucking terrible

“We made love before I left [for the military], but we were still broken up”. You had just broken up with her to go to the military then still “made love” with her. Damn, that whiplash. You made loveless love. Something tells me that this wasn’t entirely loveless, at least on her part. Then you asked her to be at your graduation and made love in the hotel room. According to you it wasn't loving, but it was a relationship where you felt like “bros hanging out” and you made love. I’m sorry but the way you’re describing it doesn’t sound like a friends-with-benefits situation. Especially when you shit on Adrienne for having had casual encounters in the past. Also, I love how the picture during this section is a picture of Lainey and Greg together. Nice one to have while talking about your first wife. The one you took to Korea (for work, but still) and bought a house for and felt like “best bros” with. And the one you are currently describing your former sexcapades with.

Ok, so the reason it wasn’t true love to Greg was that he didn’t simply lust after her (complete with sound effects, thanks Greg). He’s literally throwing away how great of a person she was, how well they got along, the fact that he felt love towards her and love so many aspects of her because he didn’t feel, and I’m trying to quote here, “she’s so hot, ugh, oooogh”. And he didn’t feel like she was as hot as Thor, Andy Biersack, and Jensen Ackles is while saying that “it’s saying something” that he listed all dudes. Wow, I can’t tell if this is insulting Skye because he’s basically just saying she was perfect but it didn’t matter because she wasn’t hot, or insulting Lainey by him saying Lainey is only attractive to him because they look like a 30-40-year-old dude. Or he’s saying that Lainey just isn’t hot to him. Or maybe this was a mix of all of these, plus he had gone too long without a gay joke.

Ok, he’s saying a person isn’t a friend if he’s aroused by them and he married Skye as a friend because she didn’t arouse him but he loved doing “these things, making love things” to her. I just can’t. I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to offer much more than variations of “this makes no sense” on this, but I just can’t. What on earth is wrong with this guy, and why is his defence of treating Skye like shit just shitting on her more and saying that it’s fine because she was a friend he liked “making love” to but didn’t find arousing. Yet is now going into “[his] arousal, and her arousal and their mutual arousal”

New picture of him kissing Lainey in the background over: “what would be better than marrying this person who I had a friends-with-benefits relationship with, and living off [military] base with them, and watching anime with them, and playing video games with them, etc. So I proposed this to her, I said ‘hey, we should get married so we can hang out all the time’. And so we continued this friends-with-benefits relationship where we loved each other, and we made love, and we were exclusive”. But then goes onto how it wasn’t “typical” because it wasn’t (said in a monotone voice versus animated up until this point) “ever since I met you, my soul has been complete” but instead “ever since I met you I’ve felt content and complete, for the most part”. “We would make videos together like friends would” but it wasn’t passionate, and “by the end of the relationship we wouldn’t make love that often”. I had to write down the above because it needs to be heard/read. I have no idea what Greg thinks love is, but by the sound of his voice and what he’s describing here, this is it. I don’t know why making videos seems to only be a thing which friends do. I also don’t understand why he states he wasn’t aroused by her yet later says he was. It wasn't loving, but here’s why it is, oh wait but we made videos together like bros do.

Finally, Greg has come to his point which is that their relationship wasn’t the love M describes it as being. But this now contradicts the point he made at the beginning of this video to defend his remembering all his past girlfriends, even from grade 2. He said it was because he is a passionate person who falls in love fast and hard. So he told this whole story only to contradict himself and make himself look even worse with all this extra info on Skye. I can understand not being in total passionate love with a person but they’re comfortable, but what he describes is so weird it isn’t that. Especially with his weird reasoning that he ended up contradicting

“You know who I was really in love with? Shiree” Said over the Lainey picture. Lol. Also, he slips up then talks about his love in the first person. Anyways he goes onto talk about losing his virginity to her at age 14 and talked on the phone for 9 hours which was “real passion” vs Skye where when together you “simply played games together”. Cool bro, guess my marriage is passionless cause gaming is something only friends do

Sharnell confirmed?

Minor thing but Greg suddenly partially remembers the name of his long-distance ex as Shannon or Sharon or something. I suspected this ex was Sharnell and the name seems similar enough that this is likely it as there are no other girls listed which are similar enough in name, and no one matches the bacne story of him breaking up with a girl because of it.

Greg skips details again:

Greg finally realises this is all post-high school and skips forward because he decided against talking about the Shiloh situation, coward

He also accidentally skipped details on the girl he cheated on Skye with in high school. By the description, this sounds like either Tanisha or Shiree due to him calling them “a trashy whore who does drugs” one minute and their best friend the other which is kind of how he describes Shiree. Tanisha was another ex at that school who apparently did drugs though so I figured I’d add her here too. It’s a shame he skipped this part, I’d have loved to hear his response.

The contract

Oh boy! Greg’s talking about the stupid contract he tried to get Skye to sign! I’m sensing an alimony statement :D

For those who need a refresher:

Either live with him for two more years

Or get 1000$ a month from him for one year (using the youtube money he was raking it in the 6 figures that she helped him achieve while he prevented her from getting her own job)

Greg is now showing off his lack of humanity by getting mad at her and saying how he doesn’t understand why she didn’t want to live with her cheating ex-husband for two years while he made all the money on the channel she helped create. He’s now acting very confused and is trying to parse her words which were that “she still loved him and it was too painful to live with the person she loved but couldn’t be with”. But he still doesn’t get it because he was fine coexisting with her (right after explaining that he never loved her for about 20 minutes) and he was the one who broke it off and he wasn’t mad at her and is now talking about how he didn’t want to be married in a passionless relationship with his friend. This guy is legit really confused right now. He has his answer right there but he’s still confused and sounds like it. It actually sounds like he’s still trying to figure this out, what? 7 years later? Wow, that was an emotional ride. I almost feel bad for the guy, he actually doesn’t understand empathy, he doesn’t understand that just because feels one way, doesn’t mean the other party feels that way too.

And is now talking about his 6 years of alimony payments. I’m glad Skye got them. She made your channel Greg, you made millions, she got nothing while in the relationship but a partner who confesses to using her while she loved them, and who she worked as an employee for free. She was entitled to half this creative property and you basically gave her pennies compared to your wealth.

Now he’s saying the reason this happened was because she didn’t sign a prenup. Yeah, cause it’s a shitty thing to do, especially because it’s not like you had money then. Your prenup was “if we make any money together I keep all of it when I divorce you, which I expect to do”. Both of you made the channel, she did the editing and taught you how to do it while you stopped her from getting her own job and shut your depressed wife in (depressed people should not remain shut-ins, that’s the last thing they need). Prenups are for rich people so, in the case of a divorce, your former partner can’t take money made before they came in the picture. Yes, it’s used for other clauses too but those people are all assholes or are in a relationship just for the vanity of having a hot person as their partner for sex and will drop them when they get too old. The later one is basically sex work. “Marry me and for the time of your employment (our marriage), I’ll buy you expensive things and give you pocket money in exchange for sex and various other work”

“It’s pretty mean to cry so someone loses more money” (in reference to the prenup) Fuck you Greg

Next part is the final one until I make my condensed summary which I think would be useful for future use. It will include fixes and come out within a couple days. I need a break from this video after this so I’ll focus on the appeal instead

[coolpencilpie]

One Hand, One Heart

Summary: One hunt leads to another and so does one proposal.

Pairing: Dean x hunter!reader

Word Count: 1,7k

Warnings: language, violence, very light smut

A/N: This is for @impala-dreamer ‘s Title’s Are Hard Challenge. It didn’t turn out the way I wanted it to but anyway, here it is. Feedback would be great!

“Hey, dumbass! Watch out!”, you shouted warningly. As the blond man ducked down to save his head getting eaten by a vampire, you struck out and beheaded the blood-thirsty thing. “Thanks.” He exhaled. You bowed down a bit sarcastically and wiped some red spots out of your face. “Always at your service, pal”, you said, giving him a flirty wink. With that you turned on your heels and made your way out of the rotten house. While making fast steps, you straightened your skirt. It was a lovely skirt, black fabric with some decent flowers on it, fitting gloriously to your eye colour. Sadly, the flowers were now sprinkled with blood but wherefore were washing machines invented.

“Hey, wait!” Loud footsteps were approaching behind you. “Anything else, handsome?” You asked, as you turned to him looking him right in the green eyes, cocking your head a bit. He started smiling. “What’s your name?” He asked. “Guess.” “What?” “Wrong. You have a strange conception of names, my friend”, you laughed. “Eh…I…”, he stumbled. You made a loud buzzing noise. “Where are you from that your people are called like body parts?” He just stood there like a child, completely speechless. The simple look on his face made you chuckle. “Y/N”, you said in a soft voice, leaning a bit forward.

“Dean”, he said. Now it was awkward. Your eyes shifting from left to right, not quite sure what to do now. You cleared your throat, “Ok so, we’re finished here?” You asked, trying not to sound rude. “Eh, yeah, sure. Unless of course…”, he started smirking at you, his gaze scanning you from your ponytail to your boots. “Excuse me?” “You want to, you know, drink a coffee or something?” His body language got very fast very confident.

“What makes you think I’d say yes, handsome?” You set your feet parallel and turned your shoulder, showing him your back a bit. It seemed like he didn’t know the answer, when he looked to the ground, so he avoided your gaze. To relieve Dean from this situation you blinked with your right eye and giggled. His face lit up, causing his woodruff eyes to sparkle.

 This was two years ago. Two years full of laughter, anger, sorrow, killing and temporary partition. He broke your heart as many times as you broke his, you cried so much but you also had the best time of your life.

“Hey, Y/N. Remember that one time I wanted to…” He broke and coughed, spitting blood on the dark grey floor.

“It’s ok. Just relax”, you said softly. Your voice was low and powerless, probably caused by the retching the demon did to you. However hard you tried to free your body from the ropes around you, bonding you tightly to the chair you were sitting on, you were not able to move, which made you indeed very uncomfortable. At least you weren’t injured as much as Dean was, which wasn’t an advantage, if you think about it.

“No, can you remember? I…I made you breakfast and wanted to surprise you and you…you were still sleeping and then you…”, he laughed, even if it was rather a tired exhaling, “you just kicked and it was all over the bed and, sweetheart, it was such a mess. But we couldn’t…”, he coughed again, “we couldn’t stop laughing. Do you remember that?”

“Of course, I do! That was the day, I officially moved in”, you said, trying to sound calm.

“We might die here, you know?”

“Very enthusiastic, Dean.”

“Just saying.”

“Then stop talking and think of something.”

And he really stopped talking. Which surprised you because…when does Dean ever stop talking? Your chairs were tied to each other, so you couldn’t see him. Your heart froze for a moment.

“Dean?” You asked. No response. Your stomach turned. No, not now, not here. “Dean! Hey!” Your whole body was shaking, your knees weak, your mouth dry.

“Will you marry me?” Why did you say that? Why on earth did you say that. Shocked by your own choice of words, you stared straight ahead in the darkness, there was one nearly useless lamp above you, so you didn’t see a thing anyway.

“Yes.” A muted word caught your attention, it was almost not understandable, so quiet. Wait, what.

The demon from earlier entered the room, smirking. “Seems like your boyfriend passed out. Hey, wakie, wakie, big boy!” With those words the black-dressed, middle-aged man walked up to Dean, standing right in front of him.

“Leave him alone, you bastard!” You shouted. In that exact moment you heard a knock, causing your chair to shift a bit. A thud of a body. “Ah, son of a…”, Dean groaned.

“Did you just give a demon a clout?”

“Good deduction, Sherlock.” Still the funny ass, even though he was beaten up to the ground.

“Can you reach me and grab my knife?” You didn’t see it but you could sense he turned his head to the right, trying to look at you.

“You had a knife the whole time?!” You shouted upset. Still, you reached out as far as you could, grabbing that knife and cutting through the ropes. As you stood up, you felt dizzy at first, making you tremble, faltering a bit around. By the time you got the control over your body back, you freed Dean, too and helped him up.

“You ok?” Your voice was soft again, a worried look in your eyes.

“Always”, he answered and gave you a short kiss on your forehead. Such a bad liar.

When you made your way out of the building, you got your weapons back and killed the backup of the other demon.

Eventually you were back in the Impala. “Wow, we actually survived.” A breath of relief coming out of your lungs.

“Did you mean it?” Dean looked right into your eyes, his sight pretty serious.

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t remember the proposal?” The what. Like, what. Instead of an answer, you just made a strange ‘eh’-noise. You looked out of the window on your side, full of shame, causing your cheeks to heat up, showing some red colour.

“That was…nothing. Just me, joking around, you know.” You let out a pained laugh, still not daring to look into his face.

“Uh-huh, if you say so, Y/N”, he said and started the motor. The whole drive, both of you didn’t say a word. It gave you sort of a bad feeling.

Later, it was in the middle of the night, probably something between midnight and 2am, you laid in your bed, next to Dean, completely awake. You tried to see his face but it was pitch-black, so you couldn’t capture a thing. As quiet as possible, you crawled out of the blankets, leaving the sleeping man behind. You walked into the library, a good book would bring you back to sleep. That turned out as wishful thinking, as you felt like you sat there for hours.

“What are you doing, Y/N?” A rough voice appeared behind you.

“Can’t sleep.”

“What’s wrong, baby?” He walked around you, sitting down in front of you and searching for your gaze.

“Are we good?” You lifted your vision, “because I…I feel like, it’s different. Yesterday, this hunt, I thought I lost you.”

“On every hunt, you could lose me. And I could lose you, that’s our life.” His words weren’t mean but still, they hit you in the gut. How could this be so ordinary for him? Like it was no big deal.

“I thought you were dead, dumbass!” You shouted and stood up, full of frustration. As you looked down on him, you saw the worry in his look. You turned away, not bearing the situation. You teared up and felt from one moment to another weaker than ever. “I can’t stand the thought of being apart from you. You are everything to me. If you were gone, I…I don’t know if I could survive this.” You sobbed quietly, trying to stay strong, as you always do. You felt warm hands on your waist, giving you goose bumps. Slowly they turned you around. Dean gave you a soft kiss on your cheek. And then, something happened, you wouldn’t forget in your entire life. He kneeled down, not breaking his glance to you. “Y/N Y/LN”, he took your hand and planted a small kiss on the surface, “do you want to be my wife and marry me?” You stared at him, not knowing how to react as you felt your voice was gone. You nodded quickly. You didn’t know what to feel, what to do, you just saw Dean’s face lit up. He stood up and gave you a hug. “What did just happen?” Your mind was blank. “We are engaged. Well technically, we’re engaged for the second time, you proposed first.” He started to grin. “I hate you so much!” What started as an angry exclamation turned undeniable into loud laughter.

“What? I’m going to be your husband! You can’t hate your husband!”, he stated, starting to tickle your stomach. You walked backwards and turned around to run away, as he didn’t stop. He hunted you through the whole bunker until both of you couldn’t run anymore from laughter. “Ok, timeout, I can’t…”, still giggling, you reached your hands out, then supporting your lungs by staking them on your knees. Dean made a giant step to stand in front of you, as he leaned down to give you a deep kiss. He pulled away a few seconds but stayed close to your face, catching his breath, as well as you. You laid your hands on his neck, running a few fingers through his hair, as he held your waist, his hands moving up and down slowly in the rhythm of your kiss.

Finally, you made your way back to your room. What a night. By the time you laid back in bed, warm and comfy under the blanket, you snuggled against Dean’s chest. You could hear his heart beat, calming you down immediately. “Are we actually going to marry?” You asked, still a bit of doubt in your head. “It was your idea, sweetheart”, he chuckled and gave you a kiss on your hair.

“No, seriously, Dean.”

“I want to share everything with you. You are my partner in good times and bad times. Until death does us apart.”

“That was cheesy.”

“Sorry – no, not really.”

[essential-non-essentials]

Pentagons are Complicated

Sooooo, I posted this at AO3 and FFN. I figured I should post here too, since I haven’t updated this blog of any original content. //full of reblogs lol 

You may ask me clarify stuff, of course. 

Enjoy!

Mr. Sandman was playing in the background. A bit fitting really, since Mabel was hoping that what happened last night was a dream. Mr. Sandman, make it all a dream. Let it all be a dream. She’d kill herself if it wasn’t. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration. She’d punish herself, that’s for sure, but suicide? I love myself. Why would I kill this wonderful, sexy young woman and take her away from a world that needs her?

She opened her eyes, and stared in horror. She was staring at the ceiling. Someone else’s ceiling. She’s pretty sure it’s not her ceiling back at home as she practically seduced Gid to let her put some hanging mobiles in their bedroom.  This is someone else’s ceiling! She repeated in her mind. She’s even more terrified to look at the person sleeping beside her. She doesn’t want reality to slap her twice in the face. She looked at the clock perched on the bedside table. 7:05, she knew that though it’s this early on a Saturday, her companion was fully awake. He had an amazingly disciplined body, and it would wake up on its own at exactly seven in the morning, so he says. She pressed the button of the digital clock and the music stopped.

Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she said, “Dipper can never know.”

“Know what? That you confronted me and tried to meddle with his love life or that we had sex?” Bill shifted to face her.

“Both, Bill, both,” she said irritably. “I never intended for this to happen, I am so stupid.”

“Stupid enough to get drunk with me and do this to yourself,” he said.

“This bitch,” she muttered then raised her voice, “don’t tell me I’m the only one who did this, you’re in it as well!”

Bill just shrugged.

“Did we use…?”

“Yes we did.”

She almost sighed of relief when the next difficult question passed her mind.

“D’you think Dipper would be heartbroken if he knew I had this with you?”

“I don’t know. You’re the twin sister, you should know.”

“And we’ve known you for, what, twenty years? Since we were kids?”

“Nah, he’ll get over it,” he waved as if turning something away, the thought maybe. “But really, he’ll be pissed at you first, then get over it.”

“No, no,” Mabel sat up, and groaned; partly because of horror, and partly because of her painfully throbbing head. She had to ask even though she knew the answer. She wanted to hear that she thought wrong. But, as always, she was right.

“And me, he’ll be mad at me, but I can handle it.”

She just couldn’t look at Bill. She found their situation awkward. But of course it was awkward, it’s Bill! They knew him since they were kids! Sure, he was hot and stuff plus Mabel’s type but… he’s having an affair with the brother she knows and loves. And ever since Dipper got married to Pacifica, Mabel never got to talk to him, even more than after she married Gideon, that she doesn’t know what’s happening to his life anymore. She only knew of Bill and Dipper yesterday morning when she arranged a surprise visit to Dipper’s office. She couldn’t understand the feeling she got when she saw both men kissing on what they thought was a spot where no one would see them. Bill really said that last night to her that they both thought that was a good spot to make out because no one would see them. Well, for the longest time, no one did, until Mabel’s visit.

Bill made a breakfast of eggs Benedict and coffee downstairs while Mabel showered and dressed. His house was mostly painted white, with yellow and black items here and there. Mabel remembered that he once told them that he wanted the whole place to be yellow because that was his favorite color but the interior designer frowned at him, saying that it would be too bright and it hurts the eyes. So he let her do the picking of wall paint. He’s fine with how the place turned out actually. The lighting was bright, even at night, perfect for making art; Mabel liked it. If she hadn’t married Gideon, her place would look almost identical to this, she thought. Her place was not bad, but it could be better.

Managing a clothing line was hard, but at least she gets to design some clothes. It helps her escape from what she considers an unhappy marriage. She believed that one marries for love, not for business partnerships. But life was ironic and what she hadn’t wanted to happen to her, well, happened to her. Gideon loved her, loved her too much she could drown in it, but she didn’t love him back. He was just too… clingy and possessive. He’d freak if he found out what she’s done with Bill. The sexy, handsome, blonde Bill Cipher, with a huge grin, his incisors showing…one that’s cooking with only jeans and an apron on.

She was still a little bit wobbly on her feet. She half dragged herself to the table and sat. Every movement was rattling her brain that it hurt, but this was better than before she showered.

“Damn it Cipher, it’s like you never got drunk last night,” she said.

“It doesn’t show, of course, because of my overwhelming handsomeness, it is masked,” he said, teasing.

They ate as if nothing awkward ever happened last night, like they were just out partying, like the drinking buddies they were. For a moment there, Mabel forgot what they have done. That she called out Bill to their favorite bar, drank too much because she was too nervous to ask what’s been going on with him and Dipper, and when she finally had the courage to ask, she was stupid drunk. They left the bar and their cars on the parking lot and walked. The nearest house was Bill’s so they crashed there, drank some cold wine from Bill’s fridge to wash down the taste of vomit from their mouths. Then it got her thinking that wine was for…

“…like, romantic dates, or something. Then there’s sex after…I don’t know. Were not like that, aren’t we Bill?” Mabel hiccupped.

Bill laughed. “No, but I have to admit, I find you sexy… like one of my stupid hot friends. That’s really…fuckable. No offense… but really.”

“Well, what do you know? I find you really sexy and hot too! Like my-type-of-guy-but-it-would-be-awkward-to-have-a-relationship-with type of friend…that was too long.”

They both laughed.

It was Mabel who asked, “But, really, how would it feel to have sex with you?”

“I don’t know…I tried never to think about that now, even though I have in the past once. When we were in college, and I couldn’t tell you ‘coz you might get offended. There we go! I told you! I have no more secrets from you!”

Then next thing they know, they were kissing and taking their clothes off. The details were hazy from there, but that’s the gist of everything that happened.

“Great idea washing down the vomit with wine, Cipher,” she said when they finally got to the topic of last night.

“Hey, it worked for me!”

“But my brain feels like it��s about to explode.”

“Drunk talk is just weird…”

“Well, at least we now know how it feels—“

“No, please, stop right there, I’m going to melt of shame! I’m ashamed of myself!” Mabel covered her red face.

Bill laughed, wincing once, and then continued laughing.

But Mabel didn’t find it funny. On another day maybe she might have but now, knowing Dipper is having an affair with this man… this man that he might love…

Bill stopped now, confused as to why Mabel wasn’t laughing with him.

“Did…did Dipper,” she chewed her lip, it’s now or never, I guess. “…Is he in love with you..?” There goes the question, and the words I can’t take back. Mabel was preparing for the painful answer, like expecting a slap from someone. “Did he say he was in love with you?”

“Dipper is a complicated person to understand but I know when the both of you are pretending…”

Mabel just looked at him. Where is he going with this?

“I’m fine with it though, the sex is great and I love you both. But I know Dipper doesn’t feel what he thinks he feels with me. He’s a good liar, your brother; he could even lie to himself.”

Mabel waited for her hangover to pass. They watched some Sherlock movies and the television series, because Bill was currently hooked with it. (He even got the books.) For lunch, she treats Bill (as a thank you and a bribe never to tell Dipper) to a new café she found while driving to Dipper’s office yesterday. Bill knew that more bribes are coming his way for the next few days, and he’s sure he’ll be enjoying them.

When Mabel got in her car, Bill knocked on her window and she rolled it down.

Bill never thought of it as gross. He thought of it as unfortunate. They were in love, and that shouldn’t have been wrong. But in his beloved twins’ case, society said it was. It was sad.

“He still loves you, you know?”

Mabel cried the whole trip home.

[ablack-reblogs]

Sherlock SSN 4 ‘Live’ Blog

Sherlock, Season 4

The Lying Detective, Episode 2

 ‘Live’ Blog

 I’ve only seen a couple of spoilers – nothing substantial – so I am going into this practically blind (which is how normal people go into these sorts of things). But I’m also really angry about John Watson, the tainted character I once adored so dearly. I hope this episode somehow redeems him – if such a thing is even possible after what’s been done.

 Ugh…

 Here it goes.

 “Start from the beginning.”

 “You are holding yourself to an unreasonable standard.”

 AND IN TWO MINUTES …

 This show is super….

I just cannot do the life thing.

 At least it is hallucinations and not the red-head gal.

 BUT JOHN, SHERLOCK IS GIVING YOU THE SPACE THAT YOU DEMANDED! HE TRIED AND YOU LEFT A LETTER YOU DAMN BASTARD! YOU CANNOT SERIOUSLY BE CONFUSED AND OR UPSET BY A CHOICE YOU MADE! YOU MADE THE CHOICE AND FOR BLOODY ONCE HE RESPECTED IT.

 Damn you, John. Who decided to make you such a git?

Maybe Mary was right – “You don’t exactly make it easy being all perfect.”

FUCKING WHY.

 Who is this knob? He looks like a bad knob. The sort of knob you avoid.

 Ew… Gross knob person is touching someone in a weird way. Ew.

 Never ask what’s the worst thing someone could do – you always end up dead.

 I don’t like this knob.

Is he doing button button where is the button – but it’s this weird as drug that this dude made that knobbington didn’t ask permission to use?

 The hey hey hello is this shit?

 That dude with the beard looks like a younger President Snow, did anyone notice?

 I love that this woman went back to her office and wrote down key words that she *could* remember.

 EW Knobhead went a bit Trumpy on his daughter, gross gross.

 FOR PROBLEMS, YOU CANNOT DRUG PEOPLE WHO WILL FORGET THEY CANNOT HELP YOU! You’re just a sociopath for sure.

 Does weirdo dad see the paper.

 Yes he does. It is weird as fuck the way he touched her and held her. I’m a parent, and there’s an a different mood and facial expression when you’re just being affectionate toward your child.

He is being uncomfortable and weird.

So very weird.

I don’t like him.

 Years ago – so this has been years. Okay.

 “I can’t remember.” The biggest challenge one can issue to Sherlock Holmes.

 “You can’t tell all that from a piece of paper.”

“Sure I can. I just did. I’m sure that was me.”

What a cock.

 WHY is he there with Sherl?

 Needle.

Needle… Means drugs.

Drugs means nope.

 I AM NOPING MY WAY THROUGH THIS EPISODE.

 “Don’t speak it reminds me of your existence.” Me. That is me pretty much anytime I’m writing.

 Sherlock being worried about someone being suicidal fills my heart.

Being suicidal myself, it just touches me in a way I cannot describe. All the time we think of Sherlock as being cold and detached, and I know he’s interested in her story – but he isn’t just doing it for the case wholly. She reminds him of John in a way – and that is special to him.

And seeing that on screen is so very special to me.

I’m definitely crying.

  Her chips look so good.

 SUCH A GENUINE LAUGH AND SMILE.

SHERLOCK IS SO ADORABLE AT HUMANING.

 THEY ARE MONITORING SHERLOCK OH MY LLAMA.

 “It’s always about Sherlock.”

I would feel be for you John, but I am admittedly very pissed off at you. I’ll feel bad when I am less angry..

 I sort of ship these two – Mycroft and her (her name which I can’t remember right now because SEX was just dropped randomly)

(Maybe it is a low key way of saying Mycroft and his cohort are engaging in physical recreations)

 “I’m not sweet, I’m just high.”

 HE IS WRITING MYCROFT LAWWWWWL

 Sharonford?

Sharon Fort?

 THEY ARE WALKING ARM IN AND ARM AND IT IS SO ADORABLE.

SHERLOCK AS A NORMAL EVERYDAY PERSON IS FANTASTIC.

 I am L O V I N G this humanizing of Sherlock. It was so desperately needed. It adds a missing layer of dimension. It can make him better at his deductions and detective work.

 He wants some of her chips.

 Oh, whoops, he wants her gun.

SHERLOCK HOLMES IS TRYING TO SAVE HER LIFE IN HIS DARK KNIGHT WAY OH GOD

I AM IN LOVE

I was always a bit in love with Sherlock, though.

 PTSD flashbacks My babe no…

Bae no bae no

 She’s gone?

WHY IS SHE GONE?

 Oh my baby sherl no.

No no no no no no no no no.

 Who?

ANYONE?

SERIAL KILLER?

 Please tell me this isn’t all a hallucination from taking too many drugs. I can’t handle it. I need my Sherlock to be in good condition. I want him to be FINE.

 SHERLOCK WHY ARE YOU SELF-DESTRUCTIVE get hugs.

Avoid drugs.

HUGS NOT DRUGS.

 My husband just asked if Sherlock is tearing up Privet Drive, someone help me smack him!

 MISSUS FUCKING HUDSON

 Sherlock is a madman full of so much… stuff

 OH MY FUCKING GOD HE SHOT IN OR AT MISSUS FUCKING HUDSON

 I would not be making that bastard a cuppa. Mrs. Hudson you need to hug him.

 “Oh so you can see them too?”

 Also, that line – “I’m not a civilian.”

 I love Mrs. Hudson.

 HE WAS IN THE FUCKING TRUNK!

That would be why she’s not a civilian.

 I’VE BORROWED THEM BEFORE!

MRS. HUDSON HOLDING A GUN AT SHERLOCK.

 These lot are bunch of beautiful wankers.

 Covington Smith – gross man.

 “THIS ONE IS FILTHY!” It’s a goddamn vase, Sherlock.

 I almost feel bad for John Watson… Sherlock hijacking John’s schedule like that… But he’s PREDICTABLE to Sherlock… Except that cheating on Mary bit. That’s bogus. Still bogus.

 Sherlock is burning up to still impress John Watson.

 “You’re a liar.”

SAYS THE LIAR>

SAY

THE

FUCKING

LIArrrr

 THEY EDITED BULL SHIT

  The last person you’d think of.

Molly Hooper.

But I don’t think you understand, Molly Hooper is more important to him that most people realize.

 “God, I don’t know anything anymore.”

I don’t either, John, and it’s mostly your fault.

 John would ask the one thing she wouldn’t be willing to do…

 Mary is his conscious, she is the reflection of John inside – and pbljsdlfka;ghaeljkfa;

 “I’m in your head, John, you’re disagreeing with yourself.”

 “But he’s our monster.”

 I am so sorry that this is just turning into a reposting of all my favorite quotes. Sometimes I just fail.

 Molly is such a great person. I haven’t spent enough of my life admiring her.

 Sherlock is so bad at hugs.

 “Yeah, ugh, he doesn’t really wear the hat.”

Is it because the deerstalker is just for the bedroom, John Watson? You’d know wouldn’t you? Maybe, I suppose, if that were canon.

 Hiding in plain sight is – in fact – the best place to hide.

“What are we doing here? What’s the point?”

“I needed the hug.”

 “It’s funny because it’s true.”

 Sherlock is a cheeky git.

He really did a hug, didn’t he?

 Culverton not Covington. My apologies.

 WHAT A BITCH

 John doesn’t write Sherlock’s blog, though, does he?

John has always had his own blog – or this a detail I’ve forgotten?

 How is Sherlock speaking so intelligently.

He’s not sane.

 THE KIDS WOULD LOVE THE HAT.

John secretly adores the hat.

 “How do you catch a serial killer?”

 “Maybe this isn’t a suitable subject for the kids?”

What a bastard this man is…

So inappropriate as a man – so fucking gross.

 He’s not even INTRIGUING the way Moriarty was.

Not RELATABLE like Irene Adler.

NOT EVEN INTELLIGENT THE WAY THAT APPLEGATE BLOKE WAS (I can’t remember his name either, so I should probably rewatch this series. Stress has addled my brain with incapability and lack of recollection).

  John is super unimpressed.

 THIS MAN IS SO FUCKING FUCKED.

 John Watson will see this man dead.

I kind of almost am willing to pretend he didn’t make a a terrible choice as a husband.

“The Game is on. Do you still miss me?”

 Bloody hell, what a rough bit of life John Watson has had.

 What a terrible man he must be behind the scenes to make such an impression of power.

 HH Holmes – Sweeney Todd.

He wants to be known for his crimes now – probably ready to die, or possibly ill enough to know he’s dying soon. Like the man in the first episode.

 “Are you really a medical doctor?”

 I can see how he’s gotten away with the bullshit. He almost convinced me that Sherlock is…

 “She liked me.”

The look on his face. It was one of those moments of confusion.

 There’s so much happening right now and I’m thinking this man has decided to take down Sherlock. Or maybe I’m hopeful about the whole scenario.

Perhaps Sherlock has gone right proper mad. It’s not inconceivable.

 Lestrade is such an unsung hero.

 MAGNUSSEN – that’s his name.

 “We all saw it coming but it was fun.”

Calling it as it is, eh?

 “Might even move him to my favorite room.”

 I was right to believe my Sherl.

 WHO IS THE REAL CRIMINAL

JOHN OR FUCKING SHERLOCK

DEAR GOD SOMEONE HELP ME UNDERSTAND

 I need a whisky.

 “Let him do what he wants. He’s entitled. I killed his wife.”

 FUCKING NO HE DID NOT JOHN WATSON I WILL FIND YOU AND KICK YOUR ARSE PROPER

 “Please no violence” sings the serial killer

 What a right fuckhead.

 “Nope, I’m just in to say good-bye.”

“I’m sure he’ll pull through…”

John is bidding farewell not to Sherlock’s life but to Sherlock himself.

 These conversations with Mycroft always end with “there’s a car downstairs.”

 John is so much smarter than he gets credit for and so much dumber than we realize, how is that possible? A living, breathing oxymoron?

 At least he admitted he’s creepy. I feel must better about that.

I don’t like the gloves.

That adds to the killer part.

 “It’s practically a meth lab.”

 The woman that showed up was real.

The paper is real.

THIS IS SUCH A SERIOUS CASE SOMEBODY HALLLP

 “Oh shut up you.”

 “It didn’t the last time.”

 “You’re lying.”

 “He really is lyin.”

 “Sherlock isn’t your only brother.”

 “My god.”

 Mrs. Hudson detests Mycroft only slightly more than Sherlock Holmes.

Although, probably not as much as John Watson.

 Where did Athena go?

 “You really are an idiot, but that’s okay because you’re a lovely doctor!” One of my faves for sure.

 I have to stop quoting these beautiful characters.

“He’s more emotion than that, isn’t he?”

LAST ONE.

 Mrs. Hudson is the fucking boss.

I am so happy to have more of her in this season.

I hate Moffat and I hate that John is a cheating husband trash person, but damn it if this doesn’t become my favorite season. SO SO much depth is being added to these people and I love it.

I am actual sobbing guys, help me, rip.

 “Get our of my house, you reptile.” She definitely hates Mycroft more than anyone.

Top Anti-Mycroft Lady – Mrs. Hudson.

 Murder Castle, but done right – what a gross prat.

 This man is disgusting.

 “I want you to kill me.”

NO BABY NO

NO BABY BABY NO SHERLOCK No

 THE CAR SHE IS LETTING DOCTOR WATSON TAKE THE CAR SOMEONE HALP ME I CANNOT GO FROM EXTREME SAD TO EXTREME EXCITE I CANNOT DO IT

 “Tell me how you feel.”

 Well, Mr. Knobbington, I am in love with John Watson and I wanted him to have this beautiful life with Mary and now I have ruined it and I can’t handle it. I want to die and I have my reasons but I don’t want to die because I love him.

I love him so very much.

And I won’t make him live without the only person he has left to make him smile.

 /end_fanfiction_fantasty_of_johnlock

 I was worried I couldn’t ship Johnlock after this bloody season but I’m shiping it.

I shouldn’t be shipping it, really, because this show is so much more than romance – but romance is a part of life isn’t it? I don’t need them to be intimate – I don’t need them to homosexually active. I just want them to be Homoromantic – doing domestic things and being open about their prioritization of one another – and Rosie now – and being average.

 Getting impatient – I think you’ve just lost your strange ass necro-obsessive boner.

 GODDAMN IT PLEASE NO.

PLEASE VERY NO

WHAT IF THE THING HAPPENS

WHAT IF THE DEATH HAPPENS FOR REAL

I CANNOT DEAL WITH A PROPER SHERLOCKIA NDEATH

 Someone help I’m have a bit of an attack

I am shaky

 John watching that video is counterproductive.

I am so fucking dead

I am sooooo fucking dead

Kill him john

Kill him john

 There were more than three

He’s got a recording device in his arse?

 OH FUCKS SAKE IT IS ON THE CANE

 Gods do I love this man.

 Someone needs to give Lestrade a very long vacation WITH PAY and free pastries.

“I can break America?”

What the hell does that even mean?

Are we that bad?

 Who am I kidding, we are that bad.

 I wonder if the daughter hired a woman to help frame her father?

 “Make him wear the hat.”

Definitely a sexual fetish thing – it has to be – because I’m fucked up that way.

 That is true, the recordings could be inadmissible.

But they could also keep it as proof after he confessed – a judge could approve, after all.

 THAT SOUND IS BACK

OH MY LLAMA

 Oh, she’s dead.

Oh I bet she isn’t dead.

John looks a bit jealous.

 “I’m going to make a deduction.”

 “Happy birthday.”

“Never knew when you’re birthday.”

“Now you know.”

“You bloody moron.”

 Romantic entanglement would … COMPLETE YOU AS A HUMAN BEING

 ENGTANGLE YOURSELF WITH JOHN

 “She taught me to be the man she always thought me to be.”

Irene would not make Sherlock a better man – just more of the man he already is.

 The affair was real and I was ready to forgive him – and it’s gross that… It’s gross…

 “I never could be. That’s the point.”

He never could be the man that did more because of Mary.

 I think Sherlock should hug John right now.

 THEY ARE HUGGING

THEY ARE HUGGING AND IS THE EPITOME OF PROPER LOVE BETWEEN TWO MEN PLATONIC OR OTHERWISE IT IS BEAUTIFUL I HAVE WAITED FOUR GODDAMN SEASONS FOR THIS SMALL BIT OF AFFECTION I LOVE IT

 Sherlock has his weaknesses.

“I have this terrible thought from time to time… That we all might just be human.”

“Even you?”

“No, John…. Even you…”

 IT IS A FETISH.

 SHERLOCK CARES SO FUCKING MUCH JOHN IS THE MACHIEN AND SHERLOCK IS THE HUMAN AND ALL IS RIGHT IN THE WORLD

I FUCKING I am dead

I am so permanently dead because of this hsow

  AND THERE IS MORE

How the fuck can I even after this

  FUCKING I WAS RIHT YES YES YES YES YES YES I WAS SO FUCKIGN RIGHT ABOUT THESE TWO

I WA SO JS;ldkfaslkdfj;alghj;a wfj ;kasdjfa;ls

Do you guys even know that I called this like two pages htree pages back

Oh god this is elevent pages

So it was like eight pages ago

  LADY ALICIA

Oh gods you don’t know this

But ALICIA IS MY NAME

 That is interesting in an odd sort of way

 Myrcroft is such a fuck

 My husband is deducing the therapist is the girl that showed.

 John cannot escape the crazies.

 JOHN OH GOD YOU ARE NOT SAFE

 THIS SHOW BEEN FUCKING ME UP FOR YEARS

HALF OF THOSE YEARS ARE SPENT JUST WAITING

 SHERLOCK’S SECRET BROTHER IS A SECRET SISTER

HOLY FUCKIGN FUCKING FUCKING

 “You’re making such a funny face. I think I’ll put ah ole in it.”

 JOHN KSdjf;alkshgliu

 I can’t be alive anymore.

But I have to be alive to see the end.

 How many episodes this season?

MORE THAN THREE?

TELL ME MORE THAN THREE?!

 Fucking hell.

Bloody fucking hell.

 Someone help me.

I am so dead.

 I am so fucking dead.

Help.

Help.

           Help.

  x.x

x.x

x.x

x.x

x.x

x.x

 help.

[zugzwanggin-blog]

Amo, Amas, Amat

OR: WHY MARY ISN’T THE DEVIL YOU GUYS COME ON, MOFTISS WRITES BETTER CHARACTERS THAN THAT, AND JOHN ISN’T A PERFECT HUMAN BEING HE NEEDS TIME TO GRIEVE, THE JOHNLOCK IS CANON AND IT’S COMING

Everyone is so determined to turn Mary into this conniving, evil, backstabbing criminal mastermind whose sole purpose in life is to make John miserable and come as a wedge between him and Sherlock. But she’s...not.

She’s a good fucking character. She was a freelance assassin, a mercenary, part of a team. She’s not Sebastian Moran. There’s still a chance she is somehow connected to Moriarty, but honestly? That isn’t his style. Moriarty was a genuine sociopath--he was so far gone, in fact, that interacting with him was what made Sherlock realize he wasn’t sociopathic after all. Moriarty doesn’t understand the nuances of love and self-sacrifice and sentiment. He sees them, he makes use of them, but he isn’t--wasn’t--the type to manipulate them in such clever and intricate and prescient ways. He arranged terrorist attacks and murders and assassinations, he dealt drugs and arms, he strapped semtex to the only person Sherlock cared about just to bully and frighten him and to empower himself. I’m not saying that arranging three assassins and then shooting himself on a rooftop was his coup d'etat, obviously he’s still got his fingers in a few pies, but Mary wasn’t one of them.

Mary was an assassin whose professional life went to shit. She started over. She met John. John’s a good bloke. John’s a fantastic bloke. John is steady, and clever, and understanding, and loyal, and sardonic. John has been hurt deeply. John does not hurt in retaliation. John absorbs. John cares and comforts. John patches you up, and he doesn’t judge you in the process. John is exactly who she needed. She fell in love with John. And John fell in love with her.

No, I don’t think it’s the same as the way he loves Sherlock. He and Sherlock have been through too much, have bonded too irreparably, have insinuated themselves together too irrevocably for a woman to come between them. (And honestly guys? Using a woman just to come between the two main male characters is such an overused trope, and I really think Moffat and Gatiss are more clever and self-aware than that.) They loved one another. Even Sherlock could see it, could respect it. For the longest time I thought he was just blindly keeping Mary safe in order to protect John and John’s happiness by proxy, but TST showed us otherwise. Sherlock cared for her as well. He called her a friend, he showed baby pictures to his brother, he made that vow and he really, really meant it.

When John found out about AGRA he meant it when he said he was determined to move on. And he tried. He did. But he has trust issues, remember? John has trust issues. These have been built up slowly, added to bit by bit, over a lifetime. I personally believe his mother was his rock, and she is canonically dead. He has trust issues with his sister, who he deems unreliable. I’m sure he has trust issues with his father, who he has never once mentioned. He has trust issues with the military, who kicked him out and now ridicules him for his life choices. He has trust issues with his own body, which betrayed him and his chosen profession--a surgeon who can’t even operate? How pathetic. He has trust issues with Sherlock, who killed himself in front of John and then reappeared. He has trust issues with his wife, who pretended to be a woman she wasn’t, and lied to his face, repeatedly. John has some fucking trust issues, okay? And they’re not minor. He has gone out of his way to be everyone’s rock, they even went out of their way to point it out in TST. But you know what? Rocks are strong, but they’re not shatter-proof. Rocks can still fucking break.

He tried to make it work with Mary, genuinely, but the trust was gone. They co-parented, they cooperated, they co-sleuthed and cohabited and co-everything the way couples do, and it was genuine. They both cared. They both put forth the effort. Neither was pretending. But the trust was gone, for John. Because John has trust issues.

Yes, he looked. A pretty young bird on the bus noticed him, and he looked. And he chatted. And he probably had coffee. Did he sleep with her? Maybe. I really don’t think so, but it’s possible. I think he’d have been a little more hesitant to bring it up if he had. But he thought about it. He was tempted. And John is loyal. The temptation was bad enough for him to want to come clean. I thought it was odd at first, but the more I look back at it the more I understand his point of view. He doesn’t feel completely comfortable in his relationship with Mary anymore. He doesn’t feel completely devoted to her like he might have done if she hadn’t turned out to be, you know, a killer--but also a liar, first of all. And that said, I feel there’s a lot to be said for the fact that there’s a lot of shit between Sherlock and John, but the one thing that isn’t there is lying. Not big things--little things like whether or not Sherlock really is responsible for swapping the milk out with horse semen is on another scale entirely, and John actually appreciates those sorts of deer-in-the-headlights obvious fibs.

When Sherlock finds the second USB, he goes straight to John. Before he confronts Mary, before he does anything else, he takes it to John. And you know what? John was suspicious enough to say “Hey Sherlock, maybe we’d better bug the device in case my wife who I love and trust so much makes off with it and tries to run from us, ‘cause that’s what loving, trusting couples do, that.” And the same thing happened in HLV when Sherlock revealed Mary to John. Sherlock has, I believe, actually learned his lesson when it comes to trusting John--he has not once kept John purposely in the dark just to save him from something, not once since TRF, not once since he returned and learned how badly he’d hurt John by lying to him, even if it was just to keep him safe. And now he’s learned another lesson about humility, much as it pains him--but the most painful lessons are the stickiest, aren’t they? John and Sherlock are tighter than ever. Sherlock has made that final leap off the edge, and now goes to John for everything. It’s John’s turn to do the same.

Does he blame Sherlock for Mary’s death? Of course he does. Sherlock made a vow, and he needs to blame someone. He also blames himself. He blames everyone. Life isn’t fucking fair, and it’s been especially unfair to John. Everything he’s tried to build for himself has been broken. Do you understand that? Review it, and really, really let it sink in for a moment:

He tried to be a doctor, he tried to save people, he went to war for it. He joined the Army. He was deployed to Afghanistan for three years. Then he got shot. In his dominant arm. No more military, they tossed him out like a useless sack of spoiled potatoes, as all militaries are wont to do once you’ve outlived your usefulness to them. No more surgery, his left hand sustained so much nerve and tissue and bone damage that he can no longer operate safely. All of those years of training and sacrifice, gone. Unappreciated. And now he’s left fucking useless and unwanted. He was even contemplating suicide before he met Sherlock. Our Mr. Strong Rock Who Can Weather Any Storm was ready to end it because he felt so useless and pathetic and lonely and all of those other horrible emotions that make up depression. He made a good go of it in life, and look where it got him. Abso fucking lutely nowhere. And no one cared.

Speculation, but I suspect he tried to save his sister. I suspect he spent much of his younger years trying to be there for her, to give her alternatives to the alcohol, to be there as he rock and her trustee and her caretaker, and he failed. And now, as adults, their relationship is so fractured that his own sister was a no-call no-show for John’s wedding. He tried to be there for his family, and they have proven themselves to be unreliable to him. Not even touching on his father just because John has never mentioned him, but it seems perfectly reasonable to me that he was likely an alcoholic (as in Doyle’s canon) and perhaps even a little bit abusive--John brawls like he grew up brawling, that isn’t something you learn in the Army, trust me I’m an Army veteran myself. So yeah, that didn’t exactly work out for him either, did it?

He attached himself to Sherlock. He moved into a flat with Sherlock, went out on cases with him, to crime scenes, chased murderers through the London streets, killed a man to save his life. Sherlock was his life. They were partners. Then Sherlock killed himself in front of John on a lark, and reappeared two years later as if it was all just a big joke. As if he hadn’t shattered everything John had just started to believe in again. That trust isn’t back yet. In fact, I would dare to suggest he threw himself so hard at Mary immediately after Sherlock returned in an effort to keep himself from becoming glued back to his side again. Once burned, twice shy. This will change eventually, because Sherlock has realized his error and is actually putting forth an effort to be there for John. That was the entirety of season 3. Season 4 will very likely be John coming to terms with his own shortcomings, and opening himself up to be there for Sherlock, despite the risks inherent in that trust. John has trust issues. John’s character arc will be learned how to let Sherlock in despite them.

He made a family with Mary. Who turned out not to be the woman he fell in love with, the woman he spent the last two years with. She was a stranger. All right. He accepted that and struggled to move on. And now Mary is dead. Everything John touches falls apart. I would not be surprised if he turns to drink. I hope not, because he has his daughter to look after and his sense of responsibility has always been just a hair stronger than his temptations, but I would not be surprised. I think this episode explains pretty well for itself how everything fell apart in their relationship. They were not a solid foundation. They crumbled. Mary sacrificed herself for John. She was not an idiot. She knew this was inevitable. John would get over her own death, eventually, with help. But she saw John after Sherlock’s, and she knew he wouldn’t survive that again--not after he’d just started to trust in Sherlock again.

So, John blames himself. For all of it. What’s the one common denominator in all of those events? John isn’t stupid. He’s a natural caretaker, and everyone he’s cared for has broken him. It’s his turn to be cared for. He cared for his sister, he cared for the soldiers in the RAMC, he cared for Sherlock, he cared for Mary. No one has stopped to care for him. He hasn’t let them. He doesn’t let them in. He needs to learn how to do this.

Mary died in his arms, and John still didn’t cry. Those sounds he made were horrific. He was trying so desperately hard not to cry. And now he’s flinging blame around, because that’s what hurting people do, especially, especially, especially especially especially especially especially when they blame themselves.

I keep seeing around on tumblr that Mary orchestrated this whole thing, that Moriarty is behind it after all, that John and Sherlock can’t repair their friendship over this, etc etc. No. Just, no. John needs time to grieve. And he needs someone to be there for him. And Sherlock will be there for him. He realized throughout season 3 that he wanted to be there for him. And now he’s trying so, so hard to be, in his own eccentric not really reliable but still genuine Sherlock way.

The Johnlock is canon. This is the conclusion to their arc. Sherlock has come around, and now it’s John’s turn. So much fanfic is about how broken Sherlock is, why he cut himself off from his emotions, what traumas he suffered to turn him into a “sociopathic” drug addict. So few are about why John is so drawn to him, why John needs violence and adrenaline to function, why John is so broken, why John can’t express himself or grieve or feel when his wife dies right there in his own fucking arms. That’s what this is about. I hope. Because if it isn’t I might die.

Also EEEEEEEEEEEE SHERRINFORD!!!!

/rant

[mycasandstarrs]

SPN 6x08: “All Dogs Go to Heaven”

“

THEN: Werewolves are a thing and you kill them with silver. Sam acknowledges there’s something wrong with him: turns out he’s soulless. Alphas are a thing. The Winchesters are now employees to Crowley; Sam’s soul is his bargaining chip.

(Let me just state for the record that I do not like this episode, and I highly doubt I’ll like it when the episode’s over.)

A man who loves his dog a little bit too much.

RIP dog dude. Killed by shapeshifter.

Lunch with Sam, Dean, and Crowley.

“You've been working for me for some time now. Sam here, longer.”

“We didn’t know.”

“Like that makes a difference to you. You'd sell your brother for a dollar right now if you really needed a soda.”

Yikes.

Oh, what the hell was that??

Crowley’s sending them on a hunt.

“Crowley. He's so far up our asses we're – we're – we're coughing sulfur, but you – you're just gonna work the case?” What else can you do?

“It's just – you know, man, I... I'm working for a demon now. I don't even know who you are. I just... I just need a second to adjust.” Yeah, this is a crummy time for Dean.

“I'm still your brother.” I don’t know, man.

Agents Holt and Wilson.

“What are the Feds doing here?”

“Oh, we're specialists. They call us in to answer the questions of mouth-breathing dick monkeys.”

Chill out, S!Sam. This guy is just trying to do his job.

Sleeping Dean. :3

Uh Sam, put away the damn weapon.

Lucky the dog.

Cal Garrigan, hangover af.

S!Sam is a terrible liar, but is a damn expert at pointing out liars.

Ron (first victim, brother to Cal) was “volatile” towards Cal and Mandy.

And then their landlord was found dead...while they were behind on their rent. It ain’t looking good for them.

S!Sam’s such a shady ass hunter.

“Three scuzzy bars, one scuzzy strip club, a chili-dog joint, seven or eight nightcaps, and now... scotches in the library. I'm getting cirrhosis just watching this.” That’s a lot of drinking, even for Dean.

They left a little too soon.

“Lucky. What are you doing?” Cal’s last words.

RIP Cal Garrigan. Killed by skinwalker.

AKA Lucky, the family dog.

“I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that it's not Cal.”

“Masterful deduction, Sherlock.”

pfft.

“Can you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Shove her in the trunk, serve her up to Crowley.”

Good lord.

Lucky looks after his family...in a somewhat unsettling way.

“Hey, is that blood? Have you killed a bird again?” Sure...a “bird”.

Questioning time.

“I'm sorry. You said your boy was up all night?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Were you with him all night?”

“Um – uh – well, I had, um, half an hour of sleep, maybe.”

“Can I talk to your son?”

“Why?”

“Yeah, what difference does that make, Agent Holt?”

IT MEANS SHE WAS AT HOME THE WHOLE TIME AND WOULDN’T HAVE GOTTEN OUT TO KILL CAL.

I wouldn’t trust S!Sam to look after someone he thinks is a suspect either.

Tailing time.

S!Sam’s a parkour expert.

Awww, poor Lucky. :(

Sam looking at his future: hitting a dog, then rushing it to the nearest hospital.

Huh, I never noticed Dean had Gwen in his contacts.

MOTE: skinwalker

Oh hey, S!Sam called Bobby. He typically calls Samuel.

You know what my problem is with this episode: I love dogs too much to take this seriously. I mean, they see a skinwalker...and I just see them being mean to a dog.

“Now we can either do this the easy way *holds up pants* or the hard way *holds up silver chains*.”

The one thing S!Sam finds funny.

“Well, I got to tell you, Lucky, you got us stumped. I mean, why shack up with the family? Is it a kinky thing? Do you like to play with your food? Roll over, Lucky. Speak.” Please shut up, S!Sam.

“Look, I can’t say anything.”

“But if you don't, then you're gonna put the girl and the little boy in danger. And sooner or later, all this crap is gonna come for them.”

Ohhh, Dean’s projecting on him.

“Yeah, that guy, he's a... whatever it is I am.” He doesn’t even know what he is!

Cut it out, S!Sam.

“Fetch this, dick.” Yeah, S!Sam had that coming.

Dean was the one who could convince Lucky.

S!Sam, you have a case right in front of you. Just work on it, forget the Crowley/Alpha shit.

“I don't know what you are 'cause you're not Sam.”

“Dean, come on.”

“I mean, it's your gigantor body and – and maybe your brain, but it's not you. So just... stop pretending. Do us both a favor.”

Good point.

Sniper Dean is back, after 4 years.

Another thing S!Sam is bad at: small talk.

They brought Mandy into this?

“Take the shot.”

“I’m trying! She’s in the way.”

“Take it anyway.”

BRO.

Onto Plan B.

“So you with us?”

“Yes, of course I am.”

“Fine. Prove it. Turn them. Now. Both of 'em, while we watch, Or I'll kill you all.”

Oh jeez.

RIP skinwalkers. Killed by Sam and Dean.

Um, did Dean want to kill Lucky?? What the hell dude?

Lucky’s still looking out for the people he cares about.

RIP skinwalker. Killed by Dean.

RIP skinwalker. Killed by Sam.

Now Mandy knows.

NOOO, not Lucky. :(

RIP skinwalker. Killed by Dean.

S!SAM NO, DON’T YOU DARE.

Oh thank god, Lucky got away. 

(See what I mean? I care more about the “antagonist” of the episode than I should.)

Lucky, nooo. :(

I mean, admittedly, I might not want a skinwalker as a pet...but come on.

There’s something about Lucky just....going off to live as a homeless dog that makes me so sad.

“You were right.”

“About?”

“I”m not your brother. I’m not Sam.”

“You wanted the real me. This is it. I don't care about them.”

Well, gotta respect the honesty.

“I've done a lot worse than you know. I've killed innocent people in the line of duty.” S!Sam is actual garbage.

“I don't know if how I am is better or worse. It's different. You get the job done, and nothing really hurts. That's not the worst thing. But I've been thinking. And it was... it was kinda harder. But there are also things about it I remember that I... Let's just say I think I should probably go back to being him.”

That’s something of a relief. 

(I remember in S11, I think, when Sam talked about being soulless and how he just wanted to die at every moment. Maybe that’s why S!Sam is asking for his soul back here.)

(btw, I still don’t like this episode.)