#howard baker books

[basicallyanotherwitchesthing]

Noel Langley, Hugh Lynn Cayce - Edgar Cayce on Reincarnation - Howard Baker - 1969

[ineffabletwaddle13]

Holmes tapping his fingers on things such as a book, his lip, his tummy, a piece of paper, a picture frame, his thigh, plus tapping his pipe on a map.

Holmes in the books by Arthur Conan Doyle also taps his fingers on things a lot:

The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington plans: “He sat lost in thought, tapping his fingers on the table”... “ tapping the furniture”

The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax: “his long, nervous fingers tapping upon the arms of his chair"

His last bow: “Holmes, tapping the valise”

The Adventure of the Empty House: “More than once he fidgeted with his feet and tapped rapidly with his fingers upon the wall”

A Study In Scarlet: “He gnawed his lip, drummed his fingers upon the table, and showed every other symptom of acute impatience”

The Problem of Thor Bridge: “in his nervous restlessness, he could not sit still, but paced the carriage or drummed with his long, sensitive fingers upon the cushions beside him”

[downthetubes]

In Review: Timeslides: The Doctor Who Artwork of Colin Howard

A Review of “Timeslides: The Doctor Who Artwork of Colin Howard” was long overdue on downthetubes. Here’s an unashamedly biased opinion…

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Spicy Stories

JK Rowling: hello children Poe: oh Poe: oh joanne Poe: you're back Rowling: i have concernss Poe: uh we're mostly about just telling stories here Poe: you have your own campfire for your terf stuff don't you? Rowling: yess but they've really been getting on my nervess lately

Rowling: you know how it iss with terf deatheaterss Poe: not really Rowling: alwayss agreeing with everything i ssay Rowling: all "oh yes dark lord" this and "oh spare me dark lord" that Rowling: ssometimess you jusst get tired of hearing "masterful gambit dark lord"

Rowling: i tell you, you don't know how hard it is to run a cult L Ron Hubbard: oh yeah woof big mood Hubbard: people think its all fun, but its actually a lot of work Rowling: I know right????

Poe: regardless, joanne, i'm going to have to put my foot down Poe: this campfire is just for stories Rowling: uhhh actually i do have a new ssstory Rowling: i wass insspired to write after having an argument on the internet Barker: oh damn no shit? Barker: that's wild

Rowling: it's a new harry potter ssstory King: oh man! it's about time, i've been hoping for a new potter story for ages! Rowling: itss about hermione going back in time to help grindelwald, who actually had sssome good points if you think about it

Rowling: i call it Rowling: the time turner diariesss Barker: wow this is not really funny anymore Baker: its like INTENSELY not funny Lovecraft: catchy title tho!

Rowling: i'm retconning grindelwald into a misundersstood idealisst Rowling: who was only forced to make hard choicess because of the unreassonablenesss of decadent weimar society

Rowling: oh also you know that thing where people kept criticizing me cuz technically grindelwald's "evil" plan was to prevent the holocaust? Rowling: well good news Rowling: i've rectified that little mistake

Rowling: like, why would the naziss target transs & queer people, traditionally the most powerful and widely accepted memberss of ssociety? Rowling: would not the naziss, famouss for their love of diverssity, actually approve of them? Rowling: i'm jusst asskin questions

King: actually joanne there's a lot of well-documented evidence Barker: give it up steve King: no no i can fix this King: i'm sure if i just lay out the facts in a logical, well-reasoned manner- Barker: oh god that's so cute Barker: don't you just love him? Poe: that's our steve

King: so you see the nazi book burning of the institute for sexualwissenschaft- Rowling: nope Rowling: didn't happen King: King: well it kinda did, see, as i was saying- Rowling: thiss iss missogyny

Rowling: i don't undersstand you lot at all Rowling: i come into your campfire, i make a sstatement that i really want to be true & you all refuse to accept it Rowling: thiss issn't the way it works over with my terf deatheaters at all Rowling: they love accepting things i ssay!

Rowling: it'ss actually really missogynisstic that you all refusse to accept what i'm ssaying asss truth Rowling: even though you all know how badly i want it to be true King: but joanne, it isn't true- Rowling: ssave it for court ssteve!

Mary Shelley: sup fuckers Shelley: i got here late wot's going on? Barker: joanne is doing holocaust denial Rowling: EXCUSE ME it'ss only holocausst denial if you quesstion the murder of jews Rowling: tho now that i think about it i do have some questionss

Rowling: like, would they not have ussed their goblin magic to essscape? Lovecraft: ya know, she makes a good point Sonia Greene: i'm right here howard Lovecraft: Greene: see, this is why i don't talk much

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the croissants

buttercup, chapter one

a/n: i was actually working on something else, but then one night i got the desperate need to rewatch daredevil yet again and then this just kinda accidentally tumbled out. oopsi i guess.

summary: he offered you a polite smile that sent a swarm of butterflies soaring within your belly, a sensation that you hadn’t felt in ages, “welcome to the building,” he added as he tugged his door open.

warnings: matt murdock x baker!reader, neighbours to lovers, rape recovery, ptsd, moving, lowkey love at first sight (for reader)

word count: 2415

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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masterlist | join my taglist

“Do you wanna make the call or would you like me to do it?” 

Turning to look at the robust and inked visage of your uncle, your face crinkled up slightly as you asked in a hesitant tone, “…would you mind doing it? Please?”

“Sure, hon,” Howard nodded before blinking down at his phone and dialling the number, “what kind? Margherita?”

“Yeah, and with some arugula on top, please,” you spoke as you squeezed by a tower of messy moving boxes to enter the open kitchen of your new apartment, “thank you!”

Hearing his footsteps carry him deeper into the new home, his voice soon rumbled, muffled behind your bedroom door. Opening up the cardboard box that half blocked off your empty fridge, you dug through it till you found a glass, swiftly straightening back up and filling it up with water.

“How are you doing, cupcake?” you heard the soft voice of Walter, your uncle’s husband, as you turned off the tab, “you gonna be okay tonight? Because if you don’t want to be alone, we can stay.”

“No, it’s alright, I think I’m okay,” you took a tiny sip before placing the tall glass down on the counter, “you both gotta get up early tomorrow to open the bakery anyways.” 

“It’s never stopped us before. Do you remember when you were 11 and you watched that terrifying movie at some slumber party?” a smile twitched at the bald man’s lip from the memory, “I don’t think any of us slept for a whole week straight and the bakery still kept on running. If we could get through those sleepless nights of trying to convince you that our apartment wasn’t haunted, then we can get through this.” 

Stepping up closer to him, you caught his hand in yours and said, “I think I’m gonna be okay, but thank you, Walter, really, for everything, for this, for letting me move back home and letting me stay there for over a year.”

“Hey,” he squeezed your palm and ushered you to meet his gaze, “you do not need to thank us for that. It’s–…” he dropped the heavy comment he nearly uttered and instead let out a low sigh, “we love you. It was the very least we could do.”

“I love you too,” you heard your voice threaten a tremble of vulnerability, “so much.”

As the bedroom door then swung back open, out stepped Howard with an exhale, “alright, the pizza is on its way. You gonna be okay here?”

“Yeah,” you offered him a nod before walking them out. 

Peeking back at you over his shoulder as he swung his bright red scarf back on, Walter raised his brows tenderly, “promise that you’ll call us if anything happens, yeah?”

“Promise,” you breathed as you watched them creak open the front door and step out into the cold hallway, “love you, goodnight!”

“Goodnight, hon!” Howard waved over his shoulder at your visage in the doorway as the couple reached the stairs, “see you tomorrow! Try and get some rest, just head in whenever you get up.” 

“Okay,” a soft smile warmed your features. Lately, or the past year actually, they’d let you cut down on your work quite a bit so that your hours at the bakery were significantly less and the only days you were to get up before the sun did was on weekends.

“Bye!” they both called out loudly as they disappeared from your view before your own echo rang throughout the hallway.

“Bye!”

You didn’t manage to unpack much, only half of your books, before the buzzer rang obnoxiously, causing your feet to scramble to let the delivery guy up. 

Swiftly locating your backpack, you fished out your wallet just before a knock boomed at your door. 

“That’ll be twenty bucks,” the pimply-faced pizza guy spoke in a monotone voice as soon as you opened up. 

Catching the shadow of another figure ascend the staircase just before you began to dig through your wallet, his handsome and scruffy features were adorned with a pair of glasses that had a darkly crimson tint to them.

“Yep… uh… do you have change for a fifty?” 

“Nope,” he impatiently blinked before loudly popping his bright blue bubblegum.

“Oh, alright…” you felt your palms begin to sweat, “do you mind just waiting here for a second? I might have some more cash in a jacket… somewhere…”

But just before you could duck back inside, the suit-clad man who had stopped to unlock the door directly opposite yours, whipped his own wallet out and handed off the needed bucks, “here.”

Satisfied, the pizza guy accepted the change and shoved the wide box into your arms before dashing off. 

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” you blinked over at your generous, new neighbour, “I can pay you back–”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he offered you a polite smile that sent a swarm of butterflies soaring within your belly, a sensation that you hadn’t felt in ages, “welcome to the building,” he added as he tugged his door open. 

“Thanks,” you uttered, slightly windblown in your threshold as he disappeared into his apartment. 

Slipping into your sneakers and hastily fastening them with sloppy bows, you slugged your jacket on and grabbed your bag. As you exited your apartment, the neighbouring door opened just as you locked up your own. 

“Oh, hi!” you squeaked over your shoulder as you turned the key, “good morning!” 

Your breath got caught in your throat as you turned to face him fully, shoving your bundle of keys into your pocket. Did he look even better than you remembered? Now no longer obscured by the terrible excuses this hallway had for lighting, the frosted window to your right illuminated every detail of him that you’d missed the first time around. 

“Morning,” he replied as he too locked his door behind him. 

Waiting a moment before you began to move your feet, you eyed his polished attire, “are you off to work?”

“Yep,” he nodded and fished out a folded-up cane from the inner pocket of his jacket, “you?”

“Yeah,” you sucked in a breath, “I’m Y/n, by the way, forgot to introduce myself the other night.”

“Matthew,” the bespectacled man extended his hand out for you to shake, “nice to meet you.” 

After ignoring the tingle his touch sent down your spine, the two of you began to descend the stairs.

“Thanks again for what you did with the–, oh! I should pay you back!” you reached into your deep coat pocket to locate your wallet, “I’m pretty sure I have–, how much was it?”

“You don’t have to, it’s fine, really,” he politely declined. 

Reaching the bottom of the staircase, your brows flew up, “seriously?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged as he then held the front door open for you to get out onto the street first. 

“Thank you, Matthew,” you slipped out, waiting a moment before you began to head off, “have a good day!”

“Yeah, you too,” he said, flicking out his cane to its full length, just before you both began to walk in the exact same direction. 

“Oh, wait,” you slowed as a giggle bubbled out of your lungs, “you’re also heading this way?”

“Oh, uhm, yeah.”

“Do you–, uh… I can wait for a little bit and let you get a head start if you–”

“Or you can just walk with me, if you’d like,” he suggested with a gentle smile that made your brain forget for just a split second where your destination was in the first place, “it’s fine with me, I don’t mind the company.”

“Okay,” you agreed in a quiet voice, returning to a brisk pace beside him. You didn’t take too many strides before a casual question nervously fell from your lips, “so, have you lived here long?” 

“In the apartment or Hell’s Kitchen?”

“Oh,” your heartbeat thrummed in your ears, “both, I guess.”

“I’ve been in the apartment for a while,” he told you, “but lived here in the neighbourhood pretty much all my life.”

“Yeah?” you smiled, maybe glancing over at him a bit too much for it to be safe as you walked, “that’s nice.”

“You?”

“Uhm, grew up in Brooklyn, moved here to live with my uncles when I was nine, after my parents passed.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” his low tone emanated an air of kinship. 

“It’s alright. It was a long time ago, I was just a kid... anyways! Enough about me before I spill all of my childhood trauma to you,” you gracelessly changed the subject, “you are in a suit.”

“I–,” a faint laugh tumbled out past his lips before he joked, “I’d sure hope I am and didn’t accidentally change into something else.”

“No–, I mean, yes, obviously,” you felt heat begin to rise in your cheeks, “that was just a very weird and backwards way of asking what you do for a living.”

“Ah,” his dark brows lifted in comprehension.

“Let me guess…” you fiddled with your fingers as you thought, “accountant? No… politician? No… funeral director?”

“Funeral di–,” Matthew chuckled, “no.”

“Do you work on Wall Street? Oh, please tell me you don’t because here I was just starting to think you were super cool.”

“No, I don’t work on Wall Street, but good to know that you think I’m cool,” he smirked, making you regret letting that information slip, “I’m a lawyer.”

“A lawyer?” your eyes grew, “seriously?”

“Yep.”

“That’s–... that’s–… waow…” you uttered, completely dumbfounded by the imposing nature of his profession, “well, now I don’t wanna tell you what I do, because it’s so not as impressive.”

“Oh, come on,” he tilted his head, “now you have to tell me.”

“��I’m a baker,” you finally said, “actually,” stopping your stride, you briefly brushed his arm for him to do the same, “this is where I work, right here.” 

“Really?” 

“It’s called Buttercup Bakery,” you glanced up at the familiar storefront, “have you ever been in there?”

“No, never,” his head shook lightly as a small smile warmed up his features, “funny, my office is just a few minutes further down the street, I must have walked passed this place a thousand times but I never noticed it before.”

“Well, you know of its existence now…” you turned your head to gaze at his striking visage once more as he raised a hand to adjust his glasses, “do you wanna get a coffee or something? My treat, as thanks for the pizza.”

“I’d love to,” he sucked in a breath, “but I really have to get going.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” you nodded lightly, “well, thanks for the walk, have a great day. Hope you win a bunch of cases and–, uh… I don’t know, help make the judicial system better,” you couldn’t help but physically cringed at your clumsy words. 

But your new neighbour didn’t seem to mind as he just chuckled before wandering off, “bye, Y/n.”

The small bell above the glass door to the bakery chimed softly as you pushed it open. The interior was simple, both in colour and design, but had a rustic charm to it that gave it a sense of home. Behind the counter, and the mouth-watering baked goods lined up and displayed behind the clear glass, stood Walter. Facing the long shelves adorned with various loaves, he grabbed a crusty baguette and slid it into an appropriately long brown paper bag.

Handing it off to the little old lady on the other side, he said, “here you are. That’ll be four dollars,” before she placed the money on the counter beside his half-read newspaper and strolled passed you, out of the bakery, “have a good day!”

Leaning back down to return to his paper, Walter didn’t glance up at you as he greeted, “hi, honey! You wanna hear your horoscope for today?”

Tugging down the zipper of your jacket, you joked self-reflectively as you began to shed your layers, “does it say that I’ll miraculously turn into a charming and charismatic adult instead of whatever this is?”

“…uh… no,” he furrowed his brow and finally shot you a brief glance, “it says that you're energized and creative. This new moon initiates two weeks of growing work, health and strength. Put your heart into your actions. Practice makes perfect. Oh, and it also says right here that the spelt flour bin needs refilling and that there are about a billion cardamom buns that need to be shaped.”

“Oh, it says all of that, does it now?”

Letting a tense breath go, you apprehensively let your fist meet the dark door in three shy knocks. 

As soon as it swung open, the sentence, “do you like croissants?” sputtered out passed your lips. 

Head reeling back slightly at the unforeseen and sudden question, Matt blinked, “what?” 

“Do you like croissants?” you repeated as if it wasn’t strange to just blurt out something like that out of the blue. 

“Uh,” a smile then crept up on his lips, “hello to you too, Y/n.”

“I mean, I’ve personally never met anyone who doesn’t care for them, but I’m sure they exist.”

“Sure, I like croissants.”

“Oh, great, wonderful!”

Leaning against his door, his head tilted as you failed to continue, “…did you just have a burning desire to know that fact about me?”

“Right, no, I–, uhm, there were a bunch leftover today that we didn’t sell, so purely just to not let any go to waste, I thought you’d like some,” you held up the crinkly paper bag for him to hear. 

It had been a lie, but he didn’t have to know that you’d set some aside for him before they all sold out, just to have an excuse to talk to him again. 

“Oh, thank you,” he held out his open palms, “that’s so nice of you.” 

As you handed the bag off into his grasp, you felt as if your heart might beat straight out of your chest.  

“…alright, well…” you stumbled slightly, “I should probably head off to bed. Weekends are always the busiest, so my shifts are usually really long and I have to get up like super early, so... goodnight then!” 

And with that you awkwardly whirled around and scurried the short distance into your own apartment, only faintly catching his warm chuckle as you disappeared. 

“Night.”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[brilliantorinsane]

The Case of the Pennsylvania Gun

Hey what if I pick up this series I barely started six years ago and post it on my abandoned blog?

The Pennsylvania Gun is loosely (emphasis on loosely) adapted from The Valley of Fear. It was written and directed by producer Sheldon Renyolds, who also wrote the first two episodes. I was unsurprised to find the first three were written by the same person, as they have a more cohesive sense of character/relationship development than your average episode string in this series.

Introduction, Ep1 Pt1, Ep1 Pt2, Ep2, Ep 3, Ep 4

As in the books, Howard Holmes and Watson have personas they perform for the world, and often for one another. These personas are driven by opposite social desires and insecurities. Watson performs the Normal British Gentleman, anxious to be seen as a sane and respectable contributor to society. Holmes performs Eccentric Genius, driven by a horror of being perceived as normal, aiming at a persona of mystery and infallibility.

This episode demonstrates their temptation to cleave to people who reinforce their cover stories about themselves, contrasting this to the way they see and ground each other in their truer, more joyful, and far more embarrassing selves.

We begin in Baker Street, where the pair have already settled into the delights and annoyances of knowing one another all too well.

Here Holmes attempts to put on his performance for Watson: introducing Birlstone Manor, to which he means to entice Watson for a case, through absurdities about place names and the British national character. He then pretends his only interest in Birlstone is the fishing prospects, waving about tackle he will later employ to catch a clue. But already Watson knows him too well to fall for the show—he’s read about the Birlstone murder and guesses that Holmes means to investigate, and he clocks Holmes' lack of fishing knowledge at once.

Meanwhile, Watson is already forgetting to play 'normal' around his flatmate. If either of this pair was to be accused of being a little too excited over murder it would be Watson, and his understanding of his eccentric flatmate is just a little too complete a little too quick. Watson rattles off train times like a good little boy recites the Bible, and if you wish there is plenty to read into the domesticity of their mutual behaviour as they lounge about in bathrobes.

And so the conclusion of the opening shenanigans is entirely unsurprising. The pair harass a poor messenger boy—and I love these menaces to society, but the episode doesn't quite nail the pitch in this moment and their behaviour lands more as bullying than good-natured chaos. Still, I adore the messenger boy's final declaration: "mad as March hares, that's what you two are!" The boy leaves, and—they laugh. And so Holmes the madman and his friend the madman set off to investigate a murder (fishing pretense abandoned, but tackle in tow), stripped of their masks and delighting in themselves and each other all the more for it.

But that is at home.

Out in the world, for the third episode in a row Watson is tempted by the socially sanctioned approval of law enforcement, attaching himself to local Inspector McLeod. This is even more pronounced than his earlier affinity for Lestrade.

There are several potential causes for this. Perhaps Lestrade’s buffoonery was too pronounced. Perhaps Watson has a bit of a crush on McLeod (there are some moments that register in that way to me). It may even be a jealous reaction—the peak of Watson’s new allegiance occurs directly after Holmes develops his own affinity for a new player on the scene.

In any event, Watson increasingly sides with McLeod as the episode progresses, until at 11.15 - 17.50 he is positioned shoulder to shoulder with him while Holmes sits well across the room, Watson and his new crime buddy theorizing, laughing heartily, then biting back at Holmes’ contrary deductions with twin reactive pride.

As though to punctuate that this behaviour is a reversion to the facade of normality, McLeod echos the messenger boy’s declaration, “mad as a March hare” (21.9)—only now the jab is aimed only at Holmes, exempting Watson.

To my fascination, this alliance predicated on the performance of normality also involves performance of heterosexuality. At the peak of their allegiance, the inspector gives his theory that the murder was committed out of jealousy over a woman. After they hem and haw together over how the immutable species of Men and Women do be like that, Watson quips that he should call this "the case of the other man"—then he and McLeod laugh heartily, and at length (15.23 - 16.10). It's an odd exchange, stilted and socially scripted, with laughter that pushes longer than the weak quip justifies.

And I am not the only one to think it—in the middle of this laughter Holmes cuts in at last, unusually patronizing in his tone towards Watson as he mocks the vacuousness of their theory.

In the meantime, Holmes is constructing his own small drama. While I could be persuaded to read Watson’s behaviour around McLeod as a small crush, I find myself unable to read Holmes’ interactions with Morell, the suspected (but not actual) murderer, as anything but. I'll not go so far as to claim Doylist intent here, only that my brain refuses to process it otherwise.

(Holmes and Morell are rarely framed in a shot together, but this is them making eyes at one another at 23.46):

And if McLeod enables Watson’s preferred perception as stable and ordinary, Morell certainly elevates Holmes’ as an inscrutable and infallible genius. Consider this sample of lines from Morell: “At your service, Mr. Holmes”, “A very brilliant piece of deduction Mr Holmes!”, “An excellent application of applied psychology”, “I haven’t been tricked many times in my life [except by you]”.

That Holmes enjoys this is transparent—indeed his responses put me much in mind of Watson’s note in A Study in Scarlet: “I had … observed that [Holmes] was as sensitive to flattery on the score of his art as any girl could be of her beauty.”

But just as Holmes yanked Watson to earth when his and McLeod’s performance of normality turns gauche, Watson tugs Holmes from his heights. Holmes lets Morell’s praise go to his head, to the point of responding to Morell’s compliments by rather lording it over the man (24.39 - 24.55). Then Holmes makes the mistake of mentioning fishing, and his disinterest in it. Calling back to the opening scene, Watson cuts in and reminds him of the grand claims he never officially renounced on the topic of his fishing prowess (24.55 - 25.06).

Poor Holmes is caught out, magic trick deflated in the eyes of his travel crush and work husband in the same beat, and the quick retreat he makes from the room may well be an embarrassed flight. But also there is this: “I think we better start back to Baker Street immediately”, and a hand on Watson’s back, and glances towards Watson overflowing with fondness (25.12 - 25.17).

(Holmes' best smiles are always the blurriest 😒 )

Despite Holmes’ clear embarrassment, it puts me in mind of the start of the episode, when Watson’s fear is realized and he is seen for a madman, and safe with his friend he laughs. I like to think that in his turn, Holmes is realizing that he has something far more mortifying and nevertheless superior to worship: a home where he is known.

In the episodes to come neither will stop performing, even for one another. Some days the performance will seem a mere farce they engage in for mutual amusement; some days a genuine attempt at deception. But neither will they stop seeing through one another in the end, calling each other back to themselves.

Additional Topics

A few topics I didn’t have space for here but may touch in separate posts (I'll link them here if/when I do):

Data Gathering (explained in the linked post)

The Pennsylvania Gun as a Valley of Fear adaptation

Holmes and “throwing back the little ones”

A queer reading of the case they're investigating. Not because I think it was intended that way, but because I can and the past six years have not taught me self-control.

My Story

I’m realizing most of the story I built in my head was based on actual moments in the show, however far I blew them out of proportion for personal enjoyment, and I end up referencing most relevant points in the main analysis and highlights of these posts. So for most episodes this section will just be for shamelessly linking to the relevant chapter of my fic. Great news for the length of these behemoths!

Highlights

Okay look. It's just that at some point it occurred to me that the phrase "mad as a March hare" is specifically in reference to the mating behaviour of hares during the breeding season. It's a phrase typically used without thought for this connotation, so I'm not saying Reynolds considered this. But I've considered it, and it is used a). in reference to Holmes and Watson's behaviour with each other, and b). by McLeod in reference to Holmes after a period of he and Holmes sparring for Watson's attention. So I shall continue to consider it.

I love Holmes fiddling with fishing tackle throughout the episode, trying to pretend he knows how it works while trying to figure out how the fuck it works.

1.55 - 2.20: Holmes and Watson are bickering, and in the meantime Watson gets up for more tea and refills Holmes' as well without a thought. Married already.

3:48 - 3:58: This very average utilization of personal space:

6.59: Mrs Hudson mention! She sadly never appears in this series, but she at least gets a shout-out.

13.04 - 13.38: This image is this post's header. The context is that Holmes' crushes pay attention to each other instead of him for like four seconds, and he responds by being just so normal about it:

Please know he had to circle fully around Watson to do that 👆

10.15 - 10.24: Holmes is always talking to groups while only caring about Watson's attention. Some of my favourite instances are cases like this, where he tosses in a 'Watson' right at the end of the sentence as a twist 'surprise! I was only talking to my special person'. Single-minded detective is single-minded.

16.10 - 17.11: Another iteration of the above, this time regarding the deductions he uses to interrupt Watson and McLeod's 'i'm straight! i'm straight' laughter fest. He tosses in two 'Watsons' to specify his audience this time, because even though for case reasons its more relevant to convince McLeod of what he's saying, what's actually happening here is Holmes and McLeod competing for Watson's attention. Holmes doesn't acknowledge McLeod until he seems to have lost this round, when he resignedly says that "if you two are convinced ... I'm going fishing" (17.12 - 17.19).

He hasn't lost; McLeod storms off, but Watson as ever lets curiosity win over pride—he stays and questions Holmes, and in moments is promising with all delight that "of course" he wants to help with whatever the hell Holmes is up to (17.30 - 18.19).

Even Watson seems to read Holmes' behaviour in the above exchanges as having a touch of jealousy, for when Holmes asks him to get McLeod out of the way for an hour, he says teasingly that he might enjoy himself and stay out longer with the inspector—and then he winks (18.19 - 18.40). As I can't find anything he could be teasing Holmes for besides his vying for Watson's attention, to me this reads as a flirtatious acknowledgement of dynamics at play, and a promise of where his final loyalty lies. And if Holmes looks a little uncertain in his farewell, he needn't have worried—upon their return dialogue assures us that Watson and the inspector have been punctual to the hour (19.10 - 19.21).

18.28: "I don't know what you're talking about but I'll do it"—Watson thesis statement.

20.20 & 23.38: Holmes slides down the banisters, straight-up just for fun. He gives a case-related reason and it's the flimsiest excuse you've ever heard. He's not embarrassed. He doesn't give a fuck. And I love him!

Special shoutout to this exchange about the banister sliding: Watson - "What have you been doing while we were away?" Holmes - "Well first I fished, and then I slid down the banisters." Watson - "Why." Holmes - "Why not?" Watson - "Huh." - (20.14 - 20.29) Holmes' "Why not" is so pointedly delivered, and Watson's "huh," is such a genuine 'well when you put it that way'. It's a great entry into the genre of Holmes offering Watson freedom from the illogical barriers of convention. And I love them both!

21:42: Hand touch!! My favourite thing about this is that it is so extraneous and unself-conscious. Watson also holds the touch for a beat before removing his hand just a hairsbreadth; then as they get up Holmes taps his hand against Watson's in turn.

[mariacallous]

Although much of the commentary about U.S. President Donald Trump continues to revolve around the ways that he upends traditional Republican Party politics, much of his success, in fact, stems from the opposite—the ways in which he champions policies that have been at the core of the GOP for decades.

It was not a surprise that Trump’s inaugural address included the words “drill, baby, drill,” a catchphrase that gained popularity with vice presidential nominee Sarah Palin in her 2008 campaign for vice president, eight years before Trump first ran. And when Palin injected the phrase into the popular bloodstream, it already reflected decades of Republicans shifting from environmental concerns and promoting higher rates of fossil fuel production.

Every time that Trump utters the phrase, he reminds Republicans that regardless of his behavior, much of what he is fighting for is exactly what they have desired since the 1970s. He is the party’s path to political power and achieving key policies, as he demonstrated with passage of a massive supply-side tax cut in 2017.

Trump is the battering ram that Republicans have been looking for in their efforts to weaken or dismantle the regulations that environmentalists have struggled to put into place over the decades. Whenever the president says “drill, baby, drill,” he offers a not-so-subtle reminder to Republicans that yes—he is, in fact, one of them.

There was a time when Republicans were not unilaterally opposed to environmentalism. Between 1964 and 1976 were what writers Gregg Coodley and David Sarasohn called “the Green Years,” when most of the movement’s major federal policy initiatives, including the Clean Air Act and the creation of the Environmental Protection Agency, were created with bipartisan support.

Numerous Republicans—such as President Richard Nixon—grudgingly went along with legislation to protect the environment. Or—as was the case with Tennessee Sen. Howard Baker and Pennsylvania Rep. John Saylor—they even enthusiastically championed this particular expansion of federal power.

Since Nixon’s presidency, though, many leading Republicans have attempted to push back against efforts to curtail the United States’ thirst for oil. With the environmental movement gaining strength in the 1970s, as historian Meg Jacobs argues in her book Panic at the Pump, prominent Republicans within President Gerald Ford’s administration worked within the executive branch to undercut attempts to redirect national policy toward conservation.

President Ronald Reagan likewise cast doubt over efforts to deal with issues such as acid rain, and he deployed executive muscle to roll back regulations that did make it onto the books. He appointed cabinet secretaries such as James Watt at the Department of Interior and Anne Gorsuch at the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA)—people who had no interest in implementing the policies that were under their jurisdiction.

“It was eight lost years—years of lost time that cannot be made up and where a lot of damage was done that may not be reparable,” lamented the then-president of the Wilderness Society, George Frampton Jr., in 1989.

As environmentalism gained strength within the Democratic Party, Republicans doubled down on the fight.

Within Congress, a new generation of Republicans that entered into Capitol Hill in the 1980s and 1990s likewise shifted to the right on environmental regulation. The “Contract With America,” a 1994 policy proposal in which Georgia Rep. Newt Gingrich and his allies developed as a platform to nationalize the midterms, did not mention the environment and called for policies that would handcuff regulatory bodies.

Gingrich, who often could express broader concern for the health of the environment, blasted the EPA as the “biggest job-killing agency in inner-city America” in a speech in 1995, just one month into his term as speaker of the House. In his mind, the EPA was a “highly centralized command bureaucracy artificially trying to impose its judgment with almost no knowledge of local conditions and with a static rather than dynamic view of itself.” He called the 1980 Superfund law, aimed at cleaning up toxic waste sites, a “national disgrace.”

One of President George W. Bush’s first acts in 2001 was to remove the United States from the Kyoto Protocol, an international agreement from 1997 aimed at reducing greenhouse emissions. The administration repeatedly cast doubt on scientific reports indicating a consensus about the problem of rising global temperatures.

Bush also established the Energy Task Force, headed by Vice President Dick Cheney, which worked with executives from the oil industry to issue a report that acknowledged the need for efficiency and conservation but simultaneously proposed strengthening the existing infrastructure for oil production and increasing fossil fuel production until alternative energy sources were more realistic. The report also called for expanding the sources of foreign oil to achieve stability at home.

Though, to his frustration, Bush and the GOP failed to open up drilling in the Alaska Arctic Wildlife Refuge, he rolled back many environmental regulations. In other areas, the story was the same. According to the Natural Resources Defense Council, the president reversed regulations on mining metals, blocked rules to reduce the discharge of raw sewage into water, and more. Under Bush, the Office of Management and Budget gained significant power to dismantle or avoid implementing existing rules.

The phrase “drill, baby, drill,” which boiled the entire shift of the ideological outlook of Republicans down to the essence, is credited to Michael Steele, who served as the lieutenant governor of Maryland and the chairman of the 2008 Republican National Convention (and is currently a prominent anti-Trump host on MSNBC), in response to gas having reached $4 a gallon.

“So, do you want to put your country first? Then let’s reduce our dependency on foreign sources of oil and promote oil and gas production at home,” Steele told the delegates gathered in St. Paul, Minneapolis, at the 2008 convention. “In other words: Drill, baby, drill! And drill now!” The crowed instantly burst out repeating what Steele, who later expressed regret for his statement, had said.

Steele was the inventor, but it was 2008 vice presidential nominee and Alaska Gov. Palin who gave it juice. After the late Sen. John McCain selected Palin as his running mate, the governor quickly proved that she knew how to rile up a crowd. From her acceptance speech through her fall rallies, Palin had a number of breakthrough talking points, including railing against the “lamestream media” and boasting of being “your average hockey mom.” There were also all kinds of slights and insinuations against the Democratic candidate, then-Sen. Barack Obama, whom Palin made a point of emphasizing his middle name, “Hussein.”

But one of the lines that did best was when she turned to the subject of oil. “Drill, baby, drill!” she liked to say from the podium while the audience repeated her words as if they were joining in during the “shoot interviews” that professional wrestlers conduct from the squared circle.

During her debate with then-Sen. Joe Biden on Oct. 2, 2008, Palin stood firm as her opponent lit into McCain’s record on solar and wind energy. It was almost as if she had been waiting for Biden to criticize her by saying, “the only answer is drill, drill, drill.” Palin’s face lit up as she corrected him: “The chant is ‘drill, baby, drill.’ And that’s what we hear all across this country.”

Writing in the New York Times, Bob Herbert quipped: “The credit markets are frozen. Our top general in Afghanistan is dialing 911. Americans are losing jobs by the scores of thousands. And Sarah Palin is making sure we know that the chant is ‘drill, baby, drill’ not ‘drill, drill, drill.’”

When speaking in Colorado in late October, the crowd was euphoric when Palin brought up the issue, engaging in a call and response with the candidate. The line, according to energy reporter Clifford Krauss, looking back four years later, was “among the best lines of the 2008 presidential campaign, colorfully capturing the desire of many Americans for cheap, reliable energy produced at home rather than in unpredictable places like Iran or Venezuela.”

Two years after she and McCain were defeated, Palin hadn’t backed down from her slogan. Following the BP oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico in 2010, when some Republicans backed away from the term for fear that their record would make the party look terrible, she argued on social media that “Extreme Greenies: see now why we push ‘drill, baby, drill’ of known reserves & promising finds in safe onshore places like ANWR? Now do you get it?” Her argument was that drilling in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge was safer than offshore drilling. In 2016, she used the phrase in her endorsement of Trump—though in that case, senior party members would be on the receiving end: “No, we’re not going to chill. In fact, it’s time to drill, baby, drill down, and hold these folks accountable and we need to stop the self-sabotage and elect a new and independent candidate who represents that.”

During the 2022 midterms, Palin reappeared as she traveled to back Republican candidates, bringing back the phrase to wildly enthusiastic crowds.

When Trump first emerged on the political scene, he was treated like a total renegade, outside the Republican tradition and bringing down the establishment. But on many core policy issues, including energy, climate change, and the environment, he and the GOP were on the same page. During his first term, Trump rolled back hundreds of environmental measures and vastly expanded the opportunities for drilling.

With a constant eye on Pennsylvania and other top energy-producing states, he made certain that voters knew his vision for “making America great again” including a lot of fracking. “I applaud and strongly support President Trump’s continued support for the oil and gas industry,” proclaimed Kevin Stitt, the governor of Oklahoma, in 2020.

For Trump, the phrase “drill, baby, drill” is more than mere rhetoric. During the 2024 campaign, he reportedly met with oil executives in May, asking them for a billion dollars in campaign funds as he listened to a list of their demands.

Then, in his blitzkrieg of executive orders during week one of his term, Trump issued many decisions that touched on fossil fuel production, including boosting oil and gas production in Alaska, removing a pause that Biden had imposed on approving applications to export liquified natural gas operations, and revoking an order from his predecessor that would have required half of the new cars being sold by 2030 to be electric. He pulled out of the Paris climate agreement. More decisions are certainly on the way.

Some of the biggest concern, ironically, is coming from the oil and gas companies that, despite their enthusiasm for the new administration’s position, don’t want to produce more unless they can also raise oil and natural gas prices—something that would be antithetical to Trump’s promise to bring down inflation. Many of these companies, according to the New York Times, are also focused on tightening their belts right now, which means diminished investment in fracking. The United States is already enjoying extremely high levels of oil and natural gas production. Nonetheless, the concerns have not overridden the satisfaction of having a president who is on their side.

Calling for drilling for oil is as Republican as it gets. With this emphasis, Trump connects easily with all sorts of Republicans—young, old, establishment, anti-establishment—and everything in between. He reminds the party, and many of its most important economic interests, that he is with them through and through.

The coalition between MAGA Republicans and the rest of the party is a coalition built around power and policy. Trump survived the aftermath of the 2020 election not because he has some kind of superhuman power, but because he never veered very far from where the rest of Republicans were.

[brokehorrorfan]

The Cell will be released on 4K Ultra HD and Blu-ray on January 21 via Arrow Video. Peter Savieri designed the new cover art for the 2000 psychological horror film; the original poster is on the reverse side.

Tarsem Singh (Immortals, The Fall) directs from a script by Mark Protosevich (I Am Legend, Thor). Jennifer Lopez, Vince Vaughn, and Vincent D'Onofrio star with Marianne Jean-Baptiste, Jake Weber, and Dylan Baker.

The theatrical and director's cuts have been newly restored in 4K, approved by Singh, with Dolby Vision. An alternate version of the theatrical cut created by director of photography Paul Laufer is also included.

Special features and limited edition contents are listed below, where you can also see more of the packaging.

Disc 1 - 4K UHD:

Theatrical cut (107 min)

Director's cut (109 min)

Audio commentary with film scholars Josh Nelson & Alexandra Heller-Nicholas (new)

Audio commentary with screenwriter Mark Protosevich & film critic Kay Lynch (new)

Audio commentary with director Tarsem Singh

Audio commentary with director of photography Paul Laufer, production designer Tom Foden, makeup supervisor Michèle Burke, costume designer April Napier, visual effects supervisor Kevin Tod Haug, and composer Howard Shore

Projection of the Mind’s Eye - Feature-length interview with director Tarsem Singh (new)

Between Two Worlds - Interview with director of photography Paul Laufer (new)

Disc 2 - Blu-ray:

Alternate version of theatrical cut - presented in 1.78:1 aspect ratio with alternate grading from a 2K master created by director of photography Paul Laufer (new)

Interview with director of photography Paul Laufer about the alternate version (new)

Art is Where You Find It - Visual essay by film scholar Alexandra Heller-Nicholas (new)

The Costuming Auteur - Visual essay by film critic Abby Bender (new)

Style as Substance: Reflections on Tarsem

8 deleted/extended scenes with optional commentary by Tarsem Singh

6 multi-angle visual effects vignettes

Theatrical trailers

Image gallery

Also included:

Collector’s book with new writing on the film by critics Heather Drain, Marc Edward Heuck, Josh Hurtado, and Virat Nehru

When serial murderer Carl Stargher (Vincent D’Onofrio) falls into a coma with his latest victim still trapped in an unknown location and waiting to die, the FBI turn to psychologist Catherine Deane (Jennifer Lopez) for help. Using an experimental technology she enters the dark dreamscape of Stargher’s mind, attempting to learn his secrets before it’s too late. But his unconscious is a twisted nightmare, a labyrinth that threatens to trap her inside his terrifying world forever. To save a life, she’ll have to risk her own.

Pre-order The Cell.

[chungledown-bimothy]

an actual snippet of conversation that happened the day before yesterday:

grandma: "i saw that the critics really didn't like gatsby- what did you think about it?"

me: "yeah, the book's not the strongest, i see where they're coming from in a lot of ways. but i think it really, really nailed what it did well. it was beautiful and fun, the songs were great, and the cast is phenomenal. the original kitty howard in six was jordan baker, and she was awesome, and, of course, eva noblezada and jeremy jordan melted faces."

grandma: "well, you'd watch him shower."

she meant that like "you'd enjoy anything he's in". like the classic saying that you'd listen to someone sing the phone book.

but that's not what she said. instead, she put that visual in my head, so quint.exe fully stops working as i desperately try to figure out what the fuck to say to that in front of her and multiple minors.

the situation was also not helped by the fact that the room had gone silent.

i managed to stutter out something like "i'm just gonna sidestep all the jokes there" and the conversation moved on, but jesus christ that's one of those awkward social moments that's gonna haunt me forever.

[basicallyanotherwitchesthing]

Peter Saxon - The Vampires of Finistere - Howard Baker - 1970

[ineffabletwaddle13]

Watson is trying to ignore Holmes because he is angry with Holmes for shooting VR into the wall

It’s not even the first time Holmes has fired a gun inside the flat!

The Musgrave Ritual by Arthur Conan Doyle: “I have always held, too, that pistol practice should be distinctly an open-air pastime; and when Holmes, in one of his queer humors, would sit in an arm-chair with his hairtrigger and a hundred Boxer cartridges, and proceed to adorn the opposite wall with a patriotic V. R. done in bullet-pocks, I felt strongly that neither the atmosphere nor the appearance of our room was improved by it”

Watson soon forgives Holmes and agrees to have breakfast with him :)

[queerical]

books of 2024

Across a Field of Starlight by Blue Delliquanti

Are You My Mother? A Comic Drama by Alison Bechdel

The Arrival by Shaun Tan

The Art Book by Phaidon Press

Basketful of Heads by Joe Hill

Batman: The Long Halloween by Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale

Batman: Under the Red Hood by Judd Winick

Block Print Magic: The Essential Guide to Designing, Carving, and Taking Your Artwork Further with Relief Printing by Emily Louise Howard

Boys Weekend by Mattie Lubchansky

Captain American: Truth - Red, White & Black by Robert Morals and Kyle Baker

Crumbs by Danie Stirling

The Delicacy by James Albon

Different for Boys by Patrick Ness and Tea Bendix

Exquisite Creatures: A Dialogue with Art, Nature, and Science by Christopher Marley

Fake Out by Eden Finley

From Far Away, Volumes 1-14 by Kyoko Hikawa

Gifts; Voices by Ursula K. Le Guin

Given, Volumes 1-5 by Natsuki Kizu

Grand Slam Romance by Ollie Hicks and Emma Oosterhous

Gustave Baumann's Southwest by Joseph Traugott

The Handmaid's Tale; The Testaments by Margaret Atwood

Handsome Girl and Sheltered Girl: The Complete Collection by Mochi au lait

Heartstopper, Volumes 1-5 by Alice Oseman

Hide by Kiersten White

If You'll Have Me by Eunnie

In Limbo by Deb J.J. Lee

It Took Luke: Overworked & Underpaid by Mark Bouchard and Bayleigh Underwood

J.C. Leyendecker: American Imagist by Laurence S. and Judy Goffman Cutler

Jessica Jones: Purple Daughter by Kellly Thompson

Killers of the Flower Moon: The Osage Murders and the Birth of the FBI by David Grann

Legends and Lattes by Travis Baldree

Light Carries On by Ray Nadine

Links by Natsuki Kizu

The Magpie Lord; A Case of Possession by K.J. Charles

Mall Goth by Kate Leth

The Many Deaths of Laila Star by Ram V.

The Marble Queen by Anna Kopp and Gabrielle Kari

Monstrous: A Transracial Adoption Story by Sarah Myer

Mushishi, Volumes 1-4 by Yuki Urushibara

My Neighbor Hayao: Art Inspired by the Films of Miyazaki

My Summer of You, Volumes 1-3 by Nagisa Furuya

The Occupation Thesaurus: A Writer's Guide to Jobs, Vocations, and Careers by Angela Ackerman and Becca Puglisi

One Man's Trash by Marie Sexton

Paper Girls, Volume 1-6 by Brian K. Vaughan and Cliff Chiang

Pillow Talk by Stephanie Cooke and Mel Valentine Vargas

Portraits by Steve Curry

The Princess and the Grilled Cheese Sandwich by Deya Muniz

She-Hulk (2023), Volumes 1-5 by Rainbow Rowell

Silver in the Wood; Drowned Country by Emily Tesh

Squire by Nadia Shammas and Sara Alfageeh

Superman: American Alien by Max Landis

Tales from Watership Down by Richard Adams

Things Have Gotten Worse Since We Last Spoke by Eric LaRocca

Things You May Find Hidden in My Ear: Poems from Gaza by Mosab Abu Toha

Women by Annie Leibovitz and Susan Sontag

Youth Group by Jordan Morris and Bowen McCurdy

[usersusanstorm]

imagine a showdown of every emily blunt character. who would be the sole winner?

i am going to be honest and say that i have been pondering this question all day. i wanted to sit and give this some thought because i wanted the answer to be just right. we are going to just include feature film roles ( none animated ), because most of her tv roles have been eh. we are also not going to consider the one short she has been in.

right off the bat emily ( devil wears prada ), harriet ( salmon fishing in the yemen ), baker's wife ( into the woods ), violet ( the five year engagement ), tamsin ( my summer of love ), girl ( wind chill ), mara ( irresistible ), valerie ( the great buck howard ), prudie ( the jane austen book club ), jane ( charlie wilson's war ), norah ( sunshine cleaning ), and elise ( the adjustment bureau ) are immediately dead. they have zero survival instincts.

the real contenders in this show down would be rita ( edge of tomorrow ), evelyn ( a quiet place ), rose ( wild target ), mary ( gulliver's travels ), sara ( looper ), kate ( sicario ), lily ( jungle cruise ), and freya ( huntsmen winter's war ). are all of these characters badass right out the gate? possibly not, but some of them prove to be resourceful enough to stick around for bit, not a long time, but a bit.

i think rita is the one taking this home though. i mean hell she is the full metal bitch after all. she has killed hundreds of mimics by herself.

she was the reason that they started to mass produce the exo-suits for the udf. like?? the angel of verdun deserves the respect on her name.

sorry for that long winded answer, but yes! that is who i think would win an emily blunt character show down. yes, some of the other contenders have some points, but imagine if it was rita that still the time altering ability, no one could stand a chance.

[thesquireinvictus]

My top ten best beloved novels, the baker's dozen edition:

War and Peace

Wuthering Heights

Pride and Prejudice

Brideshead Revisited

Amongst Women

Middlemarch

Moby-Dick

Cider with Rosie

The Waves

Howards End

The Wind in the Willows

The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling

Anne of Green Gables

My heart goes out to Dostoyevsky, who used to feature here with The Brothers Karamazov. Sidney's Arcadia also gets a mention of merit.

I've on and off read every one of these books on an "ongoing basis" i.e. I returned to the first page as soon as I had finished the last, often in the same sitting, and just read the book on loop for months on end.

In no particular order, aside from the top two.

[transmutationisms]

hii, do you have any book recommendations on the history of chinese medicine?

survey text:

Routledge Handbook of Chinese Medicine (2022). Lo, Vivienne & Stanley-Baker, Michael. ISBN: 9781135008970

better texts:

Mao's Bestiary: Medicinal Animals and Modern China (2021). Chee, Liz P. Y. ISBN: 9781478011903

China and the Cholera Pandemic: Restructuring Society under Mao (2021). Fang, Xiaoping. ISBN: 9780822988076

The Invention of Madness: State, Society, and the Insane in Modern China (2018). Baum, Emily. ISBN: 9780226580616

Know Your Remedies: Pharmacy and Culture in Early Modern China (2020). Bian, He. ISBN: 9780691179049

The Politics of Chinese Medicine Under Mongol Rule (2016). Shinno, Reiko. ISBN: 9781138781191

After Eunuchs: Science, Medicine, and the Transformation of Sex in Modern China (2018). Chiang, Howard Hsueh-Hao. ISBN: 9780231185783

Mass vaccination: citizens' bodies and state power in modern China (2019). Brazelton, Mary Augusta. ISBN: 9781501739989

Forgotten Disease: Illnesses Transformed in Chinese Medicine (2017). Smith, Hilary A. ISBN: 9781503603448

Pulse Diagnosis in Early Chinese Medicine: The Telling Touch (2010). Hsu, Elisabeth. ISBN: 9780521516624

Health Care in Eleventh-Century China (2015). Sivin, Nathan. ISBN: 9783319204277

The Evolution of Chinese Medicine: Song Dynasty, 960--1200 (2009). Goldschmidt, Asaf Moshe. ISBN: 9780415426558

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the taste

buttercup, chapter four

a/n: the smutty smut has arrived, folks!

summary: “look, all I’m saying is that he likes you, a lot. He’s never let himself be with anyone like you, anyone who truly made him happy, anyone he actually had a fighting chance of getting a stable and healthy relationship out of.”

warnings: matt murdock x baker!reader, smut, neighbours to lovers, rape recovery, ptsd, kissing, over the clothes fun, dry humping, fingering, dirty talk

word count: 2419

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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It had been the end of June when your parents passed. You didn’t recall much from that summer, most of your memories had just kind of faded away as the brain occasionally does when it’s faced with trauma, but one thing that you’d never forget was the feeling of Howard, each and every morning, gently lifted you out of bed and attempted to let you sleep a little longer, holding you like a tiny baby bear against him, as they went to open up the bakery. 

School was out, and at only nine years old, you couldn’t just stay at home all alone, not with their long hours and especially not with the overwhelming grief you were dealing with. So, they brought you with them.

It didn’t take very long before you forgot about your toys and activity books in favour of just watching the magic that went on in the kitchen. Soon you were running around the place doing all matter of little tasks they could come up with for you and when they noticed the missing glint it brought back to your eye, they began to teach you and truly made you fall in love with the meditative craft. 

At the end of that summer when the next school year rolled around, you didn’t wanna leave. You’d grown up here, you’d healed here, the doorframe into the small lavatory in the back even had little chicken scratches documenting your height. This place was your home.

Sweeping a damp cloth over the steel tabletops, the music emanating from your phone that rested on the dark windowsill suddenly stopped as it buzzed with your ringtone. Putting it on speaker, you kept on wiping the surface down. 

“Matt, hi!”

“Hey,” his deep timbre filled the dim kitchen of the bakery. 

“I’m just about to lock up, if you’re still up for a little company.” 

“Yeah, about that,” he puffed out a heavy breath, “I’m still at the office.”

“Oh,” your moments froze a moment, “is everything alright?”

“Yeah, just swamped with this case prep.”

“Is it just you there?”

“No, the others are here too.”

“Well,” you exhaled a smile, “if you’re gonna burn the midnight oil, maybe I could come over with some of the leftovers from today to keep you guys going?”

Still in the doorway, your arms enclosed around Matt and the stuffed brown paper bag in your hand hung over his shoulder. 

Eyeing the goods, Foggy’s voice found your ears, “is that the–”

“Yeah,” you simply extended your arm in his direction, “here you go, take it.”

“Oh my god,” he snatched it out of your grasp and opened the crinkly bag up, nearly drooling as he glanced through the selections, “Karen, could you–”

“Get some plates? Yep,” the honey-haired woman then moved into the small kitchenette and grabbed some paper plates and napkins. 

Drawing back from the fleeting embrace, Matt then asked, “how was your day?” 

“It was fine,” you shrugged, your eyes briefly flickering over his attire, the tie tugged loose around his unbuttoned collar and his sleeves were rolled up past his burly forearms, “I kinda like it when I get to do the night shifts all alone. It’s so quiet–, oh, and I get to have full control over the music choice. It’s great,” a slight grin brightened your features, “how about you, huh?” you grabbed his hand in yours, “what’s this wild case about?”

A deep sigh flowed from his lips as he squeezed your hand, “uh, it’s this kid who–,” his phone then abruptly began to buzz in his pocket, “oh, sorry,” he fished it out, “I gotta take this.”

Letting go of his fingers, you said, “of course,” and watched as he ducked into his own office and answered the call. 

As you gazed at his visage still visible through the glass, Foggy’s words stirred you from your daydream.

“He’s happy.” 

Turning to blink back at him, you hummed, “huh?”

“You make him happy,” Foggy smiled from the humble conference room, “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him smile that much with anyone else, but then again, you are quite different from his usual type.”

Passing over the threshold into the space, your brows furrowed, “I’m not his type?”

“No! Oh, that came out wrong,” he winced, “Matt just has a tendency to get involved with the wrong kind of girls. You’re just different,” hastily adding, “in a good way.” 

“Oh…” you sank down into one of the chairs, wondering tensely if he was still dating others since you’d never had a conversation about how exclusive you were or how serious this thing between you even was, “does Matt date a lot?” 

“I wouldn’t exactly call it that, since it never really lasts that long,” Foggy said, though when he noticed the look on your face, his features soured in regret, “wow, I’m really screwing all of this up, aren’t I… look, all I’m saying is that he likes you, a lot. He’s never let himself be with anyone like you, anyone who truly made him happy, anyone he actually had a fighting chance of getting a stable and healthy relationship out of.”

Just then, you heard Matt’s footsteps entering the room from behind you, “hey,” he called Foggy’s attention, “you mind going down to the station tomorrow morning, check if Brett can get us any files that might help?” coming to a stop just behind where you were seated, his touch grazed the back of the chair. Reaching back, you caught one of his hands and briefly craned your neck, bringing his palm up to your lips to press a small peck to his calloused skin. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll go buy some more cigars,” Foggy sighed, briefly turning his attention back to the computer before him, slumping slightly as the intimidating and tangled laws still flashed back at him on the screen from when he’d looked them up earlier, he then blinked back up at you, “hey, Y/n?”

“Hm?” you hummed, meeting his eye as you weaved your fingers with Matt’s. 

“Have I ever told you that my mom wanted me to be a butcher?” 

“Oh,” you heard Matt sigh dramatically behind you as Karen too bit down on her lip to suppress a smile, “not the butcher story.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry to break the news,” you said light-heartedly as you chewed on the taste Matt had offered you of his curry, “but I definitely picked the better one.”

With his tinted glasses resting on the coffee table beside where your takeout container of Thai food rested, a smile twitched on Matt’s lips, “well, you do work in food, so it does make sense that you’re better at ordering.”

“Here,” you filled your spoon up with the red soup, catching one of the floating pieces of tofu, before bringing it up to his lips, “give it a taste.” 

An airy giggle bubbled out of you as a drop of soup clung to the corner of his lip and you instinctively reached out to wipe it clean, his chuckle swiftly mirroring your own. Though when you then froze, fingers staying close, your laughter faded. The fluorescent light that streamed in through the tall windows of his apartment illuminated his features as you watched him swallow the small taste. Ghosting your thumb across his skin, you traced his bottom lip. You weren’t sure who moved first, but the next thing you knew, you were locked in a kiss. 

You faintly heard him place his dinner down on the coffee table before his palms came up to cup your cheeks. You fumbled a bit, trying not to tip anything as you laid down the spoon in your grasp. 

A yearning whimper seeped from deep within your chest when you felt his tongue faintly ghost against your own before he breathlessly eased back a bit to utter, “you’re right,” stealing a soft peck before he went on, “It does taste really good.” 

Tilting your chin, you fervently captured his lips once more, your touch crumbled up his shirt till it found purchase in his already loosened tie, playing with it as your tongue danced against his. 

When he buried his hands in your hair, his short nails soothingly scraped over your scalp and a small moan flowed from you and vibrated against his kiss. 

The clear pulse that rocked throughout your body accumulated between your legs in a dizzying throb, an enchanting sensation that swayed you to get even closer and crawl into his lap. His wide palms dragged down the length of your spine in a way that caused a shiver to follow along.

Tangling your fingers in his hair as you kissed him back, your hips then instinctively sought to scratch and satisfy the itch that had grown so immense by rocking down against him and the noticeable hardness that tented his pants. 

Breathlessly in between kisses, Matt said, “you wanna enjoy the food before it gets cold?” offering you a gentle escape in case you needed it.

Ghosting the tip of your nose against his, you uttered, “I don’t mind popping it in the microwave,” deliberately rolling your hips against his once more, “do you?”

Sharing his hot breath, you were so close that your lips nearly crashed into one another once more, but they didn’t as your pelvis kept up their slow and teasing grinding. Matt’s eyes fluttered shut a moment as he let out a low groan, “no,” his touch slid further down and dug into the softness of your bottom, “no, I don’t mind.” 

Capturing your lips once more, he slowly began to grow more confident in his touch, though some weariness still lingered as he began to aid your movements. 

As his lips migrated down the length of your neck, you let out a moan, “fuck,” your frame shivering from the pleasure, “oh my god,” yet also out of a deep desire for more, “Matt…” 

“Yeah?” his low voice vibrated against your throbbing pulse on the side of your neck. 

“M-Matt–,” your eyes fluttered shut as he rocked you down harder against him, “oh, holy fuck… could you–, would you–”

“What?” the sound of his words made you feel dizzy, “what do you need?”

“Touch me,” you uttered hazily, head enchantingly tilted back. 

“Yeah?” he reeled back a bit as one of his hands scooped up to find your cheek. 

“Please,” you downright whined, “please, Matt.”

Keeping one hand fast in your hair, the other one moved to caress the soft peaks of your tits. 

“Here?” 

You let out a filthy whimper as he palmed you, “uhh, ngah–, lower–…” his hand teasingly complied, “lower…” till he finally cupped you through your pants. 

“Here?” he pressed down against the seam, “huh? Is it here, Y/n?

“Y-yes!” you shuttered on top of him as he rubbed your thrumming clit so perfectly through your clothing, “oh, f-fuck, you’re good at that–”

He stole a short, yet sloppy kiss from your lips before your head tilted down and buried itself in his neck. Your moans were muffled against the crook of his shoulder as you then glided your own fingers down along the length of his arm, feeling the muscles of his forearm tense beneath your touch as he worked you. Eventually, your hand found what it was looking for, your palm rested atop of his, almost like you were holding his hand as you felt it move beneath yours and stroke you silly. 

Your fingers then grasped his tighter as you plucked it further up and stuffed it into your waistband, guiding his reach all the way down till you soaked his digits. 

“Christ, you’re wet,” Matt groaned as your touch, ever atop of his, begged him to swirl your puffy pearl, “fuck…”

Without the barrier of clothing, your frame swiftly began to crumble from the ecstasy. Your right leg gave out and slid across Matt’s lap to where your other limb was. Your head drifted down as well as Matt’s arms only tightened around your slumped form, keeping you flush against him as you hid your features in the mass of his arm as your free hand clutched onto it. 

Curling into him as he cradled you, the way he petted your pussy nearly made you vibrate, “don’t stop, please,” you unintentionally kept wiggling down against the tent in his pants. 

“I won’t,” he breathed heavily as he kept on caressing you, occasional moans also flowing from his lips, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

His long middle finger then slid down to tease your leaking hole before just shyly sinking in, just barely, keeping everything so light, before fluttering up to circle your clit again and then dropping down to repeat the motion till he had you on the edge. 

When you tumbled over, both of your hands joined at his bicep, digging into it as his name shined through your lewd moan.

Catching your breath, his fingers gently slipped out of your pants. Sluggishly, you clung closer and snaked your arms around him. 

“You okay?” he hugged you tight. 

“Mhm,” you hummed into his warmth.  

Planting a soft peck on your hairline, he then moved to readjust your embrace, lowering you both till you were lying on the leather couch. 

After a moment, your fingers twisted in the southern material of his shirt close to his belt, “do you want me to–…”

“No need,” he shook his head. 

Tilting your chin up, you glanced at his soft expression, “really?”

“Yeah,” a bright smirk tugged at his lips, “just the way you sounded was beautiful enough to do the trick for me.” 

Grinning wide, you felt your face grow hot at the compliment, haven not realised the power he had over you apparently went both ways. 

Cuddling him closer, you lifted yourself up a bit and pressed a slow kiss to his lips. 

When you laid your head back down, he asked, “do you want something to drink?” his warm palm drew slow and soothing patterns all along your spine, “some more to eat maybe?”

“No,” you blinked up at him, utterly spellbound, “could we maybe just stay here like this a little longer?”

“Of course,” he relaxed further beside you, “we can stay like this forever if you’d like.”

A smile then crept up on your lips as you pointed out, “forever’s a very long time…”

Chuckling lightly, Matt nodded, “it is…”

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