#i remember before watching i thought Hudson said it and that this is what part of the crossover

[bosesmikas]

The Henry kissed a stranger line!

[burrowlvrr]

— NOT LONG AGO, joe burrow.

PAIRING: Joe Burrow 𝔁 Black!Wife!Reader

GENRE: Husband & Dad Joe

SUMMARY: In which — Joe and Y/N can't believe how far they've come. From taking a pregnancy test in a dorm room, to washing dishes while the babies watch a movie.

NOTE: I got a MacBook and forgot how to act, writing on this thing is so much fun Lord help me. I thought this was kinda cute, shows a lil different side of our couple but its low-key the shortest thing I've written so far, unfortunately :( but enjoy and ignore any errors! <3

UNIVERSE: Tenderhearts & Touchdowns!

The house was unusually quiet, a rare reprieve in the Burrow household. The twins, Hudson and Elijah, were snuggled up on the couch under a thick blanket, captivated by the colorful characters on the TV screen. Their little giggles and whispers occasionally broke the stillness. Outside, the cold December wind howled, but the warmth of their Cincinnati home kept the chill at bay.

Y/N stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, scrubbing the last of the dinner plates. The glow from the under-cabinet lights cast a soft radiance over her face, and she hummed a tune under her breath, content in the moment.

Joe appeared in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. His gaze lingered on her, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Hey,” he called softly. “Why don’t you let me handle these? Go hang out with the boys for a bit.” He nodded toward the couch where their sons were quietly enjoying the movie.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder, her lips curving into a smile. “Y'know how this works, Burrow. I wash, you rinse.” She handed him a freshly cleaned plate, their fingers brushing briefly.

Joe chuckled, stepping forward to take his place beside her at the sink. “Fair enough. I just hate seein' you doing all the work when you’ve been chasing after them all day.”

“I like this part,” she replied softly, dipping her hands back into the soapy water. “It’s peaceful. Plus, we’re a team, remember?”

Their routine continued, the rhythmic sounds of dishes clinking and water running filling the air. The moment felt perfect in its simplicity.

“Remember when we found out?” Joe started, his voice carrying a note of nostalgia. Y/N looked at him briefly, shaking her head as she let out a soft giggle.

“How could I forget? You ran nearly three miles across campus to get to my dorm, Joe.” She replied, and he shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly before asking, "How do you think I got the Heisman?"

★

Back in 2019, Joe and Y/N were basically still kids. Seniors in college, but still kids. Y/N had finals coming up for her Bachelor's degree, and word around campus was that Joe would be nominated for this year's Heisman. They were both rather successful in their academics and sports--but this, no level of success could prepare a college student for a positive pregnancy test.

She sat on the floor of her dorm room, her back pressed against the bed-frame, knees pulled to her chest. Her breathing was shallow and erratic, her hands trembling as she clutched her phone. The pregnancy tests were on the bathroom counter, both of them untouched—her mind racing in panic, holding her back from using the tests alone.

When Joe picked up, his voice was steady but laced with concern. “Y/N? Hey, babe. What's up?”

She tried to speak, but all that came out was a choked sob. Her breathing quickened, and she could feel her chest tightening.

“Y/N,” Joe said, his voice firmer now. “Breathe, okay? I’m coming. I’ll be there in ten.”

The line disconnected before she could respond, and she stared at the phone in her trembling hands, her tears falling freely.

Meanwhile, Joe was already running. He bolted out of the locker room, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his cleats barely tied. The cold air stung his face as he sprinted across campus from the football field to the girls’ dorms. Students turned to watch as he sped past, but he didn’t care.

By the time he reached her door, he was panting, his chest heaving from the exertion. He pushed it open without hesitation and dropped his duffel bag to the floor. The sight of Y/N, curled up and trembling, hit him like a punch to the gut.

“Y/N,” he breathed, moving toward her. She stood shakily, meeting him halfway, and threw her arms around his neck. Her sobs were muffled against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her.

“Hey, hey,” Joe murmured, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, her tear-streaked face breaking his heart. "I think I—I'm pregnant." She choked out, a hand going to her mouth to try and cover the hiccups.

"I'm too scared to touch them, Joe." She sobbed, and he nodded, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "It's alright, Y/N. I'm here now."

They stood there for a moment before Joe left a kiss on her tanned forehead, brushing a stray curl away from her face and tilting her chin upward. "I'll stand right beside you. I'll even hold your hand if you want me to."

Y/N playfully rolled her eyes, "Now's not the time to be humorous, Burrow." She roughly wiped her tears away before making her way to the bathroom, turning around with a waiting expression—hoping Joe was on her heels, which he was.

She took both tests while Joe stood a few inches away, looking away out of respect but still turning around to check on her every few moments. Y/N quickly washed her hands, taking the tests and grabbing Joe's hand, leading him to her bed. They both sat on the edge, the two plastic tests lying in between them. Face down.

At least six minutes had passed now, and Joe couldn't stop his leg from bouncing. Y/N stared at them as if they might explode, her hands trembling slightly.

"You should check." Joe said, breaking the silence, his voice low and steady. Y/N whipped her head in his direction, "Me? You check it!"

Joe shook his head by then decided against arguing. He sighed, leaning over, and then hesitating for a moment. His fingers hovering over the tests, "Okay, but...don't we kinda already know?"

"Just look, Joe." She snapped, her voice higher-pitched than usual. She squeezed her eyes shut out of fear, as Joe flipped the tests over and freezes. His jaw tightened, but he doesn't speak right away.

"Joe," Y/N whispers, her heart pounding in her chest. "What does it say?"

"Positive." he says, barely above a whisper.

The words hit her like a freight train. She slumps back into the couch, her head in her hands. "Oh my God," she mutters, her voice cracking. "This can’t be happening. I can’t—"

"Y/N," Joe starts, but she cuts him off, her words tumbling out in a frantic rush.

"My mama is going to kill me," she says, sitting up straight now, her hands flying. "You don’t understand, Joe. And my daddy's always lecturing me about ‘staying focused’ and ‘not ruining my future.’ This is exactly what he meant! They’re never going to forgive me for this!"

Joe stands, walking over to her and crouching down. "Hey," he says softly, placing a hand on her knee, but she jerks away, jumping to her feet.

"And what about graduation?" she continues, pacing the room now. "Three months, Joe! We graduate in three months! Do you have any idea how much a baby costs? Diapers, formula, doctor visits… How are we supposed to afford that?"

Joe stays quiet, letting her vent. She turns to him suddenly, her eyes wide. "You don’t even have a job lined up yet! And me? I don’t know if my internship is going to turn into anything. We have nothing, Joe. Nothing!"

"Y/N," he says firmly, standing up.

She doesn’t stop. "I’m not ready for this! We’re not ready for this! I can’t—"

"Y/N!" he says louder, his voice cutting through her panic. She freezes, her chest heaving.

He takes a step closer, his voice calmer now. "Listen to me. I know this wasn’t the plan, okay? I get it. But I am going pro. You know I’ve been working toward the draft, and my agent is confident I’ll get picked. I’m gonna make it, Y/N. And when I do, we’ll be okay."

She stares at him, shaking her head. "Joe, the draft isn’t guaranteed. What if something goes wrong? What if you don’t get picked? What if—"

"I will," he interrupts, his tone steady. "I will. I’m not just doing this for me anymore—I’m doing it for you. For us. For this baby."

Her bottom lip quivers, but she doesn’t say anything. Joe steps closer, taking her hands in his. "I know you’re scared. Hell, I’m scared too. But we’ve got each other, and I’m going to do whatever it takes to make sure you and this baby are taken care of. I promise you that."

Tears spill over her cheeks as she looks at him. "You’re so sure about everything, but I’m not. My parents are going to see this as the end of my life, Joe. The end of everything I’ve worked for."

He nods, brushing a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "Then we’ll prove them wrong. We’ll show them that this isn’t the end—it’s just a new beginning. You’re still going to graduate, Y/N. You’re still going to chase your dreams. And we’ll figure the rest out together."

She exhales shakily, leaning into him as he wraps his arms around her. "I just… I don’t know how we’re going to do this."

"One step at a time," he says, his voice firm but gentle. "We’ll start by telling our parents. Together."

She pulls back, giving him a doubtful look. "That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who has to hear my dad’s lecture about how I’ve ‘thrown my life away.’"

Joe chuckles softly, trying to lighten the mood. "Yeah, but I’ll be right there with you. And if he tries to kill me, I’ll just tell him I’m going pro—maybe that’ll distract him."

Despite herself, Y/N laughs through her tears. "You’re ridiculous."

"Maybe," he says, grinning. "But I love you. And I love this baby, even if it’s the scariest thing that’s ever happened to me."

She looks at him, her expression softening. "I love you too."

He pulls her back into his arms, holding her tightly. For the first time all night, she lets herself believe him.

★

Back in their kitchen, the married couple laughs in unison as they recalled the dinner where they told both of their parents. "Oh my gosh! Daddy almost jumped across that table at you!"

"I was scared!" Joe laughed loudly, covering his mouth when he saw Hudson's head pop up over the top of the couch. "Your dad is very intimidating."

"Well, you survived." Y/N insisted, "And we both know I thought my life was over." Joe playfully frowned, "You were pacing so much before that dinner, babe. I thought you were gonna burn a hole in the carpet."

She flicks a bit of water at him, rolling her eyes. "Well, excuse me for being a little freaked out. It wasn’t exactly a normal Tuesday, you know? We were graduating in three months, broke as hell, and had no idea what we were doing."

Joe nods, his smile softening. "I remember how scared you were about telling your parents. But you know what I remember more?"

"What?" she asks, handing him a clean glass.

"How you still managed to push through all that fear and finish your degree on time. You didn’t let anything stop you, not even two babies kicking your ribs during finals."

Y/N shakes her head, laughing. "Don’t act like you weren’t freaking out too. You spent half the night staring at that pregnancy test like it might change if you looked hard enough."

Joe laughs, drying the glass. "Okay, fair. I was terrified. But I knew we’d figure it out. And look at us now."

Y/N glances around the kitchen, her eyes lingering on the family photos on the fridge—the twins’ school pictures, a shot of the four of them at the beach, and a drawing labeled Mama, Daddy, Hudson, and Elijah.

"Yeah," she says softly, her voice thick with emotion. "We’ve built a pretty amazing life, haven’t we?"

Joe sets the towel down and wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her close. "We have. And those two little terrors in the living room? They’re the best thing that ever happened to us."

Y/N leans into him, resting her head against his chest. "I still can’t believe we were worried about not being ready. I mean, we weren’t—but we figured it out."

Joe kisses the top of her head, his voice low and full of love. "That’s because we’re a team, Y/N. Always have been."

Before she can respond, a loud crash comes from the living room, followed by giggles and a triumphant "Wasn't me!"

Y/N groans, pulling back. "Moment's over."

Joe laughs, grabbing a dish towel. "I’ll check on the damage. You finish up here."

As he heads toward the living room, Y/N watches him go, her heart swelling with gratitude. She turns back to the sink, rinsing the last plate as the sound of Joe’s playful scolding echoes from the other room.

She smiles to herself, thinking back to that night all those years ago. It had been terrifying and uncertain, but it led to this—a life full of love, laughter, and a chaos she wouldn’t trade for the world.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Nobody's Girl - Chapter Three.

Check your girl out over here like Oprah. YOU get another chapter, and YOU get another chapter, and so on! I am seriously so flattered by everyone loving the story so far, and watching you all so rabidly consuming it makes me so very happy :)

With the time off work I have had recently, it's meant the story has virtually written itself, I'm up to chapter eleven in the writing, so what I thought would originally be a shorter series has turned into a longer one, meaning I can update more regularly. Well, I can only hope you like this chapter just as much as the previous two, and if you do, remember to leave me a little comment, or a reblog. You would have my eternal gratitude for doing so!

Previous chapters - One Two

Taglist - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 4,300

Warnings - Adult content throughout, minors DNI!

Conversation. With a woman he wasn’t involved with. Truly, Luca couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever enjoyed such, but there he was on an otherwise quiet Thursday night experiencing just that. A soft flurry of snow gently drifted down outside, his apartment the warm cocoon he and Emily sequestered themselves within, sitting on the couch, mostly her sharing stories of her life before she’d literally fallen into his.  

“I remember there was this one time, back when I first got caught up with them, I was taken for a game at this house in Queens. Joey had loaned me to his brother, Giacinto, but of course there was the issue of how he could get me in at the table. So, he made a bet on a bet, I guess you’d call it. Strode in there and announced that he bet each player two hundred bucks they couldn’t beat me in a game of seven card stud.  

“Of course, part of the point of poker is counting cards, but I can do it faster and better, and I did. I won Giacinto five grand in one night, and most of the guys were pissed as hell that I’d beaten them, except for one. He was an older guy, thick glasses, big birthmark on his cheek. He told me I was every man’s worst nightmare, a pretty blonde with a brain, and he respected that.”  

“That’s Jimmy Phelan, Irish mob from Philly,” Luca nodded, quite impressed that she’d grabbed his attention.  

She clicked her fingers in remembrance. “Yeah, Jimmy. That was his name. I’ve met so many wiseguys that it’s hard to keep up with all of the names. I remember the ones who have curious nicknames, like Carmine the Boots, and Duck Foot Silv. I never asked how they got them, though.” 

Luca knew, of course. “Carmine is the boots ‘cuz that’s what he does to those who earn it, fits ‘em with a nice set of concrete boots and sends ‘em off for a swim in the Hudson River. Silvio, they call him duck foot ‘cuz the guy was born with webbed toes.” 

Her eyes widened, leaning forward in her seat. “Have you seen the toes?” 

“I have,” he smirked, scratching his jaw,. “He does this trick, sticks a quarter on his big toe and flicks it about ten feet in the air.” 

She snorted with giggles, sipping her drink and catching an ice cube to chew upon. The sound of her cracking it between her teeth did something to his insides that he couldn’t explain, but was very, very pleasant. “I bet he’s a good swimmer too, huh?” 

“Guy don’t need no flippers, that’s for fuckin’ sure.” 

He looked at her for a long moment, enchanted as usual by her loveliness. It was so easy with her. She knew exactly who and what he was, and she just accepted it without fuss, acting unguarded with him, rather than either trying to work him out or shrink in intimidation. It made a nice change, to simply experience a slice of normality like that, and especially with a woman. Most only wanted him for his money or the association of who he was.  

Or his cock. He was famed for having one hell of a nice cock, after a woman he’d bedded had been very loud in her praise of it one time.  

“So yeah, back to Jimmy being nice to me. He gave me a hundred dollars, said I’d earned it, being such a good card player. I was amazed, and I thought the cash was mine to keep, but not according to Giacinto. Copped a huge beating for that assumption, ended up with this.”  

Hooking her finger into her mouth, she pulled her cheek back to reveal the empty gum space where her back teeth should have sat, Luca feeling caustic within. How hard must he have punched her to knock a both a double and fucking wisdom tooth out, he had to wonder, remembering how tough his own had been to have extracted by a dentist.  

“Bastardo,” he hissed, picking up his drink and knocking it back, refilling it. “Ain’t no big man’s game, sluggin’ a broad. You wanna prove you have cojones? Fuckin’ walk up to the biggest fella in the room and crack him in the mouth. S’what I used to do whenever I got thrown in Sing Sing as a kid, not long after I arrived here from England.”  

“Have you ever done serious time for your endeavours?” she asked, lifting the wool shawl where it had slipped from her shoulders, Luca wishing she’d left it. Any chance he got to view more of her beautiful, lily skin, and he shamelessly took it. It had been gnawing at him for the past fourteen days since she’d been there, chewing away at his resolve like a starving wolf.  

Usually, he’d have made his move by now on somebody he coveted. Hell, his record was ten seconds upon seeing a woman he desired, walking up to her and brashly asking a simple, three worded question. “Wanna fuck me?” No woman ever refused him. With Emily, though, because of her sheer loveliness, as tempting as it would be to corrupt, he held himself back.  

It was a fierce internal conflict he waged war with, his rampant libido dictating he simply take her to bed and bounce her on his cock until she screamed his name, the very little morality left within him castigating such, because of how innocent and sweet the girl was. He couldn’t tarnish something that lovely and pure with the infection of his darkness. Until he could come to some resolve, he supposed he’d have to simply deal with the juxtaposition of wanting to cherish her like a princess and fuck her like a whore.  

She was a billion miles away from the latter, though. Hence the conflict. 

Also, he got the distinct impression that she was still too scared of him. For the most part, she was settled around him, a little shy still, but definitely comfortable enough to open up to him and talk, just like she was doing on that particular evening. If he showed the weight of his desire for her, though, she’d surely bolt. The last thing he wanted was for her to flee.  

“I did a few years for theft, when I was eighteen,” he eventually replied, once he’d managed to finally pull himself back out of his thoughts. “Few times being locked up here and there in the time between, too.”  

“Don’t you mafia guys have the police on payroll, or something?” 

That was another reason why he held himself back. Would she truly want to remain in the world she’d been held prisoner in, should he instigate anything with her? Then again, at least this time she would have a choice. “We do now, yeah. Hence why I ain’t seen a cell in a while.”  

“I think I’d cry if I was ever arrested. Jail sounds scary,” she spoke, sipping her drink, her sweetness making his chest hurt. Why did she have to be the loveliest little thing he’d ever met? It was making him crazy, the want to protect her, the need to fuck her dirty, both colliding with the resolve that he’d solely keep here there until he knew all he wanted about the Calabrese family.  

It was a resolve that seemed to fracture away with every second that passed in her company.

She’d given him very useful information so far, too. Safe house locations his guys had duly gone in and looted, details of deals that she’d been made privy to that he’d been able to scupper before they’d had a chance to come to fruition. Because of Emily, he had the upper hand in the war against the family who – in his mind, at least – needed to show respect and fall back into line.  

What would happen when the well that was her information dried up, though? What, he was simply meant to let this beautiful little creature, this utter mythical princess of a woman unlike any others he’d encountered simply be on her way, and leave his life with a little less pure, iridescent sparkle in her wake? 

He was glad of the distraction when a heavy fist pounding the door below interrupted their evening, Emily nearly jumping out of her skin.  

“S’okay,” he assured her as he stood, resting a hand to her shoulder. “That’s Angelo, he has a habit of knocking like he’s the fuckin’ police.” He headed to the stairs, descending, opening the door but remaining out of her sight as he and Angelo exchanged hushed whispers. Luca appeared again after a few minutes, looking lamentable, but also angry as he pulled himself into his thick, black coat. 

“I have to go out, something I gotta attend to,” he spoke, Emily rising to her feet. 

“Oh, alright. When will you be back?” 

He shrugged, not looking pleased at all. “Hopefully not too long, but don’t wait on me, alright?” 

She nodded, and then completely on blind impulse, reached for his face, pulling him down to her tiny level and kissing his cheek. “Be careful.” 

His heart all but broke the ribs covering it with the force of its rapid thuds. He winked, thumb stroking the apple of her cheek. “I will, doll.”  

As he walked back down the stairs, he could still feel the soft press of her lips against his cheek, his pulse amped up from even the tiniest display of affection from his houseguest. He truly hadn’t expected it, and when he should have left the building with nothing but business on his mind, instead, it was only getting back to Emily again that occupied his thoughts.  

Meanwhile, the girl herself flopped back onto the couch, sighing as she covered her face with her hands. “Oh, god help me. I want that man so badly!” she grimaced, groaning with discomfort. Truly, she didn’t know how the hell to play it, either, feeling so conflicted.

Sometimes, he’d flirt with her, but she was too shy to reciprocate it, meaning he’d pull back and cool down with how he acted around her. Other times, she knew only too well he was trying to wheedle information regarding the Calabrese’s from her, information she found herself giving, getting herself furtherly wrapped up in a world she knew truly wasn’t any good for her.  

How much danger was she in, though, from her place beneath the albatross-like wings of Luca Changretta? Nobody would be fool enough to touch her. However, that was only if she became more to him than whatever she was, she supposed. Then again, he had told her several times already she was safe with him. 

Falling into a silly daydream, she imagined him taking her in his arms, kissing her, those big, tattooed hands laying worship upon her, that sultry voice of his speaking his wants and desires. She let her mind wander for so long that she was still partially in a daze when she heard a rapid knock at the door, followed by the creak of it opening, the music no longer playing.  

“Luca? It’s only me,” a female voice called, her heeled feet alighting the stairs. Before she could speak, a buxom looking redhead appeared, her face surprised as she took Emily in. “Oh, hi! I’m Maggie, and you are?”  

“Hi, Maggie. I’m Emily, and Luca is out,” she spoke, picking up her drink and finishing it. 

“Oh, oh alright. I must’a missed him leaving,” she muttered, holding two large jute bags in her hands. “I was just bringin’ up the takings to him, but I guess I can leave ‘em with you. You’re his new gal, right?” 

She shook her head. “No, just his, uh, his friend.”  

Maggie snorted, placing the takings down on the coffee table. “Luca don’t have gals who are just friends, sweetie pie.” She viewed her carefully, watching the way the young blonde blushed furiously, reaching for the vodka bottle. Only a tiny drizzle remained within.  

“Damn,” Emily pouted, “I drank it all.”  

“Hey, I gotta load of premixed cocktails I’d otherwise throw out. Fancy coming and helping me drink ‘em while I clean up for the night?” Maggie offered, suddenly feeling like she would be being rude to go and pour it all away, and leave the girl upstairs alone, waiting on a man who would likely be gone for hours. Especially too after she’d blatantly embarrassed the hell out of her by her assertion over her boss and his lack of female friends.  

Who was she to judge? Stranger things had happened, she guessed, although she had to admit, she was very curious. If Luca wasn’t giving her a good fucking on the regular, then just what was she doing there? She had noticed her boss not present down in the joint for the last two weeks, with none of his usual rotation of females making their way up to the apartment. Curiosity demanded an answer. 

Smiling, Emily rose to her feet, stuffing them into her shoes. “Sure, that’d be nice.”  Following Maggie back down, she was ushered over to the bar, taking a seat on one of the high stools, the clean up in full effect as people swept, tidied and mopped, the band disassembling their instruments and returning them to their respective cases.  

“Here, I hope you like Manhattan’s,” Maggie spoke, pouring a large measure into a copper mug and passing it over, topping off her own and holding it out. “Cheers, Emily.” 

“Cheers.” She took a swig, the alcohol hitting her throat so hard, she almost coughed, the redhead throwing her head back. 

“Sorry, sugar. I make ‘em potent!” she smirked, taking a soapy cloth and beginning to clean down the bar. “So, you and Luca. What’s the story, darl?”  

Emily didn’t really feel comfortable with revealing the whole truth to a perfect stranger, even though obviously she was a trusted person by the man himself. She wouldn’t have been working in his speakeasy if she wasn’t. “I’m staying with him for a little while.” 

“And you ain’t knockin’ boots with him?” she was then asked. 

“No, definitely not,” she replied, taking another sip of the rocket fuel in her grasp.  

Maggie raised an eyebrow, beginning to pick up liquor bottles from behind the bar and clean the runs and drips away with her cloth. “But you wanna, amirite? Everyone wants to fuck Luca, ‘cept me. I like ‘em a little prettier.”  

Watching her wink as a cute, almost angelic looking blonde saxophone player walked past and waved goodnight, Emily caught her drift immediately. Turning back to Maggie, she shrugged lightly. “I mean, I don’t know. I don’t think I’m his type.” By that point, she’d seen a picture of Filomena, his ex-wife when he’d shown her some photographs of his children. She was dark haired, buxom, Italian and glamorous. Everything she wasn’t.  

“True,” Maggie spoke, pausing to light a cigarette, her cleaning endeavours finished. “But men like somethin’ a lil’ different, they’ll find themselves urging for a taste of the unfamiliar when it’s presented to ‘em. You should give him a go, darl. I hear he’s good with his cock.”  

It was an unfortunate time to take a sip of the lethal Manhattan, Emily half spraying it back into the mug at her brazenness. Maggie couldn’t resist in teasing further. “One of the dancers here was fucking him a while back. Said he was hung like a bull and had the stamina of a guy half his age.”  

Emily felt herself shrinking with every word, Maggie throwing her head back and laughing hoarsely. “Oh, ain’t you a cutie! Gettin’ all shy. Sorry, I know I’m brash. I’ll behave.”  

Perhaps having a female perspective into her predicament might be helpful, she then pondered. Maggie seemed nice, friendly, too. It wasn’t like Emily had a whole lot in the way of friends, either, no gal pals to run her thoughts by. “Okay, so the truth is, I do want to,” she began, Maggie’s face lighting up as she leaned over the bar, huddling close. 

“Tell me more, sugar!” 

Pausing, she took another sip of her drink for courage. “I want to, but I never have before. With any man.”  

The barmaid’s eyes all but fell out of her skull. “Really?” 

She nodded.  

“But... why? Sex is amazing with the right guy!” 

Just then, a door flew open down at the other end of the room, one of the dancers striding out, mid-tirade. “It’s the fuckin’ same with all you fuckin’ Italian jerks!” she screamed, the guy following her looking nonchalant. “All of youse expect us to fuckin’ suck dick, but when it comes to returning it, nadda, nothin’, no sale! Would it fuckin’ kill you to eat me out just once, Luciano?” 

He shrugged, lighting a cigarette. “I ain’t about that.” 

“Yeah, me and my thirsty kitty cat know only too well, you two-bit fuck! We’re done!” She was out of the joint in a blur of sequins and fury, Emily and Maggie sharing a wide-eyed look at having front row seats to such a show. 

“Yeah, he ain’t the right guy,” the latter snorted, jerking her thumb in the direction where Luciano, one of Luca’s street guys had just walked in, softly cussing to himself in Italian.  

“To answer your question, I don’t know, really,” Emily confessed, thinning her lips momentarily. “I’ve never found anyone I like enough to do it with, I guess. It’s like I’m a beacon for shitty guys with bad intentions.”  

Her confidant didn’t truly know how to answer that, since Luca did seem to go through women like they were entering and exiting in a revolving door. However, there was a plus point. “Well, if you decided to, at least it wouldn’t be a lousy first experience for ya. He’s forty-three, the man has heaps of experience, so it wouldn’t be like my first. Two pumps and a squirt, baby. I was so disappointed,” 

The women both snorting laughing, Emily throwing her head back as she truly began to cackle loudly. Oh, she was funny, this brazen woman who had taken her under her wing and plied her with lethally potent cocktails. While she was beginning to relax and find herself making a new friend, the topic of their conversation was walking into a speakeasy in Bushwick, his crew around him.  

“Luca, glad you could join me,” Giacinto Calabrese spoke, leaning back in his seat. “Drink?”  

“No thanks,” he drawled through the chew on his toothpick, “won’t be stayin’ all that long. So, Angelo here tells me you gotta deal for me, huh?” 

His adversary gestured to a chair, Luca taking a seat, his eyes never leaving the man as he felt his mood darkening, looking at his hands. Those were the knuckles that had smashed the teeth out of her mouth. “I do, because you have somethin’ of ours we want returned to us, but I’m a fair man. I’m happy to exchange.” Lifting his chin, he pulled his cigarettes out, lighting one up. “Give me the girl, and I’ll walk away from the warehouses in Yonkers. You have my word.” 

He rolled his tongue against his cheek, chuckling a deadly hiss. “Your word is worth shit, and Emily ain’t for sale, pal.” 

“Oh!” The wise assed man laughed, entertained. “On first name terms with the little puttana now, huh? Wait, I can’t call her that, though. Bitch is more frigid than a fuckin’ nun!”  

Luca remained still, but his eyes moved with all the intent of a predator locking onto its target, slowly pulling the toothpick from between his lips. “The fuck you just call her, stronzo? A bitch?” 

“Yeah,” Giacinto laughed, “I called her a bitch, and...”  

That was as far as he got before the lion that was the head of the Changretta mob pounced, grabbing his collar and pounding his head down onto the table, their respective guys all drawing their weapons. 

“You’re outnumbered, fellas,” Angelo rumbled, tutting. “Put ‘em down.” The men fell back, all watching the scene unfold before them.  

Luca loomed like a shadow of death, his hand holding Giacinto fast against the smooth, dark wood. “Did you call her a bitch when you knocked her fuckin’ teeth out? Did ya? Tell me, how hard does a guy like you have to slug a tiny little thing like her to crack the goddamned teeth from her jaw? This hard?” His fist met his face in a sickeningly strong blow, the piece of shit beneath his grasp grunting in pain. “This hard?” He punched him again, this time loosening one of the teeth he was aiming for, Luca hauling him up and beginning to lay repetitive punches to his face, Giacinto flying back to the floor.  

With his rage pumping like water through a broken dam, Luca loomed over him, pulling a flick knife from his pocket and releasing the blade, holding it so hard against his cheek, his blood began to seep from beneath the press. “You ever speak her name again and I will cut your fuckin’ tongue from your head. The Yonkers warehouses are mine now, too, just for the fuckin’ gall of you. Give your fuckin’ father my goddamned regards, Giacinto.”  

“Fuck you, Luca!” he spat, shame and rage coiling through him.  

“Fuck me, huh?” he laughed, low and deadly. “Nah, kid. Tell me, you right-handed? You are, aren’t ya? It was your right hand you used to beat her, wasn’t it?” Wrenching his arm up, he grasped his wrist, bringing the knife down between his third and fourth fingers, beginning to slice through skin, sinew and tendons. Giacinto screamed, Luca holding the knife towards Angelo, needing both hands to grab the second and third, then fourth and fifth fingers, grasping hard before literally ripping his hand apart.  

“Can’t go punching little girls no longer now, can you?” Standing, he left him screaming on the floor, looking to his guys. “Step down from the warehouses as of tonight, or I do worse to all six of youse.” With that, Luca and his eight cohorts left the speakeasy, heading back to their cars, Brooklyn bound. Entering his apartment just under a half hour later, he made sure he was quiet, not wanting to wake the beauty in his bed.  

Hanging his coat and jacket, he unlaced his shoes, removing his tie as he walked over to the bed, just about able to see her outline there curled up, sleeping soundly. Reaching toward her face, he gently swept the platinum strands of hair that had fallen loose back behind her ear, tenderly stroking the apple of her cheek with the back of his fingers.  

He realised right there that she could never again utter anything about the Calabrese’s, and he wouldn’t care at all. He didn’t need her for information. He just needed her to be safe.  

The twisted irony wasn’t lost on him, though, that the very person she wasn’t safe from was the one whose bed she slept soundly in, but for very different reasons than what the Calabrese’s represented. He lingered there only a moment longer before going to the bathroom and undressing, pulling on his grey and white striped pyjama bottoms, heading for the couch.  

“Luca?”  

He actually jumped a little, hearing her soft voice suddenly sound through the dark. “Yeah, doll?” Turning, he watched her sit up, peeling the bed clothes back as she shuffled over, patting the mattress. “It’s freezing. You can’t keep sleeping on the couch. I don’t mind sharing.”  

He hesitated only a second before walking over, climbing in next to her, his heart beginning to race. Her warmth was the most alluring intoxication he’d ever felt near to him, wanting nothing but to wrap himself around her, meld his body to hers, tell her in no uncertain terms that Giacinto Calabrese would never dare touch her again.  

Lying there, Emily could feel the tension radiating from him, not knowing why he was in such a state, but sensing it all the same. Had something happened, while he was out, something to spark his temper, amp his ire? She felt him turn away from her, turning over herself and hesitating a moment before putting the advice she’d had from Maggie to good use. ‘Just move on him. You’re beautiful, sugar. He won’t turn you down.’  

It wasn’t necessarily a sexual advance, as Maggie had been specifically advocating, but it was a step in the right direction. Wrapping her arm around him, she pressed herself against his back, resting her hand to his chest. Her heart almost leapt into her throat when she felt him grasp her hand, thumb stroking, placing a kiss upon her fingers.  

He clutched her hand tight, feeling her breath flutter against his shoulder blades, his heart still hammering. If he turned to her, that would be it. He wouldn’t be able to hang onto the bull within him, goring against the very last of his soft flesh in a bid for freedom. Flesh that had softened for her. 

He remembered how he’d felt, punching Giacinto repeatedly in the face, until he had expelled blood with every groaned breath, all for her, because of her, because no man would ever make the sweet little darling curled against him feel less than all she was ever again.  

But still, he didn’t dare turn over. It’d be like Satan himself defiling the purest of angels. If only Luca knew, though, as he wrestled with the beast within, that the only thing the angel pressed against his back wanted was to feel the burn of his lust against her skin.  

[slaygentford]

every matthew mcconaughey romcom, rated

ive never really had a pet white man. ive had many pet white men characters, yes, but never a little pet white man actor who I wish to give treats and pats to like a purse dog. I never before really understood the phenomenon until my 5th or so rewatch of true detective in the year 2024, at which point something demonic was unlocked in my brain. why? how? a mystery for my therapist, when I had a therapist, but I don't anymore, so now it's a mystery for you. overcome with the insatiable urge to tape his picture to the front of my binder and write "hott" underneath it in sharpie I mentally detransitioned and, embracing my latent teenage girl (the girl I was, perhaps, in another world, one parallel to ours; a darker world, but of equal worth to our own sphere, damned as it may be) --began to watch every Matthew mcconaughey romcom ever made.

listed in my watch order, which was random.

how to lose a guy in 10 days: this is a near perfect 00s romcom, too much secondhand embarrassment to be a real mainstay for me, but it nonetheless hits every beat with aplomb. particularly tickled to see them playing bullshit the card game which was a family and friend group fave for me growing up. he and Kate Hudson have probably fucked, which added a lot to the chemistry. in one scene Kate Hudson described how cute he was rubbing his face into her tits and her friend says, do you want to date him or adopt him? at which point I saw into the void, which then saw back into me. instantly it became apparent to me that he will act circles around whoever he's paired with to the point that it actually becomes kind of comical how good of a performance he's giving in a movie that includes not one but two scenes of a dog pissing on a pool table. that being said bebe neuwirth CARRIED this film on her BEAUTIFUL lithe back. 1 instance of no shirt, unfortunately brief. 7/10. vape I hit at midpoint also a 7/10, coincidentally

NB: after watching this movie I had a dream that I was at the beach with him and Kate hudson and I hated her because she had stolen may man.

the wedding planner: when I watched this I got extremely caught up in two things 1 the fact that he went on a date with another woman while engaged and almost kissed her and 2 jlo playing an italian girl. this led me to think about what race is/was in 90s-00s, colorism, borders of the latinx body and codemeshing. something interesting about the wedding planner is that the leads are in every way the opposite of the character they are playing, with little effort to no effort to make up for that diff (Matthew not at all acting like a wholesome pediatrician and rarely seen with children/jlo not at all acting (like) or being an italian). as a result the fourth wall in this movie is made out of wobbling cellophane, an upsetting and uncanny experience. Matthew doing a tango meant a lot to me as a fan of rust's deranged impromptu norteñas tutorial in true detective. as he is a texan, I think he is essentially one of my people. 0 instances of no shirt. 2/10

failure to launch: at the first incident of animal slapstick (chipmunk related) I had the thought while the scene wore on and on, I feel like I'm on drugs. that's because I was on drugs, which I then remembered, but a joint doesnt deny the truth, only reveal it. there are many sports, and Matthew doing sports. I wouldn't be surprised if the original conception of this movie was more like lars and the real girl or silver linings playbook which then had to get repackaged as a rom com bc some parts of this kind of push at the seams of the haha funny tone which makes for a shockingly bad film but a very interesting way to think about process and what this writer's passion project would be. by the final animal slapstick incident (dolphin, second appearance) I really said what the fuck out loud, like actually out loud in my home. we started off strong with some shirtlessness and a calf shot during the sex scene, but the chipmunk to dolphin to bird to iguana to dolphin pipeline really took the wind out of my sails. 1/10

ghosts of girlfriends past: This is doubtless Matthew's worst performance--and yet what a triumph it is, purely because for any other actor, it would be the peak of a career. Matthew has an incredible naturalism. About 15 minutes into this movie, Matthew gets belligerently drunk at his brother's rehearsal dinner. Through half-lidded, glassy eyes, he delivers with thoughtless verve the exact sort of diatribe a man not only uncaring but also unaware of his cruelty can; and yet, in that passivity, he unearths pathos. I consider it an underpainting--a little window which peeks out of a bad script to a fully conceived person. Throughout its runtime, the film degenerates into a pantomime, even parody, of itself: but with just a series of slow blinks, Matthew conveys a complete psyche, an entire lifetime. I truly believe that he comes to roles even those he dislikes with an inescapable talent and sensitivity. If I could bring half of his effort and spark and originality to my own creative pursuits, that would make for a very good career indeed. His integrity as an artist really is why watching his worst films is so fun: in a game of limbo, Matthew can do the lowest backbend of all. Strong calves indeed. anyway, this movie is REALLY bad. 0/10

fool's gold:

10/10

[alicepao13]

Here we go again, Hudson and Rex S01E01!

God, I love 1080p.

Oh, Diesel. He's so young in this episode.

Okay, what is going on back there, the show has only just started lol

I forgot this show's only colors for S1 were blue and... blue. And some yellow.

Charlie in his suits. I could say I've missed it, but it gets old fast. You get more options with casual clothes.

Charlie verbally sparring with Mankiewicz is so good. I don't know why they didn't find more opportunities to get him back on the show, he's a good villain.

The part where Mankiewicz says Evelyn's name, I always thought that was intentional, judging by the way he looks up, like if he's waiting to see whether Charlie will pick up on it, which he does. He's probably judging his foe's intelligence.

Is it just me, or was John Reardon's voice even deeper in S1 (I remember I'd thought that before, it's not just this episode)? Or if not deeper, different somehow.

Rex displaying his intelligence as he "infiltrates" the bad guys' hideout. Also, I'm kinda curious about his screentime in this episode. If I'm right, it's significantly lower than other episodes.

I now remember than Kevin Hanchard had said he filmed all his scenes of S1 at the same time or something like that. I will be looking for hairstyle discrepancies lol

Ah, the old house. And Charlie looking at Rex's empty dog bed. And the first hints of whump as he's shot with a tranquilizer dart. I appreciated that.

Doesn't everyone get their forensics expert with them when looking for a missing kid?

Calm down, guys, it's the first episode.

Not much skill in the henchmen who had kidnapped Evelyn.

Hilariously, Sarah doesn't enter her lab once in the first episode.

I also do notice a not so subtle effort from direction/editing of making sure that Sarah gets in and out of the boat without Charlie's help, I guess they're making sure that Charlie is not doing any of chivalric things a man could do for his female coworker? He does later say that the perp should point the gun at him but it's after he's questioned from the woman herself and after Rex's timely takedown, Sarah is the one point the gun at the woman, while Charlie does the arrest.

Charlie hugging Rex after being separated from him for a whole day.

And Charlie shooting the guy, which apparently no one remembers lol

Jesse getting shot! More whump! I don't think anyone believed for a moment that he would die, though. Also, can someone shoot Charlie? I've been asking for years.

"He's not a dog, he's my partner". Ah, the corniness. I'll allow it.

The ending scene. I can clearly tell that John Reardon has some snack for Diesel in his hand after we've been shown the trick.

I honestly never thought that episode was a good pilot, not because of the quality of the episode itself, I consider it above average for S1. But you give the audience the wrong idea about how this show is going to be. Personally, upon my first watch, I was given the impression that Rex would be alone doing his own thing quite often. Also, it doesn't give the audience almost anything in terms of Charlie and Rex's partnership. And they promoted this show with lines like "good detectives, great partners", etc., focused on the partnership, which is the whole point of the show from its origins anyway.

[motherdaughtermixedfeelings]

part 2: margaret

The steam from her hot water with lemon fogged Margaret's glasses from being too close to her face, but she didn't mind; not when it was warming her fingers and nose. At her age, the extremities got cold quickly, even if she was sitting in a crowded room.

The living room was so small, every couch cushion and chair was taken. The various conversations lull over each other while the Christmas tree lights gave the room a warm ambience.  

“When I grow up, I want to be a race car driver!” Her grandson Hudson's voice drew her out of her thoughts, and she turned to see him and her eldest granddaughter, in conversation. 

“Wow! That's so cool,” Madison said, noticing Margaret wanting to be involved in a conversation. “Did you know what Grandpa's job was?” He shook his head and Madison motioned toward their grandmother. 

“Grandma, what was Grandpa's job?” Margaret smiled and lowered her drink to answer the little boy. 

“He was a miner,” she said. Talking about her dead husband had gotten easier as the years passed. “He travelled on trains and got to dig into the Earth.” 

“What was your job?”  

She laughed. “I never had one. I stayed home and took care of all my kids, just like your mom does.” 

“I thought you went to university though,” Madison said, her brows furrowed. 

“Well, yes, technically I was training to be a nurse.”  

“Why'd you quit?” Hudson asked.  

“Well, I didn't quit necessarily. Grandpa and I wanted to start a family,” Margaret said, slightly shifting in her seat. Madison slightly snorted, but one hurt glare from her grandma and she was silent again, her lips pursed. 

“Do you like it?” asked Hudson, drawing attention back to him. 

“Oh yes, I loved it. I got to help a lot of people. I was pretty good at it, too,” she smiled, thinking of the memories she had from her youth, remembering the squeaky linoleum floors, the antiseptic smell she'd learned to love, and pranking all the senior nurses with the other students.  

“Do you wish you could've been a nurse for real?” Hudson’s voice was a little quieter, his hands starting to fidget.  

Yes, she thought. Every single day. 

But she held her tongue.  

She loved her children. She loved watching them grow up, being there for every scraped knee, science fair and recital. She thought about her children's first steps, first day of school, first ball game and how she was there for all of it. She was the one who cheered them on or cheered them up, no matter the time or place.

I was happy to give it up, she told herself. I love my children and my family.  

But the voice in the back of her mind said something different: Did you love your children so much so that you wouldn't feel regret over your lost life?  

“Grandma?”  

The tiny voice and she noticed the rest of her family watching her, holding their breath for the answer. Madison gave her a look of sadness and pity, as if she knew how Margaret was feeling. 

She cleared her throat before answering Hudson’s question.  

“No,” she said, forcing a smile. “Giving it up gave me this family. Now, I believe it is time to sit up for dinner.”

[skinnyducky]

the meeting // v.h.

This was probably a bit difficult to write because I didn’t know what approach I wanted to go with. But, I found the best approach that fit my style and I hope you enjoy! Also, I’m going to hold off on pt. 4 of Party at Y/n’s. I don’t really like what I’ve written so far with it and I’m going to rewrite the whole part. But, that means you’ll get more stuff like this so...yippee!

Word Count: 1435, slightly edited

WARNING: fluff, language (i think), sexual jokes, and more fluff

---------

Vinnie rubbed his sweating hands together as he thought about whether or not coming with you to your hometown was a good decision. Sure, he’d be sad for a weekend without you…but that wasn’t worse than having to meet your parents. This was a huge step in your relationship, and something that could make or break it. And that fact that you weren’t even slightly scared made him even more afraid.

“I can’t do this. Maybe you should turn around and drive me back to the airport.” Vinnie sighed, fiddling with his rings.

You laughed, keeping your eyes trained on the road. “Vinnie, there is nothing to be nervous about. My parents are going to love you.”

“You say that now, but what if they don’t?”

“Vinnie, they’re going to love you. I haven’t stopped mentioning you since we started dating. Hell, the minute I told my dad about you and your cars, he cried tears of joy. I’ve never seen him that happy before, and I’m his child.” You explained as you pulled into your driveway. “Look, babe, you have absolutely nothing to be worried about. As long as you’re yourself, they’ll love you.”

Vinnie took your words into consideration, and they filled him with a little comfort. Although, they weren’t enough to completely rid him of his anxiety. But still, he was a lot better now than he was a few minutes ago.

“So, are you ready?” you asked, placing your hand on Vinnie’s shoulder. He looked at you with a worried glance and answered, “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The two of you exit the car and walked up to your doorstep. You knocked on the door and within a few seconds it opened up to reveal your smiling mother. “Y/n!” she cried, pulling you into a tight embrace. She pulled back and looked at Vinnie who awkwardly stood behind you.

“And you must be Vinnie!” she grinned. “The pictures Y/n sent me don’t do you justice! You’re really cute!”

“Mom!” You groaned. She muttered a sorry before turning back to Vinnie.

Vinnie let out a timid chuckle and stuck his hand out for your mom to shake. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Y/l/n.”

Your mom grabbed his hand, but instead of shaking it, she pulled him into a hug. “Enough of that formal crap. Please, call me Y/m/n.” The two broke out of the hug and she ushered the both of you inside, the smell of her famous pasta filling your noses.

“Y/d/n, they’re here!” your mom called, shutting the door.

You heard heavy footsteps come from the living room, no doubt belonging to your dad. The very man rushed towards you and Vinnie with an eager grin on his face. “Y/n!”

“Dad!” you exclaimed, rushing into his arms. He spun you around and put you down, moving his attention to your boyfriend. He cleared his throat, putting on his best intimidating dad act as he stomped over to the boy.

“And I’m guessing you’re Vinnie.”

Vinnie gulped, looking your dad in the eye. “That w-would be me, sir.”

It was silent as the men stared at each other. Then out of the blue, your dad laughed. “I’m sorry, man. I can’t do the whole ‘dad’ act like I used to. Call me Y/d/n.” He shook Vinnie’s hand, much to your boyfriend’s surprise. “Nice to finally meet you, Vinnie.”

“You too, Y/d/n.”

“Y/n told us a lot about you. She mentioned you liked cars.” Your dad pointed out. “I’m a car man myself. Gotta Mustang and a 1953 Hudson Hornet.”

Vinnie nearly lost his shit at your father’s small collection. You could practically feel the excitement radiating off of him. “Really?”

“Not that he drives them though. Don’t let the coolness fool you, Vin. He drives a soccer van.” I teased, making my dad blush.

“I drive the van to work and work only.”

I scoffed, “Sure you do.”

Your mom clapped, gathering your attention. “Well, dinner is done. So, we can go ahead and start eating and catch up.”

“But, honey, I wanted to show Vinnie my cars.” Your dad whined.

“You can show him after, sweetie.”

“But-“

“Y/d/n.”

“Sorry.” Your dad sighed and followed your mom into the kitchen. You and Vinnie exchanged looks and broke out into laughter.

“Like I said, very excited to meet you.” You said, leading him into the dining room.

You and Vinnie sat across from your parents who had brought out the large bowl of pasta. The four of you started eating, catching up on life and what not. Well, at least you and your mom did. Vinnie and your dad were too busy talking about their shared love of vehicles to even be interested in the conversation. Dinner ended, much to the pleasure of your dad. Him and Vinnie headed into the garage where your dad would offer him a beer and show off his collection. You and your mom retreated to the kitchen to wash dishes.

“So, what do you think?” you asked, wiping down a plate.

“I like him. He’s a really good guy.” Your mom responded. “He’s much better than any of the other jackasses you’ve dated.”

“He was so nervous coming here. He thought you and dad wouldn’t like him.”

Your mom scoffed, placing a fork in the drying rack. “Why wouldn’t we like him? It’s obvious that he completes you and that you two are perfect for each other. Plus, I don’t think I’ve ever seen your dad so happy before, and I’m his wife.”

“Hah, I said the exact same thing.”

“It’s true. I wouldn’t be surprised if your dad divorced me for him.” Your mom joked. “Our only concern is that you’re happy, Y/n. And its evident that Vinnie makes you more than that, so as long as he keeps doing what he’s doing…he’s good in our book.”

“Thanks, mom.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Now, let’s finish up these dishes. Real Housewives of Atlanta comes on in a few.”

Around the time you two finished the dishes, your boys came strolling back into the house. You and your mom peeked out from the kitchen, watching in secret as your dad and Vinnie talked to each other.

“…and y’know, I’ve never seen Y/n as happy as she is with you. I can tell that you really care for her,” your dad said, “and as long as you keep doing that, I have no problem with you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Your dad chuckled, “Now the ‘sir’ is something I definitely have a problem with. I’m not that old, son.”

A smile found it’s way onto your face as you and your mom walked out. “Well, I wouldn’t really consider you to be young.” Your mom quipped, before turning to Vinnie. “He can’t even get it up as much as he used to.”

“Mom!” you shrieked. “What did I tell you!?”

“No sex jokes. Sorry, honey.”

“Especially one’s that aren’t true.” Your dad added. “I’m like a tank; I’m strong.”

You stared daggers at your dad as you stepped beside Vinnie. “Dad!”

“We’re sorry, we’re sorry.” He apologized, finding his way over to your mom. “So, you two headed back to your hotel?” asked your mom.

You and Vinnie nodded, earning a groan from your dad. “Awe, I wish you could stay the night. Although, I don’t think Y/n’s twin size bed would fit the both of you.”

“You’ll see us tomorrow,” you replied. “Remember? We’re going golfing, right?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot!” Your dad said, placing his hands on his hips. “I guess we’ll see you then.”

You and your parents bid your goodbyes—and your dad may or not have cried a bit. He really wanted to spend more quality time with Vinnie. Thankfully your mom was there to console him and keep him distracted long enough for you two to leave.

Once you got into the car, you glanced over at Vinnie to see him smiling. “What’s got you so giddy?” You asked.

“Your dad likes me.”

“I know, me and my mom were spying on you two when you walked in.” You said, starting the car. “My mom likes you too. So, in the end…you had nothing to worry about.”

“I guess not.”

As you pulled out of your parents driveway, you said, “My dad’s right you know.”

“About what? Him being able to still get it up?” Vinnie asked.

You rolled your eyes and giggled, “No, you idiot. About the fact that you do make me happy.”

You watched as Vinnie broke out into a smile. “I do?”

“You very much do.”

[philtstone]

but not alone

in a shocking twist i really was able to finish this on time for it to be a birthday gift to myself lmao -- done with 2 minutes on the clock

some background: i watched "why didn't they ask evans?", remembered i adored agatha christie novels, and immediately had to try writing this. depending on what you guys think and my Life schedule i may write part 2 because the potential latter half of this plot is so fun it really deserves to see the light of day -- but anyway. The Premise: bucky didnt fall off the train, steve still sacrificed himself, and a whole lot of characters were born multiple decades earlier than in canon. a big thank you to @firstelevens and @parlegee for their emotional support and plotting help and also to @flyinghome-againstthewind for their lovely encouragement and enthusiasm re the fic concept! i wrote more, as promised, and here it is!

the title is from fellowship of the ring because i am insufferable, and every little comment and kudos makes my year

Summary: After the weird-looking carpet cleaner has whistled three times the man says,

“You don’t look like a German spy,” muttered, like he’s really thinkin’ about it.

“Seriously?” splutters Sam. He says this so forcefully that the other guy has the nerve to look a little offended. But now, come on – come on, Sam thinks. It’s a fair question. Only Sam’s been having a really difficult forty-eight hours, so he doesn’t appreciate it.

It’s here that something big and important feeling clicks in Sam’s head. He’s seen that scowl before – just yesterday, ignoring poor Miss Dollie.

And just this morning, in the papers plastered all over his motel lobby.

“Oh,” says Sam, “you gotta be kidding me.” 

But alas, there’s no kidding to be had. 

“From the paper – they think you killed him, man!”

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes pales three shades under what little tan he has, but otherwise doesn’t react. 

OR: Sam, Bucky, and a Post-War murder mystery that demands the power of friendship.

Excerpt:

The thing about Peggy is that she understands him, which is just a bitch and a half sometimes.

“You threw the weapon out.”

She’s repeating this, flatly, but with enough inflection that Bucky comprehends the are you perhaps a massive idiot implied therein. Peg would say it like that too — use perhaps and massive and arch her eyebrows.

Bucky presses his hands harder where they’re clutched at his temples and grimaces. “Look, I wasn’t thinking clearly, alright?”

“James.”

James, full name, not Jim like when she’s being chummy and of course Agent Margaret Carter of His Majesty’s Royal Service never quite got around to following Steve’s lead on the Bucky front. Bucky grimaces harder. Peggy will stare and be sardonic and, God help him suspicious until he explains.

“I dunno what you want me to say, Peg – it was there in the drawer and I couldn’t bear lookin’ at it anymore.” 

Her resultant expression is just a touch too understanding for his taste. 

“How the hell would I know that tossing a Colt into the Hudson in the middle of the night would get Howard killed?” Bucky adds, to move past it.

Minutely as possible Peggy flinches. Balls of steel, he’s always said. The other guys thought the same, but none of them had the guts to say it aloud. Speaking of other guys –

“Dugan’s coming over.”

“Like hell he is,” Bucky says.

Peggy takes an elegant drag of her cigarette. She’s sitting at the dull brown edge of his made-up bed and being careful enough that the ashes don’t spill. What difference that’ll make Bucky’s not sure. His apartment’s the definition of sad. Becca nearly cried last week when she visited, but then instead of crying yelled at him ‘til he relented and got a pillow. 

“Evidently,” says Peggy, still on the topic of Dum-Dum, “he has not considered the double agent angle. His wife made you casserole.”

“Mm,” says Bucky, grim. He walks over to his meager kitchen, pulls a dusty bottle out from the cabinet and unscrews it. “Gonna get him killed one of these days.”

“Given my ongoing conviction that you are not in fact a spy –”

“Jury’s out on you though,” Bucky says, raising the bottle at her.

“-- you do realize that you are a prime suspect in the murder of our close personal friend.” She blows out. “If we can’t rely on our comrades, we’re rather fucked.”

“I am, you mean.”

Her mouth turns mulish and she looks away to the window then back. Maybe she did mean we, lumping the two of them under the tarp of some morbid umbrella. Steve’s dead and gone and sacrificed nobly, isn’t he.

“You didn’t kill Howard and he didn’t damn well kill himself,” says Peggy, steely. “I’d like to know which bastard did.”

Read More on ao3

[liaromancewriter]

Time of Our Lives

Premise: Cassie and Ethan bring their newborn twin girls home from the hospital and navigate the first few days of parenthood.

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: General. Fluff. Format: Text and pic fic + prose Trope: Family Dynamics Words: 590

A/N: This Tumblrversary fics continue. This was requested by an Anon for when Ethan and Cassie bring their newborn twins home. I took a slightly different perspective. Hope you like it anyway.

Late submission for @choicesdecemberchallenge2021​, Day 10 prompt “Blessings.

Part 1: First Look

Part 2: Ready, Set, Go

Part 3: Heart to Heart

Ethan Ramsey was a good diagnostician although he’d argue that his wife was a better one. He could even admit that he was a surprisingly effective leader even if he still terrified interns. 

But becoming a father was one job he hadn’t ever expected to hold, so he wasn’t sure exactly what was required of him to excel at that. Because nothing less than excellence would do.

He had had an entire week to get used to fatherhood, but he didn’t think it would fully sink in until they brought the girls home from the hospital where they were spending time in NICU.

Cassie’s pregnancy hadn’t been easy; her pre-eclampsia the last couple of weeks had reminded him all too clearly of Dolores Hudson. While another week would have been ideal, the C-section at 36 weeks had become necessary.

Still, despite all that, they had finally become parents and the shock was slowly starting to wear off.

“Are you awake?”

He turned his head to see Cassie propped up on one elbow as she leaned over him. The moonlight shining through the window behind her cast her face into shadows, but he suspected it was anxiety keeping her awake.

“I’m up,” he said, tugging her down to lay her head on his shoulder.

“It will be okay,” he said soothingly, smiling when she scoffed and lightly pinched his side.

“Of course, it will be okay,” she grumbled. “Between our parents, Max and Sienna, and our friends, we’ve got a big enough tribe for the girls.”

“So, what has you worried, Rookie?” he asked.

“I’m not worried, just excited,” she said. “Morning can’t get here fast enough.”

The sound of the ticking clock on the wall was loud in the darkness with each of them lost in their own thoughts. Hers were full of wonder, while his were a spiral of worries, each darker than the other.

What made him think that he could be a good parent? While his dad had done a great job of raising him single handed, there was no denying he had inherited his other parent’s restlessness. The mother that had abandoned him and his father because a family no longer fit in with her vision of the life she wanted.

“It’s going to be okay, Ethan,” she said. “Rookie parents, remember?”

Her palm cupped his chin, angling his head down to meet her earnest gaze. From the first moment they met, Cassie Valentine had been able to read him like no one else. At first, he’d fought against it, but the last few years had shown him it was so much easier to just lean into it.

“We’re in this together,” he confirmed, watching her lips curve into a smile before he closed his mouth over hers.

“We’re going to have the time of our lives, babe,” she said, voice full of glee. “Our kids are part Valentine and part Ramsey. There’s no way they won’t be a handful.”

He smiled in the darkness, feeling the worries dissipate against his wife’s excitement. He knew without a doubt that those stubborn Valentine genes wouldn’t let him be anything but a great parent.

“If they’re anything like their mother, I can well believe it,” he teased.

“Hey!” protested Cassie loudly.

He chuckled at the disgruntled expression on her face, his entire body shaking with laughter when she swatted him with a pillow. He grabbed the pillow, throwing it aside as he tugged her back into his embrace and proceeded to kiss her grumblings away.

Part 4: Welcome Home

Part 5: The Tribe

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics​

Tagging in reblog

[glacial-snowflakes]

Subtle hum of the Hudson River - part 2 // Loki

A/N: Hi darlings! I'm sorry for not posting but I kind of don't have that much time rn :( I'm so so sorry! I hope you like it! <3

Here is part 1

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader

Word count: 2,5k

Summary: You and Loki take a stroll down the river, letting yourself be honest with each other. The words you spoke have an unexpected result.

WARNINGS: it's all fluff, don't you worry!; parts written like this are retrospection

Likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. It’s really motivating <3

Outrage and disgust filled every little whisper he heard. The team's looks were so sharp that they could cut one's skin open. Sighs full of hatred. Snarky remarks, supposedly innocent, yet hurt like hell. Why would anyone care about God of Mischief? Yes, he might live in the Tower, and yes, he might call himself one of the Avengers now, but he would never belong. Never. Not after what he did.

"They will never trust me, won't they?" Loki asked Thor, his sight focused on a cup he was holding in his frozen hands. The tea wasn't hot anymore. It went cold just like his heart that had never known the warmth of love. Trickster raised his eyes to meet Thor's. God of Thunder could swear that for a moment, he saw despair painted onto his brother's pale face. "I thought you didn't care about them nor their attitude towards you."

"I don't." The raven-haired man said immediately but seeing his brother's smile made him speak the truth. "I hate the way they look at me. I know what I did, and I deserve it. It's just— Nevermind." Loki sighed and took a sip of his cold tea. Speaking about his feelings was never his strong suit. Opening up to someone and spilling his guts felt like a nightmare he didn't want to experience at all costs. Runaway was the best choice.

"If you want to gain their trust, start with Lady Y/N. She's the most perfect for being the first one to break the ice with. Believe me." Thor gave his brother a clap on the back and nodded. "Go on."

"She's holding a knife right now. I am the one who stabs, not the one to be stabbed." Loki muttered. Thor's look said everything. In response, God of Mischief just rolled his eyes, stood up, and slowly approached you. You seemed so focused on the meal you were preparing that you didn't even notice him at first. He cleared his throat. "Lady Y/N."

You snapped out of the trance you were in just a few seconds ago. You lifted a knife you were holding in your hand. It was all covered up in ice, even sharper than the kitchen utensil itself. You held it up in front of your face as you were breathing rather heavily, scared of the sudden voice that made you come back to earth with a bump. Loki could swear that for a moment, your eyes turned impeccably white, just like the snow you could summon whenever you wanted.

"I— I'm so sorry, I didn't want to scare you. I truly mean it." Loki said immediately, waving his hands, the visible awkwardness painted onto his face.

"No, no! It's not your fault." You smiled to assure him that everything was fine. "Whenever I'm cooking, I'm in a trance. Just me, food, my mind free of all the bad thoughts that have been haunting me." You waved your hand in which you were holding a knife, and the ice melted away, just like that, not leaving any mark behind. Loki gave you a subtle nod and asked. "What are you cooking?"

"Oh, I won't tell you." You blurted out, which was followed by the awkward silence. "It's because I'm making my secret dish. Y/N's secret delicacy. No one knows what's inside except me." You explained in the blink of an eye. Loki seemed to be a little bit confused. Oh boy, you weren't good at small talks either. "If you want to, you can stay and sit here. We can talk about whatever you want or, if not, we can sit there in silence. It depends on you."

A sweet, delicate smile appeared on your face. You knew it was hard for Loki. You could see that. You noticed these quick looks he was giving whenever someone whispered his name. You noticed his need to be included when you were in a group, but everybody seemed to be ignoring him. Nobody wanted him to participate in meetings or conversations. He was in a crowd, yet he felt like he was all by himself. You saw all of this, and it made you feel bad. You knew what he did, but in the end, he was one of you now. Every god could bleed, and it hurt you to watch.

You wanted to make the raven-haired man feel better. Even if you were the only one to do this and every other person was about to judge you, you wanted Loki to feel included, to feel important. You promised yourself that it would be YOU who will make Loki feel welcomed, welcomed in a place where everyone pushed him away.

"Can I ask what your exact powers are?" Loki started the conversation, and you couldn't help but smiled. He truly wanted to talk with you. How adorable.

"I'm a demigod with cryokinetic powers. It would take a lot to talk about my abilities, but I will tell you that my favorite one is making ice daggers. Quick and simple, though it took some time to master the perfect shape." You chuckled. "Learning to aim ideally in a battle to cut through a chest and freeze someone's heart was the most problematic part."

"I didn't know you are so violent and tough."

"I am not... I guess I pretend to be." You said quietly, not looking upon a cutting board. A deep sigh escaped your mouth. "You know, it's not a job for everyone. Sometimes I'm too gentle for that."

You didn't let the silence last forever, as you immediately asked. "How do you find yourself here? Do you like the Tower?"

"Ah, you know... It has changed since the last time I visited." Loki said, clearly ashamed of all the damage he did back in 2012. Till these days, the thought of the Chitauri ravaging New York gave you the shivers. It was a very demanding and traumatizing first day of work as the Avenger.

"A renovation was a must." You joked; to clear the air and shoo away the atmosphere that was creeping towards you. "What about your room?"

"If you can call a small couch in Thor's bedroom my room, then I guess it's okay."

"You sleep on Thor's couch?" It was something that surprised you and not in a good way. You got that Loki wasn't everyone's favorite member, but there was a ton of empty bedrooms in the Tower in which he could live.

The God of Mischief nodded. "It's not that bad."

"I don't care. I will talk to Tony. You have to have your own bedroom. It's not like you can sleep on his couch forever. It's not comfortable in the long run." Loki opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off. "I've got it covered, don't worry."

There was something in talking to you that made Loki feel at home. The way you looked at him; gave him the sweetest and prettiest smiles he has ever seen. There was no hate in your voice, no disgust that he's been experiencing on a daily basis since he could remember. You actually treated him like a human being, despite everything he has ever done. There was only one person he knew with such a kind heart, and you reminded him of her; you reminded him of Frigga.

"You know..." Loki begun. "I feel like you are the only one that doesn't want to cut my throat or stab my heart with my dagger."

You smiled gently. "I think you deserve a second chance."

"And why is that?"

"This is a story for another time."

***

"Where do you think you two are going?" Tony asked when you and Loki approached the elevator. God of Mischief gave him a quick stare before pushing the button with an arrow pointing down. You turned your head to face Tony, who was making himself a coffee. "We're going on a walk." You answered with a smile on your face.

"It's almost midnight."

"Said a man with a cup of coffee in his hand." You chuckled. "We're going to be fine. He's a god, and I'm a demigod. Nothing bad will happen to us."

You knew that it wasn't you who Tony was worried about; he still didn't trust Loki. When you joined the Avengers, you were one of the youngest in the group. Fresh blood, you could say. Stark watched you growing from an impulsive, careless kid with ice powers to a deliberate adult, a demigod aware of her cryokinetic strength. Seeing you change over the years, he felt responsible for your life. Even if Man of Iron knew you could handle yourself, Loki was too powerful. Tony refused to believe in his change, and with it, he was afraid that the Trickster was purely playing with you. If only they saw Loki as you did.

A few minutes later, you two were strolling down the New York. Just you, Loki, and the subtle hum of the Hudson River that made your troubled hearts feel at peace. Slowly paced steps. Your knuckles barely brushing each other woke up armies of butterflies in your stomachs that went on war. If you were bold enough, you would grab his hand in yours and intertwined your fingers together, holding him like it was the end of the world. It was something you truly wanted from the moment Thor brought him into the group.

"So..." Loki cleared his throat. "If you want to, we can talk or, if not, we can walk in silence. It depends on you."

"I'm not ready, not yet... I'm sorry."

"Don't you ever be sorry for not being ready to talk about your feelings, Lady Y/N." Loki grabbed your wrist and made you stop your steps. "Ever, okay?"

Something was mesmerizing in his beautiful eyes and a worried smile. Something that made your heart beat faster; palms get sweaty and clammy. Something that made you agree to everything he said. It was like a trick, but not like the ones he did from time to time to piss of Thor or Tony. No.

You snapped out of it and nodded. "Okay." You said and took your wrist from his hand. You began to walk again with Loki by your side when he asked. "Lady Y/N. A few months ago, I had asked why I deserve a second chance. You'd never gave me an answer. I'd still like to know."

You smiled, looking at the tiny waves on the river. "I knew you'd asked that sooner or later. I think I can finally tell you why I think this way." Your eyes focused on his face now. "Okay... Let me tell you something. It's not a surprise that you've made some pretty bad decisions in your life, and you've hurt a lot of people. You think you're a monster, and you don't deserve to be loved. You were never more wrong.

"In this group, you probably won't find one spotless person. We are people that made huge mistakes. You don't have to look far." You grabbed his hand without thinking. It was an impulse that just felt right. "I was a reckless kid when I got these powers. No one was there to guide me through them, learn how to be in control. And to a bullied kid like me, it was something that made me feel better than others. I was the one on the top. With my mortal mum that couldn't handle the demigod kid and my godly father that had so many half-blood children he didn't give a shit about, no one could stop me. The bullied became the bully. I don't like to call myself that, but this is true. I went through hell, and I made sure they felt the same way. I'm not proud of it, but that is who I was.

"So you have me. And then there's former HYDRA's witch, a billionaire who made deadly weapons, former Russian spy, former HYDRA's most famous brainwashed assassin and etcetera. Welcome, you're just as messed up as we are. Being here with us is your chance to become a better man. You belong here, Loki. Trust me."

At that moment, something broke inside of him. For a second, he stopped being a mysterious, private God of Mischief that didn't want to let in anybody. He let go of all the concerns and worries that had been occupying his mind for far too long. He threw away the image of a monster he considered himself to be.

The words you spoke made him realize that as long as you were next to him, there was nothing he couldn't do. You were the key to his pure heart from the beginning. You were the answer he'd been looking for all along. You were the light that could sweep away the darkness that'd been consuming him from within, and he wanted you to shine beside him forever.

When Loki leaned over to your ear, all you could feel was his warm, shaky breath on your neck that sent the shivers down your spine. "Don't hate me for this." He whispered almost inaudibly as his hands found their way to your hips. His long, lean fingers quite roughly pressed onto your skin. Just like electricity, his touch pierced through your whole body, made your knees get weaker. Your senses were fogged, almost like you were under control. All you could focus on was how his mellowy soft lips felt against yours. The kiss was sweet and passionate, yet gentle at the same time. It wasn't hasty and rough like you'd expect it to be, no. There was something else, something special about it. It was Loki's way to describe every little feeling he had for you. Your adorable smiles you'd been giving him, slight touches you didn't even think he noticed, tea and sympathy. It was all for what he wanted to return the favor.

For a moment, you weren't sure if this was real. Was it just a pure imagination of your mind that was thirsty for love and affection? Or maybe it was a trick, fake reality that you'd fallen for so naively? No, it couldn't be. You could feel it. Feel your heart crazily pounded like it wanted to escape the cage in which it was held for far too long. It was the only thing that helped you stay sober.

You didn't want to stop this. You wanted to stay in this moment forever, scared that once it ended, it would never come back.

"Loki..." You started when you two pulled out to catch a breath. "I could never hate you for making my dreams come true."

The raven-haired man didn't say anything. In response, he wrapped his arms around your still weak body and brought you even closer, so there was no space left between you and him. You felt his chin gently placed on the top of your head. With a smile on your face, you embraced him tightly and snuggled your face onto his chest. All that you heard was his heart pounding fast in the same rhythm as yours, as the subtle hum of the Hudson River accompanied your feelings growing for each other at that moment.

tag: @handmaiden-of-mischief @amiechuchu

[theyreonlynoodlesmike]

hiya, this is my first time requesting smth and i dunno rlly how to go about it but i was wondering if you could do a fic where the s/o leads to bois to Hudson's bluff where theres a projector and a roll up whiteboard thingy set up, blocking the view and they make them sit down and starts to play a film that s/o recorded earlier of the sunrise since the bois cant go out in the sun. sorry if that was too long, i really like your writing and i think youre awesome :))

Thank you so much for the kind words and for the super cute idea!!! I hope you like it!!

One Last Look (Poly!Lost Boys x S/O)

Warnings: angst about being a vampire, angst about their human lives, yearning for a forgotten life, tooth-rotting fluff

Word Count: 1414

The boys had no idea as to what you'd set up, you'd made sure of that. It was somewhat difficult even convincing them to go somewhere without David's choosing, but you'd promised them a surprise. That was enough to, at least, pique Paul's interest, and the others knew that he wouldn't shut up until the surprise was revealed.

So, you'd taken them up the stairs and all the way up to the cliffs edge. Quickly, confusion dotted some of their faces when they saw the projector screen and the rest of your set up. You'd even gone through the trouble of bringing some beanbags and chairs up for the boys to use, and the blonde twins didn't hesitate to launch themselves into the bean bags you'd put side by side. David sat in one of the more rigid beach chairs, and Dwayne, given a choice between a bean bag and a beach chair, chose a bean bag. You smiled, dodging Dwaynes attempts to pull you into his lap as David asked,

"Now what?" And you tried not to roll your eyes at his tone. Really, he couldn't stand not being in charge for ten minutes? Well, you were sure that you were about to change his attitude. You pressed play, starting the projector, and then hurried to your seat. It was in the middle, between David and Marko, and you watched as your earlier film began.

***

The boys didn't like being kept in the dark, but they waited patiently as the show began. Paul had muttered something about it being a dirty movie, but Marko had immediately given him a glance. A dirty movie showing right on top of Hudson's Bluff? Yeah, no way.

Paul had scoffed, crossing his arms as he thought pointedly. Well, you never know. To the boy besides him. But, when the movie began to roll, they watched in confusion as the horizon right in front of them began to play. And then, the first bit of light peaked over.

The boys flinched out on instinct, with some of them even moving to push themselves out of their seats. But you reached for Markos hand, giving it an assuring squeeze.

"Hey, hey. You're okay." You said, and the boys looked between the screen and the world around them. The sunlight was false, it couldn't hurt them any more than the candles they used to light the cave could. Their eyes turned to the screen once more, fascination on them as the sun breached the skyline.

It'd been eighty years since they'd last seen a sunrise. Even then, some of them couldn't remember it.

Marko had always been an early riser. He'd seen his fair share, but after eighty years of fog? It was like looking at a faded photograph. The colors weren't right or the lines were hazy. Maybe certain parts of his memory were distorted. Or maybe all the memories of sunrises he held had blended together. But there was one thing he always remembered. The orange, yellow glow of the sun. He'd remembered that perfectly, and he stared silently as it climbed up the screen. He gripped the bag under him, kneading it as it climbed. He remembered waking up just to watch it, even sketching it in his young life. His fingers itched for his pencils then, and he bit his thumb to try to suppress the urge. He remembered how expensive pencils and paints used to be. How he'd save a week's wage, as he used to call it, just to buy some. How, even though they never said anything, the others used to stare at his brushes like they wished they were a loaf of bread instead. But he also remembered how his drawings used to brighten up their space, how they'd done the same thing to the cave below. He thumbed at his jacket, thinks about how, even after all these years, even after he'd forgotten why, he was still trying to bring color into their lives.

Paul had seen his fair share of sunrises when they'd been human, but that was usually while he was scrambling out of someone's bed, or scrambling out of his own to try to make it to whatever sorry excuse for a job he called work. He never paid much attention to the sky of the morning, but, in that second, he remembered how much he missed the feeling of the sun on his face. A sun that didn't burn his skin the second it touched it, but a sun that warmed him. He remembered mid-day, a breeze of memories he didn't even know he still retained. He remembered eating lunch inbetween shifts. He remembered being full, remembered the way his muscles used to burn and how good it felt to sit down and relax. Paul relaxed all the time, but he couldn't remember the last time, in his vampire life, it felt like relief. His muscles didn't ache, his brow didn't sweat, and he didn't feel the prickle in his feet after being on them for too long. He never even realized those things had been missing, and a small part of him missed the feeling.

During his human life, Dwayne had always paid more attention to sunsets, to the sight of the sun retreating behind the sky. To the oranges, reds, and deep purples that followed. He was used to the navy blue of the night sky. He'd been under it every night for years. But, seeing his first sunrise in nearly eighty years, he would've traded all of his sunsets for it. He wished he'd appreciated it more. He missed lying under the sun, even if it was just to tan. He missed having to tie his hair back to keep himself from overheating. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt hot, let alone even warm. Memories of him under the sun in the California desert floated in his mind. He thought he'd known what thirst was then. He laughed a little bit to himself, and he glanced over at you when you looked over to find the source of his laughter. He didn't explain, simply letting his eyes flick back to the screen. He stared, watching in silence as the sun rose on the screen.

David didn't know what to say. He didn't know if he should say anything. David had never been one for sunrises. He always got up the latest. He was practically nocturnal even when he'd been human, working through the night and spending the rest of the time worrying about the others. The switch to being a vampire hadn't been much of a change in his life, but it was only then that he realized what he'd been missing. Instead of having his thoughts float back to his old life, he glanced over at you. He wished he'd been able to be there with you, watch as it pulled over the horizon. That you didn't need to take a video, and instead you could've nudged him awake. He realized then that there were parts of your life that he'd always miss. Unless you became one of them. But, as he stared at the screen, David had his first inkling of doubt. He'd been so sure of it before. It'd been an obvious choice. As sure as the sun rising above the horizon each day. But now? His fingers itched for a cigarette. Anything to stifle and take his mind away from the thoughts swirling around his head.

***

You looked over at them. The boys had been silent ever since you started the movie, until it ended. When it did, you waited for them to speak. It took a moment, but David finally said,

"That was- You shot that?" He asked, and you nodded. He was quiet for another moment, and it unnerved you. For a moment, you thought that you'd done something wrong. That perhaps you shouldn't have. But Dwayne was quick to say,

"Thank you, y/n. Really." And the others were quick to chorus a mantra of the same.

It took a moment for you and the boys to clean up, but, just before you packed up the set-up, David had walked up to the screen. He reached out for the screen, and the others paused where they stood. It occurred to you then that they were getting one last look, before the five of you packed everything up and went to take it down to the cave.

[happyimagines]

Spider-Man: Peter/Reader

Hope you like it!

Author: Queen of Geeks

The sun had begun to set thus bringing out the city’s night life. As it did, I raised my arms above my head in a stretch. My eyes began watering from going back and forth between screens and books. College finals were coming closer with each passing day which meant that studying increased tenfold. The libraries were filling with students that were writing last minute papers or finalising their study groups to under the material. That left me and Peter to study in his apartment.

“Pete, I think I might just pitch myself into the Hudson.” I groaned rubbing my eyes.

Instead of response on how I should die more efficiently, there was a light snore. I looked at Peter who was lying on his stomach on the floor of his apartment. His arms were folded and he rested his head on top, his notebook open and pencil still in hand.

“Peter?” I asked joining him on the floor.

Gently, I put my hand on his back. I could feel his muscles under his t-shirt as he breathed in and out. My face grew warm as I remembered the day that I found out he was the webslinging vigilante. He had asked me to meet him in his apartment to study and instead I openedthe door to him with a bruised face and a bloody lip.

And in his Spider-Man suit. On the fifth floor.

“Hey,” He stopped and realised that he was still in his suit and quickly began to pull it off as he let me in.

“Hey?” I stepping into his apartment and stared at him as Peter ran into his bedroom to grab clothing. “You’re Spider-Man?”

“You were not supposed to find out!” He yelled from the other room.

“I figured! You’re injured, please let me you have a first aid kit somewhere in here.” I threw my bag on to his sofa and rushed to his bathroom where I had found bandages and rubbing alcohol.

Instead of studying, Peter let me clean the wounds that he had accumulated when he tried to stop an armed robbery. It went well until one of them shot him and he fell off the roof. Despite the growing worry I had, a part of me couldn’t help but stare at the way his muscles moved as he adjusted the way he sat.

“Peter?” I asked shaking him.

“Huh?” Peter opened his eyes and blinked slowly before he raised his head. “Oh, hey.” He gave me a sleepy smile.

“Hey, you fell asleep.” I pointed out. “Maybe we should call it a night, we have our first test tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” He yawned and sat up. I watched as Peter looked around the room realising that the sun was setting and it was growing darker and darker.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just tired. I don’t know what’s worse, villains in New York or thermodynamics.” Peter gave me a smile and I rolled my eyes.

“Thermodynamics. I want to jump into the Hudson to avoid it.”

“If you come back with some freaky powers, I’m going to have to fight you, you know that right?” He raised his eyebrows at me.

“Who said that I’d turn evil? We could be partners! Or I could kick your ass.”

“You really think you could kick my ass?” Peter leaned forwards and there was a teasing smile on his face. I opened my mouth to think of a response only to stop short when he licked his lips. “That’s what I thought.”

I laughed. “I need to get home, because if I can’t kick your ass in fighting, I want to be able to kick your ass with the final.”

I got to my feet and Peter quickly followed. I collected my things and shoved them into my backpack before pulling on my jacket.

“I’ll walk you home.” Peter said grabbing his own jacket. I shook my head.

“You don’t have to, you know I live two buildings down the street. You need some rest.”

“A lot of things can go wrong between here and there.”

“I’m going less than a street away. I’ll be fine.” I assured him.

“I still think that you shouldn’t go alone.”

I stopped and looked at Peter. “Let me guess, either Peter Parker walks me home, or I’ll get an escort from Spider-Man?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve assumed that you want to spend more time with me.”

Peter’s mouth dropped open as he tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t prove my point.

“I just want to make sure that you get home safe so that you can take your final tomorrow.”

“Okay,” I held out my hand to Peter who stared at it before taking it.

The two of us were met with a cool breeze as we stepped outside of the building. The beginning of the month had yet to bring warm weather that everyone expected for Spring finals.

“How are you feeling about the test?” I asked Peter as we began walking. I let my arm swing, his hand still in mine.

“Not too bad, my grade isn’t too bad, but this final could make or break it.”

“Peter, you are one of the smartest guys I know. If you fail this, there isn’t hope for anyone.”

“What about you? What if you fail it?” Peter raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, I’ll be okay. I’ll do great.” I shrugged my shoulders.

The two of us stopped when we had reached the steps outside of my apartment. The sun was still on the bring of setting below the horizon, and the moon was becoming more visible in the sky.

Despite the fact that we had reached our destination, I didn’t want to let go of Peter’s hand. And with the way that he gently squeezed mine, he didn’t want to let go either.

“You know, I’m getting kind of hungry.” I looked at Peter who smiled.

“Same. Maybe we could get something to eat before we go our separate ways?”

“See, I knew you just wanted to spend more time with me.”

[luxwritesfanfic]

Right Where You Left Me

Reader gets déjà vu in a way she never expected. Or, the one where Sherlock is the gift that never stops giving. AU!Bucky because he always has your back. Enjoy!

Author’s Note: There is a lot of angst and multiple different aspects that could be very triggering for some within this work. Please be mindful of the trigger warning below and if you see something that you feel should be listed, message me and I will edit accordingly!

Trigger Warning: Severe depression, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt (overdose), forced vomiting, talk of death in general, angst with a happy ending

Sherlock Holmes/Reader

You couldn’t really tell how long you’d been lying in bed for. Time was such a foreign concept to you now. It was either before the fall, when you were happy and he was with you, or after the fall, where you were all alone. You weren’t alone physically because your friends would never allow for that. Since the fall, you’d been staying in Sherlock’s flat, and Mrs. Hudson would always bring you a plate of whatever she was cooking and put it in the fridge. And like clockwork, she’d come every Sunday and clean the fridge out from where you didn’t touch any of the plates. She never seemed to mind, though, and she never stopped bringing you food.  

Bucky would come by every day and check on you and help you do things around the house. And by help you, he did everything for you. Mrs. Hudson would let him stay in John’s old room whenever he needed, and he’d make sure you showered and that your laundry was done. He would tell you he does this because he loves you and that even though you weren’t born his sister, you would die that way.

John had moved on and moved out and you were happy for him. Mary was lovely, and you wished you could move on with your life, but you couldn’t. You knew he was taking it just as hard as you and that you both just had different ways of coping with the pain.  

When you had to quit your job, Mycroft was immediately there and offered to take care of you financially. “Please, allow me to do this for you. It’s what my brother would have wanted. He couldn’t stand me when he was ali—here, so the least I can do is make him happy where he is now,” he said quietly. Pigs must’ve been flying in the window behind you because when you reached to hug Mycroft, he met you halfway. You cried nonstop for days after that.

You had tried to be better after the scare, not for you, but for your family. You don’t remember much from it, but you do know that no one brings it up around you and you haven’t been left alone for longer than a few hours since.

You woke up with your face propped up against something cool, but you could barely open your eyes to see where you were. Your stomach was in the most pain it had ever been in and everything around you sounded so far away. You remember being yanked back and fingers were shoved down your throat and someone, Bucky, was standing over you and holding you up saying through tears, “I know it hurts and I’m sorry, but you have to throw it up, Y/N. You have to. I can’t lose you, too.”  

Everything hurt and in between gags you could hear Mrs. Hudson crying and begging whoever was on the phone to get there faster. You had never heard anyone scream like that and you were sorry you were the one who caused it.

Even though you’d promised Sherlock he would never lose you, Fate stepped in and you lost him. When you thought about the turn your life had taken, you just told everyone you were keeping your end of the deal.  

Bucky knocked on your door and stuck his head in. “Mornin’, Y/N. I’m gonna start some laundry and make us some coffee and then I’ll be back, okay?” You could tell he was worried by the tone of his voice, but he did a good job of hiding it. You didn’t say anything back to it and he didn’t expect you to.  

Bucky came in a little later with some towels in his hand and a coffee in the other. “I know you’re not feeling real good today, so I was thinking I could wash your hair for you? You can just bend over the tub and I’ll do all the work. I’ve even been watching some videos on how to braid and then you won’t have to worry it matting up either.” He set the coffee down on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed next to you.  

By this point you were already crying into the pillow because how could the people in your life love you this much when you had nothing to offer them anymore?

“I love you so much,” you cried, and Bucky’s heart broke at the sound, “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry and I love you.”

He brushed the hair away from your face. His hands were warm, and it made you feel human again. “You don’t have to be sorry. I love you and I will take care of you for however long you need me to. God knows you would-- and have, done the same for me. So, let me wash your hair for you and I can tell you all about how Lestrade constantly shits on Anderson now as an eternal tribute.”  

You smiled and although it wasn’t full of life, he was just as happy to see it. You ended up just getting a shower and Bucky rushed next door to get you a sandwich in hopes that you’d eat for him, too.  

As you were brushing your hair out, you heard multiple voices. You heard Bucky, and he sounded… shocked? And then there was John and then just as you were about to reach for the door you heard it. You would know that baritone voice anywhere. Barging out of the bathroom and almost tripping over your own two feet, you came to a full stop.

“Sherlock?”  

There he stood in the middle of the room with John a few feet behind him, and Bucky with his back to you, seemingly always ready to protect you. It looked like him and it sounded like him, and hell, it even smelled like him. You couldn’t believe it.

“Y/N.” He went to make a step towards you but seemed to have think better of it. It was better if he assessed your reaction to seeing him first. It had been so long since he had last seen you and while he silently fought the raw want he had to hold you, he knew you were seeing red.

“I don’t even—I can’t-- can’t even comprehend this. Where do I start? Where the fuck have you been? You were dead, Sherlock! I watched you…” You squeezed your eyes shut, steeling yourself the best you could. You weren’t going to cry. You had too much to say. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw John and Bucky slip through the front door. You were sure that was their best bet.

Sherlock said nothing as you went off because there was really nothing for him to say. He understood why you were so mad with him, even if he wasn’t generally self-aware when it came to his own feelings, he wasn’t that daft. He had come prepared for this and he was going to make it right.

“No, you know what? Don’t say anything. I don’t even want to hear it. I have been fucking rotting in this flat while everyone else was able to move on with their lives. I was here, because I couldn’t live without you. My world stopped. I do nothing, Sherlock, nothing but sit and lay in your bed and cry into your old shirts!” You were yelling now, hands running through your hair as you tried to make sense of it all. Somewhere in the back of your mind you made a mental note to thank Bucky for making you get up and shower this morning.

“I quit my job, Sherlock. Mycroft has been paying to keep me alive and Mrs. Hudson and Bucky take turns to make sure I’m still breathing every other hour because they’re scared that if I’m left alone for too long, I won’t be. And poor John, I see him and start fucking bawling because then all I see is you. I stopped caring about everything, and everyone else, because the only person I cared about looked me in the eyes and walked off a fucking building!”

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but you quickly cut him off.  

“Seriously, don’t speak. You don’t get to just waltz in with John after all this time—you know what? There’s the million-dollar question. Was I the only one who didn’t know you were alive? Because so help me God, Sherlock, I’m this close to losing it.”

He didn’t know whether or not he should actually speak, but he took the cue after he started to physically feel the heat from the deathly glare you were giving him. You quite literally looked deranged but that didn’t stop him from taking a step towards you. He always seemed to chase danger, and you were no exception.

“No… you weren’t the only one. John only just found out a few weeks ago, and only a few select people knew the whole time.” Sherlock was careful with his words. He knew he was walking on thin ice.

You didn’t say anything to that, and Sherlock found that even scarier than when you were yelling.

“Hah, select people, huh? I like that one. So, where were you staying? Were you in London this whole time? Shit, you could’ve been downstairs for all I know. I guess I wouldn’t be a select person to know that, though, would I?”

Sherlock grimaced. Things were going worse than he imagined, and he already figured it would be pretty bad. That was an understatement. “I had to jump around often for everyone’s safety, but I stayed in London for the most part. I stayed with Molly when I could.”

You laughed in his face at that, and you clamped your hand over your mouth, turning your back on him lest you start laughing again. He watched you with furrowed brows and you knew he wanted to speak but you couldn’t do it right now.  You took a few steps towards the kitchen window and looked out at the bustling London streets beneath you. For months your world stopped, and it seemed so real when in reality nothing stopped at all.  

“Great, great. That’s so great. Splendid, really.” You murmured to yourself and perched your free hand on your hip. Drumming your fingers against your lips, you began again.  

“Bucky had to glue the windows down because he thought I was going to jump, and you were staying with Molly.” The tone of your voice was venomous and if looks could kill, Sherlock Holmes would be dead for real this time.

Sherlock winced. “Y/N, please, let me—” You cut him off, speaking louder this time. Your face was void of emotion, but your eyes betrayed you as the tears started to fall freely and your voice cracked under the weight of everything that was being said.

“Bucky had to glue the windows down because I thought I was going to jump, and you were staying with Molly! Damn you, Sherlock Holmes! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” You grasped at the kitchen counter to steady yourself as you gasped for air between the sobs that you couldn’t contain anymore. Your heart ached so badly that you actually clutched your chest, afraid that it was going to break through your ribcage and abandon ship. You could barely register Sherlock coming up behind you through your tears and as he willed you to face him, you noticed that his eyes were brimmed red and glossy. Even sad, Sherlock looked as beautiful as a doll.

“I always come when you call, why didn’t you come for me?” You cried, fisting your hands in his shirt so tightly that you thought heard buttons pop. Your head was swimming and you had never felt more betrayed in your life. How could Sherlock turn to anyone but you? Had you not made it clear that you would do anything for him?  

“I called for you every single night, Sherlock! Begged for you, mourned you, I—” The tears wouldn’t stop flowing and your voice was starting to crack from its sudden and harsh overuse.

It was then that Sherlock wedged himself so close to you that you didn’t even have the space to move your head and look up at him. A pair of strong arms wrapped around your back and you were being squeezed so hard to him that you thought you’d either die from a heart attack or suffocation. And even now at the hands of Sherlock, neither seemed that bad. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He whispered against your forehead again and again as if he was repeating a chant he had been practicing for some time.

“I love you so much and you didn’t even call! Why didn’t you call?” Your words were lost to the both of you now, spoken into his shirt and distorted by your sobs. Sherlock held you as you cried and tried to contain your shaking body against his as you let out months of sadness and pain and despair. You were so overwhelmed that you couldn’t think straight.  

“I know, I know you do, and that’s why I couldn’t call. I couldn’t call for you.” He held onto you as he spoke like you would disappear. Sherlock had decided before he even stepped foot into the flat that he would not lose you again. In his time away from you, he was subjected to feelings he could only describe as both love and heartbreak in equal measure. Being apart from you had left him feeling a void that nothing could fill, but it was his love for you that he relied on to keep you safe and away from him.  

Sherlock pulled back from you and while it was only by a few inches, you suddenly felt worlds away. You go to pull him back to you when he gathers your hands in his and leaves a trail of ghostly kisses along the spread of your knuckles.  

“I have never begged for mercy in my life…” He murmurs, eyes never leaving yours. He was determined; that much you could tell. Your eyes widened as he lowered himself to one knee, and then two. “Until now. I have hurt you in ways that are beyond comprehensible. Please, grant me the mercy I do not deserve to explain myself. I am willing to bare myself before you if you’ll have me.”

You were in shock at the sight of Sherlock on his knees before you. You had heard him apologize maybe twice in your time of knowing him and here he was, begging for you to hear him out. All you could do is nod.

You expected him to stand up again, but he sat in place and looked up at you with so much love in his eyes that felt all the anger you were harboring dissipate under his gaze. He took a deep breath and prepared himself. If you were ever going to forgive him, he knew that he would have to be honest. And he knew that if he was going to be honest, he would have to admit the feelings he had for you and hope that he could express them in a way that you could understand.

“There were constantly people watching you, and John, and pretty much everyone else who held any value in my life,” he explained, rubbing his thumbs over your fingers as he spoke absentmindedly, “they knew you would be suffering, they counted on that. And if you weren’t, they’d know something was going on. Your suffering had to be real, or else it wouldn’t have been believable. I didn’t want to keep you in the dark. But I had no choice. When I faked my death, I had some help. I stayed with Molly here and there because she already knew, and my relationship with her is is…different for ours.” He paused.  

You were hanging on every word he said. You could tell he was being sincere, and even though you were upset, you understood. If leaving Sherlock meant protecting him, you would do it too.  

He cleared his throat and started again. “Molly was a safer option. They would have expected less of a reaction from her. And if things were to go wrong…” Trailing off, Sherlock squeezed your hands. You knew what he was trying to say, and you didn’t dare breathe. “You were not someone I could lose. It couldn’t have been you. So yes, I stayed with Molly, but I worked constantly to make it so that I could come home to you.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. “Sherlock,” you whimpered, pulling him to his feet by his collar and back to you where he belonged. He followed suit quickly like he was reading your mind.  

For what seemed like the first time today, you were truly taking him in. He was just as beautiful as he was the day he left you. You reached up to brush away a stray curl from his eyes and smiled at the way he seemed to try and follow your touch.  

There were so many things that you couldn’t be sure of, but this is something you’d always know to be true. You loved Sherlock, terribly, terribly, so. If loving him was the only purpose you ever found in this lifetime, you would be sure not to fail him.

You were lost in other when the sound of footsteps climbing up the stairs drew your attention. Sherlock followed your gaze as you watched John enter the flat from the living room.

“Is everyone okay up here? There was a lot of yelling and then it got pretty quiet…” As he rounded the corner to the kitchen, he stopped in his tracks at the sight of you braced against the counter with a small amount of space between you and Sherlock that he must’ve recently graced you with because you could barely move before. His hands rested on your hips and your hands had found solace on his shoulders. John looked like a deer caught in headlights before he covered his eyes with his hands and made to walk back out, determined not to ruin the moment that all of London was waiting on.

“Fuck, I’m sorry! Don’t mind me, pretend I was never here!” He called out as he dashed back down the stairs so quickly you thought he had fallen and you were sure you heard him say to someone, “I told you so!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the whole situation and when you looked back at Sherlock, you realized he was already looking at you. Even after everything today, you still caught yourself feeling nervous under his heavy gaze.  

“So, it’s okay when you stare but not when I do?” You teased, hoping that he couldn’t see the blush you could surely feel. Sherlock squinted his eyes at your comment as if he didn’t understand what you meant but gave you a devilish smile all the same.  

“I’m sorry.” He wasn’t. “But you are confirming that you do stare at me, right?”  

You were torn between smacking the smirk off his face or kissing it, whatever compelled you the most and right now it was a tie. Rolling your eyes, you brought your hands down to his arms and gave them a squeeze. Not even realizing you were thinking out loud, you whispered something about having déjà vu. This caught Sherlock’s attention, and he moved tiniest bit closer to you. “Déjà vu? How so?”

Cursing yourself under your breath, you laughed and dipped your head down between the two of you, laughing at how ridiculous all of this was. “Jeez, it’s been years now. I had the most realistic dream that’s stuck with me all this time.”

Sherlock tsked at you and moved to bring your head back up so that he could properly see your face. He cupped your cheeks and in the most familiar way and just like in the dream, you were breathless.  

“Go on,” he urged, voice like velvet, “tell me what happened in your dream.”

You all but melted under his gaze. Sherlock, in any form, would always have this effect on you it seemed. His thumb brushed along your lower lip as his own parted. Physically he was with you, but mentally he was far away committing this memory to only a place he could see.

“Use your words. I’m paying raft attention, aren’t I?” Once again you thanked Mrs. Hudson and her choice in countertops because if it was any less sturdy you were sure you would collapse and bring him down with you. On second thought—

Any coherent thought was lost to you when Sherlock nosed your cheek, and you couldn’t help the gasp that left your lips or the words after.

“I told you I loved you, Sherlock. That’s what happened in the dream.” Your words were spoken so quickly in the effort to chase after his lips but he held you still, waiting and wanting in front of him.  

You whined like a child. None of anything that happened today was fair to you, but one kiss and you would forgive all of London for keeping your detective’s secret.

“Well, I guess the only proper response to that is for me to tell you that I’ve loved you for ages, my dear girl.” He smiled against your skin and you thought that this was it. You had officially lost your last marble, and this was the delirium finally setting in. You welcomed the insanity happily.

“Say it again, please. I need to hear you say it again.” You begged, everything hitting you at all at once.

“I love you,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. “I love you, and it’s only ever been you. It couldn’t be anyone else but you. You…didn’t you know that?” His eyebrows rose up and you stopped him in his tracks. That was Sherlock for “are you dumb?”

It was then that you decided you were done with talking before he had the chance to say anything smart. You pulled him down to you so quickly that you missed the shock that flashed in his eyes when your lips finally met. After years of yearning and pining for the man in front of you, you finally had him right where you wanted him. There were so many things you wanted to say to him, but no words would express how you truly felt about him and lucky for you, Sherlock was more of a hands-on learner.  

When you finally broke apart, you got to admire the man of your every hour in all his glory. The mussed hair and kiss swollen lips really added to his already suave look and you couldn’t help but smile like an idiot. “You’re handsome. So handsome, seriously, it should really be a crime. I can finally tell you that without any shame.”

He returned your smile tenfold, and you thought if you could make his eyes crinkle like that just one more time in your life that it would be a life well lived. He acted as if he was mulling your statement over, rolling his bottom lip between teeth. “You could’ve mentioned it before. It might’ve helped me make my deductions much sooner.”

You slapped him on the shoulder but then worked on smoothing his shirt out while he watched you with a gentle fondness that he reserved just for you. You still had so many questions that you wanted answered but you knew those could wait. Something had been generous enough to answer your most asked prayer and you weren’t about to be ungrateful for even a second.  

Placing one last (for now) kiss on his cheek, you led him to the door to the flat and swung it open. “Hey, has Mrs. Hudson seen you—”

As if on perfect cue, Mrs. Hudson shrieks so loudly that any bad memory you have of her yelling is now a good one.

“Sherlock!”

[turnaroundroundround]

Opera References in Musical Yuukoku no Moriarty Op. 2

Some thoughts of mine after re-watching Morimyu Op. 2, regarding Irene's arc A Scandal in British Empire, about all the opera references and some random thoughts that come to mind during this arc. Obviously there's a lot more to Morimyu Op. 2, for instance The Two M's and Mycroft's solo (which I often refer to as "the Mycroft Anthem" lol), the entire Baskerville arc, and the train arc, and so on. And there's a whole lot of other things I'd like to discuss about them as well, but maybe just save it for another time. I don't know if anyone has discussed these references before, and I am not entirely a pro in music either. All I have is some basic knowledge on opera and harmony, so these are just some personal impression that came to mind when I watched this arc, so please keep it in mind.

A SCANDAL IN BRITISH EMPIRE

Okay, so the biggest motivation for this post is, obviously, the music throughout the entire Scandal arc. It is heavily influenced by opera, partly because Irene herself is an opera singer, partly also because the masquerade ball itself is also a perfect stage for an opera to be shown. And the opera was not simply brought in to make the music sound good, but also utilising the plot of the opera itself to create more depth and color to the musical. About Opera during the 19th Century Some side notes. Opera has originated and developed from various different kinds of stage ever since the Greek and Romans. I'm not going into details but anyway, by the 19th Century, it's still somewhat of a luxury that is mostly meant for nobles and people with high status. There are millions of stories about nobles coming to the theatre only to enjoy the music and not the play itself, or not really watching anything but waiting to see their favourite opera singer. Like when the other things in the play are going on, they stay in there box or hang out with other nobles, playing cards and all, and when their favourite singer makes her debut, they come to the front of the box and watch her. Then they return to their games when she exits. All the luxuries. Opera is really something that is meant for nobles and those with nothing but time and money on their hand back then. And another thing is (with an image that I quickly searched on Google just now lol) back them before any stages there is always a pit for the orchestra to be in. They are just below the stage so that the music can still reach the audience as equally, but also low enough that they aren't in the way of the audience's view.

By the way, the role of the conductor and stage director back then was somewhat a blur (if I remember it correctly), as the music writer would very often himself direct the entire stage and become the conductor on the performance day. In case something goes wrong, such as actors need more time to adlib, then he knows how to direct the orchestra to play accordingly. It's quite a small detail, but in Op. 3 Liam also refers to himself (yes this is still about Yuumori lol) as the maestro, somewhat very similar to the role of the conductor himself. This reference, as we can see, shows Liam's role behind the scene conducting all the plots and instructions. It's quite a small detail I think, but also quite interesting

By the way, the leading singer, or Prima Donna (as they call Irene), are always sopranos. And the same goes for Irene Adler, all of her songs were written to highlight her soprano voice, like in 大作戦ーDaisakusen or her song with Ms. Hudson

An example from a song that I was reminded of when listening to Cecile!Irene. Of course there are many other songs we can talk about, this is just one of the examples.

Obviously, Irene's song aren't entirely like classical opera songs. They were all arranged to both highlight the opera feature, but also to suit the form of the musical and all the while showing Irene's elegant and gracious manners of a prima donna, and also showing her playful side especially during her duet with Sherlock.

YAMI NO OPERA - DON GIOVANNI BEHIND THE CURTAIN

To understand Don Giovanni references, it's essential to understand the story behind the original opera by Mozart. That being said, the actual plot of the story is quite long and contains so many details it's almost impossible to fit all of them into one post while also comparing them with the one in Morimyu, so this is a link to a more detailed synopsis of the opera. Or you can also read more on wiki. I'll just give some basic details that are referenced and discussed in this post. Overall impression: This opera revolves around a playboy that flirts with women, but lacking in loyalty and commitment to keep any of his promises to them. By the end of the play, after all the sin he has committed, Don Giovanni is engulfed in hell's fire, and punished for his sin. It is very much similar to the story in Morimyu, nobles relying on their wealth and status and have the freedom to do anything as they want, without having to worry about having to bear the consequence. Because of the difference in power and status, it is almost impossible to punish all of them, therefore having a need of a "demon" to punish them with powers that no human have - the role of Moriarty gang within the play.

In this arc, Liam is "directing" a play that is inspired by Don Giovanni. His audience is Irene Adler (and of course us who is watching the entire thing), and the main character is Lorinson who ends up being punished for his crime. Mozart's Don Giovanni is being performed on stage, but at the same time Liam's "Don Giovanni" happens, in the back stage. What we are watching as the main stage is actually the "back stage" of the real story.

In the original play, Don Giovanni was a playboy that flirts with many women. At the beginning of the play, he flirts with a woman called Donna Anna, and her father tried to defend his daughter. They got involved in a duel and Don Giovanni killed the man. Donna Anna mourns and wish to avenger her father.

In Morimyu, the story of Lord Lorinson (pardon me for not knowing both the translation of his title and his name) is added in spite of the original plot in the manga. As far as my Japanese comprehension goes, the story is that Lord Lorinson is also one that uses his status to abduct other women to his pleasure, and ends up treating them poorly.

At one point, a woman came to the Lord of Crime, saying that her daughter has been murdered by the noble and mourns her. She wishes for revenge, and Liam proceed to do so.

Don Giovanni - Act I Finale

During Moran and Louis' fight with Raymond(?), in the section behind the stage we can see the opera theatre with the Finale song going on. The ensemble is still singing as the fight goes on behind them.

In the Finale of Act 1 here, the section that was insert into Morimyu was rather short, and was meant for a dramatic effect than actually showing what's happening in the original opera anyway. But anyway, we can see that as the fight proceeds, the curtain behind also slowly closes, ending the first Act of the opera.

It's clearer here. We can see that as they are fighting there is an entire opera going on at the back. The fact that the ensemble has their back to the audience emphasises how everything we're seeing are all in the backstage, but at the same time it proceeds alongside with all the events in the "mainstage". It's quite a powerful image.

At one point in the opera, Don Giovanni attends a party where he met one of his previous lovers that he betrayed. Then there's some talking and such and more betrayal, and somehow he then decides that he would also flirt with his ex's maid.

There isn't much that I have to say with this reference in the play, only that it is actually Fred disguising as a maid for the purpose of carrying out the plan and scared the sh*t out of Lorinson lol

I couldn't catch all the details from their conversation, but apparently Fred did some kind of stand-in again as the victim who was murdered by Lorinson, also to provoke him and lead him into Liam's trap?

At the end of the opera, Don Giovanni was cornered by the 'devil', drowning him in the flames of hell. However before that happens, the women that Don Giovanni once flirted with (as well as Donna Anna whose father was murdered by Don Giovanni) gathered, chasing after Leporello - Don Giovanni's servant - who exposed him of his guilts and sins.

The song that the women sung in this scene is "Ah, dov'e il perfido?", and there is a very small section at the end of the song that was kind of re-arranged and added to Morimyu. In Morimyu, this is the scene when Lorinson is exposed of what he is done, after that being "punished" by the devil. There is also a scene in the play when Liam mentions 地獄の炎 - Jigoku no Hono (The Flames of Hell) which is a direct reference from the original Don Giovanni. In fact, what he has been telling Lorinson is the story of Don Giovanni and how he ends up being punished - only that when Lorinson realised that, it's already too late.

(A reference from the song in the original play, the section that is used in Morimyu is actually quite short, only starting from around 5:40 within the song in this video)

In Yami no Opera, the song is arranged with Liam's part of the melody above the entire harmony. So it is indeed a proper opera that "Liam" has based on re-arranged to carry out his plan.

While Don Giovanni is happening on stage, there is also another "Don Giovanni" being punished by the devil - Lorinson. We hear part of the original song from the ensemble in the background, and also Liam's version of the punishment along with Lorinson's struggle. And at the same time the ensemble does seem to be focusing on "Don Giovanni" - all of them looking towards Liam's and Lorinson's position. A really impressive scene.

And after that very short section, the play goes on, returning their focus back to Irene Adler and Albert's conversation. There is no "Flames of Hell" erupting in any ways except for Liam's really strong section of the Yami no Opera song. And there's no need for it, I think, as Lorinson has never been the real protagonist like Don Giovanni. Liam only made him a temporary "protagonist" and not solely for the purpose of exposing him, but only as a mean to show Irene the true identity of the Lord of Crime. So there is no point making it more dramatic than it already is.

So...

That's pretty much all that I have to say about Don Giovanni and opera's reference, I think?

Well another thing, maybe, is how much I love the instrumental arrangement for violin and piano in Morimyu. They don't have the privilege of having an entire orchestra, but instead they did as much as they could for the instruments so that they recreate the original opera vibe as well as they possibly can. And the result is, just, extraordinary.

Anyhow, I've heard many of my friends comparing the songs from Op. 2 and Op. 3, seeing that Op. 3 has more of a "flow" in between the songs as all of them were written with harmony such that they have a certain connection to each other.

Not that Op. 2 doesn't do the same thing. However the second Opus does feel more separated, I think, since the music in the 3 different arcs are much more different. For instance the Baskerville arc has a "hunting" vibe to it, describing Moriarty gang's plan to bring down the nobles' game of hurting children, while the final Scandal arc revolves around an opera singer and mostly happens within a masquerade ball. So there is a big difference between the scenes, and obviously a big difference in the music brought to them as well.

Aaaand, that's pretty much all the details I've picked up (and remembered lol) up to this point.

Anyway, I've been watching and re-watching all 3 Opus of Morimyu many times, each time firguring out something else that I haven't noticed before. So if I end up realising some other details within this arc, maybe I'll come back and add to this post.

Thank you for reading ヽ(・∀・)ﾉ

Also, thank you @rikaaki for these beautiful gifs(☆▽☆)

[alicepao13]

Hudson and Rex S04E07 - A Stab in the Dark Web Part B

"We've got a surveillance team in place." That's great. Will you remember this in a few hours? Will they, even? Why were they so "discreet" as to let Eva near Charlie's laptop when they knew she shouldn't be on it?

Sarah is not jealous AT ALL. Nope. Not picking up anything.

"I'm so going to take advantage of this information."

Like, how can I not pin this on the whole team? Joe suggested that Charlie's place was the best place for Eva to be in, when they already thought that they were compromised, which meant that they should have assumed their home addresses were compromised as well. Charlie leaves Eva alone at his house so that Rex can go pee instead of calling either Sarah or Jesse to take him out, which would leave one cop in the van and one guarding Eva, instead of having two in the van (which helps at nothing) and zero in the house. Then we have the house which is supposedly under surveillance by Jesse and Sarah, supposedly watching, but they don't alert Charlie to the fact that Eva touched his laptop. Once Charlie realizes that she's done that, he takes her explanation at face value and doesn't ask Jesse to check his laptop.

The graphic for the disappearing chat messages on the dark web is fun.

I've had some contact with libertarians over the years, more than I'd personally like. All the talk about revolutions and whatnot, and their fondness for the dark web are indeed real. When crypto had first risen, lots of them were salivating at the idea of an unregulated and anonymous form of currency, and even more when they discovered private cryptocurrencies (which supposedly offer an extra layer of anonymity). It's funny, though, that they thought even for a bit that governments and banks would let them do that. Anyway, what I want to say is that Joe wouldn't know how to talk to that person at all. But let's disregard that.

"I can't believe that I left her with a laptop and she opened it! I said no electronics!"

And then he gives her his phone too. Forget Sarah, why didn't Jesse burst into the house?

It's true that the way some drugs are regulated actually hinders some people who could benefit from them, instead of helping. Still, in that moment, Eva is pretty much selling a sob story to Charlie, which isn't even the whole truth since she also needed those drugs for herself, to try to get him on her side.

This is a very appropriate distance.

Sarah looks like she'd fallen asleep and just woke up for the good part. Which would actually make more sense than whatever they were doing in the van with Jesse.

First time I watched this I was like, eh, let the guy kiss someone if it's not Sarah. I hadn't realized he was entering his slut era. Also, yeah, Sarah, they are, this is a very astute observation.

And Jesse is entering his pervert era.

I can't decide if he was thinking "I'm so screwed" or "I wonder if Sarah is watching".

I love that Rex is thoroughly disappointed by that development. Rex was all of us in S4.

And then the ninjas attacked. I'm assuming our surveillance is too busy watching the Charlie Hudson show to see the guy approaching the house?

Dude had knives everywhere. Charlie was lucky he wasn't hit (and I was unlucky).

"I'm having a really bad day. Thank you for letting me get off some steam."

This is the only slightly disapproving look I can find. I mean, given the circumstances, she could have said something.

What a plot twist! She lied and she used you, Charlie. Also, again, where were the rest of you when she was using Charlie's laptop?

More bad news.

I... have questions. Like, where did the paramedics go? Did she make them abandon the ambulance? And was that before or after she tied Rex to the stretcher? This scene was executed sloppily.

Congratulations, you finally figured out why he wouldn't leave Eva's side. I think that played a part in Charlie trusting Eva.

Their brilliant ideas to subdue an angry guard dog is: pet behind the ears, put jazz music... Are you kidding me? At least Jesse thought of food.

I feel like they should have made Mercurius seem more scary and money-hungry or even power-hungry.

In which season?

Sorry, that's just funny. I really don't think he's ever made the first move.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Oh god, he still doesn't get it. Because it was easier for her to manipulate you when you didn't have all the facts!

Bold of you to assume that Charlie would follow, but he's definitely not at his best. This is actually using Rex as Charlie's weakness, unlike the previous episode. Although I don't think Charlie should risk that jump regardless. Also, really, a dog wouldn't have made it? I find that hard to believe, they seem like better jumpers than humans. And have more legs.

Yeah, even at his worst, he will do the right thing.

Oh, yeah, we forgot all the hitmen that might come for her. Whoops.

The more they show that cliff, the more confident I become that Rex would have survived it and Charlie wouldn't.

Angst.

Joe: "There's nothing you or any of us could have done." Except for your jobs, but better?

Poor Charlie. He's definitely not okay. I wish they'd written something deeper about what's wrong with him.

And this is Eva letting Charlie know that she made it and even had time to hack the app to let him know that she's okay.

I like this episode but it always makes me think of what it could have been if it was another show, another production and another network involved.

Once again, I'd like to focus on the fact that after a certain point in the episode where it becomes clear that Charlie's head is not in the game, no one says anything about it. No one pulls him back, no one asks if he's okay or even what the fuck he's doing. I guess they keep all the second-guessing for the last episode of the season. Charlie tried to do his job until the very end but I think the distractions were just too much for him and they're indicative of his state of mind.

And they all made mistakes. I still don't know where to pin the surveillance failure, there were two people in the van. They should have intervened in two separate instances, one to take the laptop away from Eva and one to intercept the masked guy who also might have strolled right next to the van. Am I to presume that they put cameras inside the house and not outside? Where they suspecting Eva more than they suspected someone would show up to kill her? In both cases, they failed.

Again, this less than stellar performance from our characters is a great reason for Adele to show up and say that they need more oversight. But some part of this would have to make it to the reports for that to happen.

I've written thoughts on this episode before. I'd pointed out that Eva notices some sort of kinship and attraction between her and Charlie and she tries to use them to her advantage. Which is why the morality of their kiss is more complex than it seems at first glance. At first glance it might seem like he's the one taking advantage. He's not. Is it still wrong that he let her kiss him, and from the way the scene is shot, for several seconds too? Yes. But I remember from the first moment this episode came out, reading about how he was in a position of power. And in that scene, to me, he always comes off as... powerless. Lost.

I understand the contradictory opinions this episode causes. Personally, I like the episodes where there is an upset. We have too many episodes where everything feels like another day on the job, and it doesn't seem to affect them in either way and the repercussions begin and end in that episode. In this one we do see Charlie visibly upset. I'd have liked to see the rest of the team more worried about him or even frustrated and not understanding his predicament. I'd have liked friction more than getting a mention in the finale. There was something there worth exploring.

I'll say again that it would have been a much better storyline to write something about depression or PTSD for Charlie rather than heartbreak throughout the season. Or a combination. He has been through a lot. Maybe I'm asking again too much of this show and this belongs to fanfictions.

[lupismaris]

Blackberry Crepes- silverflintham black sails modern au ficlet

(i saw a few posts about how love is sharing food and making breakfast for your loved ones and lets just say this is part 1 of a series in which Flint cooks for his loved ones when saying i love you might not be enough)

Sleep was something of a stranger to Silver. He liked to joke that he didn’t need it, that he could just cat nap for half an hour here and there, and be good for a few days, that he was just built different, the perks of life on the run and never having a real routine. But in truth he’d push himself until his body gave out and he slept for 18 hours and woke up feeling like death warmed over. That was the only way he’d be able to get any real sleep. Pushing himself to the point of exhaustion, or, as he had eventually learned with Flint and Thomas, getting well and truly laid until his brain shut off and his body felt like lead.   He preferred the latter, of course, but it still wasn’t something he felt he could readily ask for. Especially when it wasn’t enough to keep his mind quiet. Dreams, nightmares, they’re funny things. You can think you’re too tired to dream and then on your way into an REM cycle you get blind sided by the most vivid night terror you’ve had in the past three months. You could be napping on the couch when the phantom limb starts acting up and your mind conjures memories of when you lost it or just vague ideas of what life would be like if you hadn’t and you wake up unable to tell which is worse. You could be strung out and coming down from an orgasmic high and then feel your stomach drop when you finally fall asleep and your mind tells you it isn’t safe, jolting you violently back to consciousness. Or you could be dozing in the early morning hours, the way Silver had been, after a good night, a genuinely good night, and find yourself halfway between deep sleep and waking, faced with fears you’d buried so far deep you hoped they’d suffocate. They’d gone to dinner, on a date even. Flint and Thomas had made a point to be home and get dressed up and take him out on the town and pay complete attention to him, like he was just a normal lover and not, well, himself. It was still an adjustment for him, this idea that he could just have this, a normal relationship with men who actually wanted him, where using each other wasn’t part of it, where the end game wasn’t someone’s bank account or an act of violence, where there wasn’t even an end game to consider. By the end of July the charms of summer had started to wear thin, even for Silver, and he was tired of the heat and the mirror like cage of the city, he was tired of the long days and the long conversations and the longer shadows on the blistering asphalt. He was tired of the haze that made his mind question what was and wasn’t real, despite knowing what was. It left him on edge and he knew Flint could tell, no matter how hard he worked to hide it. If Thomas knew, he was at least polite enough not to give it away. Dinner had been lovely. A little Spanish place by the promenade, followed by a short walk since the evening was cooler than expected and a breeze of the Hudson meant it was almost blissful. There had been wine and Flint’s homemade limoncello tarts when they got home and endless lazy kisses and one of them always touching him as if trying to keep him tethered. There had been sex, great sex, not that Silver had ever had bad sex with the pair of them (the smug rotten bastards), but the kind where Silver had been able to let go and drown in it for a while, let someone else carry the load, and do the thinking for a while. It still hadn’t been enough.

Silver sighed, a cloud of smoke curling around his face as he watched the rooftops shift and glimmer in the faded teal skies of four am, his second cigarette of the hour dangling somewhat carelessly from his fingers. He had tried, valiantly he felt, to stay in bed with Flint and Thomas, to sleep curled up with them the way Flint always hoped he would after sex. Some nights it worked and he’d wake up when Flint went for his blasphemous morning run. Most nights though he’d wait until Thomas was out cold and snoring like a bear, then kiss Flint goodnight, and slip back to his room next door. He’d fallen asleep tucked into Flint’s chest, with Flint’s arm around him and the deep rumble of his breathing filling his ears. Thomas was spooned up behind Flint, clinging to his husband like a child and snoring loudly, but that too was somehow comforting. He was safe, he was loved, he was home. And suddenly the next thing Silver knew he was choking on nothing and fighting the air, sitting bolt upright in bed with a wordless, noiseless scream of fear. The only saving grace was that it didn’t wake the others, Thomas still sound asleep and curled up under the covers, Flint spooned up behind him, years younger in sleep, a different man. Silver had sat there shaking for some time, half an hour, five minutes, he couldn’t be sure. Once he could breathe without wheezing and his hands had stopped shaking violently, he steadied himself and slipped out of bed, grabbing his crutch from where it rested dutifully against the nightstand. There wasn’t much he was good at in life, but John Silver had always been good at running. This wasn’t any different. Now, he was wrapped in an old blanket, hidden away on the roof where he’d been putting together his own little makeshift garden. Plants that he’d found half dead or dying on the curb, abandoned succulents from friends, houseplants he found on discount at the hardware store that he’d barter down to a dollar. He liked the distance heights gave him, always had, was always climbing things as a kid to try and get a better view, try to hide away from prying eyes. It was harder now that he had the prosthetic, but the elevator could take him up to the loft, and the stairs to the roof weren’t too steep, so he could manage them with his crutch. It wasn’t that he didn’t love the little patch of green paradise that Flint and Thomas had nurtured down below, he loved it and the time they spent there. But this- this little scrap of roof top, with it’s homemade shelves of plywood and resurrected plants, was his. Silver took another drag from his cigarette and watched a flock of pigeons shift their course in flight, heading west towards Manhattan where the morning crowds were no doubt slowly beginning to stir. Even on Saturdays, the city got a bright and early start if it ever truly decided to rest. He could hear tidbits of conversation from his perch, voices carried up to him like secrets as their owners walked past, heading home from work, from a night out, leaving home to go to work, whatever their little lives demanded, existing in spite of themselves, for themselves. Cars hummed past, cabbies and uber drivers trying to catch the last of the club goers as they left the bars in search of a trip home, picking up the true early bird tourists as they tried to beat the others to some absurd event or another. He could even hear music, someone’s window open on their block he thought, and the faint repetitive sound of a piano as they worked through their scales. Maybe he wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping. The neighborhood would be well and truly awake soon. The running group would be on the corner waiting for the stragglers, hitting the asphalt by five am. The store fronts and bodegas would start opening up around six, the bars by eight if they served brunch, and the world would come to life at Silver’s feet. He had until then to quiet the noise in his head and remember how to put his mask back on. The sound of the door nearly gave him a heart attack. He thought for a moment that maybe, if he kept still, he’d go unnoticed, they the sparse shelves and plants and the blanket might hide him well enough that Flint, because it was always Flint, would go back down stairs and go for his morning run and leave him well enough alone. But he knew better. “Do I want to know how long you’ve been up here?” came the sleep heavy rumble of a voice. “Depends on whether you want to be disappointed this early in the morning,” Silver replied dryly. And there it was, the telltale sigh of disappointment, because Flint was going to be disappointed no matter what answer he got. “Silver-” “I don’t want to do this right now.” “Do what?” Silver sighed and rubbed at his eyes. He heard Flint move across the roof, the soft footsteps of bare feet on the weatherproof matting slow and well chosen, stopping next to him. “This thing you do where you try and bully answers out of me. I don’t fucking feel up to these games, alright? I just- I don’t,” Silver said, risking a look upwards. Flint was shirtless, as he always was when fresh out of bed, but he’d pulled on a pair of old sweatpants before going to look for Silver. He’d left his hair loose, the rich copper strands hanging in a curtain around the left side of his face, the shaved under cut peaking out along the right. Silver could still see the pillow prints on his cheek, and his beard was disgruntled and unbrushed the way it rarely was when he left the house. Silver loved him like this, he loved Flint always, but there was something about Flint like this, soft and at ease, bare chested and vulnerable that managed to settle even the worst of Silver’s deep seated insecurities. Because who else got to have Flint like this? Who else but Silver and Thomas got Flint at his gentlest? They looked at each other for a moment, Flint frowning softly with his hands on his hips and Silver wrapped up in his blanket, saying nothing, saying everything they could. Then Flint sighed and sat down next to him. “I’m not here to bully you,” he said gently, taking the cigarette that Silver was neglecting. “You were gone when I woke up, thought I’d check on you,” He paused, relighting the cigarette with his trusty old lighter, “but as you were not in your room I figured something was bothering you and you’d be either working in the office or up here.” “You didn’t have to check on me.” “It was for my sake, not yours.” Silver smiled faintly, his eyes stinging from what he hoped was just exhaustion but was probably tears. He didn’t look at Flint, just blinked them away and watched the sky lighten little by little as Flint finished the cigarette. “You know that’s not what I’m doing, right?” Flint asked after a few minutes of silence. “Whats not what you’re doing?” “Bullying you.” “I mean it’s kinda what you do.” “Is that how you see it?” Flint wasn’t looking at him. He was reaching for the French enamel cigarette case that was sitting next to Silver, one he’d stolen in Monaco several lives before, and lighting another cigarette. Silver watched him, a little wistful, and incredibly exhausted all at once. “No.” He said. “Yes. Depends on when you try and do it I guess.” That got a low hum from Flint, smoke filling the air for a moment in a pensive cloud. Silver waited, oddly tense, hoping that Flint would listen to him, and not try and play one of their fucked up little games so early in the morning. They were doing really well these days, not playing any games at all, having real, honest conversations like well adjusted adults who hadn’t done all the awful things they’d done, to each other, to others. But sometimes it was so much easier to just be awful to each other, to fall back into the old way of doing things. “I only check on you to know you’re still here,” Flint said finally. “I only ask if you’re alright because if I can fix it, I want to. I don’t care if you lie to me about what had you out of bed this morning. I don’t give a shit if you never tell me the names of your ghosts, I’ve told you that a dozen times, I know you remember that as well as you remember the names of my own ghosts.” Silver did remember, both the ghosts, and the plaintive way Flint had asked him to trust whatever it was they had between them. “I just want to know you’re still here. That you’ve not gone running off again. That you’ll run to me next time this,” he waved at the rooftop and the skyline as if encompassing all of Silver’s faulty coping methods, “fails and you’re out at sea. I just- I ask those questions to reassure myself, alright?” He paused, taking another drag from the cigarette, tipping his head back with a heavy sigh. Silver could see the age starting to show on his face again, in the soft lines around his eyes, the firm set of his mouth, the scars on his nose and throat, the endless sea of freckles, the faded ink of his tattoos, the streaks of gray in his beard. Before his eyes, the man he loved, his Flint, was appearing, returning to flesh and blood from the land of dreams. “You’re not the only one who’s scared, pup,” Flint added, finally turning his head and catching Silver looking at him. The sea green of Flint’s eyes always seemed to hook Silver, regardless of whether he wanted them to. They could be the deep inky black full of secrets or the still gray of quiet waters, it didn’t matter- if Flint looked at him, soft and open and endlessly patient the way no one else was, Silver would eventually break. Flint knew it, but so far, he never seemed to abuse the power he held. Silver smiled faintly. With a soft groan he shifted onto his knees, loving the way Flint’s hands immediately reached to steady him whether he needed it or not, and crawled into Flint’s lap, straddling his hips and wrapping the worn blanket around them both. He took the cigarette from Flint’s lips and stubbed it out in the ashtray, as Flints hands settled like an anchor, warm and sure, at the small of his back. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, old man,” Silver said, brushing Flint’s hair out of his eyes, “I promised you were stuck with me. No amount of nightmares are gonna change that.” He kissed Flint softly, smiling at the low rumbling purr it got him, at the way Flint’s hands pulled him closer, spread wide on his back. It was a soft, innocent thing, no heat, no hunger, and that too was still something novel to Silver, that he could have this innocent kind of intimacy with someone, with a man like Flint. He craved it as much as he craved the wilder side of love and was grateful that Flint seemed happy to satisfy both moods whenever they arose. “Good,” Flint said, once the lazy kiss broke and Silver tucked his face into Flint’s shoulder with a happy sound. “Because while I would absolutely give chase, I’d rather not have Thomas trailing after us as well. You know the kind of trouble he gets up to, just imagine him trying to find you.” Silver snorted with an undignified burst of laughter. “No, god, he’d be impossible.” “Exactly. I’d have my hands full just trying to keep him in one piece. I’ve got enough gray hair as it is, pup, don’t go giving me anymore before my time, alright?” Flint lifted his chin as Silver’s fingers petted the gray streaks in his beard, letting out another soft rumbling sound. “Alright. Though I do think it’s sexy.” “Yeah yeah, you’ve made that perfectly clear,” Flint kissed the top of Silver’s head, nuzzling his messy curls. “C’mon, why don’t we head inside, I think it’s a reasonable time for coffee.” “What about your run? Your awful five am morning ritual I can almost never talk you out of even for a blow job.” “I feel like skipping this morning.” Silver lifted his head, leveling Flint with a skeptical look and a raised eyebrow. Flint returned it with a fond smile. “Its Saturday, I feel like making breakfast,” Flint said with a shrug. I love you, Silver heard. “Can we have blackberry crepes? And scrambled eggs?” Silver asked after a moment. “And that fancy bacon you got from the farmer’s market?” Flint smiled, still fond and impossibly warm. Silver’s heart skipped, flipped, and settled in his chest. Flint had heard the unspoken, skittish, and undeniable “I love you too” tucked into Silver’s reply. Flint coaxed him into another soft kiss, still wearing that same smile.

  “Blackberry crepes it is.”