#maybe the BBC made him change it

[ingravinoveritas]

David Tennant gives me such waist envy! He's so elegant and looks amazing in everything that he wears.

Totally agreed, Anon! I feel like we got such perfect examples of that today, seeing him dressed for the GO 2 photo call and then his and Michael's appearance on The One Show.

"Snatched" would definitely be the word I'd use to describe David's waist. The suit here is perfectly tailored to his body, highlighting every line and curve. He and Michael are particularly giving me all the Bert & Ernie vibes in that third picture (if Bert and Ernie were bisexual and British, at least), and I just love how long David looks and how the way he is posing further accentuates that gorgeous waist of his.

(Special shout-out as well to these pictures of David on the set of Rivals the other day for giving us that waist in this very, very tight t-shirt he is wearing:)

So deliciously sexy. Fingers crossed that we'll get to see David at more GO 2 promotional events (hopefully) wearing another one of those JK suits...

[fluffypotatey]

Skill issue maybe. But kindness certainly didn't help the prosecuted for the rest of the show.

Maybe a balance is needed between me being proactive and merlin being kind, bc merlin sure needed a bit of the former (this is really more of a complaint for the showrunners rather than merlin. I read so many fics of merlin being proactive and helping magic that canon is slap in the face with his passivity and class traitorness)

yeah Merlin’s approach to certain issues definitely show the writers’/showrunners’ hands than his actual character (where he is pretty outspoken in these topics) but there’s also the nuance of keeping his magic secret and yada yada

but also, one of the reasons we like Merlin is because of his goodness and open-mind. there is a reason he is a foil to Morgana, who was proactive in magic users rights, had an identity crisis of her own, and descended into villain-hood. there is a reason why his struggle between his duty as Emrys and Destiny is so compelling and how it slowly become his struggle between Destiny and Arthur

are there moments where i wish Merlin did certain actions differently? 100% yes i do (2x08 for example and his relationship with Morgana) and i know a lot of the time these narrative choices were made in order to keep Merlin in his 5 season struggle of ideologies by the showrunners themselves which just hurt his character in the long run (similar to how they revert Arthur’s character back to his s1 caricature sometimes 🙄) bc if he progressed too “quickly” then it could lead to a different outcome than they wanted at the end of the show

but i digress

[saraakpotter]

She is my girlfriend(BBC Sherlock x reader)

summery: 3 times Sherlock lied about being your boyfriend and the time he made it real warnings: i think none but there are spoilers on the show if you haven't watched it yet genre: fluff p.s: i added some scenes and changed some dialogues in some parts.

number one: during 'the blind banker'

you were a detective. you went on cases with Sherlock and John. now you had to go into Eddie Van Coon's apartment.

"they are new to the apartment aren't they?" you said.

Sherlock smirked: "yes, they are"

"how are you so sure?" John asked

Sherlock points at the name on the doorbell.

"maybe they changed it." John said.

"no one would do that" you said and Sherlock rang.

"hello?" a woman's voice said some moments later

"ummm, hello miss, we are your downstairs neighbors. i don't know if you know us." Sherlock said

"uh, umm, no. we are new" the woman said.

"well, me and my girlfriend forgot our key's in our apartment" Sherlock said wrapping one arm around you and you rose an eyebrow but quickly played along.

"oh, do you want me to open the door for you?" the woman asked

"yeah, ummm, could we come from your balcony?" Sherlock asked.

"the balcony?!" the woman said surprised and Sherlock nodded.

after she left you came out of his arms.

"your girlfriend?" you asked with a raised eyebrow and John chuckled.

"oh, please. it had to be believable." he said.

"uh-huh" you said

number 2: during 'a scandal in Belgravia'

"punch me in the face" Sherlock said

"punch you?" John said

"yes, punch me in the face. didn't you hear me?"

"i always hear 'punch me in the face' when you talk but it's usually subtext" John says

"yeah" you agreed and then, without another word you punched Sherlock in the face.

"i always wanted to do that" you joke

"ouch" Sherlock says "ok..." he starts but gets cut of by another punch by John.

"you are right! i think i did too" John says chuckling making Sherlock roll his eyes.

after forcing Kate, Irene's assistant to open the door you entered the house.

"who is the beautiful lady?" Kate asked with a fake smile

"oh, i..." you started but Sherlock cut you off

"she is my girlfriend" he says

"oh" Kate's fake smile fades and she walks to the room asking you to follow.

"i literally just punched you in the face" you whispered

"i asked you to" he says and you tried to hide your smile

number three: during 'the hounds of Baskerville'(i added this scene)

"hi" Sherlock says sitting next to a random costumer at the bar.

"hello, what's the problem?" the man said

"well, me and my girlfriend are here for vacation and we heard whispers about a huge dog in this town. in the woods." he says

"we made a bet. i said there is no such a thing and he disagrees" you played along

"so, you are here more often right? we wanted to know which one of us will win" Sherlock said placing a hand around your shoulders to make it look more realistic.

"oh, oh, this is way more than a dog. it's a monster. you should believe in it." the man says and then he turns to look at you "of course i don't want to scare a pretty woman like you"

you rolled your eyes and Sherlock glared at him and left before he could finish.

"ok, thank you for your help." he says trying to act unbothered.

"wow, you don't have to be so overprotective" the man say making you smirk and Sherlock roll his eyes.

number four: the real confession

"y\n?" Sherlock says walking to the room.

"yes?"

"i wanted to ask you something" he takes a deep breath.

"ok, what is it?"

"will you....can you....oh god!"

"Sher, just say it. its okay."

"ummm.....willyoubemygirlfriend"

"i'm sorry?" you raise an eyebrow

"oh god" he takes another deep breath "look, i'm not usually this nervous about anything but this really means to me and it has been on my mind for months....will you, be my girlfriend?" he finally says

"what?" you chuckle making him look more worried than he already is "you were nervous to ask me to act like your girlfriend? i have done that a lot of time. i'm actually starting to think it is real" you joke.

"what is it this time? a serial killer or another guy with mental health issues? maybe another naked woman?" you continue

"no....i....i mean be my actual girlfriend" he corrects

"what?" now you were really confused

"you see, all this time, when i acted like you were my girlfriend or acted jealous, it was because i liked the thought of that."

he waited for you to answer but when you didn't he continued.

"will you?" he said "be my girlfriend"

"this isn't a test to see how sentimental i am?" you asked half-jokingly

Sherlock chuckled "no" he said.

"then yes, Sherlock Holmes. yes, i will be your girlfriend"

[princeclaudia]

I Love You (Merthur)

(I just posted my first fanfic to AO3, so I wanted to share it on here as well. I hope you enjoy this flowery little piece about Merlin and Arthur, from BBC Merlin, being in love)

“I love you.” 

Merlin never thought those words from that mouth could be a fact of his life. 

But, as something plops from the sky and into his chest, out of hope and into certainty, he realises that it is. 

Their relationship has always been up in the air. 

Its one of the only constants in either of their lives, through family, duty and betrayal, they always came back to this; banter over dinner and blankets being ripped away from a sleepy king in the morning. 

Merlin’s magic was proof of that. How it almost had a mind of its own, to reach out to Arthur, just to know where he is, to keep him safe. 

The ten seconds between, “I have magic” and, “I know��, where something Merlin wouldn’t wish on his worse enemy. 

This confession was different though. His magic was a secret, one that became a habit. It was muscle memory to drop the floating broom as Arthur’s familiar footsteps ricocheted off the hallways walls. Though the law change is just around the corner, and the habitants of the castle barely blink at the gold in his eyes, that instinct doesn’t go away overnight. 

But loving Arthur was like a second heartbeat. Non stop, motivating, and without thought. 

Well, now it doesn’t cause him panic. 

Merlin can’t pinpoint the moment Arthur’s closeness stopped making his hands clammy and his thoughts stutter. 

Maybe it washed away as Merlin became further crushed by his own significance, who he is and what he does, and the thousands, millions of people they affect. 

That lovesick fear didn’t need that much brain space anymore. Why waste the time he has with Arthur here and alive by fretting over the cute boy liking him back? 

He was content with what he got. 

Once or twice the thought about what exactly they were flickered insecurity at the back of his brain. Enough to make him spill wine on some visiting noble. Arthur was worried he was ill, conflicting and nurturing Merlin’s heart at once. 

How odd it was to just let what Arthur said wash over him, sinking into his skin, flowing through his blood. 

Because it’s not something that Arthur just gives out, he knows this. 

Too many times he’s had to translate Arthur’s emotions to Arthur, so there’s something intense, and slightly ego boosting, about the certainty that Arthur had as he confessed. 

It was a truly boring scenario for this to take place. 

No big events or victories or tragedies to justify a big declaration. But just them bickering, playful jabs that held underlying compliments. 

Then Arthur pausing, staring for a moment at Merlin. Just as with his own feelings, Merlin doesn’t remember when Arthur stopped looking away when Merlin caught him staring. 

Perhaps around when he was crowned King, and the world crashed down, challenging him to crumple. Luckily Merlin was there, and knew how to pick him back up. 

As Emrys, and soon to be Court Sorceror, draining responsibility was a new thing for the pair to bond over. 

Now when Arthur is caught in the act, it’s soft smiles, and maybe some teasing from Merlin, “See something you like sire?” 

In this moment however, Merlin wordlessly let’s him look, knowing that Arthur doesn’t find the folding of laundry that interesting. 

“It amazes me that you’re here” 

Arthur’s voice ripples through their comfortable quiet, not disruptive, but enough to catch Merlin’s attention, a confused chuckle escaping him. 

“How so? You’re the one who keeps me around.” 

“Well, the fact that you’re alive at all.” That made Merlin blush, an unexpected weight to their conversation. Arthur walks away from the table, forcing a casual slant to his frame.  “That you’re this powerful being. That you haven’t died from whatever stupid mission you barrel into.” 

Merlin snorts, turning his attention to the tunic in his hands. 

“That you keep coming back.” 

Arthur has that face. The face that makes Merlin turn away from the washing basket. Because this isn’t a spur of the moment thought. This has been on Arthur’s mind for a while. 

“Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?” He didn’t want to lead Arthur anywhere, just let him say what he needs to say, afraid of assuming something. 

Arthur sighs, searching for something in Merlin’s expression. “I had fired you.”

This piqued Merlin’s confusion. “I’m sorry what?” 

“Not long after you became my servant. I fired you, told you to leave. But you came back.” Merlin almost rolled his eyes as he smiled. 

“You would have died if I didn’t. Besides that, you believed me. Enough to embarrass yourself in front of your council at least. After that, I figured you were worth my time.” 

Merlin expected some snide remark, at least a huff of laughter, but Arthur’s smile dropped. Merlin’s brows furrowed in response. 

“Every hunting trip, you came back with me, after countless horrible things my father did… or I did to you, you always came back.” 

Merlin was stunned to see Arthur’s eyes become glassy, distracting Merlin from any witty or insightful remarks. 

Arthur’s silent question hung in the air. Merlin thought about recounting his regular speech, ever since he revealed his magic, Merlin has told him multiple times about their destiny, and the once and future king, and so on. But Merlin could feel that this was a different question, and that wouldn’t be the right answer. 

Merlin stepped forward, lifting a hand, placing his fingers on Arthur’s cheek, under his eye. 

“I always will.” 

Arthur’s eyes were glued to Merlin’s as he titled his head towards the careful fingers. Arthur traced a line up Merlin’s raised arm, gently wrapping his fingers around the thin wrist. 

Physical contact wasn’t unusual for them, especially since his magic became an open conversation, but moments like this were still sparse. 

Despite years of Merlin declaring his devotion and admiration of the blonde, Arthur still wasn’t used to it. An awful cocktail of paper thin self esteem and aggressive emotional detachment made accepting his praise far too difficult.

But the phrase, “I always will” is the click of a key in Arthur’s mind. 

Then all at once, everything gushed in, flooding up to his throat, drowning him in memories, and promises and sudden understanding. Maybe for a moment, he can see himself reflected in Merlin’s eyes. 

It’s overwhelming and gorgeous, and bubbling up through his chest is the need to return the favour. 

Though, no matter how many times Arthur has mulled over how to properly repay Merlin for the work he’s done, how much money or gifts he’s given him, it’s never felt like enough. It’s been driving Arthur up the wall, because he just couldn’t figure out why none of that seemed right. 

But right now, he knows what it is, because Merlin is really good at it.

With just a smile, or kind word, Merlin has this, quite frankly, irritating talent to make someone feel so good, so happy and appreciated. 

He’s been the one Arthur turns to on his worse days to process what he’s going through, on his good days to exchange jokes. Merlin has been the one sharing Arthur’s pain, if only to make it more bearable. 

Arthur tries to be that for Merlin, but it’s way more difficult than it seems. 

He’s seen Merlin’s cheery and cheeky demeanour fade over the years. Even before he knew about any magic, he could tell when Merlin’s shoulders were sagging, when his eyes were duller than he remembered, when his breathing seemed more pained. 

It took an embarrassingly long time to confront how useless Arthur was when it came to Merlin’s emotions. Eventually, he used how Merlin treated him as a guide, though that took a lot of trial and error. 

But this moment made him realise that this is it. If he can make Merlin feel as cared for as Merlin makes him feel in this moment, then that would be the greatest gift. 

The words tumble from his tongue without a second thought. When Arthur sets his mind to something, there’s no stopping him, and in this moment of blinding clarity, he has never been so sure of anything before. 

“I love you.” 

He doesn’t fear rejection, quickly being validated by Merlin’s fond smile and lax in his shoulders. No battle or decision in court could be as empowering as seeing Merlin’s eyes crinkle with affection was. 

It’s a drop in the bucket compared to everything Merlin has given him, but Arthur so badly wants to chase it. 

So he wraps his arms around Merlin’s waist, bringing a hand up to cup the back of his head, in some show of protectiveness. A clear, no misunderstandings to be had, act of appreciation and love. 

A surprised laugh escapes Merlin as he encases Arthur’s shoulders, burrowing into his neck. 

They stand in the middle of Arthur’s chambers, rocking slightly, with no intentions of letting go anytime soon. 

Slow tears drip onto each other, the overwhelm of Arthur’s feelings needing a release, and Merlin’s happiness boiling over. 

Merlin’s voice cracks slightly as he adjusts his chin. 

“I love you, if that wasn’t obvious.” 

They chuckle into each other, Merlin immediately shutting up as Arthur pressed his lips under Merlin’s jaw. 

Arthur was finding himself becoming addicted to making Merlin happy, feeling his pulse quicken, his muscles ease. 

He wants to take it all away, take Merlin’s burden and pain, but holding him, sharing the weight, was enough for now. 

(I hope you enjoyed! Be good to yourself and others.

Prince Claudia)

[badsweetangel]

Kinktober Day 8: Virginity (Sherlock Holmes BBC x Reader)

“The iceman… and the virgin?” you asked Sherlock, holding back your laughter. “How does that man know you so well?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, visibly offended by your reaction and your words. It wasn’t easy to leave Sherlock without an answer, the only time it happened was when he felt so annoyed by a mockery, like this time.

He, instead of continuing to pay attention to you, went back to his business, looking at some papers on his table that must have been from a new case.

“Goodbye, I have plans,” John said goodbye.

You were the only one who answered John. Sherlock simply continued to concentrate on his case. You stared at him, not taking your eyes off him. Watching his small gestures and his obvious concentration.

“Stop looking at me, you’re pressuring me,” Sherlock demanded, still absorbed in his thoughts.

“And why is that?” you asked, sitting next to him.

“Your eyes on me, it’s annoying,” he looked away for a moment to look at you, but in an instant, the case he was solving returned to his focus.

“Are you really a virgin?” You asked him, watching his reactions.

“Why would that be a problem?” he answered, frustrated.

“It’s not,” you denied but your smile let your true opinion be seen.

He put his matters aside and turned his attention to you. You could see that he was upset with you, for not letting him work and for insisting on the subject. But, despite the annoyance, you both knew what happened when you both looked into each other’s eyes and he still took the risk. The chemistry was simple, he knew it, he had it with you. A sexual chemistry that could easily be noticed. It was strange, it made him feel strange, because it was beyond admiration. It was something animal. It’s that simple.

“What’s stopping you?” you asked him, looking at his lips, letting yourself be carried away by the atmosphere.

Their lips met in a completely irrational impulse. Maybe he was human after all. The curiosity nascent inside him, motivated him to experience for once what a real kiss meant, not motivated by dark manipulations, a genuine one. Of real need. You had been the second person who had expressed impressions towards him, after John. Your genuine compliment, made him feel rather good feelings. He knew that with you he shouldn't be on guard. You wouldn't ask him for anything. He wouldn't hurt your feelings with his cold nature.

No. You just wanted to share this with him. That's all, no moral demands. Maybe that's why he let himself go with you. Your lips caressed his cheek softly. His warm lips touched yours in a rhythm that grew as time passed.

In the blink of an eye, they were in his room. Thousands of thoughts running through his mind, thoughts of all kinds. He never stopped thinking anyway. You were on top of him, taking off your clothes. He kept his eyes on your face, used to not looking any further. You kissed him again, trying to get him to look away from you and just feel, to stop analyzing for a second. You unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down a little. His face looked uncomfortable, it was the first time. He wasn't used to that kind of intimacy.

He wasn't used to any kind of intimacy.

You slid his cock inside you. You rested your hands on his stomach and began to move slowly. The moans of both of you were an incentive to increase his own arousal.

He closed his eyes, trying to let himself be carried away by the sensations. His hands were still, not that he knew where to touch and how to touch.

You bounced on top of him, watching his expressions closely, how and when he changed them. Trying to identify what he liked. Even though he was trying not to convey too much pleasure, his own body was disappointing him, swallowing numerous times, involuntary moans and labored breaths.

Your pace was sensual, slow and calm. You thought carefully about how you’ve never done it so carefully. Maybe this was your first time too. Your moans matched as you both came at the same time. Yes, this is definitely your first time. He opened his eyes, watching your expressions as he tried to regulate his breathing. He smiled at you differently, like he never had before. It had been a day full of first times.

You almost couldn’t believe that such a cold man could have given you such a warm moment.

[justrainandcoffee]

“Good Morning” (Tom Hardy x fem!oc)

Part 1 of the series: “Only for tonight”

Summary: It's 2012 when Hannah received a call from an important executive to work with them. She's a great musician only until that moment she didn't have the chance to really show her natural talent. The BBC offered her the opportunity to finally do it and at the same time the opportunity to meet him. || Three years later, everything is very different. Two different realities linked by the same phrase: “good morning.”

Warnings: None. Although there's some angst towards the end. || This is pure fiction. All names are made up except his. Even in future chapters all filmography named here was invented. || The story is divided in past (2012) and present (2015)

Words: 2.7 k. || Remember that English isn't my first language. Please, consider leave a comment or reblog considering this is the first time i post this and still don't know what I'm doing 👉👈🥺.

Three years ago.

Hannah Murphy was born in London a morning in middle of May. His father was architect, her mother owner of a several beauty centres and her eldest brother was a neurosurgeon now working in Boston, United States.

Big things were expected from Hannah. Maybe being a doctor like Eric, her brother, or having a PhD in Economics like one if her cousins because first and foremost, the Murphys were successful people. Her grandfather, Mr. Andrew Murphy, was the one who designed the building for one of the most important corporations that existed nowadays in England. So, considering that everyone had their eyes on her, even as kid. But Hannah W. Murphy wasn't born with numbers and theories in her veins, she was born with music.

"You're wasting your life," her mother said when she was 10 and her father accepted to take her to a conservatory of music to learn to play piano. "Look at Eric, he's reading books that are for advanced students! And you're nothing compared to him, Hannah. Music! What kind of shit is that?"

But Hannah knew, even when she was 10, that music it was going to be her life. And she was right.

"Your daughter has a gift," one of her teachers said not longer after she started to study there.

But Greta Murphy, her mother, insisted on study something that could give her a name in the future and her brother thought the same as her. The only one who supported her was her father, Andrew Murphy jr, who was also the only one who went to her first solo in a theatre when she was 15.

Hannah was 16 when one of her plays, composed by herself, was part of a local play. Small, but it gave her some money and the hopes that her dreams could be possible.

Yet, when she finishes school, to stop hearing her mother for once, she decided to study engineering.  During those years, she didn't stop writing music but she just kept it to herself.

At the age of 23, she finished her career and threw the diploma in front of her Great. Hannah never worked as engineer.

Teaching kids and offering her music to different people who was interested in her talent, she was able to earn enough money to rent her own apartment and lm have her the freedom she was craving for.

Seven years later Hannah Murphy, 30 years old, was about to face the biggest change of her whole life.

She was walking Solomon, her black staffy and the most brainless dog in the whole world, when her phone on her pocket started to vibrate. It was an unknown number but she answered anyway.

"Hannah speaking."

"Ms. Murphy?" A female voice on the other side of the line made her stop walking.

"Yes?"

"Good morning, Miss Murphy I'm calling you in name of Mr. Henry Atwood, he wants to have an appointment with you, miss Murphy."

The first Henry Atwood that crossed her mind was the director and executive producer the BBC had and the brain of one of her favourite tv shows the last years. But the idea of someone calling her and saying that  that Henry Atwood wanted to see her was ridiculous.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand. Who's Henry Atwood? and how did you get my number?"

"Mr. Atwood, the tv producer," by her voice tone, Hannah believed that the girl considered her stupid. "I'm his secretary and I got your number because he asked for it to one of the directors you worked with."

"Scott?"

"Mr. Scott, yes"

If it wasn't because she was in middle of a park, Hannah could've screamed.

Travis Scott was a director working on a play and he asked her to help his team with the music. Finally after several failed meetings she ended up working alone and the final result in Travis's words was "the best fucking thing he ever heard."

That was four months ago but she didn't know that he knew Atwood and even less than he was going to receive a call from him. Or his secretary to be more specific.

"Ms. Murphy?"

"I'm sorry I'm trying to understand what's happening… I- the answer is yes! If he wants, yes of course I can. I just need to know when."

"Great. I'll make an appointment, then."

.

Two days later a very nervous Hannah was waiting for Atwood in the waiting room. It was perfectly tidy, with magazines on the glass table, some flyers prompting the movies and TV shows to come and some from previous months. The tiles shone reflecting the lamps on the ceiling.

Hannah felt stupidly nervous. Most people there arranged things thanks to secretaries or managers but she didn't have any of those. She had a dog without brain cells and she was sure Solomon didn't know how to talk. Although she did know that the staffy was the best to calm her and right now she needed his comfort.

Hannah would remember that day for the rest of her life. It was 20th of June, 11:30 am and it was a  guy talking about the European football league on the radio sounding in the background when he saw him for the first time. He was wearing a white shirt and jeans. He'd have been any other man but he wasn't.

"Good morning," Tom said to her who was sitting in the chair next to the office's door, so still that she wasn't sure that was even blinking.

"Good morning," she managed to say.

Don't be awkward.

Tom smiled before walking towards the elevator "call me, okay?" he said to the other man.

"I will."

Both him and Hannah look at Tom go. "Quite a character," he said. "You are Hannah, right? I'm Henry Atwood."

Hannah was still seeing the corridor where he disappeared from their sight and Atwood couldn't help but chuckle.

"Tom Hardy," she said "It was him?"

"Yeah, it was him. We hired him for future our project. And I have an offer for you, too, But please first, come in."

Hannah called Betty, her best friend, as soon as she left the building like if everything was a dream. All was so surreal that she needed something to drink and to eat to process what just happened. Both women went to a pub, ordered beer and fish and chips.

"The main theme?" Betty asked. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No, I'm not!"

"Oh, my god! Your mother is going to freak out and probably pass out. Imagine her telling her friends about this."

"She's going to say that the BBC isn't Hollywood and no one outside England is going to see it. And probably she's going to say that the music is horrible."

"She doesn't know a shit about music."

"But she does know how to destroy people. Believe me, I know."

"Then fuck her. Don't tell her a word, better that way."

"I won't."

"But you already signed the papers?"

"No. I mean I said yes, but I need to make it official. I'm going to read it tonight and then sign them. Fuck me, I can't believe it."

Betty smiled at her Hannah couldn't help but imitate her. That was a good day.

Good morning.

Hannah was very tempted to say to her about her seeing Tom inside the building, but suddenly she felt really silly.  What she was going to say? Do you know I saw Tom Hardy today and he said good morning to me? Besides, it was something so random and something that Hannah believed that wasn't going to happen again that she felt unnecessary to say it.

Next week, Hannah returned to the BBC building with the papers signed and her hopes higher than ever before. Hannah was happy and it was good. Not long ago she ended a relationship that left her with debts, without her motorbike but with Solomon. The only good thing the bastard did was abandoning the dog in her house. Solomon was just an eight-month puppy, playful and sweet, but according to his ex, he was just a waste of money. As if he himself wasn't a waste of money and oxygen.

So these unexpected good news was exactly what she needed. And her first salary was more than welcome.

"There's a meeting this Friday. The whole team," Henry Atwood said. "Including you."

"Including me? But I have nothing to do with the cast."

"That's the point. It's not just the cast. There are always new ideas to add or to erase from the plot, suggestions, new plans. Etc… maybe you can create something even more great if you know what it's this about. Can you come?"

"Yes, I'm free, so… yes!"

"Good then!" Henry offered her a big smile and his hand to shake it "Welcome aboard, Hannah."

Hannah preferred to be one of the firsts to arrive there instead of being there late. It was her first meeting and officially it was also her first day at work. It'd be considered rude to be there late. Not to mention that the idea of people looking at her was something she wasn't used to. Not without her piano as shell, at least.

The meeting office was big and chairs and tables were in a circle so everyone could look at the rest.

Hannah couldn't help but felt nervous. The idea of working for them suddenly hit her in her face with fury.  On her first day at work, she had to leave the office and find an empty place to calm herself. She felt sick and she was hyperventilating. Her mother's voice in her head didn't help at all "You're going to fail, because you're a failure."

"Look at your brother, head of the surgeon committee of Boston."

"Your music is quite mediocre."

"Shut up! Shut up!" she said to herself resting her forehead on the cold window that was in that corridor. The last thing she needed that special day was her mother and her awful vibes with her. "Please, go away."

Hannah closed her eyes and tried to think about good things. Her dog, her best friend, her piano… she imagined herself sitting in front of it and tried to breathe normally again.

"Are you okay?" A male voice brought her again to reality.

Hannah gasped and back off surprised by the unexpected company.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I'm sorry," he said.

It took Hannah few seconds to recognise that Tom was in front of her, but when she did it, she rushed to reply. "Yes, yes. I- uhm, I was nervous and I felt anxious. I needed to clean my mind. It happens, from time to time."

"Are you sure?"

Hannah nodded as Tom walked to the water dispenser and offered seconds later a glass of water.

"Thanks," she said smiling briefly.

People tend to see celebrities as deities, not humans. Because of course they're people but also, they're beyond of what could be considered approachable. Not everyone could be near one. And suddenly Hannah was few inches away from a famous actor that seemed to be concerned about her. Like, indeed, any good person in the world could be worried about another. Famous or not.

"I started today," Hannah said "I think my brain felt I couldn't do it."

"It's normal, a new job make everyone feel nervous. You'll be fine. You'll see. What's your name?"

"Hannah Murphy."

"The composer," Tom said. His voice denoted surprised and he smiled at her "Henry talked a lot about you. You're a little celebrity here."

"Oh, please, no! I'm just- I'm not. I Just play the piano."

"It seems to me that more than that. Were you in the meeting?"

"I tried to be there before feeling sick."

"Come on, Hannah. They'll love you, don't worry about it."

Tom smiled at her again and something in his reassuring made her feel better. Together they entered in the meeting room.

___

Now. Three years later.

The apartment was still dark, the windows were closed despite the morning was a reality. She could hear the cars, people… even birds. Everything was the proof that outside those walls nothing changed.

Hannah didn't sleep in the whole night in that bed  that now semeed to be awfully big for her. The empty spot.

She didn't want to cry again, but new tears appeared in her eyes.

Where was her morning kiss on her shoulder? The beard tickling her skin? The "let's stay five more minutes"? His morning coffee, too strong for her taste, but whose smell was synonymous with the beginning of a new day?

It's not like Hannah didn't break up with another person before… but never before everything hurt that way.

Tap tap tap.

Solomon was wagging his tail against the wooden floor because he saw her moving in bed. Against all odds, she smiled briefly. She pat the mattress and the dog didn't waste time to jump and snuggle with her in a single motion. His big head was now on her chest and she caressed it with her hand.

"You're hungry, aren't you?"

The animal looked at her. He didn't know anything about broken hearts, empty beds and tears. But he could feel her sadness. He'd wait for his breakfast until she felt better. Solomon settled closer to her.

It was 10am when she finally decided to go out of bed. The sun was shining, the city was indeed awake long time ago. Looking through the window she'd say that everything was the same. Only it wasn't.

Her phone was full of messages from her family and friends. Especially Betty. But Hananh didn't have the energy to deal with them, especially not her mother that for sure was ready to say that she was nothing but a disgrace, not even smart enough to keep a relationship with the best man she ever found. And for the first time in her life, Hannah hated the feeling that her mother was right.

She sat on her couch with a cappuccino mug in her hands and some toasts on a plate. On a chair on the opposite side of the living room still was one of his T-shirts, one that she stole from his wardrobe and ended its days as her pyjamas. She didn't use it for a while and she didn't want to touch it now, afraid that it'd smell like him.

The memories of the previous night overwhelmed her. It was her fault, she knew. For being too weak. Her mother was right, she wasn't like the rest of them, never was.

The sound of a new message caught her attention. She didn't need to see who it was. That was his ringtone, she personalized it long time ago.

Hannah took her phone and read the message.

[Can we talk? Ily]

Hannah pictured Tom in his house with his own dog next to him. His phone next to his nose because probably his glasses were somewhere where he couldn't find them.

She ruined it.

She received a new message from him.

[Pooh, let's talk]

Hannah broke into new tears when she read her nickname. No one before him ever called her Pooh. And everything started the moment he knew her second name was Winifred. Winnie. Hannah hated the name and she always used just the W, as reference for it. But with Tom, Hannah learnt to love her second name, even before dating. Or maybe it was because it was him.

Hannah called Tom.

He answered before the second ring, for a moment no one talked until he did "Good morning, Pooh."

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Though We're Strangers 'Til Now

And now for something completely different! Now I want you guys to do me a favour here, and I need you to picture this fic as having like, a BBC Saturday night family show budget. I’m specifically talking Atlantis, but if you’ve not seen Atlantis (like most people), think Merlin. I wrote Edwin and Charles’ voices entirely as I’d write them in canon-verse, with nearly no regard to the fact I was transplanting them into ancient Greece, so it’s VERY important to me that you embrace the Camp. This is a styrofoam dungeon. Charles is about to meet his destiny in a labyrinth that’s just a quarry in Wales. The historical outfits all have zips up the back. Get on board with the vibe. This one goes out to @every-moment-a-different-sound, who not only made me aware of Painland week as a thing but also approached me for a collab! Go check out their FUCKING GORGEOUS GIFS for this fic!!! This fic quite literally wouldn’t exist without them, Robin you fuckin' rule 💛 4.7k, T-rated, also available on Ao3. Thanks again, @painlandweek!

The dungeon was a proper dingy place. Charles wondered if that's where they got the name from. Dingy, dungeon. Too similar to be a coincidence, right?

Lying on his back on the hard wood pallet, head on his hands, he stared at the pale moonlight bleeding through the window. 'Window' was being a bit generous; it was more of a slit in the wall. Narrow, barred, so high he could've stood on tiptoes and barely brushed it with his fingertips. But at least it was big enough to let in that light. He supposed he was lucky. Between the sliver of moonlight and the sputtering candle in the hallway past the wall of bars, he was bloody spoiled. He didn't know exactly where they were sending him tomorrow, but he had a pretty strong hunch that it would be dark. The kind of dark that drove men mad. Maybe the madness would get him before the bloody great beast in the tunnels got the chance.

Seemed a bit off, really. Putting him in the dingy dungeon when he bloody volunteered for this. Maybe they thought he'd change his mind and leg it in the night. Any half-sensible person would, wouldn't they? No one had ever given Charles an earful for having common sense, though. Usually the opposite.

No running away for him, that's for sure. He was bedded down for the night, just him and a handful of snoring cellmates. Despite the panic and crying, the six other lads had managed to drift into some kind of sleep, however uneasy. Not Charles, though. Too much on his mind. The stupid idea that brought him here in the first place. The near certainty that he'd fail, in the end, and he’d have no one but himself to blame for his bloody demise.

Wasn’t all bleak thoughts, though. After all, there was always him.

The prince.

He closed his eyes, letting it all play out in his head again. Stepping off the boat, being 'greeted' (shackled and marched to the dungeons) by the 'welcoming committee’ (royal guard). Him and thirteen other boys and girls, thanked like heroes and handled like criminals. The king in all his fancy regalia, booming his solemn gratitude to the brave youths for their sacrifice — as if any one of them but Charles had any choice in it. And standing there, at the king's back...

Look, Charles may have had more important things to think about, but he knew a fit lad when he saw one.

Fit didn't even cover it. The boy was just about the most gorgeous thing Charles had ever seen — or ever would see. Unless he spotted a prettier one before he died tomorrow, that is. Bit unlikely.

There was just something about him, the prince. Charles wasn't even into the posh sort, generally. Like with the more well-to-do lads from his own town — something about the baked-in entitlement soured them. Made them ugly, even if they were objectively alright looking. He could smile politely and play nice, but he’d sooner kiss a frog than a rich merchant’s kid. And a prince was a pretty big step up from a merchant's son, wasn't he? By rights he ought to be even worse. Charles probably didn't even register as a human to him. He wasn’t worth wasting a thought on.

Except Charles could still picture him perfectly, in his head. He could play out the whole welcome start to finish. How Charles' heart, all shrivelled in fear, had jumpstarted soon as he clapped eyes on the prince.

"Charles..."

He'd had dark hair all perfectly combed into an inky shine, almost prettier than the gold crown on top of it. Eyes like sea glass, clear and green and shining with a cunning light; eyes that had scanned the line of offerings and landed on Charles. Fixed him with such an intense, curious scrutiny he'd actually felt himself blush.

Hadn't Charles seen him somewhere before? That chin, that nose, those high cheekbones? He could've sworn he'd walked past him at a temple somewhere, carved from pristine marble. He could see him so clearly in his mind's eye, surely he must've known him all his life.

"Charles...?"

If he concentrated, really concentrated, he could even hear his voice...

"Charles Rowland!"

Blimey, that was scary. That sounded real.

Charles blinked his eyes open and frowned. He let his head flop to the side and looked across the cell, where the stone wall gave way to bars.

There, framed by iron and flickering candlelight, there he stood. Pretty as a picture — baffling as a dream.

Charles sat up, slow, cautious. He almost said something proper stupid, like 'what's a nice boy like you doing in a dungeon like this?'

"Um," he fumbled. "Evenin'?"

Mm. Not much better, really, was it?

"Evening, your highness?" he corrected himself, with a wince. Gods, his old man would've walloped him good and proper for talking to a royal like that.

Prince Edwin, however, didn't sneer or snap or even walk away. It was hard to see his face, at a distance in the gloom, but he almost looked amused. Charles thought he could see the barest shadow of a lifted lip, anyway.

"Good evening," said the prince. He said it so quiet, barely above a whisper, but his crisp tone carried regardless. He cocked his head slightly and beckoned with a finger. "Might I have a word?"

Charles glanced behind himself. Just on the off-chance there was another Charles Rowland he didn't know about squeezed onto the narrow bed with him. There wasn't, obviously, and he was a good few feet from any of his sleeping cellmates. No mistaking who the prince was after. He swallowed, stood up, and crept across the uneven flagstones, stepping over the sprawled legs of another boy.

As he neared, as the situation sank in and the prince came into focus, a new bundle of nerves started kicking off. Nothing like the anxious dread that had been stewing in his gut all night, the 'oh, gods, they're feeding me to a monster in the morning' nerves. No, this was different. More familiar but also, weirdly, worse than the monster dread. Fuck, but this lad was gorgeous. Not even the dungeon gloom could hide it. He was almost blinding to look at — and now those clever eyes were fixed right on Charles, no one else. Nowhere to hide. Fuck, Charles probably had sweat and cellar grime all over his face, and all!

Charles came to a standstill, toes almost touching the bars. Up close, he could see that him and the prince were about the same height. Edwin might've had the advantage by an inch or so, but maybe that was just his perfect posture. Spine straight and shoulders back, he regarded Charles with his head curiously cocked and his hands steepled. For a royal, he wasn't dressed all that flashy. Hadn't gone in for any jewellery besides the gilded circlet on his head. And under the blue silk chlamys clasped at his shoulder, his chiton was a simple white, clean and sharp and draped neatly to knee length. Expensive, pristine, put-together, but not exactly ostentatious. Mind you, that's just the sliver of outfit that Charles could see — because the prince had topped the whole thing off with a thick, practical brown cloak. A peacock disguised as a pigeon.

After a moment's quiet contemplation, the prince finally spoke. "I'm told you volunteered," he said. He kept his voice down, but it stayed crisp and clear. Highborn through-and-through. Probably wasn't even capable of mumbling.

Charles supposed it was a bit unusual, but unusual enough to bring a prince skulking down to the dungeons? He reckoned he was right about Edwin's eyes, that cleverness in them — he wasn't just a pretty face under a crown. He wanted to know things. He was staring at Charles like he wanted to pick him apart, understand him.

"Yeah," Charles answered. He forced a grin. "Not my best idea."

The prince blinked and leaned a little closer, intrigued. "Why in the world would you volunteer for this?"

His attention was sort of a lot — but it felt... good. Charles wanted to keep it. Hold onto it. He wanted this clever, gorgeous lad to think he was the most fascinating thing in the room.

Charles shrugged. "I can fight. I can take a hit. Seemed like the right thing to do. The decent thing, yeah?"

Edwin narrowed his eyes. "You’d forfeit your life to... give the beast a fight for its food?"

Charles shifted on his feet. "Not... exactly."

The prince watched him, all expectant. Charles sighed.

"Years it's been going on," he said, barely a mumble — Edwin leaned a little closer still to listen. "Lads and lasses being packed off, fed to that thing to keep it happy. Not right, is it? And I thought, well..."

He'd thought a lot of things. He'd thought well, he was already getting the shit beaten out of him every other day, so what's a little mauling on top of it? He'd thought about being his father's son, with his father's temper, and how maybe that could be a good thing for once. He'd thought about how things could change for him if he came back — and about who would even miss him if he didn't. He'd thought of all those kids less deserving than him, sent miles from home to be ripped to shreds. Sent away from bright futures and families that loved them. Gentle types who'd never hurt a fly. Kids who'd never learned to take a beating. Kids who didn't have the anger to keep them alive. Kids who weren't monster enough to survive the real thing.

"I thought, well, I'm pretty good in a scrap," he said, brightly, plastering on a smile. "Pretty stubborn. Thought if I went down there, maybe I could..."

"Could what?"

Charles raised his eyebrows.

Edwin looked at him blankly.

Charles rolled his eyes, held up one hand, and punched his fist into it twice.

Edwin's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. "You mean to... slay the minotaur?"

"Told you it wasn't my best idea," said Charles.

"You have a talent for understatement," said Edwin, a sharp hiss. His voice had quickened and thinned into a hushed, incredulous patter. "I'd go so far as to describe that idea as fatuous, hubristic, and downright suicidal!"

Charles snorted. "Yeah. Sounds about right." He leaned his shoulder against the bars, brought his face closer to the prince's — which was such a brilliant idea it immediately gave him a really, really bad one. So bad it was impossible to resist.

He gave him a lax, lopsided grin — the one that he could bring out back home to make the girls giggle. "Be good if it worked, though, wouldn't it?"

Coming onto a bloody prince like he was some blushing farm lad... well, it probably wasn't a worse idea than throwing himself into a minotaur's labyrinth, but it probably wasn't much better, either. But what did it matter? They couldn't punish him, could they — they were already feeding him to a monster in the morning. What did he have to lose? Why not take a crack at the handsome prince with the pretty eyes? Sod it, it was his last night on Earth.

Edwin, to Charles' immense glee, actually seemed to get a little pink in the face. His eyes darted away and back again. "Yes, well..." He cleared his throat and straightened his cloak with a sharp tug of the front. "Have you a plan? Tactics? A weapon, at the very least?"

"Um. Well. No, not really." He dropped his fist on the bars once, twice, mulling it over. "But, I have been told my smile's pretty disarming!"

If his clumsy flirting hadn't been enough to break through the regal composure, that would've done it. Edwin's mouth dropped open a little, his brows drawing close together as he stared at Charles in abject disbelief. "Dear gods," he said, voice light and brittle. "You're doomed."

Charles chuckled, resting his forehead against the bars. "Yeah. Suppose so. Won't go down without a fight though, eh?"

He looked up through his eyelashes and found Edwin still staring, lips parted just a bit. Fuck, he had nice lips. Kissable. Charles reckoned he’d miss kissing when he was dead. What was the sentence for stealing a kiss from a prince — was it worse than death by minotaur? He might be willing to risk it.

Edwin tore his gaze away and glanced down the hall, first one way, then the other. Furtive. He seemed to come to some kind of decision. "Charles," he whispered. "Are your cellmates all asleep?"

Pulse quickening, Charles forced his eyes away from the prettiest person in the room to have a glance at the others. Everyone looked the same as they had before. Same chorus of snores and soft breaths and muttered, whimpered nightmares. "Yeah. Yeah, I reckon so."

"Right. Excellent." Edwin cleared his throat again and crowded closer to the bars.

Charles' heart was racing. He couldn't lean any closer to the bars than he already was but he wanted to. He didn't mean to, but he bit his lip, eyes flickering down to Edwin's mouth.

Edwin took another wary glance behind him, and tugged his cloak back. He reached inside. His hand closed around something under his arm and drew it out — something long and wrapped in leather.

Charles caught his breath.

"Take it," Edwin ordered, holding the hilt of the sword to the bars and looking Charles in the eye. "Quickly, and quietly."

Charles didn't need telling twice. He grabbed it, his fingers grazing Edwin's. Gods, he even had beautiful hands. Smooth on the back but a bit calloused on the pads. Didn't escape Charles' notice that the blade, though heavy, seemed to be a familiar weight in his hands.

"Cheers, mate," Charles breathed, drawing the cumbersome thing through the gap. If he was careful, he reckoned he could stash it under his thin cloak without anyone knowing.

He hadn't meant to call the gorgeous boy (who also happened to be fucking royalty) mate, but if Edwin was offended he didn't show it. In fact he ducked his head in a bashful little dip. It was so endearing Charles had to do another quick pros-and-cons list in his head about the risks of snogging him through the bars.

"Well," said Edwin, a forced lightness in his tone. "If you must embark upon this fool's errand, you must have the proper equipment."

Charles let out a ragged breath. "Thank you," he said, sincere, as he slid the scabbard through his belt. He laughed a little, rubbing the back of his head. "To be honest, I've... I've never been more scared in my life."

Edwin's shrewd gaze softened. His whole face did. It actually bowled Charles over a little bit, the difference. He felt like he ought to look away, like he was seeing something he shouldn't. A prince shouldn't be looking at him like that. Not him. Like he was something special. Something he was in awe of. "I can only imagine."

Charles bit his lip. "Less scared, now," he said, fidgeting with the hilt of the sword. Even though he felt a bit like he'd been flayed open and laid at the prince's feet, he still managed a wink. "Reckon I'll show that big bugger what's what with this thing, don't you?"

The prince’s eyes twinkled over his small, indulgent smile. "Oddly enough... yes. I believe you just might." He seemed to catch himself, a pretty blush high on his cheeks as he schooled his expression back into something a bit more lofty. "And quite a feather in your cap it will be. That beast has been a thorn in my father's side for years, holding the kingdom to ransom."

Edwin's gaze flickered over Charles, head to toe, and the pretty blush deepened. "If you were to end its reign of terror, you'd be more than deserving of a handsome reward."

"Oh, yeah?" said Charles. If he sounded breathless, it's 'cause he was. "What sort of reward?"

He felt dazed. He must've been dreaming. Five minutes ago he was accepting his fate, and now he'd been brought a fighting chance. By a gorgeous prince. Who was fucking flirting with him. They must've knocked his head on the bars when they shoved him in the cell — he was probably lying in the corner, drooling and babbling.

Edwin's eyes were restless, darting from Charles' face to his feet. His throat bobbed around a dry swallow. He looked too real to be a dream — but also too good to be true. His hand lifted, fingers resting on an iron bar between them.

"Well," he said, sounding pretty bloody breathless himself. "You could take your pick."

If this wasn't a dream, it was definitely a trick. Some rich kid teasing him, waiting to pull away at the last second and laugh at him for being so easy to string along. Or waiting for an excuse to run to his daddy and bag Charles a fate worse than death for getting fresh with him.

Except for whatever reason, he didn't believe that. Couldn't. For some reason, he trusted Edwin. Felt like he knew him. Like he'd always known him. And he knew he was kind. Not necessarily nice, but kind. For whatever reason he knew Edwin wasn't the sort to mess around with someone's feelings — or pretend to be interested when he wasn't.

Why he'd be interested in Charles of all people was another thing, but... sod it. Charles was probably gonna die tomorrow, anyway. Why not pretend it was possible for a minute? What the fuck did he have to lose?

Feeling once again like the undisputed king of bad decisions, Charles took a breath, and put his hand on top of Edwin's. He almost couldn't believe his luck when Edwin didn't pull away. His hand was soft — like the little gasp he let out when their skin touched.

Swallowing past his dry mouth, Charles laced their fingers. He let them lay there, woven on the bars; the warp and weft of it felt so right he wondered how they hadn't been doing this for years. How'd he gone this long, not realising how empty his hands were without Edwin's tangled up inside them?

He looked at Edwin's face and saw all his own thoughts reflected. Saw Edwin staring at their hands like they were a bloody marvel. Like the last piece of a puzzle had clicked into place. His face was so open, so alive — so gently amazed and Charles had never wanted to kiss someone more in his life.

Charles laughed, quiet, awed. "Handsome prize, alright."

That earned him another quick, coy duck of Edwin's head — but Charles could see him preening clear as day. "Be sure you're alive to claim it," he said, soft and serious. He squeezed Charles' hand once before breaking the hold.

Charles sketched a lazy salute to distract his hand from how empty it felt. "No dying. Right-o."

Edwin smiled. A proper smile; a quick flash of teeth breaking through his tight-lipped, regal composure. Charles would've fought the bloody titans to get another glimpse of it.

"You are... odd," said Edwin, matter-of-factly. "And quite mad, I suspect."

"...Cheers?"

Humming, Edwin reached into his cloak once more. "There is just one other thing..."

He brought out something small from a pouch at his waist. Something round, with a leather cord threaded through the middle and tied off in a loop. Edwin held it aloft, thumb and forefinger pinched through the handle. The little round something glowed silky gold in the candlelight, and Charles squinted at it.

"...String?" he asked.

Edwin nodded, reaching into the cell to take Charles' hand and draw it through the bars. His touch lingered as he placed the generous clew of fine, shimmering string in Charles' palm.

"I had the idea that if you were to unspool it behind you, perhaps you might be able to navigate the labyrinth with greater ease." Head bowed, he looked at Charles through his lashes. Pretty, fluttering things they were, charcoal black. "So that when you slay the beast, you might find your way back."

Charles gawped at him. "Mate. That's proper smart."

Edwin preened again — actually, he preened more than he had when Charles' complimented his looks. Handy to know. "Yes, I thought it rather a sensible idea. I spun it myself; I’ve been experimenting with the tensile strengths of different fibres. It shan’t break."

Charles grinned, closing his hand around the clew — and Edwin's fingers, too. "Brains and beauty, eh?" he said. "Where've you been all my life?"

Edwin went pinker, his eyes twinkled. Warmer than the candlelight, brighter than the moon.

Charles would have to offer up a prayer tonight to any god who might be listening. He'd do anything, give them anything, if they only promised to get him through tomorrow alive. He needed at least a thousand more days ahead of him, just to spend finding more and ingenious ways of making this boy smile at him.

Soon, too soon, Edwin sighed, reluctantly extricating his hand from Charles'. "I must go," he said, apologetic. "Questions will be asked if I'm discovered down here in the dead of night."

"Yeah. Yeah, 'course." Charles let his hand fall to his side, clenching it around the thread — still warm from Edwin's hand. He laughed, softly. "Well, um. Thanks for... dropping in?"

"And thank you for your discretion," said Edwin, raising his eyebrows as he drew his cloak back around him. "I'm sure I need not impress upon you the fact that I was never here."

Charles mimed locking his lips and throwing away the key.

"Good. Very good." Edwin shifted his weight between his feet a moment, finger lifting, mouth opening as if he had more to say. But whatever it was, he thought better of it. He drew his hands into fists in front of him, pressed together knuckle to knuckle, and offered a tight smile instead. "Well... best of luck, Charles Rowland. I truly hope you find fortune on your side."

With a stiff bob of his head, he turned fluidly on his heel to walk away. And it hit Charles again, hard, right between the eyes. The possibility that tomorrow could be his last day alive. A few minutes ago, the idea hadn't bothered him much.

Fuck. It bothered him, now.

"Edwin," he said, almost losing control of his volume as desperation sunk its hooks into him. He grabbed the bars, white-knuckled. "Edwin, wait —"

And he did. He waited, his back to Charles, his posture so, so perfect. Still as a statue.

Charles swallowed. "Can..."

Edwin turned his head, just slightly.

Charles' courage abandoned him. He huffed, shaking his head. "Nah. Nothing."

Of course, if there's one thing Charles knew about Edwin by now, it was that he couldn't resist a mystery. He turned to face Charles, eyes bright and curious. "Is there something else you require?"

Charles forced a smile. "You've already given me two gifts, mate. Bit greedy to ask for another one, yeah?"

"Perhaps." Edwin paused, and took a cautious step closer. "But, between ourselves... I can see little harm in the asking."

Charles' grin bloomed into something more sincere, something real. "No standing on ceremony, eh?"

Edwin's eyes crinkled at the corners. "I hardly see the point. I think perhaps you and I might dispense with formalities."

"Right."

Well then. Why not? Last night on Earth, and all that.

Charles ducked his head, laughing softly at himself. "Well. I was gonna be a bit cheeky, actually. Ask you to gimme a kiss for luck. But I reckon that's a bit — mmf!"

Quick, quicker than Charles could've imagined, Edwin was right there; reaching through the bars, taking Charles' face in his hands, and pulling him into a bruising kiss.They were lucky neither of them broke their noses against the iron strips.

Charles startled, gasped, so blindsided he didn't even know what to do with his hands — so he ended up just sort of clinging onto the bars. But soon enough his eyes fluttered closed, his breath rushed out of him and he melted. He kept his grip on the bars, though, holding on tight just to keep his knees from buckling. Edwin's lips were soft, and hotter than fire. His kiss was clumsy and overeager and not even slightly what Charles would've expected from someone so elegant, so refined. But he tasted of honey and home and Charles could've got lost in him, happily. Charles felt like he'd been shoved against the wall and plundered, in the best possible way. He felt like Edwin was everywhere, filling his senses. Hard not to feel wrapped up in him, with the way Edwin had his hands cupped round Charles' face, covetous and claiming. Like Charles belonged to him.

Fuck, maybe he did. Maybe he always had.

Edwin broke the kiss, but he didn't let Charles go. Just pulled back a little, still framing Charles' face with his fingers. His eyes were dark, hooded, his pretty eyelashes fluttering as he stroked Charles' cheek with his thumb. Face flushed, breathing hot and fast, gazing at Charles like he could devour him with his eyes. Charles shivered under the possessive weight of his gaze. He felt seen, admired, treasured. He felt owned.

He wanted more. More, more, until he suffocated under it.

Edwin took a shuddering inhale. "Come back to me," he said. And just because his voice was high and wavering with feeling didn't make it any less commanding. It wasn't a request; it was an order.

Charles nodded, in a daze. "I will," he promised.

He was as surprised as anyone to find he actually meant it.

Edwin nodded, and pulled him in close once more. Quick as you like, for just one more kiss — this one dry and fleeting, almost chaste. Bit of a departure from the one before, but somehow all the more devastating. Charles could feel Edwin's palms against his jaw, pressing so tight they ought to bruise. He hoped they would. A sword and a string weren't enough; he wanted everything Edwin could give him. Every tangible reminder that this was real, wasn't just a mad dream.

When that kiss broke, so did Edwin's hold. When he stepped away, he went all the way. And with one last lingering, longing look, he was gone, fading into the night. A mirage. A ghost.

And like a broken amphora, Charles remained right where Edwin had left him. Off-kilter, rooted to the spot. His outer shell shattered; his insides pooling at his feet for all to see.

~

It would be a sombre morning, just as the others had been. A familiar and predictable tragedy; as it always was, and always shall be.

At dawn's early light, just as they always had, seven young men and seven young women would be led — marched, bullied, carried — to the mouth of the labyrinth. There, the trembling gathering would be ushered into the embrace of the earth and stone. Pushed by the merciless hands of a royal guard, who'd long learned to look past the blood upon them.

But on this occasion, quite without the guards' knowledge, one youth would hang back from the crowd. From his cloak he would draw a small token, round and bright like a golden apple. A ball of fine yarn — spun in strong, beautiful fibres by strong, beautiful hands. He would find the end of the thread and fasten it, tightly, to an old iron ring within the threshold.

Then, with the clew unspooling from his fingers, painting a trail behind him like a steady drip of molten gold, he would walk into the jaws of death. Not with fear, not even with resignation, but with purpose. He was no hapless sacrifice, no tragic victim. He was a youth who'd grown accustomed to treading lightly through the dark, lest the monster in his house leap from the shadows. A youth with steel in his hand, and his own monster in his belly; a monstrous rage, and monstrous desire. A hunger to rival that of the minotaur’s.

A youth with a promise to keep in the dark; and a path waiting to lead him back to the light.

~~

A ball of thread is known as a clew or, in an alternative spelling, a clue. To this day, we talk about following the ‘clues’ to discover something, and it’s all thanks to the story of Theseus and Ariadne’s thread. — things I didn’t even know when I came up with this idea but make me insane… everything is connected… detective boys forever… Thanks for reading guys! You know I adore your comments 💛 and don't forget to give Robin's amazing gifs some love as well! Dunno if I'll get anything posted tomorrow, but if I do it'll either be something much shorter or maybe some sketches. I will defo see you for another fic on day 4, though! Any encouragement very much welcomed, it's been a rough couple of weeks💛 Painland Week Prompt List

[starrieisdelusional]

merthur reunion in s4 of my fix it au (now not canon, i’ll explain why in the end)

merthur had just completed an epic battle, they're standing in the throne room, just like the end of s3 when arthur banished merlin 3 years ago

merlin: honestly i didn't think i will be standing here again arthur: me too (stepping down from his throne) why did you come back? merlin: (shrugs) i tried running away, but i can't...

'i can't leave you' hangs in the air

arthur: (sharp breath) you never left, even after all this years merlin: no

(silence)

arthur: why? merlin: i swear loyalty to camelot arthur: not that....(shakes his head)

(more silence)

Arthur: tell me emrys, why do you, the most powerful being ever walked on earth, continue to serve me, a lowly king with too many mistakes, too arrogant for his own good, isn't wise enough for his kingdom when i did nothing but to continue to treat you like dirt, banished your kind and family, sentenced you to exile for the last few years? merlin: (sharp breath) i live to serve you arthur: so the prophecy then? merlin: NO! (shocked at his own voice)

(merlin took a shaky breath)

merlin: no, it's not...it's not because of the prophecy...i don't serve you because of some destiny that's just ridiculous

(merlin looks to the ground)

merlin: you know arthur? i never expected to cross path with you when i entered citadel all those years ago….i thought that maybe i can make a change for myself, made new friends, maybe even become the new physician but

(merlin shakes his head)

Merlin: i never knew when i was involved in something greater than i can ever imagine, when i became magic, when i devoted myself to albion's future but…

(merlin looks at arthur)

Merlin: i think it’s you, you’re the one who changes me, and i’m not just talking about some destiny or some prophecy spewed by the great dragon. I…I serve you because you’re you. You’re not anyone else. You meant something to me. You have a kind heart, bigger than anyone else i’ve ever known, you shine like the sun when you’re fighting on the battlefield. I just- i don’t know arthur, i tried leaving, i really tried but i just cant-

Arthur is already hugging him, and merlin lets his tears drop to arthur’s shoulders, hugging him back. Arthur is crying too, nuzzling to the side of his head

Arthur: i missed you- Merlin: i miss you too Arthur: i’m sorry Merlin: it’s not your fault- Arthur: it is my fault Merlin: blame your father Arthur: i shouldn’t listen to him

They both look at each-other, seeing how much they’ve changed for the last few years.

Arthur: thank you for staying by my side merlin. i will try to make you the happiest man alive. Merlin: but i’m already happy when im with you, i’ll burn villages for you, i’ll do anything for-

Arthur kisses him, merlin kisses him back. Deep down inside, arthur realizes, he’s stupidly in love with the man standing in front of him, he doesn’t want to lose him again

Merlin: i love you, i love you, i love you... Arthur: I know...

Episode ends

Note:

This is no longer part of the story because there are changes to the plot!! This is however part of the old masterlist which you can check out here:

The difference between the old one and the new one is that the new one is much more improved and coherent! They overlap with eachother.

main post:

To find my other ramblings about this AU, filter with the hashtag #must we really rely on fate?

[rileyh20]

Welp

I finally made an intro for y'all, because why the hell not? (I'm bored)

Hi, hello, konnichiwa, all that jazz. My name is Riley, but you can give me any nicknames or anything as long as I am fine with it after you use it! I write fanfiction mostly, but I'll write some stuff that isn't if you wanted me to.

I am going through a gender crisis, but I'm going as gender fluid for now. I'm using he/him as of now/today, I'll change this and other things that say my pronouns when needed

Things to call me: Literally almost ANY pet name, I love pet names :D. You can give me nicknames if you want. If I don't like something you've called me, I will tell you and ask you to please call me something else. There are only THREE things NEVER to call me as they are triggering to me, they are: babe, princess, and bear! But otherwise you can call me anything.

Things I'll write:

Angsty stuff

Fluffy

Crack fic's :3

Any Fandom's I'm in :>

Ships

Whump of almost any kind

Self harm of almost any kind (Specify what kind of kind you want)

Drug over-use, or alcohol intake

Abuse

Child Abuse

Family Abuse

Hinted NSFW, maybe smut depending

I basically have almost no restrictions.

Suicide/Suicidal themes

Any sort of LGBTQ+ themes (Not coming out tho)

Mild SA/Rape themes (Not much tho, beware)

Sometimes x reader if you're lucky, but mostly male reader

Things I wont write:

NSFW on minors, or minor actors

Minor x Adult (Especially explicit)

Fandoms I'm not in

Hurt no comfort (Maybe?)

Pregnant stuff (Idk, just don't even ask-)

Coming out fic's, for now at least (LGBTQ+ coming out)

Fic's where the main plot is about breaking up (I just suck and don't like them)

Fandoms I'm in, and WILL write for:

The Outsiders by se hinton

BBC Merlin

Voltron: Legendary defender

Teen Wolf (Not the movies)

One Piece

ATLA (Not really Korra)

Demon Slayer

TMNT (Mostly 2012 and 2018)

Fandoms I'm in, but probably won't write for:

All Rick Riordan books

Stardew Valley

School Bus Graveyard

I will update this later depending! I'm mostly working on The Outsiders, with slight Voltron tho.

You may introduce me to a fandom, and I may join it!

My Ao3 is Introvert_Extrovert!

Uhh, I don't think I have a DNI list at all. But if you DM me any thing about romance, or kids, or being MARRIED, I will respond but I might block you if it gets out of hand. I'm aromantic, not asexual, but still.

Just, don't DM weird things romantic/sexual stuff, I'm cool with platonic stuff. But just don't if it's anything more. And no, don't ask for a photo of me or my face or anything. I will not show it.

I update this a lot, so maybe check this again before requesting just in case! General tags below.

-💧

[gldnstrngs]

things i would change in bbc’s merlin

(yall this is gonna be a long one but even then i wont be able to give a full list bc that would take forever…)

starting with…

• arthur wouldnt fucking DIE at the end of this goddamn show. the show runners need to LOOK over their shoulders bc im so after them… 👁️ it genuinely made no sense to have him die so early LIKEEE!!! even in the legends he dies when hes at least middle aged like bffr.

• morgana and arthur being siblings would be effectively implied… and there would be no…incestual… undertones between morgana and arthur bc… that was freaky… as someone who knew the legends before starting the show, i was Gobsmacked when i realized they were flirting gross. even if someone who isnt familiar with the legends watched the show, they would be like oh ok s1 arthur & morgana had Vibes etc and then s3 its revealed theyre SIBLINGS?!!!? wild as hell.

• this might be a super unpopular opinion but i think it wouldve been better for gwen to be a princess like she is in the legends. idk i wouldve liked seeing her and elyan (who would also be a knight of their kingdom) being sent to camelot since she and arthur have been engaged for years, but they dont really have feelings for each other but they also respect each other a lot. and maybe she’d become super close to merlin and learn about his magic and same with morgana… idk there was potential tho!

• mordred would not be arthurs bane… it didnt rlly make sense for him to have motive to kill arthur. like, in the legends hes basically arthurs bastard son and kinda(?) an incest baby so obviously hes gonna be somewhat unhinged😭 but in the show he wasn’t rlly given that motive until they showed kara in the third to last ep in the entire show,,, like it just made no sense to me

• instead of having morgana be completely out of character and turn on arthur, she could deal with the inner turmoil of being a pendragon and also being related morgause. like seeing that conflict would’ve been so much more nuanced and interesting

• lancelot elyan and gwaine wouldnt have died🧍

ok there r def more thoughts i have but its too much to write down JDJEJJD

[umlewis]

lewis hamilton, p3, is interviewed during the post-qualifying press conference, singapore - september 21, 2024 (transcript under the cut)

Interviewer: "Lewis, let's come to you. You weren't that positive about your car yesterday after practice. Is P3 a bit of a surprise in qualifying?" Lewis: "I'm not saying it's a surprise, but through the weekend so far we were looking… I was looking particularly very poor. I mean, this morning and all of yesterday we were 1.2 seconds off these guys, so… We arrived with a car that was massively understeer-y and we just couldn't dial any in, no matter what we did just nothing changed. And made changes overnight, came here today, pretty much the same thing, and I was really, definitely shocked to see that we were still 1.2 seconds behind [laughs] Lando again. And then we just kept our heads down, kept not giving up, and we made some more changes, and got into this session and it was like night and day. Such a big difference. Car was all of a sudden alive and I was able to go where I wanted to go. So it was looking really strong throughout qualifying. And I think obviously with the crash in Q3 it made it difficult for all of us to put that final lap together. I think my lap was also nothing special. Very difficult to get the tires perfect and not overslide them; I had a lot of snaps. So I think with a better job maybe we could have been front row with this guy, but I don't know whether or not we could have beaten him today. But still really, really happy." Interviewer: "How rewarding is it? Because you've had some struggles with qualifying. You've been very open about that this year. So does that make this that much more satisfying?" Lewis: "Oh yeah. I mean, just to be up here with these guys, great drivers. I've not been up here for a while. And yeah, qualifying has been a nightmare for quite a long time, so it feels great to be up here. I feel very, very grateful and very, very happy. George and I are on the second row, so hopefully from here we can apply pressure to these two. And to even to be ahead of another McLaren and another Red Bull and also the Ferraris is mega, considering how fast the Ferraris, particularly, are here. So yeah, I hope that we can hold on to these guys tomorrow."

[time jump] NOT SHOWN: Journalist: "Andrew Benson, BBC Sport. One for Max and then one for Lando and Lewis. Max, will you talk to us outside the room? Because technically there's not... Yeah, okay. And then Lando and Lewis, what do you think about Max being given community service, effectively, for what he said on Thursday?" Lewis: "Yeah, I think it's a bit of a joke, to be honest. This is the pinnacle of the sport. Mistakes are made. I certainly wouldn't be doing it, and I hope Max doesn't do it." [time jump] Journalist: "Zuhrah Beevi, Vavel.com. Lewis, your car looked much stronger today than it did on Friday. How confident are you that you can get a podium like last year for tomorrow's race?" Lewis: "It's very hard to say, 'cause it was such a nightmare the past day-and-a-half. I think our long run pace was so-so. Nowhere near these guys, or at least the McLarens. But we have now put the car in a much different window, so we have to also anticipate a different balance tomorrow, compared to the past every other session. And yeah, I think here is really about managing tire temps, so that's gonna have to be key tomorrow. So doing absolutely everything we can to keep the temperatures out of the rears, basically. I hope, in our attempt to do that, we're somehow able to hold on to at least one of these guys. But yeah, we'll find out tomorrow. I feel confident, though, that we might be able to do that." [laughs]

[freckles-things]

Stolen Love // BBC Sherlock

Summary: Not having seen your boyfriend for some days, you head over to his flat with Chinese take away and left with a broken heart. [Happy ending]

Requested by: @talialea05 (I hope it is what you had in mind)

Pairing: BBC Sherlock x fem!reader

Warnings: broken heart, complicated relationships, subject of cheating, swearing

---

Sherlock and Y/N had been dating for a few months now. Both of you hadn’t really been looking for a relationship, especially Sherlock, but here you were. Sherlock had struggled with his feelings at first, not being used to being ruled by emotions. He too had accepted it in the end, and he had to admit that he enjoyed being with you quite a lot. John also repeatedly told him, both of you really, that the relationship had changed Sherlock for the better. Not that he needed changing, in your opinion. Yes, he was direct and brash and downright rude sometimes, but never intentionally cruel. He cared about people and justice and could be gentle and soft if he wanted to be.

Your relationship so far had consisted of ups and downs, just like any other one. At the moment you definitely were in a down-phase. You hadn’t seen Sherlock in days, and he had neither answered your calls nor your texts. You had texted John, who told you that they currently were working on a demanding and top-secret case brought to them by Mycroft. There had been a few times when Sherlock had been so focused on a case that he had forgotten you during the day. Back then, he had at least texted you a few times a day, whenever there was a short lull in his work, letting you know that he was still busy, and he had paid attention to make sure that you would see each other every other day. Yes, those dates had often consisted of you helping with the case or relaxing at Baker Street while Sherlock was sifting through evidence trying to connect clues, but that had been more than alright with you. You had often spent the evenings on the couch reading or telling Sherlock about the newest things happening in your life, him listening and commenting while he was jotting things down or looking things up. You had been content, you knew what kind of man he was before you had entered a relationship with him. You didn’t expect him to change. And you didn’t want him to. You enjoyed watching him work far too much for that.

Now, after nearly a week, you yearned to see him, even if it was just for a few minutes. You had texted John, asking if there were at the flat, which he confirmed. Buying some dinner at the Chinese restaurant you three preferred, you were looking forward to having dinner with both of them. Even if Sherlock would be preoccupied, John never failed to entertain you with his sarcastic comments.

Finally reaching 221 Baker Street, you knocked on the door waiting for Mrs. Hudson to answer you, which she did promptly. She hugged you, as always, and commented on how good it was to see you again. After a quick chat you made your way upstairs to Sherlock’s flat. You opened the door not bothering to knock, taking a few steps into the flat before freezing.

Sherlock and John weren’t alone. A woman was sitting in Sherlock’s armchair. She was gorgeous, almost flawless and seemed to be quite content in the situation. What caught your attention though, was the fact that she was wearing Sherlock’s robe. And if anything, Sherlock was quite peculiar over his robe. Even you weren’t allowed to wear it. That woman was currently wrapped up in it. Your mind drew a blank trying to explain the situation. Maybe she’d been drenched in something? But even then, they had towels and could have lent her a shirt and a pair of pants.

You put down the takeaway and took a few more steps towards the living room, listening to the conversation they were currently having.

“Well handsome, I’m not sure that plan will work. They might be too dazzled by those cheekbones”, the woman said lowly, leaning forward so her cleavage was on full display. You noticed Sherlock shifting slightly, crossing his legs.

“The likelihood of that happening is ridiculously low. We might as well go on with the current plan, as you well know.” His voice was the same as always, not betraying a single emotion. The woman hummed in agreement.

“You know, Mr. Holmes. I always liked detective stories. And detectives.” By now she was leaning even farther towards Sherlock, her hand wandering over the ankle of the crossed over leg, caressing further up his leg. You really didn’t want to see this and most of all you didn’t want to see how your boyfriend didn’t interfere with another woman touching him.

“Consulting Detective. The only one in the world.” You could clearly hear the pride in his voice. Was he trying to impress her?

“Let’s have dinner”, she stated. Even John had noticed that she was flirting and seemingly didn’t seem to care either since he didn’t interject and only made an amused comment over Sherlock’s eating habits.

You felt your stomach drop, taking a few clumsy steps back from the scene in front of you. How neither of them noticed you presence eluded you, but drove home the point of how enraptured your usual very attentive boyfriend was by the woman sitting opposite him. If the woman was part of the important case, it was no wonder that Sherlock hadn’t answered you. She was beautiful, direct, and intelligent and Sherlock was clearly taken by her.

Well then, the relationship wasn’t in a down-phase anymore. It was over. You turned around without announcing your presence, making your way out of the flat and back onto the street, stomping to the next tube station to get home. You felt numb and tried to concentrate on anything but the recent events. If there was one thing that you really didn’t need, it was a breakdown on the tube. Only once the door to your flat closed behind you, did you feel the tears gathering in your eyes and streaming down your face. You had known that Sherlock would sooner or later grow bored of you. He was brilliant, a force to be reckoned with and you were, well, ordinary. You couldn’t always keep up with his thoughts or his logic and preferred a quieter style of life. Of course you would grow to be a bother to him at some point. You just had hoped that this would happen later rather than sooner. And you had hoped that he would have had the decency to end your relationship properly instead of just ignoring you until you got the point.

Growing angry, you fished your phone out of your pocket and sending exactly one text before blocking Sherlock’s number: We’re done. Enjoy dinner.

---

It had taken Sherlock three days to realize that he wasn’t as unaffected by your massage as he had thought.

At first, he hadn’t understood what you meant and ignored the message. That was until both he and John accompanied The Woman to the door, and he spotted the bag of takeaway standing by the door to the living room. You must have been here. How had he not noticed you coming in? Now that he knew, he could smell the heady scent of your perfume lingering in the air. John looked equally surprised when he noticed the food. After The Woman had disappeared, he tried to contact you, but immediately got the message that your number wasn’t available.

“She must have seen Irene flirt with you, Sherlock. And you didn’t quite gave off the impression of being averse to it”, John commented once he understood the situation.

“Flirting?”, Sherlock questioned confusedly. John shook his head and smiled at his cluelessness.

“Quite obviously, Sherlock. I’ve never seen anyone flirt so openly. So, what are you going to do about Y/N?”

“Nothing”, he shrugged. It must have been obvious to you that he hadn’t reciprocated her flirting – at least that was what Sherlock though. And if you couldn’t trust him, then so be it. He had better things to do than to chase after a jealous woman.

“Nothing? Sherlock, you can’t let that poor girl wander around, thinking that you were flirting with other women behind her back.”

“Well, she should know better and trust me.”

“You can be an utter bastard sometimes; do you know that? That girl hasn’t heard from you in a week and comes here with dinner just to see another woman flirting with you. Of course she comes to the wrong conclusion. Look, Sherlock, both of you have bloomed in your relationship. You can’t just let that slip away.” John had grown frustrated by his friend’s blasé attitude. He knew that the two of you hadn’t said it yet, but it had been clear for anybody that the two of you were head over heels in love with each other. He didn’t understand how Sherlock could just let this slip past his grasp.

“I don’t have the time to chase after jealous women, John”, was Sherlock’s clipped response before he disappeared into his bedroom. He didn’t need you after all. He had survived years without a single relationship, so why should he bother. It didn’t make a difference, right?

Well, it did. He had caught himself talking to you on a few different occasions, without you being there. Thankfully, John had been away in those instances, otherwise he wouldn’t have heard the end of it. The one time he had wanted to make tea on his own, and yes, he was perfectly capable of that, the only tea he could find was your favourite. He hadn’t even known that they had it at the flat. Walking the streets of London, every flower shop suddenly seemed to display your favourites and the cake you loved, and would always buy a slice of if you ever saw it, was advertised everywhere. His thoughts were more and more occupied with you, to the point where he couldn’t properly focus on his cases. It was ridiculous, really. He didn’t understand why he was this affected by the situation. Even Gavin had noticed that something was off and had ordered him to rest for a few days before coming back for new cases.

It took him another two days until he decided to try and text you, asking you to talk. The message didn’t go through. So, you had still blocked him. He wasn’t quite sure how to interpret that. Did you want him to reach out so he could try to explain, or did you want to be left alone? He could admit that he wanted to try and tell you what had really happened. A chance to explain the situation you had observed. He had never been good with his feelings, he didn’t always understand them, but after a week and a few not-so-subtle hints from John, he could admit that he missed you. That it hurt that you weren’t there with him. He needed to talk with you. And if he couldn’t reach out like this, then he would have to go and find you.

---

You had spent the last week crying and feeling sorry for yourself. You had predictably heard nothing from Sherlock. Ignoring the voice in your head that reminded you that you had blocked him, you went in search of some chocolate. You were sure that he could reach you if he really wanted to. Wallowing in self pity wasn’t a solution though. You had given yourself the week to cry and be sad about it, all with the clear intention that this would be it and that you would be over him afterwards. Too bad that your heart didn’t quite agree with the plan. No matter how much you wanted to deny it, you couldn’t. You loved Sherlock and your broken heart wouldn’t just go away because you wanted it to. You wanted Sherlock too, but you simply weren’t going to get what you wanted to have.

Grabbing your chocolate and your freshly brewed coffee, you made your way to the living room. Once you had stepped over the threshold, you froze. There was a very familiar figure sitting on your sofa.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” you asked in absolute surprise before you remembered the current situation between you.

“Get out, Sherlock. I don’t want to see you.” You set your things down on the table and waited expectantly for him to move without looking at him. He didn’t though.

“You should change your locks. They were way too easy to pick, didn’t even take me 30 seconds”, his voice sounded the same as always. The deep baritone not giving anything away.

“Get out.” You repeated yourself. How could he even sit there calmly, as if nothing had happened?

“I thought we could talk, Y/N”

“Well, you thought wrong. And now get the hell out of my flat, Sherlock.” He still didn’t budge. How dare he break into your home and then refuse to leave. The audacity made you fume, and you took a deep breath. Exploding at him wouldn’t solve anything.

“Y/N, don’t be unreasonable”, ha admonished. Well, that did it.

“Unreasonable? Who the bloody hell do you think you are to invade my home like this and then disregard my wishes? You’re an arrogant bastard, Sherlock. Leave me alone!” He still didn’t react, which made your anger grow. He was just sitting there and blinking at you. Well, only one solution left then. Without saying anything else you turned around and slipped into your shoes which were standing in the hallway, moving to grab your jacket. You felt absolutely foolish leaving your own flat, but if he wouldn’t leave then you had to. You were just about to grab your keys when a large hand grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t leave, Y/N. Please, let me explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain, Sherlock”, your voice sounded utterly defeated, and you felt Sherlock shift behind you at the sound of it.

“Please, Y/N. Just give me five minutes.” Maybe it was the fact that he had said please two times in a row, a word which he usually never used, or maybe your exhaustion won, but you agreed. Winding your wrist out of his grasp, you moved back to the living room, taking a seat in the armchair and waited until Sherlock had followed.

“Five minutes”, you agreed, waiting for him to begin his explanation while studiously avoiding to look at him or his general direction.

“I didn’t realise she was flirting with me, Y/N.” You couldn’t help the scoff that escaped your lips. That was an utterly ridiculous excuse. Did he honestly expect you to believe that?

“I realise that it sounds like a lame excuse. But I really didn’t notice until John explained it to me. I… I have no experience with relationships. No one ever stuck around long enough for that, none ever has accepted me enough to want to be in a relationship with me. John explained how it must have looked. Me not answering your texts and then the situation with Irene. I swear that there is nothing between us. I didn’t accept her dinner invitation. I never do.” So, obviously there had been more than one invitation. You didn’t know how to feel about this revelation. How long had he worked on the case for that to be possible?

You didn’t quite look at him while saying your piece. There was no response from Sherlock, which made you swallow hard. Taking a deep breath, you prepared to lay your feelings bare in the hopes to get your closure.

“She was flirting with you, Sherlock. She had her hands all over you, touching you and inviting you for dinner. You didn’t say anything, even John didn’t say anything about it. You didn’t even tell me that you were working a case. I got to know that from John. And when I come over with the intention of making your evening a little easier by bringing food, you’re not only sitting across a woman that shamelessly flirts with you, but she was also wearing your bathrobe. The one even I am not allowed to touch because you’ve got some weird attachment to it. What was I supposed to think, Sherlock? You don’t just let other people touch you like that if you’re not interested. And I’ve never seen you letting anyone touch you voluntarily except for John and Mrs. H.“

“I’m not stupid, Sherlock. I knew that one day, sooner or later, you would lose interest in me. You’re brilliant and extraordinary and no one really can keep up with you, least of all I. Why would you be interested in some ordinary person? And that’s alright. I was prepared for that. But I expected you to be honest and to not just string me along for entertainment or some sick form of amusement”, your voice was quiet and wobbled precariously as you tried to hold back your tears.

This however got a response out of the consulting detective. He closed the distance between you with two large steps, kneeling on the floor in front of you and gently grasping your hands before you could even blink. His large hands encased yours and kept on holding them when you tried to wiggle them free.

“Are you sure? I would understand if you’d prefer her over me. She’s beautiful and intelligent.” His well-protected heart broke at your words. How could you think that he would ever want anyone else if he could have you. You were perfect to him. Exactly what he needed and wanted, and he would never give you up.

“Love, I would never do that. If anything, the last week has shown me how much I need you in my life. I missed you, Y/N. I couldn’t think and everything reminded me of you. I don’t want to lose you. I realize that my reaction to Irene Adler wasn’t the best and that I hurt your feelings with the way I behaved. I promise that I will try to do better. My understanding of emotions is minuscule at best, and I cannot promise that I’ll never make a mistake again. But I don’t want Irene Adler. How could I, when I have you in my life?”, he said in the softest voice you’d ever heard from him. He searched for your eyes, and you met them for a split second. It was enough to see the regret on his face and the earnestness with which he promised to do better. It wasn’t quite enough yet.

“I don’t want anyone but you, Y/N. I didn’t answer your texts because I didn’t realise you weren’t there. I talked to you every evening, running through the case. And I didn't give my bathrobe to her, John did. I asked her to put on something else, but John warned me that she would just not wear anything at all. And I didn't want that. And the last week I caught myself talking to you as well, but there was no answer because you weren’t there. I missed the chatter while I was going through the evidence. Graham even sent me home because I couldn’t focus on the case. You make me a better person, Y/N. And I realised that I can’t live without you anymore. You're kind and always see the good in people. Wherever you are, you bring sunshine. And you are more intelligent than you realize, love. Your input on my cases has helped me a great deal and I can’t imagine anyone else I would rather discuss a case with.”

His warm hands framed your face, gently tilting it up a little. Your eyes met and you were mesmerized by the emotions swimming in his usually cold gaze. There were dark shadows under his eyes that proved that he hadn’t slept well in the past few days, despite not having any cases.

“You are beautiful, love. Inside and out. And it pains me that you don’t see it yourself. I will spend the rest of my life proving it if you will have me.” You slowly leaned your forehead against his broad chest, your shoulders drooping in defeat. How on earth were you supposed to resist that man? Maybe your reaction had been a little harsh and you should have waited for an explanation. It might have saved you both from a week full of heartache.

“I’m sorry, too. I might have overreacted when I saw you together and should have given you a chance to explain. I should have trusted you. Maybe we could talk about boundaries and what we expect of each other some time, so we can be on the same page? Will you forgive me?” You practically whispered your words, but you were sure Sherlock picked them up with no effort.

His strong arms wrapped themselves around your back, pulling you even closer to him. His face buried itself against your neck, and soft lips pressed a slow kiss against your jaw.

“Only if you’ll forgive one stupid, self-absorbed detective as well.” His words forced a wet laugh out off you, your hands grabbing onto the front of his coat and taking a deep breath of his well-known scent.

“I don’t think I could stay mad at you, even if I wanted to. I do love you far too much for that.” Once the words had left your mouth, you froze. Neither of you had said the words until now and you hadn’t intended to let them slip out.

Sherlock’s hand moved up to the back of your head, gently moving it so he could see your face again.

“I’m glad to know we’re of one mind then, love”, he whispered against your lips, before closing the small distance between you. You closed your eyes, the stress of the last week lifting off your shoulders as Sherlock kissed you gently.

You stayed in his arms for hours, not wanting to let go. Sherlock didn’t fare any better, pressing your body against his, his mind finally at ease when he felt your weight settle against him. Both of you would undoubtedly make mistakes again, just like everyone else did. But with a relationship built on trust and communication, you would overcome those as well.

-----------

If you spot any mistakes please let me know!

[saraakpotter]

do you suppose we could have a platonic bbc sherlock onehsot where the reader lives in the flat to the right and after knowing each other for a few months, tells him “I love you.” for the first time? again, platonically.

please and thank you

okay, i love this request. sorry this took a little long but i hope it's how you imagined it❤️

the most extraordinary way

warning: none :) genre: fluff

The walls of 221B Baker Street had always been thin, a fact that you became acutely aware of not long after moving into the flat to the right. The muffled strains of a violin would often seep through the brickwork, accompanied by the occasional emphatic "Interesting!" or "John, come here!" It was an odd comfort, a reminder that life buzzed on the other side, filled with its own peculiar rhythms.

the first time you met Sherlock, you were at the Scotland yard reading some files and he came to give the answer to a case they have been working on. he found you interesting and now you are constantly at 221b.

today, you came home from Scotland yard tired and angry. let's just say it wasn't your best week. before you enter the flat you saw a small note, hanging next to the door handle. it was from Sherlock:

i have noticed you have interest in classic music. I extend an invitation to you for an evening of musical reprieve. I shall be playing a selection of pieces that, I believe, might be to your liking. Consider it a respite for both our minds.join me at 7:00 pm.

you couldn't help but smile at the note. as the clock hit 7:00 you knocked the door of 221b.

after a few seconds,Sherlock opened the door. his hair was a little messy and he looked excited or maybe happy.

"y\n, glad you came." Sherlock said opening the door.

"thanks for inviting me! i haven't had the best week in Scotland yard" you said with a smile walking in the flat.

Sherlock started playing the violin for a long time and you love it. it really meant to you how he knew all your favorite songs.

you completely forgot about your though week for some time.

after the music stopped you looked at Sherlock and stopped before clapping your hands for him

"Sherlock, that was really incredible! it really changed my mood, in a good way. thank you!" you said

"it was nothing" he said with a small smile but he was secretly really happy\satisfied that he could cheer you up.

after the music, you and Sherlock decided to read books together instead of leaving. and by together i mean you read your own book and he reads his.

you were really happy. you liked Sherlock, he was a really great friend even if some say the opposite. you looked up from your book and looked at him with a small smile.

"what?" Sherlock asked not looking up from his book.

"i love you, Sherlock"

this was the love of a friend for a friend, the love for two people who had become an unexpected part of each others life.

the words made Sherlock look up from his book and at you. even if it was just as a friend, it really meant to him. you know, he really doesn't hear that a lot.

Sherlock had stilled, his back to you, and for a moment, you'd worried you'd crossed an unseen line. But then he'd turned and smiled.

"i know" he teased and then turned serious, still smiling "and i, you, in the most extraordinary way"

you both went back to your books afterwards, but none of you could stop thinking about it.

@sleeplessdreamer14

[toxycodone]

I think yaad reallyyyy likes to watch people eating. Theres this one scene in ghosts bbc that I’m linking because that’s what I’m thinking of 😭 now that he’s an old man who does eat for himself I think it happens less but it’s also significantly creepier lmfao. Anyway that’s my little Pookie Wookie and if he wants to watch me eat like a dirty voyeur I’m fine with that <3 (yaad anon)

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPRoq99jQ/

THAT TIKTOK HAS ME HOWLING OH MY GOD??? “Dip it again.” HELLO?!!

He is so…yeah. Can I pitch the idea that Yaad likes seeing you enjoy yourself too?? Like being stuck in the Golden Kingdom made happiness such a rare occasion because nothing ever happened? Nothing changed? So monotony was his usual.

seeing you smiling. Happy. Laughing. Enjoying yourself. Yeah. It makes him feel all warm and bubbly inside. He feels at peace when you smile.

But yes. I. I can see him being really into you enjoying food…he wants to feed you desserts and kiss the sweetness off your lips when you go “mmmm” (hey maybe he can slide his tongue in and have a bite—)

[elizabethrobertajones]

so after taking like half a year to watch the second doctor, I burned through Pertwee Doctor in what felt like a week. I was fully ready to formally induct him to the hall of favourites somewhere around the top, pending the wikipedia search to check he such wasn't a terrible guy IRL it made it into the personal life section as per the last 2, and -

[refuses to be in a film when a producer won't hire a gay friend]

good start, good start (already liked everything else I read but this is an incredible character merit mark for a guy in the 50s)

[the doctor is literally just him being himself on camera]

Oh, so I just want him to be my friend, I see

[he said the catalyst for leaving was the death of Roger Delgado among other changes in the last year]

Wait WHAT - is that why there was no more Master later on -

[Delgado died on location filming in Turkey, his own wiki page repeats that this was why Pertwee wanted out]

NO NO NO NO NNOOOO

HOW IS THIS HUGE BIT OF DOCTOR WHO HISTORY SOMETHING I NEVER HEARD ABOUT? I GREW UP IN SCI FI CONVENTION SPACES BUT EVERYONE JUST TALKS ABOUT TOM BAKER LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED BEFORE?

WHAT THE FUCK.

I am DISTRAUGHT, the Doctor/Master stuff from the first few seasons of the 3rd Doctor was absolutely INCREDIBLE television. I'd been assuming Delgado maybe had somewhere else to be. Heartily recommend watching that entire run of the show if you don't want to start any earlier.

Well, anyway. :(

I know people don't like the weird James Bond swing it all took with him but the show had been getting more action-y anyway under the 2nd doctor and then a guy who had literally been in the inner circle with all the WWII creatives like Ian Fleming and probably helped INSPIRE James Bond gets the role, I'm feeling like we're blessed and privileged from this perspective of getting to watch it as a historical artefact. I'm assuming based on the vague things I know about the 4th Doctor, the first I'm meeting with any preconceptions, that he's obviously not capable of bringing THAT to the table because that was no ordinary skillset, Pertwee was clearly a top 0.00001% of actors and Guys Who Had Lived A Life, who happened to be doing a silly BBC sci fi show. I'm expecting it to tone back on all these things.

And then in hindsight from the Doctor Who revival era, all the nonsense he brought, aside from the Venusian Karate and flying car and a few other extreme eccentricities, end up being stuff that feels much more modern and like the kind of antics the Doctor gets involved in. Like, he took the sonic screwdriver from being a couple of times joke into a multi-tool with the first joke about it not working on wood after he uses it through many episodes to escape or explode things, all of which is so common nature to the Doctor nowadays.

He also had far more of the casual behaviours we think of as The Doctor now, especially way less circumspect name dropping of historical people and a sense of having lived all around time and space, sometimes for extensive periods of time (he clearly like. LIVED on Venus to pick up all the various throwaway jokes about Venusian culture to explain things he does lmao). Weirdly, despite knowing he was a timetraveller from the jump, the previous two doctors were quite close-lipped about who they knew and had met, and rarely namedropped.

In any case, carrying on into 4th doctor era cautiously because I am 1: sad and 2: deeply let down by my perception of Whovian culture as I've been exposed to it, which sets a ridiculously high bar for Baker as the high watermark of Who and meanwhile I have just bid farewell to watching one of the most electric actors I've ever seen in anything ever while feeling wildly upset on his behalf that there isn't a bonkers appreciative fan culture for everything he did and he's written off as one of the quirky weird early doctors you don't need to bother with.

(AND THERE WAS WRITTEN QUEER DOCTOR MOMENTS. AT LEAST 2-3 OF THEM, GENDER AND SEXUALITY-WISE. HE GOT TALKED TO IN POLARI. ON TV IN 1972. THAT DOES NOT HAPPEN BY ACCIDENT.)

[lululawrence]

Sus' 40 to 40 Countdown: 24 Days

Today's theme is one that made me giggle as I went searching through my fics to find ones that worked for it, so I hope it makes you scratch your head a little and maybe see if you can figure out what exactly the magical word was :D

Fics That All Include the Random Word @becomeawendybird Chose in the Author's Notes

Here We Come A-Wassailing - Harry/Louis (best friend's brother, friends to lovers, Christmas fic, caroling, through the years)

As the tradition develops, so does Louis' schoolboy crush on Gemma's younger brother, Harry. But that's all it is. A silly schoolboy crush.

Until they grow up, of course. And then it's something else.

You're a Nightmare, I'm a Disaster - Nick Grimshaw/Louis (bookshops, teasing, banter, miscommunication, pining, fluff, humor)

The one where Nick is a writer, Louis works in a bookshop, and things don't exactly start off on the right foot, but they might just end on it.

Great Minds, They Think Just The Same - Nick Grimshaw/Louis (Radio 1, enemies to lovers, banter, flirting, pining)

The one where in an attempt to get the Breakfast Show back to the number one morning show in the country, the BBC brings on Louis as a co-host with Nick. They only thing is they don't really get along… until they do.

I Will Care For You - Harry/Louis (omegaverse, adoption, nanny Louis, friends to lovers, accidental bonding)

“Shut up, Harry,” Afton demanded. If she wasn’t a beta, Harry almost felt like she might have put some alpha timbre into her voice with that line. Either way, he did shut up to listen to her as she continued. “Reach out to Louis. He’s our usual sitter and he’s lovely. He’s come on some hard times, too, so you could probably convince him to work for you for cheap, especially if you’re having him live with you too.”

Couldn't See Past Me, Till I Saw You - Harry/Louis (famous/non-famous, friends to lovers, mpreg, single parent Louis)

The one where Harry and Louis have been best friends since they could remember and their friendship has withstood it all…but an unexpected pregnancy might change everything.

All 40 to 40 Countdown Posts