#wrote this out of sheer frustration about all things game awards

[jar-of-galaxies]

game of the year is. uhhh. red bull

[rhaenyratargeryn]

A few weeks ago I wrote slutty, slutty Kent x Button fic and then didn’t post it-- but now I’m gonna and reveal myself as a thirsty ho.

title: reciprocity rated: explicit fandom/pairing: Mind Blind (IF) Kent Zarneki x f!Button Wiseman summary: One photo leads to another leads to another... Button could open a gallery with the sheer volume of nudes she possesses of one Kent Zarneki.

It had started innocently enough. At least, that was the lie I was telling myself because in all honesty, what was innocent about sending your boyfriend a selfie— when that selfie was really just a strategically cut close up of the new strappy bralette you’d bought, peaking out from the unbuttoned V of your Aeon uniform top? Nothing. Absolutely god damn nothing.

The text I sent: new! shockingly comfortable. didn’t want to rip it off as soon as I got home

Kent’s message bubbles were silent, but the “read” notification had gone off. I grinned slyly to myself, getting comfortable back up against my bed pillows. Kent blushed so infrequently, I had made a game of it as much as Glitch, though I had had unprecedented success. Glitch had given me a withering look at the boast.

I mean. It was obvious why I did.

My phone dinged, the notification image showing that in lieu of a text, Kent had sent an image of his own. I clicked the tiny preview and was awarded with a picture much like my own, Kent’s tie loose around his neck, the buttons of his shirt undone to show the pale expanse of skin beneath. I could just barely see the line of his jaw, the smirk ticking up the corner of his lips.

I responded by undoing my own shirt down to my waist, pushing the fabric down around my shoulders and using my arms to help my cleavage look fuller. This was dangerous. Very dangerous, but I shook my head to let my hair cascade down across me, took a few shots and sent the best one.

Are you in bed?

Kent’s reply. Followed shortly by another photo. He had put aside ceremony and fully removed his shirt, revealing he was in bed himself. The dark sheets contrasted against him. All that Aeon training had sculpted and carved him into a lean, but strong figure. He was not bulky, like Grayson, cut more narrowly at his waist which gave his shoulders an even fuller illusion of broadness that made my hands ache to run over them.

Kent Zarneki, in short, was too fucking hot for his own good.

I am

Im taking my clothes off

I assume that is what we are doing?

I sent the three texts in quick succession. The message bubbles in reply were brief.

yes

The image that followed was enough to send a hot pang right down into my stomach. He’d unbuttoned his trousers, using the thumb of his free hand to hold down the band far enough I could see the line of his pelvis and the dark hair that dusted across.

If you want to

I want to

I took off my shirt, throwing it aside without care. I had chosen to wear a high-waisted black skirt that day, which was all the better. I very carefully slid my hand up the cup of my bralette, letting the fabric rise up to show the under curve of my breast, appearing fuller when pressed up into my palm.

I sent it and in a second got a reply.

Off

I smirked. Kent had already been naked from the waist up for some time now. I received a sequence of three images, all of which where very flattering shots of Kent’s own torso and abs.

Seems only fair

I pulled the lacy fabric up and over my head as easily as my shirt, looking down at my own pale breasts, my nipples already hardened in the cool air and in anticipation. Shyness fell over me like a cold shower. Kent had never seen me naked before. What if I was too small? What if I was too big? Was my right breast always that much different from my left? Anxiety panged in my stomach as intense as arousal and despite my delay, Kent’s messages remained silent.

Patient. Waiting.

I could cheat. Brushing my hair over my shoulders, the strands lay perfectly over the tops of my breasts, hiding them from clear view, but not as much as my bralette did. I let the photo catch just the bottom half of my face, my tongue stuck out to the side. Teasing. Taunting. Like it was on purpose, not because I was nervous.

Kent didn’t respond for several minutes. The next image, I felt my mouth go dry. I could very clearly see the outline of his erection, pressing against the groin of his pants and going down the leg.

He wasn’t wearing boxers. Of course he wasn’t. This was Kent Zarneki, a man who was one bad day away from leaving everything and joining a nudist colony.

Is this okay?

It was more than okay. It was super okay. It was, please-send-me-more-now okay.

I relayed as much through the text message and got a photo that sent my heart racing. It was just him. His cheeks flushed, his gray eyes dark and storming, a smug smile half formed on his lips. His dark hair was messy and I nearly groaned with frustration at how badly I wanted to run my fingers through it, tug on it, pull that smirk against my own and kiss it off his face.

The next photo I sent him I hid nothing, cupping my breast in my hand and making as if I was drawing my thumb over my nipple. I showed my face, trying my best to look as effortlessly sexy as him— though no matter what I did, my smile was always more playful than sultry. My cheeks flushed with more than just wanting.

Cute

High praise

I replied, trying to remind myself his short responses were normal and not to read into it.

You want praise?

You’re driving me crazy

His words hit me like a sucker punch. His next photo is the second one I didn’t see coming.

No man this gorgeous should ever be blessed in such a way. There were really no words other than “pretty” to describe the flushed skin of his length, not overly long, but definitely blessed where it counted. Or at least where I had heard it counted. It’s all about the girth. My mind supplied in its best Cosmo magazine voice.

The tip was, in all honesty, a very pretty shade of darkened pink, and curved with a sort of perfection that should have been reserved to— I don’t know. Porn stars? Dick models? Do dick models exist? Hand models sure do, and the way his hand was wrapped around himself was enough to make me think he could easily be one of those too.

Cute

I snap back and I can practically hear him laugh in my mind.

High praise

More?

Is that an offer or a request?

Both

How could I say no? I definitely didn’t want to. I found the zipper at the top of my skirt and slid it down. I was left in just my panties and hose. I rolled the hose down low on my thighs, sitting up on my knees to take a photo. Hesitating for just a moment, I flicked the camera over to video and let my hand run down over my thigh and then across my hips. I drew my finger over my center, my breath hitching and my hips moving forward as I rolled against my own touch.

I sent it.

And after a moment I got a video in turn. I watched Kent’s hand glide up over his length in slow, languid motions, pausing to rub his palm against the tip of his head. Teasing himself with the lightest touch. His cock flexed and jumped, a tiny gruff sound escaping his lips and reminding me that even though I couldn’t see his face this was Kent. My Kent.

I nearly dropped my cellphone as it began to vibrate, an incoming call displaying on the screen. I laid back, pushing my hose off the rest of the way as I answered. The line was silent before I finally broke it with a breathy- “hey.”

“Are you naked?” Kent’s voice was low, strained, but somehow eager.

I took a quick moment to slide my panties off, kicking them away.

“Now I am.”

Kent took in a deep breath. I let my hand trail between my legs, touching myself in the familiar way I did when I was alone. I traced my index and middle finger up my labia, spreading the soft warm skin, dipping my fingers into the center where I was slick and hot.

“I’m touching myself.” I said, my voice a broken whisper. Kent made a gruff sound of acknowledgement.

“Kent...” I said, “You made me so wet.”

He moaned.

“Is that okay?” I said, teasing him. I appreciated his caution, his check ins, making sure I was enjoying myself.

“Yes. Yes, it’s okay. Tell me.”

“Wow. Six whole words? Be careful, you’ll make me come.”

“That’s the idea.” Kent said, a breathless laugh filtering through his words.

“What about you? Having fun yet, Zarneki?”

Kent made a sound and I heard the rustling of sheets and the faint click of the phone camera shutter. My phone chimed, an image appearing of the head of his cock, wet with pre-cum he was smearing around the tip.

My tongue slid out against my bottom lip.

“Kent, don’t take this the wrong way— but you have such a pretty penis.”

He snorted.

“I’m serious. I want to put it in my mouth, which is not something I thought I’d ever say to any guy. But like? It just looks so appealing.”

“You’re killing me.” Kent said, a groan that sounded almost exasperated coming from his throat. It was hard to tell.

“With my witty charm or because I put a very naughty image in your head?”

I slipped two fingers into my mouth, pursed my lips, made a show of how wet and soft they looked and sent it to Kent.

“Shit—“

I felt a burst of pride at his expletive and found my clit with my fingertips, circling in a quicker pace.

“I like listening to you.” I said, thoughtless. I sighed, feeling my whole body warming, “Wish it was closer.”

“...I’m just down the street.” Kent said, trying to play it off like it was a fact and not a very tempting invitation.

“But this is fun. And naughty. And I get a keepsake.”

I heard the question in his voice, almost masked by a small groan. I wondered what his hands were up to.

“The photos. Speaking of which... I wouldn’t mind an after shot.”

“After?”

“After I make you come all over yourself, Zarneki.”

I heard his breath hitch.

“Only if I get one too.”

“You got it.”

Talking became a non-priority then. The only thing I strained to hear was his breaths, his soft moans, the faint wet sound I sometime thought I heard over the receive— or maybe that was me. I felt flooded, with heat and wanting and need. I pressed harder, worked my palm flat against my clit and stroked my fingers inside, imaging how much further Kent’s slender fingers could reach. Imaging his tongue. That pretty cock.

“Kent.” I whimpered, the involuntary clutch of my walls around my fingers my bodies way of telling me it wanted all of that and more.

“Good?” Kent murmured, a faint reply.

“Yes— I... I just keep imaging if it were you.” I don’t need to explain. I can tell by the way his breathing has fallen into faint rhythmic pants that he got my full meaning and he liked it.

“...me too. I want... I want you.” Kent paused, his next words coming out with earnest sweetness, “I’ll wait as long as you need...  but I’m ready. I want it. This. With you.”

Whatever I was thinking, whatever I wanted to say fuzzed out around the edges as a prickling sensation spread out from where my fingers were rolling and pressing in tandem. I coaxed my climax out, the peak hanging on the edge for a wonderful few tense moments before it fell. I whimpered, the sound coming out louder than I intended.

I heard Kent swear, or say my name or some combination of the two and then his voice pitched up for just a moment, a gasping moan aching from his throat.

I was hot, messy and completely boneless, laying back on my bed and feeling like I could fall asleep right then and there.

But I owed Kent a picture.

I spread myself open, the puffiness, the redness and slickness hopefully all the evidence he needed to see I had most definitely orgasmed. The moment I opened the chat to send it I received his in turn. His cock lolled back against his stomach, a line of cum connecting to the opaque white puddle settled there. There were drops across his chest and a few splatter across his hand.

My walls clutched hard as I thought what it would feel like to lick him clean.

I sent my own photo, the two of us quiet now, content with just listening to the sound of the other breathing through the phone speaker.

“So. Shower photo shoot next?” I said, unable to hide a nervous giggle.

“Give me just a second to get a towel.”

I had been kidding, but the eagerness in Kent’s voice was enough to make me decide to not correct him.

[slusheeduck]

Geeking IN: How Online Fans Are the Future of Media and Media Marketing

           Once dismissed as socially inept nerds, fans are taking the lead as this generation’s most successful creators. While there has always been the odd story of fans who end up taking the helm of favorite TV shows or adapting their favorite work into a movie, many new faces in the entertainment industry are using their knowledge from years of participating in online communities to market to the global internet audience, as well as keeping their own fandoms somewhat in line.

           Recent years have seen a boom in the acceptance of “fandom,” that is, a community of fans. Comic conventions have gone from a punchline to mega-events that require a lottery just to get in, there are countless articles on sites like Buzzfeed about “How wrecked were you during the Game of Thrones finale?” and “Seven ways to tell you’re a Cumberbitch.” Even something once as obscure as “fanfiction” has practically become a household term.

So how did we get to this point? Where in the scope of the past decade has it become acceptable to “geek out”? The main answer to this is, naturally, the internet. When the world wide web was still the great unknown to the general public, many fans saw it as a way to gather, creating their own websites or posting their fanwork on sites like Livejournal and DeviantArt. As the internet became more and more accessible, so too did joining in the fun of fandom. That leads us to today: now, many fans who have more or less grown up in these online spaces and seen the shifts in fan communities and interaction, are coming of age and producing their own content with a keen sense of how these communities work.

Perhaps the most public example of this comes in the form of best-seller book Fifty Shades of Grey. Regardless of what your opinion on the raunchy romance is, London-based author E.L. James has been completely upfront with the fact that it began as a Twilight fanfiction. While it is already rare for a fanfiction writer to “make it big,” much less into a novel that has sold over 100 million copies worldwide[1] and spawned a movie series and sex toy line, it’s even rarer for them to actually admit that it began as a fanfic. And yet James has no qualms mentioning it.

“Well, it all started way back in the day when I saw ‘Twilight,’ the film, and I loved those books — I could not put [them] down, absolutely avidly read the books,” E.L. James said in an interview on “Katie,” Katie Couric’s talk show. “This switch was flipped. I had to write — started writing, wrote a novel, then I discovered fan fiction…[I] wrote about Edward and Bella and then decided to write about Christian and Anastasia. I took the fan [fiction], and a friend of mine re-wrote it and I thought — if he could do it, so could I, and now I am here.”[2]

James even goes so far as to put this backstory up on her personal website. Regardless of individual opinions of the book, her success and openness about her past in writing has opened up a new wave of potential writers (and agents) who can see their fanfiction transforming into original works.

In addition to Fifty Shades and other books such as Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell, the once heavily maligned group of fanfiction writers are shaping up to be the popular, original novelists of the next ten years rather than merely running fan magazines or writing something for a company-approved spin-off novel.

However, while the internet is just beginning to be seen as a source for new talent, it’s more importantly become a place to take seriously when it comes to marketing. Many fans who grew up in the age of internet fandoms have a keen sense of the international aspect of the web; it’s now nothing special to discuss the latest Star Wars movie with someone in Bangladesh from your home in Seattle with a dissenter from Norway. As a result of this global recognition, they are able to market their work for the internet community at large rather than simply the demographic of a set area.

With entertainment and media becoming more and more global rather than regional, this is an invaluable skill to have. It’s not enough to appeal to a target audience, but to instead be ready to market it, however indirectly, to the world. One of the most notable, recent examples of this comes from the show “Gravity Falls,” created by Alex Hirsch. While intended for an American audience of 8-12 year olds, “Gravity Falls” has reached worldwide audiences—its series finale, aired earlier this month, clocked in 2.9 million views in the US alone, and the series as a whole has become number one in total views on record for a children’s show[3]. While the show itself was enjoyable to fans, what gave it the extra punch into worldwide success comes from its use of “easter eggs” (special nods to previous episodes as well as other shows) and secret codes hidden in the show.

“I’ve always been a fan of shows that gave little hints to regular watchers, and I wanted to do the same thing with Gravity Falls,” Hirsch said. “But I never expected [the fans] to go so far with it! So I made things harder, and within an hour, they would find the answers to what I’d hidden.”

This mutual understanding of the fans wanting to find things and the creator wanting fans to work hard made it possible for fans to connect even more with Gravity Falls, as well as helped to create a tighter community. With these interactive elements, online communities began to form around the show, and soon enough people from all over the world were discussing and, more importantly, watching the show.

As if this wasn’t enough, Hirsch took his involvement with fan communities a step farther. He has done two Ask Me Anything (AMA) sessions on the message board site, Reddit: one as himself and another surprise visit as the main antagonist of Gravity Falls, Bill Cipher. Both of these AMAs gave more dedicated viewers a deeper look into the world of Gravity Falls as well as behind the scenes information straight from the source. Additionally, Hirsh regularly held contests related to “Gravity Falls” on Twitter, offering prizes of personalized messages from the characters (of whom he voices four of the mains) and often displaying all entries on his page, ushering in a sense of community with the creator of the show himself.

As lines begin to blur between social media and entertainment media, online fans are becoming a more crucial demographic than ever to reach out to. And as their numbers increase, more and more communities can spot the difference between pandering and “hype”. As we can see, fame can pop up merely because of involvement with a fandom or because of deliberate marketing based on understanding the current “fandom” market. An example of this comes from game developing newcomer Toby Fox, whose game UNDERTALE became an overnight success. Before UNDERTALE, he was very active in a few different online fandoms. In an interview with The Existential Gamer, he discusses the importance of the Nintendo game Earthbound in his past, because he “was part of an Earthbound fan community and it was a cornerstone of my life.”[4]  In addition to being in the Earthbound community, Fox was well-known in the fandom for the webcomic “Homestuck,” going so far as to have his music included in the series. With the knowledge of fandom mentality and what people look for in independent media, he was able to successfully fund a Kickstarter and produce the game, which itself is full of online and fandom in-jokes, endearing it to those “in the know”. And, given the fact that it’s sold over 1.2 million copies[5] and won “Best PC game” from both IGN and Destructoid—two prominent gaming magazines/sites—as well as numerous other awards during the 2015 gaming award season, the amount of those “in the know” is much more than most would assume.

With the acceptance of fandoms and sheer amount of people participating in these types of fan communities, it’s more important than ever for businesses and entertainment networks to begin studying the trends of these demographics and seeing fans as potential employees as well. The latter particularly seems to be the direction entertainment-focused businesses should consider; not only are fans notoriously creative and attentive to detail, but they know precisely what online audiences will be looking for in way of content as well as advertising. And, as was shown by “Gravity Falls”, a show with a savvy team can create a feeling of community with the fans of their product, letting them know that yes, they’re also fans! They understand the frustration of waiting through hiatuses and know what kind of in-jokes to make for those who look for deeper meaning in their media.

I would say that now, we’re living in the time of the super-fan, and that should be something that is embraced in media circles, from a marketing and hiring standpoint. The more media legitimizes their super-fans, particularly the large number of those online, the more they can begin a symbiotic relationship to gain both views and profits.

 [1] http://www.theguardian.com/books/2014/feb/27/fifty-shades-of-grey-book-100m-sales

[2] http://www.examiner.com/article/e-l-james-discusses-twilight-influence-fifty-shades-of-grey

[3] http://variety.com/2016/tv/news/gravity-falls-series-finale-disney-xd-ratings-records-1201711939/

[4] http://existentialgamer.com/interview-toby-fox-undertale

[5] http://steamspy.com/app/391540

[thorne93]

Curious Conundrum (Part 17)

Prompt: You’re John Watson’s sister. One day you decide to visit your brother for lunch, only to meet the infamous Mr. Holmes…

Word Count: 1935

Warnings: language, flirtation, sexual innuendos (maybe? idfk), murder/crime/case related stuff, angst, jealousy…

Notes: Beta’d by @carryonmyswansong Not only did she beta, but I literally couldn’t have written half these scenes without her help. She contributed majorly, even wrote some parts of scenes. I am forever in her debt.

Also, this starts AFTER Season 2, episode 1. I don’t follow all the episodes, but it does follow the timeline and hit some major events : )

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9| Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 |

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The anniversary had definitely taken a backseat, what with Sherlock headlining here and there, getting awards, presents, and rewards from every case he helped. He couldn’t care less, but you knew John liked the (somewhat) glorification.

But then Moriarty had downright shocked you as he somehow managed to break the case to the crown jewels. He was, of course, arrested. But he had some form of plan. What was it? That’s what was eating all three of you alive.

You were less concerned with how, and more concerned with why he wrote “Get Sherlock” and what the end game was.

Six grueling weeks later and Sherlock was called to trial as a witness. Both you and John accompanied him.

“Remember,” you tried to say and he cut you off.

“I know.”

You let out a breath of frustrated air. “Sherlock, this is serious. Moriarty is not to be fucked with, you know this. Don’t--”

“Don’t do anything like myself. Don’t provoke them. I know.”

You closed your eyes, knowing it was useless.

Before the trial, Sherlock went into the bathroom and you waited outside for what seemed like forever before he finally emerged.

“Bloody hell, did you fall in?” you demanded.

“Sorry, had to deal with a flirting fanatic,” he noted.

“You... What?!”

But Sherlock calmed you down by shrugging it off, and of course, he had to enter court. Sherlock had asked you to tune into your deduction skills and watch all over the courtroom while he took the stand.

When it was all said and done, you three went over the facts, walking back into the flat.

“...Three of the most secure places in the country and Moriarity broke into them and no one knows how or why. All we know is--”

“He ended up in custody,” Sherlock finished.

“Don't do that,” John slowly requested.

“Do what?”

“The look?”

“What look?”

“You’re doing the look again?”

“Well I can’t see it, can I?”

John gestured to the mirror. “My face?” Sherlock asked, completely confused.

“Yes, and it’s doing a thing. It’s doing that ‘we both know what’s really going on here face’.”

“Well, we do,” Sherlock insisted.

“No, I don’t, which is why I find ‘the face’ so annoying.”

You’d been gripping your head in frustration before you finally snapped, “Oh for God’s sakes! If Moriarty wanted the jewels he would have them. If he wanted the prisoners free, they would be. The only reason he’s sitting in a cell is because that’s what he’s chosen. So now the question is why. Why does Moriarty want to be behind bars? What’s the point? What’s the end game?”

By the end of your rant, you’d begun to pace.

“Y/N’s right, it’s part of his scheme,” Sherlock agreed.

At this, the three of you continued to mull over the “why”... Sherlock the most concerned with it.

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

John went to the trial, to hear the sentence. Sherlock waited at home. You were actually doing your real job, busy at a trial of your own, but your mind was never far away from your boyfriend. You were nervous as hell, but you were sure they would find him guilty. How could they not?

But then the horrible news that he was found not guilty rocketed you into another dimension. John had called you after he called Sherlock. His voice was full of panic.

“What do you mean they found him innocent?!” you shrieked as you were on recess for your own trial.

“I don’t know. But they did. He’s coming for Sherlock, I know it. The bastard just hung up on me though.”

You tried to even out your breathing. “Okay, that’s okay. If Sherlock knows this, he has a plan.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I know Sherlock and I know he weighed and thought about every possible outcome. If Moriarty is coming for him, he’ll be ready. In the meantime, I gotta go. Keep me updated.”

You ended the call and went back to your trial. When it was done (and you’d won the case), you raced to Sherlock’s flat where he was explaining everything to John. Apparently Moriarty had come by the apartment and had a little chat with him. Of course it was a threat, but none of you knew what the hell it meant or could possibly mean.

You and Sherlock seemed to spend the better part of two months going over anything he could be plotting. Romance, the anniversary, the relationship as a whole went on the back burner. All efforts and focus was either on Moriarty or an active case.

Then suddenly, a kidnapping case had come about. Sherlock was nearly giddy with glee as it seemed to be a rather curious case indeed. As luck would have it, you were with him when Donovan and Lestrade presented the case to him. You, John, and Sherlock were driven to the site of the abduction.

You watched Sherlock work (an aphrodisiac for you). He startled the nanny, and then graciously told her he believed her story and requested someone get her a bag to breathe into. The sheer confidence of the ordeal was enough to make you smirk appreciatively.

Donovan caught your approving face and skipped up next to you.

“You think him being a complete ass and scaring poor old women is funny do you?”

Your face lost all trace of humor, and anger ignited inside you. “I think Sherlock getting the job done as quickly as possible is good, yes. Or was that not the point? To get to the children as quickly as possible.”

“He sure has a funny way of going about it,” she muttered snidely.

“At least he doesn’t fuck around while on the job, literally. How is Anderson’s wife by the way?” you asked, turning to face her as you walked backward. A mischievous grin played on your face as you twiddled your fingers in the air at her like a wave before turning to follow Sherlock into the house.  

Watching Sherlock work, you remained silent. It was best not to speak while he was “in the zone” unless asked. He found a bottle and requested for Anderson. Anderson came and prepared the room for black light analysis. Without fail, Anderson gave a brilliant impression of a moron, to which Sherlock told him so.

He found some samples of the kidnappers boots that he said would behave like a map for them. Which would be true. Scraping some samples and the three of you rushing to St. Barts, Sherlock began his analysis, dragging Molly into it as well.

Every time you were around Molly, it was….strained. You knew she had known him longer than you had, you knew she had feelings for him -- still, and she stayed in line, not trying to cross the line of friendship with Sherlock. Yet every time you were around her, there was a touch of awkward tension in the air. Part of you respected her for being an adult, part of you didn’t like Sherlock around her because you knew of her feelings, and another part of you felt entirely sorry for her.

It must be one hell of a thing to watch the man you carry a torch for love another. Even if you and Sherlock never showed any sort of public affection, even if you kept it strictly professional while working a case, the fact remained that you were his and he was yours. This fact was glaring just by the looks you two shared, the way his gaze would linger on yours.The way he would shoot you a knowing smirk. The way he commended your deductions.

So now, you stood with John, helping him on some of the tests when Molly suddenly struck up a conversation with Sherlock that wasn’t science related.

“What did you mean ‘I owe you’?” she asked as she worked. Sherlock stopped his movements and you did too. You couldn’t help but listen in. “You said ‘I owe you’ while you were working,” she noted.

“Nothing,” he quietly said, shutting the topic down.

“You’re a bit like my dad. He’s dead. No… sorry--” she tried, realizing the social awkwardness of her statement.

“Molly, please don’t feel the need to make conversation, it’s really not your area,” Sherlock advised.

She made a face, a nervous, but bold face. “When he was dying, he was always cheerful. Lovely, except when he thought no one could see. I saw him once, he looked sad.”

Sherlock gave her a warning. “Molly…”

“You look said,” she continued, ignoring his tone of caution, “when you think they can’t see you.”

Both of their gazes flashed to the two of you, but you made quick work to shift your own eyes and make your hands start fiddling about.

“Are you okay? Don’t just say you are, because I know what that means when you think no one can see you.”

“You can see me,” he noted.

“I don’t count,” she commented, and a pang of sympathy washed through your chest for her. “What I’m trying to say is, if there’s anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all. You can have me.”

Red shot into your cheeks as you kept your face down, still pretending to work.

“No, what I mean is... I just mean... If there’s anything you need… It’s fine,” she stammered, ending her olive branch speech.

“But what could I need from you?” Sherlock asked and his tone made it clear that he would never need her.

“Nothing,” she replied, sorrow in the back of her voice. “I don’t know. But you could probably say thank you.”

Sherlock stuttered a thank you and she quickly exited the lab. Standing for a moment, you weren’t sure what to do. You wanted to talk to Molly, but on the other hand it would be best if you left it alone. Your tenacity got the better of you and you put your tools down, following her out into the hall.

“Molly,” you called, jogging to catch up to her.

She spun and faced you, not saying a word. You knew she didn’t like you, at all. She was polite to you around Sherlock because of him and John, and because she’s a nice person. But you knew if she could have a wish, it would be to get you out of the picture.

But that wasn’t the case. You were here to stay, and Molly needed to realize what her place was in Sherlock’s life.

You pressed your lips into a flat line as you peered at her, her waiting for you to say something.

“Look... I… I know you love him,” you started and she seemed to stiffen, probably awaiting you to demonize her. “I know how hard this must be for you. I wanted to let you know I appreciate you being an adult about this. And I really appreciate you not crossing that line and trying to be something more.”

Your gaze held hers for a second, a hardness settling into your eyes, while the rest of your face remained soft. “He doesn't have many friends, and it’s nice to know you’re there for him and support him.” You reached up and gripped her arm gently, a reassuring squeeze coming from you. “He and I are lucky to have you in our lives.”

Molly nodded, staying quiet a long time. “I--I--Yeah, you’re welcome.”

You smiled at her, the grin loaded as you let her go. Her gaze lingered on you a moment longer before she walked off to the cafeteria.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[cover32-yahoopartner-blog]

Why I’ll probably root for the Los Angeles Chargers – Eventually

I am a native of San Diego and a current resident, yet would never claim to be the biggest or most knowledgeable Chargers fan. I was born in San Diego, raised in Seattle, live in San Diego again now as an early 40-something, and follow both the Seattle Seahawks and the Chargers. I love them both, and people tell me all the time that I’m not allowed to do that. Hey, honey badger don’t care. So I am not some Chargers super fan who double mortgaged his condominium to have season tickets. However, I genuinely love the team and our city.

Yet I have a love-hate relationship with San Diego. I agree with Nick Canepa of the Union Tribune when he says that he cannot hate on the decision to leave town, only the way the owner and team have treated the fan base. The city is at least equally at fault in our loss. For that reason, I want to discuss whether our love for the city and hatred of a flawed man should preclude us, as a fan base, from rooting for the Chargers on television. Or *gasp* driving up to a game.

Let’s start with Dean. Mr. Dean Spanos has long disregarded the fan base and individual season ticket owners. I have a friend, a prominent business owner in Ramona, who has been a season ticket holder for 35 years. During the stadium negotiations, she typed a two-page letter described as “heart felt” to the Chargers about her family’s tradition as Charger fans and how they hoped the Chargers would stay. She never received any response. If they don’t care about a 35-year season ticket holder, they don’t care about any of us. Yet we knew that all along. There are tales galore of just how ham-handed and lacking in grace or charisma Dean Spanos really is.

The only thing the exit-stage-left of the team changes is where they’ll play. We clearly never loved the team because of the owner. We loved it in spite of him.

I have followed the listless pursuit of a new stadium for the San Diego Chargers for each of its 15 or so years. From half-hearted mentions of potential stadium sites in Escondido, Oceanside, or the South Bay to more promising yet conspicuously incomplete plans to develop the Qualcomm site at a hefty profit if the city would just fork over the free land.

The city, for its part, never had true leadership in the mid-2000s when this thing was really deep-sixed. Current mayor Kevin Faulconer’s role could be analyzed multiple ways. I feel as though he was protecting himself more than he was trying, but he also protected the city by giving the issue its proper place and being prudent in the process. He didn’t get it done in a fairly limited time frame, but the team suffered some of its most disappointing and frustrating seasons during that time period and the fan base was hardly rabid. Most would give him credit for the fact he wasn’t falling over himself to placate an out of touch billionaire and a team the fans weren’t showing up in droves to support.

The climate now is simply much different after a major recession, which Spanos has simply never wrapped his thin skinned head around. I guess what I’m saying is that I’ve never seen a truly competent effort by the team or the city to get a stadium built. It’s the city’s fault, but Spanos could have helped the situation by at least speaking sincerely – publicly – on the topic and by putting something on the line.

As Alex Reimer wrote in a Forbes article on the fumbled stadium talks and while comparing Spanos and Rams owner Stan Kroenke:

“It’s much easier to be in the driver’s seat when you put your money where your mouth is.”

Self-financing $350-500 million toward a stadium is a pretty reasonable ask for a billionaire whose family paid $70 million for their stake in ownership of the team in 1984, and whose family’s net worth has risen into the billions primarily on its value. Part of that value was earned on the backs and shoulders of the workers who buy their season tickets with hard-earned cash. The fact that Spanos was so cheap in the stadium pursuit shows he may have been unable to plunk down money for a stadium in San Diego. Yet people with ties like one would assume a billionaire to have can get things done. They can partner up. Right? Well, not necessarily.

Part of the reason the Chargers struggled to get a stadium built or failed to get the city interested was a lack of rapport. They stuck it to the city whenever possible. Like the ticket guarantee. Like strategizing on ticket prices to best take advantage of said ticket guarantee. Instead of operating in the best possible faith and honoring the city as a partner, they were profiteering. One gets the feeling if we humans were capable of swallowing gobs of cash, Spanos would literally come running up and squeeze it out of us if he could. And that has persisted through the very end, as he continued tightening screws on demands he foisted upon us rather than creatively solving problems. One has to imagine that potential business partners see him the same way.

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Regardless of how wealthy Spanos and family could have been without the Chargers, San Diego and its citizenry are the reason he’s where he is today. That’s why the platitudes leveled at the city on the way out the door are so enraging.

Most of us never liked Spanos and he certainly didn’t like us back. We don’t expect our billionaire team owners to be particularly pleasant, but it’s nice if they’re sincere and have a genuine appreciation for the fan base that makes the team viable. The recent actions and final decision to move are what’s going to turn disinterest, or dislike, into outright hate. See Modell, Arthur.

And even though it might be fun, we can’t even guarantee we’ll watch them fail from afar. Let me be clear: I think it’s likely they will. It’s said the fish rots from the head down, and without exception, winning NFL teams are those with the best owners. Still, it’s hard to fail at making money in the NFL. The Los Angeles Chargers will likely dress up in more powdered (if you will) blue uniforms that are some of the best in sports, and have a name and overall brand that is at least subjectively more interesting than the Rams. They’ve also got a chance to outperform the Rams over the next few seasons.

From a purely financial standpoint, we have no clue whether this was a good decision for Spanos. I think this is going to be ugly a times, and I think they will struggle at the gate, but there’s no way to know that. We’ve all heard that moving the Chargers to Los Angeles magically imbues them with another 33 percent in sheer value, but I don’t think anyone will pay for something that others aren’t paying to watch.

So it might fail. And if it does, I’ll laugh long and hard.

Yet the truth is, rooting for Los Angeles teams is not a completely foreign concept to San Diegans. My grandfather and my father rooted for sports teams in L.A. and did so wholeheartedly. I never heard something like, “well, the Lakers are good but I’m not really a fan because they don’t play here and I hate Los Angeles.” They were big time fans of certain Los Angeles sports teams. Like it or not, many of us will eventually support the Chargers again. Especially if they’re good.

It hurts right now. Stings like hell. Yet the reality is, we’ll continue to see bolts on cars. We’ll continue to watch them on television. It won’t be the same numbers. I’m not saying you, dear reader, will support them, I’m saying a percentage will. I haven’t decided where I stand yet. If I could lay this 100% at the feet of Spanos, I would make that guarantee. However, the personal actions of Spanos only confirm what I knew about Spanos when I first moved here in 2000, thanks to people like Lee Hacksaw Hamilton. He told me, point blank, what a scumbag we were dealing with over the radio waves. I never considered not following the team because it was owned by a scumbag. Literally nothing has changed. That’s why I expect that once I get over the pain of “losing” a team I almost always watched on television, I expect I’ll probably take interest and follow them again in some regard. I love football, I love the uniforms, I love the history, and I love watching some of the players.

I was fewer than 20 years old when I had my enlightenment of what athletes and pro sports should mean to me. It was my younger brother’s birthday, his favorite player was going to be in town, and I knew where the visiting team was going to be staying. I waited at least an hour and a half until the Toronto Raptors arrived at their hotel. Waiting in front of the unloading area, I asked Damon Stoudamire for an autograph on a basketball card for my little brother as he got off the bus. He walked right past me mumbling about how coach didn’t want him to sign autographs. I was the only person waiting for the bus and the guy didn’t even take off his headphones. Up until then, I had no idea what pro sports was about. In fact, I wanted to write about them until that day.

Pro sports is a pure cash exchange. Money for entertainment. So Spanos may be a dick. Most of these people probably are, athletes included. It’s purely about the on-field entertainment. And that has always been worth it to me on some level. If we can’t have nice things here, some of us will take the opportunity to enjoy those nice things elsewhere. Thanks, San Diego.

Thanks to Dean, the way the team could be most valuable is if he sells it. If the Chargers were in Los Angeles and had new (read: competent) ownership, they would maximize the San Diego market to the south, advertising the new ownership and brand as they try and compete for market share in L.A. And assuming some knowhow and wherewithal, they would be best positioned to possibly look into the San Diego market again if things aren’t so peachy in L.A. People want to forgive, and that’s easiest when those at fault vacate the premises. He’ll be richly rewarded if he does so, and we all know what drives Spanos.

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