#(assuming that was fake either but it was at least calculated)

[kindacreepy-kindaugly]

Huh.

[beautifulwhensarcastic]

Steve/Peggy + mob AU  for @captainjimothycarter

Rogers and Carter families have never shed blood, but they were rivals constantly tearing New York apart to ascertain power. There wasn’t a truce between them, only understanding that if one of their own spilt blood of the other clan, the war would drown the city in crimson. And neither wanted to rule a wasteland. However, when a new player starts circling around their empires like a vulture, head of mob families search for a solution. Virginia Potts, a brilliant mediator specializing in grey areas, offers a solution - not only joining forces, but merging two families irrevocably into one, unbeatable giant. What better way to soldify them than to have the heirs marry. Steve Rogers and Margaret Carter are both determined to take necessary means and though neither is thrilled with the prospect, they see it as simply a new contract. The fact that nearly two decades ago they were secret lovers, shouldn’t make any difference in this transaction. After all, it’s just business.

~ * ~

“I’m glad you see the reason in this solution,” Pepper gathered all the signed papers into three folders. “Too many people follow emotions in a situation that requires cold calculation.”

“Maybe we’re both too bitter to care for pipe dreams of marrying for love,” Steve tapped the side of his coffee mug.

It was his second, Peggy noticed. No one drowned their nerves in coffee, and Rogers declined a glass of scotch. It had to be an addiction then. Better coffee than something else. 

“We’re pragmatic.” Peggy lifted her own drink to her lips. “There are matters more important when you’re in our position. Union between our clans was going to happen, considering the circumstances. To have it be via a wedding band is merely a means to make it happen.”

Steve nodded along.

They were sitting on opposite sides of a long table, coming in as enemies, or, well, opponents. Given Pepper’s line of work, they were sides seeking for the golden middle in communication. Quite hilarious, since married couples often had major problems in that area. 

“Now all you have to do is actually marry,” Pepper smiled at them and left. A practiced smile for her clients, Peggy assumed. She was neutral, not close to any side to be genuinely happy for a wedding. 

Both Steve and Peggy’s fathers, as well their right hands, have left after Pepper, leaving Peggy and Steve in the conference room. A less romantic way to have future spouses have some privacy to share their joy of the engagement. 

“We can have a wedding party, if you wish for it, but-” Steve started, but Peggy interrupted him - 

“But the actual ceremony should be private. And soon.” 

If they waited with organizing a wedding and the word about it got out, their enemies would quickly realize what sort of threat this union was to them. Some would take any means necessary to prevent the marriage; killing either Peggy or Steve, or both, was the best way. 

If they marry in secret, the word about it will still shake the grounds, but not many would dare to aim at the already strengthened empire. 

“I agree.” Peggy finished her drink. “I’m sure the party will happen anyway, at some point. My mother wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

“She is known for her lavish parties. If we curate a guest list the right way, it may be a perfect opportunity to start on the offense against White.” Steve pointed out.

“Fine with me,” Peggy shrugged. “Let’s use my mother’s talents. God knows I’m not going to be organizing any parties.”  

She had a whole array of ball gowns, and knew how to fake a smile at politicians, but Peggy preferred other methods of manipulating people and doing business. In an office, or at least a good restaurant; not spending hours in high heels and exchanging meaningless gossip. 

“No dreams about your perfect wedding?” Steve cocked his head to the side. 

There was no mockery in his tone. He seemed simply curious. 

It was a trait he always possessed. At least seventeen years ago when Peggy had a chance to meet Steve closely. Time changes people. Their lifestyle definitely changes people. But some things never changed. 

“Saab’s wedding dress. Cupcakes instead of a cake. Pink champagne. And leaving the party before ten pm, because I prefer being cozy in bed than suffer a sleepless night.” Peggy recited without a beat. “But neither of those will happen, if my mother has a say in it.”

Peggy knew her mother would insist on a custom designed dress, a classic layered cake, the most expensive (and most disgusting) wine, as well Peggy’s attendance at least to midnight. 

Steve narrowed his eyes. 

“My wife is going to have anything she wishes,” he said firmly.

“You haven’t yet tried going against Amanda Carter,” Peggy smirked. She had to admit his little show of care, be it only to ascertain dominance, pleased her. 

“No,” Steve shook his head and reciprocated with a smirk of his own. “It’s her who hasn't yet tried to go against me.”

“You always get what you want, Rogers?” Peggy arched her brow. 

Steve wasn’t the type to be overly cocky. He knew his value and was confident, but didn’t flash it into people’s eyes, or act like an asshole just to prove he could. Peggy appreciated that. 

Plus, since he was to be her husband, it was good to know she was going to share a house and a life with someone who isn’t completely insufferable. 

“I do.” Steve’s reply was a simple statement of a fact. 

Peggy was about to tease him, but was interrupted when Steve unexpectedly placed a medium sized black box on a table. He slid it her way.

“Engagement gift, of sorts.” He explained and leaned back in his chair.

He watched, with a glint in his eyes, as Peggy pulled the box closer to her. She glanced at him, frowning at his clearly smug look. 

The box had no signs on it, only fine traces of shimmery patterns. For a second Peggy cringed at the thought of finding lingerie inside. Perhaps it was something a husband did for his wife, but they weren’t married yet and it would be, to say the least, inappropriate. She pushed that thought aside, because a move like that didn’t seem Rogers’ style. 

Slowly, she opened it. 

A crimson red bottle nestled on a cushion of white silk. 

Peggy read the label. Held her breath. Then cursed.

“Cheeky bastard!” She huffed, dropping back in her chair and glaring at Steve. 

He gave her a bottle of Tom Ford’s perfume. Not Peggy’s favorite, no. The name of the fragrance, however, was a direct hit.

Lost cherry. 

To any prying eyes it wouldn’t mean a thing, only Peggy could understand what Steve implied with his gift. Or rather reminded her of.   

Because she lost her virginity to him. 

A secret they both kept from their families. They’ve been keeping it secret for the whole year which they spent sneaking around - rebellious young adults, who got as excited with each other’s company as they did with breaking the sacred rule of hating the enemy. 

It wasn’t love. Their ways parted too easily as the reality of their worlds swallowed them. It was just a rush of adrenaline and lust. Best fuck she ever had, but not worthy losing her own head in the game. 

When the idea of marriage was presented, Peggy spent a night or two remembering those times. If anything, she at least could count on good sex in her marriage. 

Considering that Steve proved to still be a menace, some angry fucking was a given. 

“I don’t know much about perfume,” Steve said, holding Peggy’s gaze as he licked his lips, “but it’s sweet and tart. Just like something else I remember.”

[wisheduponastar]

Let's talk crushes (969 words, M/M)

For Day 5 of @danganronpashipmonths Saiouma month. Inspired by the prompt : Forbidden Love

It's just Kaito and Shuichi training today, and Kaito asks something pretty unexpected. Kaito asks to talk about crushes, and of course Shuichi can't tell him he likes the Ultimate Supreme Leader (especially after the fourth trial). So instead, Shuichi plays dumb; but does fantasize about a certain someone

Or~ Kaito and Shuichi talk for a bit, and then Shuichi fantasizes about Kokichi

Read on Ao3 or below

“Hey Shuichi!”

You’re on thirty-three, Shuichi mentally tells himself while finishing the push-up and turning to look at Kaito, “Yes?”

“Let’s talk about something,” Kaito said, looking up at the stars and relaxing, like he had been most of the training session.

“What about our training?” Shuichi asked, although he was very tempted to join his friend.

“I mean, together we’ve done at least… forty,” Kaito counted briefly in his head, “And that rounds up to fifty, so we’ve got our goal for today.”

“That’s really not…” But Shuichi also knew it was rather pointless to try and convince Kaito of anything otherwise, “Ok. Sure. What did you want to talk about?”

Kaito hesitated, in an almost embarrassed way, before continuing with such certainty that Shuichi was fairly sure he’d thought about it ahead of time, “Let’s talk about crushes.”

“Crushes?” Shuichi echoed, almost completely caught off-guard.

“I mean, yeah. Why not?” Kaito asked, “Talking about crushes is a totally normal thing for friends to do.”

Shuichi resisted the urge to point out nothing was normal in this situation, and instead resigned to talking, “Ok, tell me about them.”

“Are you assuming I have a crush?”

Shuichi wondered briefly how oblivious his friend could be at times, “Yes, I think you do.”

“Well, you’re probably wrong,” even in the dark Shuichi could see Kaito’s blush, “Maki roll is just a friend.”

For once in quite a long time, Shuichi let out a laugh, “I never mentioned a name.”

“Yes you-” Kaito stopped, thinking and putting his hand to his neck in a relaxed pose, “Wow. I guess you’re right. You’re pretty good at this Shuichi.”

There was another pause, before Kaito added, “I’d expect nothing less from my sidekick, y’know?”

Shuichi smiled slightly as well, and began to look up towards the stars - using the hand movements Kaito had taught him to see if there would be any constellations he recognized in the sky tonight. There hadn’t been yet, but it wouldn’t stop him from trying. Eventually, Kaito asked, “Hey Shuichi, what about you?”

“What about me?” Shuichi hadn’t meant to echo Kaito’s exact words, but Kaito explained anyway, “As in, do you have anyone? Doesn’t have to just be in here either.”

That made Shuichi think, still staring up at the stars but without seeing them. Did he have a crush? Did he have someone that made him smile, that made his heart speed up and sing at the same time, or put both a feeling of warmth and butterflies in him? Yes, Shuichi did have someone like that. Or at least he thought he did.

He would feel a smile whenever they even stepped into the dining hall, eyes still sleepy from waking up, looking like chunks of uncut amethyst. And then the way they’d suddenly shine and become like the perfect jewel in a wedding ring, sunlight and something just pouring through them in a way that made them look beautiful. And the emotions in them, from a sly calculation that both made Shuichi nervous, and glad that that gaze was on him. Or when he smiled, both wide and carefree in the mouth - but his eyes would smile as well. They’d somehow sparkle even more, and become even more beautiful.

And then a bit of hair would fall down suddenly, and they’d somehow convey an expression of perfect (and very fake) heartbreak along with annoyance and amusement. The way Shuichi was so desperate for intimate contact with his crush, he’d have to stop himself reaching out and touching that almost silky hair, and gently brushing it out of the way. But there would still be a smile on Shuichi’s face as he watched him. Even if he was doing something as stupid as trying to blow on the hair spikes and getting them to move that way.

Shuichi even found his crush beautiful in the moments no-one else had seemed to. The moments when that light in his eyes was still there, but in a different way. Something faster burning, like a fire fueled with rage - one that most people shied away from. But one that Shuichi still kept staring at, for some reason.

Shuichi knew exactly who he had a crush on, from the first second he’d met them and could barely even focus as Kiibo made his introductions. But he could never tell anyone exactly who he’d fallen for, especially not after the fourth trial. The fourth trial that still, somehow, hadn’t made Shuichi love Kokichi any less. But he also knew he couldn’t just tell Kaito all of this. After only the first trial he would’ve thought Shuichi was crazy, let alone after what had happened in the virtual world.

“Shuichi?” Kaito suddenly broke through his thoughts, and Shuichi became aware of his blush, “You know I won’t judge you on anything, right?”

“Y-yeah, I know.” With almost anyone, Shuichi knew that Kaito would support him wholeheartedly. He could’ve said anyone, besides maybe Korekiyo, the entire game and Kaito would be his wingman instantly. Except for Kokichi.

“Like, you know, I don’t care if my sidekick likes dudes,” Kaito grinned, catching Shuichi’s eye and laughing as he began to blush again, “I’m just saying!”

“No, I,” Shuichi thought for a second as to how believable the lie would be, “I don’t like anyone.”

“Sure?” Kaito asked briefly, before seeing that Shuichi wouldn’t answer any more than that. Relaxing again, Kaito leaned back, “Well, if you need to talk I’m always here.”

“Thank you, Kaito,” Shuichi says eventually, shuffling slightly so he can get back to doing push-ups. He knows he’ll never tell Kaito, and he probably will never tell Kokichi either, but it’s the thought that counts. With a slight blush, and the thought of Oma, Shuichi begins counting his push-ups again.

[crazymucholibrejack]

A theory on Loid's age, using math and medicine.

I recently had this interesting thought come up in my head "just how old is Loid Forger".

By that I mean the fake personality of "Loid" not Twilight the man portraying him.

Now, how are we going on about this?

My method will mostly look at two main factors for the calculation.

1. His known psychiatry career

2. The age of his daughter

To begin, it takes about 12 years for someone to become a psychiatrist with a medical license, assuming modern day practices.

These 12 years are divided into 4 years for a bachelor's degree in a subject like psychiatry, 4 years of med school and another 4 years of residency.

Which means that Loid, at least, has to be 30 years old in order to work as an independent doctor in the berlint hospital, assuming an early start at exactly 18 years of age.

But there is one problem, Anya is 6 years old, at least officially, which would mean one of two things.

Either she was conceived and born, as far as the cover story is concerned, while Loid was still a med student at ages 23 and 24 respectively or Loid is a bit older than 30 right now. But being 24 during her birth seems a bit to young for me.

Loid is supposed to portray the image of a perfect doctor and father for all people in the hospital, however, becoming a dad at a very young age while still being a broke med student might jeopardize that image. Which is something the meticulous planer of twilight would not want.

Thus my theory goes on like this.

Loid's first wife became pregnant during his first year of residency with Anya being born during the second one, assuming the soonest possible dates for all of this to occur in order to keep his age down as much as possible while still being plausible for him to be a father of a 6 year old.

Which would make loid roughly 32 years old, maybe 33 to account for the birthdays not matching up correctly and the time that already passed in the story.

This age also makes sense regarding other circumstances.

It's old enough for him to have a six year old daughter.

Young enough to were twilight, whom I assume to be a bit younger, can play the role without a mask, while not seeming to young to his co-workers.

As well as being young enough for him to find an unmarried woman for the mission without the age gap becoming to much of a problem.

Now, this might not make 100% sense for everyone, since it does rely on a fair amount of speculation, but I think that this theory on his age works well enough to be used for other theories, fanfics or whatever.

Feel free to give me feedback on those calculations of you think something seems off about them.

[no-brain-just-akutagawa]

Assumptions ohoho! Well! 1. You are brunette (I'm projecting Akutagawa onto you even if you're actually blonde). 2. You are shorter than me (yeah you assumed my height too and were wrong! Mwahah I will answer that later, but for reference I'm 170cm tall). 3. You watched YuGiOh, and if not, you should at least start watching YuGiOh The Abridged Series by LittleKuriboh (jojosis rec). 4. You prefer pants rather than skirts. Slim pants maybe? Edgy fashion? I have no idea lol 5. You are a water or earth sign (oh no astrology noooo). 6. You already like Hide from Tokyo Ghoul lmaooo (yes I am so excited you started reading the manga !!!! Aaaaa, I wish you happy suffering!! 💜🐁)

Jojosis coming here with a whole collection of assumptions fshksjsgs alrighty let's go one by one:

Having a "brunette energy" is such an achievement (because I always wanted to have dark hair), but I'm actually blonde ksjsbxhsh though I die my hair a lot, so it doesn't matter that much. Currently I'm faking having dark roots, but I'm 100% blonde haha

ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? I'M 170CM TALL!! What are the odds ksksjcdhfg I could've sworn you're taller than me!!

I've just learnt that yu-gi-oh isn't a card game that has a show to promote it but a manga that has a card game done after it... the more you know! (I'll put it on my to watch list but it's never ending so we will see we will see haha)

You're absolutely correct. I really dislike wearing any skirts/dresses unless they're more fitting for the situation (e.g I'd much rather wear a skirt for a summer exam than spend the whole time sweating in pants) and as you know, my emo phase never really went away and so I still well black skinny jeans for like 90% of the time. I wish I had the budget (and confidence) for edgy fashion especially punk fashion but for now it's either sweaters of hoodies haha

Tell me how to calculate my sign and I'll tell you, because right now I genuinely have no idea 👀

That's true! Right now my fave is Touka, but I'll see how it changes. Also fun fact I read chapters 67-70 instead of 37-40 and I was so lost for a good hour frantically googling what's going on, because I thought I didn't notice something important and as you can imagine I spoiled so much for myself before I realized I clicked the wrong chapter skdjshxgsb

[unrivalling]

Decided to share a WIP Wednesday snippet from the Crewel/Crowley fic I started.

It slammed to a halt because I couldn’t figure out how the scene ends/how to get them fucking but I thought too much about gay bars on Sage’s Island

The Spindle was the only gentlemen's club on Sage’s Island that Divus graced with his presence.

It was on the second floor of a Shaftlands-inspired inn, up a dim, creaking staircase. A host greeted him and opened the door without asking for the password, allowing Divus to blow past him with a cursory nod as he stepped into the narrow entryway.

A warmly lit lounge greeted him. It didn’t feel like coming home, exactly, but it was close enough.

Not a crowded night, he observed as he took in the scene.

A pair of men in business suits were seated at the bar, chatting with the bartender as he wiped down a glass. In the middle of the room, an older man in blastcycle leathers was sprawled out on a loveseat, spurred boots propped up on an ornate coffee table as he sipped a beer with one hand, and held three chains in the other. His pups had leather masks, and each was in a various state of undress as they doted on their master, speaking only when spoken to. Divus was pretty sure he’d played with one of them a time or two—a man who owned a flower shop on Cobble St—and was glad he’d seemed to find a regular partner. Smoke, quiet conversation, and the occasional cheer came out of the gambling rooms in the back, where Divus’s friend Oleander was no doubt dressed up and dealing cards as Francesca.

Not seeing anyone new, Divus sidled up to the bar to collect the rye cocktail that the bartender started making the moment he walked in, then scanned around for a quiet seat where he might be able to watch.

Someone else had the same idea.

In an alcove, half-hidden by a scarlet curtain, Dire Crowley looked at home seated in a plush, red armchair sat with one leg crossed over the other. A colorful cocktail rested on the end table next to him, and his gloved fingers, tipped with metal, tapped on the curvy glass. His obnoxious showman’s vest sparkled in the low light, and he’d hung his hat on a rack nailed to a nearby pillar, but the bird mask had stayed on.

Divus didn’t think he’d ever seen him without it.

By the time Divus saw him, Crowley’s pinprick magelight eyes were already fixed on his location. Those false eyes would be unsettling, if Divus didn’t know what a clown he was.

Crowley’s expression split into a smile, a clear invitation.

After a brief calculation, Divus sauntered over. It wasn’t the company he’d been looking for, but it felt unwise to ignore his boss, considering the circumstances. After gently hanging up his coat, he settled into the opposite seat.

“Hello,” Crowley said by way of greeting, his voice half joking and half syrupy sweet. “Come here often?”

“Yes,” Divus answered. “But you don’t.”

Crowley shrugged and took a sip of his drink. “I’m just so busy, I almost never have time to make it to town.”

There were only two bars on the island where Divus might encounter like-minded men. The other one, Cry Wolf, was a cheap, noisy dive where one was just as likely as not to run into a student with a fake I.D., something Divus desperately preferred not to know about rather than need to drag some young idiot back to campus by the ear and bring it up with the rest of the faculty. Too much hassle for his precious nights off.

There was no such risk at The Spindle, mostly. Only a couple NRC students were old enough to attend and classy enough to know about it, and Divus had never seen Leona Kingscholar there, so he assumed he was safe.

And he’d never seen Dire Crowley at either one.

“I wouldn’t have guessed this was your kind of place.” Divus chose his words carefully. There was nothing prohibiting faculty from socializing with whomever they chose, so long as they were discrete, but it was still potentially salacious for both of them. But at least the feeling would doubtlessly be mutual, and he couldn't deny a little curiosity.

Crowley smiled slyly under his mask. “Hmm, whyever not? There are good drinks…good company…”

“I suppose that answers that,” Divus said. He wrinkled his nose. The smell of tropical fruit and sweet, heavy rum wafting over from Crowley’s drink was overpowering.

“That leaves me wondering what kind of place you thought you might find me.”

“The circus.” He took a sip of his drink.

[bastillewolf]

It’s More About Looks Than Skill (X)

Pairing: Ryuk/Reader

Summary: Ryuk finds himself gaining feelings for Light Yagami’s best friend, but she doesn’t know he exists. When he makes the grave mistake of touching her, he makes things a lot more complicated.

Notes: New year new chapter, but let’s hope I update more frequently than that now lol. Please leave me a kick in the ass so I stop procrastinating, thanks! And also big thank you to the immense support. Love you guys <3

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list! If I wasn’t able to tag you, please check your settings and send me another ask.

Chapter X

She really couldn’t help herself. What sane person wouldn’t start screaming the second they hopped onto a Shinigami’s back and started flying? She clung onto Ryuk’s neck for dear life, her legs wrapped around his middle while his wings flapped them higher and higher until they’d reached a thick level of fluffy clouds with the dark sky above them. There, the wings stopped flapping, and she found herself gliding through the air, her hair being pulled back by the gentle breeze. She realized how harshly she was squeezing Ryuk, and quickly loosened her grip to a point that she was still comfortable she wouldn’t be able to accidentally let go.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured in his ear. It was actually very beautiful, now that she took a good look around her. Below the white, she could see all sorts of lights from the city flickering through, as if they were mirroring the stars above.

“I can take it. I just wasn’t expecting you to scream, is all,” Ryuk replied gently, “I thought you wanted to fly?”

“Y-Yes, I did. It’s just… a lot scarier than it looks. I don’t have wings, so rationally if I let go I would definitely not survive. I think even L could confirm that with percentages and a graph.”

“Rationally I would catch you. I’m heavier, I fall faster than you. You would be saved before you could say ‘Shinigami’.”

She chuckled, “Rationally I wouldn’t count on that. Maybe I don’t trust you. Rationally.”

He turned his head slightly, but she was still unable to see his facial expression from her position on his back. However, it became rather apparent through the sad note in his voice when he spoke. “You don’t trust me?”

She quickly shook her head, “No, I’m sorry Ryuk, that’s not what I meant. I mean that I should rationally not count on you catching me if I fall. I made the decision to hop on your back, thus it is my responsibility to take responsibility for my actions and face the consequences. If I fall, it would be my mistake.”

“Even if it were, I’d still catch you. I’d always catch you.”

She felt a sense of ease wash over her, along with a tingle in her stomach, but she wasn’t quite sure what that meant. She smiled, resting her head on his shoulder, and breathing in a waft of fresh air that dragged along a hint of Light’s cologne. “How come you’re never this nice to Light?”

Ryuk chuckled dryly. “Because he’s not you.”

He felt a blush coat his cheeks when he felt her hands running along the feathers of his wings in a slow, gentle manner. She kept doing this until they’d landed, and then proceeded to latch onto his hand after they’d landed in the back of an alleyway.

Even if you do not actually possess the Death Note, the effect will be the same if you recognize the person and his/her name to place in the blank.

Ryuk was in love. There, he could finally say it. He’d been on a date and now he could say he was in love. He was slightly hunched over so the girl could hold his hand without people noticing at her side, but not for one second did he feel an ache in his back. All he could think about was the way she’d clung onto him, how she’d touched him, how sweet she’d sounded muttering nothings in his ear while she stroked his feathers. Affection wasn’t something that came naturally to him, Shinigami’s never really deemed such thing necessary. Yet with her, he seemed to want to keep her hand in his forever.

Unfortunately, fate seemed to have other plans for him, because she was the one who dropped it like a ton of bricks, along with his heart. Then he noticed the reason for her sudden shift, and it was standing in front of Light’s house. She lightly tugged on the chain that was stuck to the other death note he was carrying and kept her fingers wound tightly around it, but he didn’t mind. If she wanted to take his Death Note, she could go right ahead and do it. That’s how happy he was.

Until he met the bleak pale-yellow eyes of the tall creature hovering above the blonde stranger in front of them.

 ***

“Okay, Ryuk, we need to have a little talk,” Light started. They’d just been at the hotel, where they’d found out the second Kira was willing to do everything Light wanted them to do. They were supposed to set up a meeting place and Light wanted to prepare. She knew a round of questioning was about to begin, so she plopped down onto his bed in an instant.

Ryuk sighed, “Should’ve known.”

“And I’d appreciate an answer if you could,” Light added. “If two Shinigami happened to meet in the human world, are they allowed to speak to each other?”

“Hard to say,” the Shinigami replied. “As long as I’m attached to a human, I’d say it’s against the rules unless I had their permission first. But there are no laws against it either, so I guess it’s possible that another Shinigami might talk to me.”

“So, does that mean that if this fake Kira’s Shinigami were to see you, there’s a chance he might mention the fact that you’re with me and reveal that I’m Kira?”

“They probably wouldn’t, but it depends on their personality.”

“And if this kind of situation did arise I can assume you’ll act the way you normally do?”

“Yeah,” Ryuk said, “Even if I see another human with a Shinigami I’m not gonna tell you.”

“Well, I definitely think you’ve got the right approach.”

“Humph, thanks.”

 ***

“Oops,” he couldn’t help but curse under his breath, recalling the conversation he’d had with Light. He didn’t recognize the Shinigami before them, but if they wanted to, they could directly link Ryuk to the girl that was latching onto him. They might think she was the real Kira.

Though the latest message had already revealed Light’s stunt in the city with the group of people surrounding Ryuk had been a failure and he had been discovered to the fake Kira, there would be no good explanation for him to be hanging around this human.

Luckily for him, the other Shinigami remained deathly silent, until the girl at her side turned.

“Oh, hello there!” she said.

She blinked in response. “Uh… I- Uh… Aren’t you that girl from TV?”

The blonde giggled profusely, suddenly walking up to her as casual as could be. “Yes, I’m Misa, nice to meet you! Do you want an autograph?”

She scratched the back of her head awkwardly, “Uh, no, I think I’m good. Were you looking for Light?”

“Eh?” Ryuk vocalized. He didn’t expect her to be so blunt about it. But then again, he realized, Light had most likely already been discovered. He just didn’t know how she detected that this was the second Kira without being able to see the second Shinigami floating only a few feet away.

“Oh, I was. Are you friends with him?” Misa’s head turned, but her eyes held a sudden blank expression as if her mind were calculating a proper physical response once she’d gotten answers.

“Yeah, for like, my entire life. How do you know him?”

“Oh… I just, I found the notebook he left in class. Then I looked him up online and I thought his resume was very… impressive. I just really wanted to meet him, he seems like such an intelligent guy.”

Ryuk heard the other Shinigami audibly sigh.

“Well, why don’t I introduce the two of you then? I’m sure he’s still up at this hour, and I was just on my way to see him now.”

“S-Sure!” Misa replied hesitantly.

She wished Light’s sister, Sayu, could’ve at the very least toned down her excitement a bit when she met Misa, but alas, she was in awe, as well as the girl’s mother. Light eventually came trotting down the stairs behind them, his neutral facial expression continuing to withstand even as he saw the strange scene before him. He managed to shoo his family members away and closed the front door behind him. She could’ve sworn she hadn’t heard crickets chirping before that.

“Uhm, pleased to meet you,” Misa started, sinking to her knees in a bow, “I’m Misa Amane.” She then glanced at you, and back at Light again.

Ryuk chuckled until he heard the other God of Death say, “Misa, the girl is being followed by another Shinigami. I doubt she isn’t aware of it.”

Misa made a noise of understanding, before looking at the odd placement of your hand which was still wrapped around Ryuk’s chain. “I thought you might get worried if you saw that message on TV. I just couldn’t take it anymore so I brought… this notebook.” She held out an identical copy of his Death Note in front of Light, and Ryuk heard the girl next to him audibly groan. Of course, the girl had no issue showing something like that out in the open. It was like she had no idea.

Light touched it, yet he made no sound. “Does she know? About all of it?” Misa questioned, directedly pointing her gaze at his best friend. Light nodded, so she was allowed to touch it as well. She very much tried, but unfortunately, her poker face wasn’t as good as Light’s, so she ended up with her mouth slightly agape. Ryuk lifted a finger to close it.

They decided it would be best to move the conversation inside, so they did, and Light had cautiously locked his bedroom door behind them after making sure his mother and sister thought this was just a nice drop-by from his (girl)friend.

“Have a seat.”

As Misa sat in Light’s desk chair, his best friend scooted onto the mattress behind him with Ryuk towering over them at the bedside. Her Shinigami, a pale skeleton with yellow eyes and purple hair and what appeared to be vampiric teeth, stood guard behind Misa.

“How did you find me?” Light decided to ask.

She answered with a gasp, “I knew it! You never made the Shinigami-eye deal. When you have the Shinigami-eyes like I do, you can see most people’s name and lifespan just by looking at them. However, you can’t see the lifespan of any person who possesses a Death Note.”

Light glanced over at Ryuk, looking for an explanation, but Ryuk seemed just as shocked. “No kidding! I have to admit, even I wasn’t aware of that little detail.”

“Well, now you’ve managed to find me, but you were careless; what if you’d been caught by the police? Then they’d know everything about Kira!”

“It’s all right,” Misa said, “Because the police didn’t catch me and if I do as you say from now on, they’ll never be able to. So we’re safe. After all, don’t you need someone to see L’s name? If you want, I could be your eyes. So…”

“Yeah? So what?”

“-Would you please make me your girlfriend?”

Both Ryuk and the girl behind him burst out laughing, but he decidedly ignored them. He then proceeded to question her about her strategy in the city, as well as the evidence she could’ve left behind. She ended up even offering her Death Note to him, and while she’d still be the rightful owner, Light would be in control of it, and she of her Shinigami-eyes.

“-And if I become a burden to you, you can just kill me, okay?” Misa said pleadingly.

“But you might’ve removed several pages from your Death Note, you could be hiding them somewhere for all I know!”

“Why are you so suspicious of me?” she cried out, getting up from the chair and stomping her foot on the floor, “I already told you, I don’t care even if all you do is use me! Please believe me!”

“Why are you so willing to give up your life for him?” (Y/N) asked, and Light had to admit, that was the question he’d been building towards this entire time.

“Oh, I wouldn’t expect you to understand-“ Misa spat.

“Hey,” Light barked, “If you want to show your loyalty, how about you start being nicer to the only person I’ve trusted with my secret so far and has kept it?”

“How can you be so sure you can trust her?! I bet she’s only in it so she can take it from you after you’re dead, so she can become the new Kira!”

“How dare you!” (Y/N) snarled warningly, but Misa was already launching herself at the girl.

Light hadn’t quite seen that coming. Thankfully, Ryuk had. He took the blonde girl by her arm and lifted her until her feet didn’t touch the floor anymore and she’d let out a startled scream. He noticed the other Shinigami wanted to step in already, but Light was faster. “Misa, if you and I were to work together, I need to know you can make rational decisions without letting your emotions get the better of you. Can you do that?”

She didn’t really look at him, so he decided to repeat himself, this time a bit more convincingly, “If you were to be my girlfriend, I need to know if you can tolerate being around my best friend.”

At this, she lit up, and Ryuk was quick to let go of her.

When she’d finally left, the girl he’d just been on a date with was now slung around his neck, having climbed on top of the bed to be able to reach him. His large hands grasped her sides, and his smile had grown even wider.

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[ebaeschnbliah]

SHERLOCK’S  WEBSITE

‘Reading the document is the same as seeing the author’

This says a Chinese proverb (X). What does it mean then, when John tells Sherlock in A Scandal in Belgravia: ‘nobody is reading your website’?

SHERLOCK: I have a website. JOHN: In which you enumerate two hundred and forty different types of tobacco ash. Nobody’s reading your website.

Some more musings about Sherlock’s website ‘The Science of Deduction’ and its content below the cut ...

Just a little while later in the same episode - while he writes aboout the unsolved plane crash case in Düsseldorf ... ‘Sherlock Holmes baffled’ - John describes his own blog as Sherlock’s ‘living’.

JOHN: Look at that. One thousand, eight hundred and ninety-five. SHERLOCK: Sorry, what? JOHN: I re-set that counter last night. This blog has had nearly two thousand hits in the last eight hours. This is your living, Sherlock – not two hundred and forty different types of tobacco ash. SHERLOCK: Two hundred and forty-three.

‘This is your living’ is basically the same as ‘this is your life’. This is YOU. The way John describes Sherlock on his own blog, shapes how the public eye views the great detective. The same way as Dr Watson did in canon in his stories for The Strand. This fact becomes even more clear during the greenhouse scene in TAB. Although Dr Watson is aware that he doesn’t tell the truth about Holmes, he doesn’t change his stories about him either. 

HOLMES: .... as I have often explained before, all emotion is abhorrent to me. It is the grit in a sensitive instrument ... the crack in the lens. WATSON: Yes. HOLMES: Well, there you are, you see? I’ve said it all before. WATSON: No, I wrote all that. You’re quoting yourself from The Strand Magazine. HOLMES: Well, exactly. WATSON: No, those are my words, not yours! That is the version of you that I present to the public: the brain without a heart; the calculating machine. I write all of that, Holmes, and the readers lap it up, but I do not believe it.

If John’s statement ‘my blog is your living’ can be translated into ‘my blog is your life’ - my blog is YOU - what then can be said about John’s other comment, regarding Sherlock’s website ‘The Science of Deduction’, when he tells Sherlock: ‘nobody’s reading your website’? If the document, the blog, the website reflects the personality of the writer, the author and when nobody is reading Sherlock’s website because nobody is interested in its content ... doesn’t this translate into:  'nobody’s interested in who you really are’?  I assume one can indeed read it that way, because the plot confirms such a translation as well.

Oh, don’t worry. I know who you really are. I’m never off your website.  (THOB,  Dr Frankland)

If Dr Frankland knows who Sherlock really is, just by looking at his website - at Sherlock, the author -  maybe it would be a good idea to take a look as well. ... the same way Sherlock advices Kitty Riley in TRF: ‘Well, look at ME and tell me what you see ... you can just read what you need’. 

First of all, I’m not going to use the external internet website created for Sherlock BBC in this post. @possiblyimbiassed did already a detailed and very interesting analysis of it in ‘The Science of Reduction’. In the comments of that post I tried to exlpain the reasons for my doubts as to whether those external informations - as fascinating and tempting as they are - could lead to a solution for the story told on TV. Anyway, in this post I’m going to look at Sherlock’s website just as it is presented on screen. But what can be deduced about The Sciene of Deduction by using solely informations from TV? There’s not much to go on, one might say ... and as I’m no Sherlock Holmes either, I will most likely ‘miss almost everything of importance’, like John did with Carl’s shoes. But looking at Sherlock, the author, is definitely worth a try  ... :)))) 

The Science of Deduction

Sherlock’s website ‘The Science of Deduction’ can be seen already in the Unaired PILOT when he is about to answer requests from various people. The very first message he is just writing, is directed at his brother Mycroft who apparently contacted him in a somewhat ... ‘impossible situation’. Sherlock’s answer is a quote from canon, probably the most well known and often used statement of the great detective ... in canon as well as in many adaptations:

Eliminate all other factors, and the one which remains must be the truth.  (The Sign of the Four)

How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?  (The Sign of the Four)

It is an old maxim of mine that when you have excluded the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.  (The Adventure of the Beryl Coronet)

We must fall back upon the old axiom that when all other contingencies fail, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.  (Adventure of the Bruce Partington Plans)

When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. (Adventure of the Blanched Soldier)

Five more requests wait for Sherlock’s attention. His Inbox is indeed well filled ... at least six possible cases ...

Sherlock answers Gregson’s request about a ‘Church bell theft’. This done, he is clearly pleased about DI Lestrade’s not very informative message ‘Please call me’. When he is about to answer Jones request about ‘Samson and Del’, Mike Stamford and John Watson enter the room and Sherlock stops working through his Inbox. 

The next day Sherlock and John meet for the first time at Baker Street 221b. John mentions that he’d found Sherlock’s website the night prior but contrary to Sherlock’s big expectations, John isn’t much impressed (unlike Jeff Hope who thinks Sherlock’s Science of Deduction is brilliant). This scene happens in both versions - PILOT and ASIP - almost identically.

JOHN: Oh, I, um, looked you up on the internet last night. SHERLOCK: Anything interesting? JOHN: Found your website, The Science of Deduction. SHERLOCK: What did you think? JOHN: Quite amusing, I suppose. SHERLOCK: “Amusing”? JOHN: You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and – what was it? – a retired plumber by his left hand. SHERLOCK: Yes; and I can read your military career by your face and your leg, and your brother’s drinking habits by your mobile phone. JOHN: How? SHERLOCK: You read the article. JOHN: The article was absurd. SHERLOCK: But I know about his drinking habits. I even know that he left his wife.

Sherlock BBC, PILOT

One of the small and also strange differences between the two versions is the ‘identification’ text line from Sherlock’s website, quoted by John. In PILOT Sherlock refers to a plumber and his left hand and in ASIP to an airline pilot and his left thumb. “It is, of course, a trifle, but there is nothing so important as trifles” tells Holmes in The Man with the Twisted Lip and “It has long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important” in A Case of Identity. A lot of such little, seemingly unnecessary modifications and inconsistencies can be found throughout this adaptation. Maybe they are indeed there for a reason?

JOHN: I looked you up on the internet last night. SHERLOCK: Anything interesting? JOHN: Found your website, The Science of Deduction. SHERLOCK: What did you think? JOHN: You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb. SHERLOCK: Yes; and I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother’s drinking habits in your mobile phone. JOHN: How?

Sherlock BBC, ASIP

Why had the profession to be changed from plumber to airline pilot and the body part from hand to thumb, one wonders? Unless it’s because plumbers have to do with water and work down to earth or even underground. They install pipes/tubes or mend broken ones. By the way, in german language the phrase ‘install a pipe’ (ein Rohr verlegen) has the same meaning as the english ‘put up shelves’. Airline pilots on the other hand often tend to be situated high up above the clouds. Well, this sort of topic runs like a red thread throuout the whole story. And that strange change of profession isn’t the only ‘small’ modification from PILOT to ASIP either. 

(Strange little changes   Plumber musings)

Also interesting ... there are no visuals of Sherlock’s website in the official episodes ASIP and TBB. Only in the following episode, TGG, the viewer is able to take a first ‘official’ look at The Science of Deductions, when Sherlock writes his messages to the bomber. The look of his website has changed completely.

The Great Game: the first entry in the Forum is about Carl Powers shoes and botulinum toxin ... that’s the reason for food poisoning.  (Under the microscope)

Next time the website can be seen, is after Sherlock solved the second case and sends his congratulations regarding Ian Monford’s relocation to Columbia ...

And a third time when Sherlock has solved the murder of Conny Prince ...

There is no picture of Sherlock’s website connected to the fake Vermeer painting because this time Sherlock sends the solution not on his laptop but uses the pink phone dublicate instead (Yes, besides 2 Johns, 2 Faiths, 2 Charles, 2 serial killers, 2 empty houses, 2 flights of the dead, various pairs, doubles, twins ... etc, etc ... there are also 2 pink phones present in Sherlock BBC). Anyway, the Science of Deduction can be seen again when Sherlock suggests a meeting with the bomber at the same pool, where once little Carl died, to hand over the stolen missile defence plans ...

There’s no picture of Sherlock’s website in ASIB. The Science of Deduction turns up only in the two short but very interesting pieces of dialogue between John and Sherlock with which I started this post.

John utters the opinion that their clients come to Baker Street just because of his blog. Sherlock reminds him that he too has a website. John then mockingly mentions Sherlock’s analysis of 240 different types of tobacco ash on said website and adds ‘nobody is reading your website’. Sherlock is clearly offended and corrects the number of tobacco ashes from 240 to 243. Some time later John raises the tobacco-ash topic once more, proudly refers to his own blog - and the 1895 hits on it - and tells Sherlock ‘this is your living’.

The next visual presentation of the website can be seen in THOB, when Sherlock shows John the Inbox message of little Kirsty about her vanished, luminous rabbit Bluebell ...

In the same episode Sherlock tells Mrs Hudson that a ‘little blog on the identification of perfumes’ can be found on his website. It turns out that Sherlock hasn’t only extensive knowledge regarding ash, he also knows a lot about perfumes.  (Perfumes in Sherlock BBC by @gosherlocked ) 

The HOUND-episode is also the one in which Dr Frankland tells Sherlock: ’I know who you really are. I’m never off your website’. The Baskerville scientist knows John’s blog as well and is a bit confused that Sherlock isn’t wearing the deerstalker hat, as shown there.

The Science of Deductions turns up next in TRF, in an newspaper article about the recovery of Turner’s masterpiece, the ‘Falls of the Reichenbach’, that Sherlock was able to recover (last line on the left column).

Sherlock’s website is mentioned a last time in TSOT. Not on Sherlock’s laptop but on John’s phone. Mary suggests that John should go on a case with Sherlock. John opens The Science of Deduction on his own phone and asks Sherlock to pick a case from his already ‘bursting Inbox’. Sherlock chooses The Bloody Guardsman. Sadly it’s impossible to get a clear shot of the small mobile-screen. (John’s blog stops at TSOT by @gosherlocked)

THE LOOK

Blue is the main colour Sherlock has chosen for his website ... shades of different blue ... a dark midnight blue and the skyline of a city by night can be dimly seen in the background and - a little bit clearer - on both sides. 

As Sherlock Holmes is one of London’s most popular characters, it’s easy to assume that the skyline used for his website is that of GBs capital. With this in mind, the water in the bottom right corner, that can be seen rather good on the first pic above, should be the Thames and the shallow arch above it, most likely one of its many bridges. On the opposite site, in the upper left corner, next to the small, pale tower and right behind the ‘The’ of the website’s headline, the vast vault of Saint Paul’s Cathedral can be dimly seen (the view is better on a TV screen). 

If one connects the images of river and bridge on the left with St Paul’s on the right, I guess the background of Sherlock’s website could be a panorama photo similar to the one below. That’s a view from the Southbank of the Thames with Blackfriars Bridge in the foreground. And this location does play a role in the story ....

Blackfriars Bridge is located between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo Bridge. The name derives from Black Freres ... the French 'frère' meaning 'brother'. This referes to the black habits of the Dominican monks. A monk is also called a brother, a nun is also called a sister and the opposite of a ‘black brother’ would be a (ghostly) ‘white sister’. Just saying. :) 

(The Roads we walk   Vatican Cameos   A Christmas Tale)

As mentioned above, this particular cityscape plays a role in Sherlock BBC. It’s a crime scene from TGG. 

SHERLOCK: View of the Thames. South Bank – somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo.

At this place, Alex Woodbridge was found, the security guard and hobby stargazer, killed by the Golem, in the Vermeer case ... the same case which doesn’t turn up in the messages on Sherlock’s website because he uses the pink phone and conveys the solution verbally. Viewed metaphorically ... he speaks through the heart.

Blue is the colour of the sky ... high up, where the aeroplanes fly. Blue is also the colour of the water, deep down below ... where powerful emotions run freely and London is Sherlock’s city. The country, the city, the houses, even cars are closely linked to the famous detective. They seem to represent his ‘body’. 

Just put me back in London. I need to get to know the place again, breathe it in – feel every quiver of its beating heart.  (Sherlock, TEH)

Brother Mycroft IS government and ‘queen’ at the same time. There are all kinds of networks above and below ground and steam trains run behind fake facades. Saint Paul’s Cathedral and the river Thames are often special eye-catcher. The coat of arms ... with dragon, lion and Saint George’s cross ... make their appearance as well as the great fire of London in 1666, the Isle of Dogs and the Greenwich pips. ‘Transport’ goes from standstill to movement ....

666-The number of the beast   Every quiver of his beating heart   Saint Paul’s Cathedral   Still at the centre of the web   From standstill to movement 

WEBSITE ... A SITE FOR THE WEB

Sherlock has a website .... John has a blog. Why the difference? Both men, Sherlock and John, are given strongly internet-related nicknames ... Hat-man and Robin:The web detectives ... Sherlock & John: Blogger Detectives. Sherlock is also called ‘Net Tec’ and ‘net phenomenon’. What’s the difference between Blog and Website:

BLOG:  The word ‘blog’ is short for ‘weblog’ (web=net + log=logbook), jokingly broken into the phrase ‘we blog’. A blog is a discussion or informational website published on the World Wide Web consisting of discrete, often informal diary-style text entries. Posts are typically displayed in reverse chronological order, so that the most recent post appears first, at the top of the web page. 'Blog' and 'blogging' are now loosely used for content creation and sharing on social media, especially when the content is long-form and one creates and shares content on regular basis. (X)

WEBSITE:   The word website consists of web=net + site=place. Literally web-site means ‘a place in the net’. A website can be used in various fashions: a personal website, a corporate website for a company, a government website, an organization website, etc. Websites can be the work of an individual, a business or other organization, and are typically dedicated to a particular topic or purpose. All publicly accessible websites collectively constitute the World Wide Web. (X)

Of course, the word ‘web’ immediately reminds me of Jim Moriarty. The spider at the centre of a criminal web, woven with thousands of threads and Jim knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances. Sherlock is going to monitor the underworld in order to notice every quiver of that web, so he will notice when the spider makes his move. 

As mentioned above, all kinds of networks - above and below ground - play a major role in Sherlock BBC. There are Mycroft’s people, his agents and spies. There are terrorists who threaten London with a massive attack. General Shan has a vast network with thousands of operatives and Sherlock calls it ‘a cult’. A surveillance web is closing in on Baker Street, their attention focussed on Sherlock. An Underground network as well as an underground network runs below the surface of the big city. A secret cult of revenging birdes meets in the crypt of a desanctified church. Sherlock is convinced that the ‘world is woven from billions of lives, every strand crossing every other. What we call premonition is just movement of the web. If you could attenuate to every strand of quivering data, the future would be entirely calculable, as inevitable as mathematics’. So many threads - linked and interwoven - they create a web, a net .... a web-net. Basically, that’s exactly how brains work as well. Every brain is a very vast and highly functional biological network ... and Sherlock’s is faster than most ‘... still catching up with my brain. It’s terribly fast’.

Recent models in modern neuroscience treat the brain as a biological computer, very different in mechanism from an electronic computer, but similar in the sense that it acquires information from the surrounding world, stores it, and processes it in a variety of ways. Neurons typically communicate with one another by means of long fibers, which carry trains of signal pulses to distant parts of the brain or body. (X)

And then there's also Sherlock’s ‘own’ network ... the ‘homeless network’ it is called. According to Sherlock, it is ‘indispensible and faster than the police’. Those group of people is based on the Baker Street Irregulars from canon. There, in Victorian London, they are street boys, sometimes employed by Holmes to run errands for him. Holmes speaks of them as ‘division of the detecitve police force’. Dr Watson describes them as ‘little scoundrels’ and ‘half a dozen of the dirtiest and most ragged street Arabs that ever I clapped eyes on’. 

While the idea of homeless people who sometimes assist Sherlock in his cases is taken from canon, the name - homeless network - is not. Names are always important in this story. So basically, what is a homless network? It is a network that has no home. At times it is usefull for Sherlock and he pays them for their help. In a way this reminds me of Eurus. She says abut herself: 'to remember everything one just needs a big enough hard drive’. Her intellectual abilities are also of occasional use for the government. In return she requires treats. Similar to Sherlock’s homeless network, Eurus has no home either. She lost it long ago in her childhood days. Sherlock has a website ... a site, a place in the web ... but only very few people are interested in it. Actually just Jeff Hope and Dr Frankland as it seems. Sherlock has a homless network ... a network without a home. 

The women of the ‘cult’ from TAB first gave me the idea that all those dangerous groups ... agents, spies, terrorists and the various networks ... could actually be metaphors for something that happens inside Sherlock’s mind. That all those groups represent the awakening of emotional stirrings ... desires, fears, impulses ... that haunt the great detective. There seem to be aspects of Sherlock’s personality which he views as rightous criminal and puts them behind padded walls or elephant glass. Others are just annoying and distracting. Some he ignores most of the time because he considers them to be irrelevant for his system. Some have no home, although they turn out to be usefull now and then. Then something unexpected happens ... something new is coming ... and this marks the beginning of a change of perception in Sherlock Holmes, maybe a revolution.

The reptile in 221b   Underground networks    AGRA-Under the sign of four   Eurus, the emotional memory & The cold war by @raggedyblue

FOUR MESSAGES and a GAP 

Four messages can be read on Sherlock’s website. All of them are from TGG, related to four of the five cases, written by Sherlock and directed at ‘the bomber’. As it turns out at the end of the episode, this person is none other than Jim Moriarty, the spider in the centre of the web. 

FOUND. Pair of trainers belonging to Carl Powers (1978-1989). Botulinum toxin still present. Apply 221b Baker St.

Congratulations to Ian Monkford on his relocation to Columbia.

Raoul de Santos, the house-boy, botox.

xxx

Found. The Bruce-Partington plans. Please collect. The Pool. Midnight.

Only one of the cold cases is not mentioned on Sherlock’s website, because Sherlock uses the pink phone duplicate, sent to him by the bomber in a strong box at the beginning of the ‘great game’, to submit his message. Sometimes it is useful to ‘mind the gap’ as Sherlock says. Sometimes that, what is left out, is just as important as that, what is there. The ‘gap-case’ is the one about the fake Vermeer painting, whose forgery was first noticed by security guard and hobby stargazer Alex Woodbridge, murdered because of it by the Golem. His body was found at the Southbank of the Thames near Blackfriars Bridge ... the same location Sherlock uses as background for his website. Sherlock discovers and proves the truth due to the display of an impossible supernova on the painting. 

A picture pretends to show a scene from the past, but the massive explosion painted on it reveals, that the picture has actually been created much more recently. That massive explosion had never happened in the past.

The bomber’s hostage in the Vermeer case is a kid who is never shown on screen. The little boy transmittes a countdown from 10 to 1, that mirrors Sherlock’s own countdown in TFP (Countdown) while the boy’s plea for help mirrors that of the girl on the plane and also that of Victor Trevor, the boy in the well near Musgrave Hall. Victor Trevor and Musgrave Hall represent two canon stories -  The Adventure of the Gloria Scott and The Musgrave Ritual - both set in Sherlock Holmes’ university time, long before he met Dr Watson. Both cases lead back to a time ‘where Sherlock began’.

(Why Victor Trevor was turned into a child by @sagestreet)

THE HOUND & THE GUARDSMEN

Little Kirsty Stapleton’s cry for help in THOB to ‘please, please, please’ find Bluebell, her vanished, luminous rabbit, marks the beginning of the HOUND case. Chemistry, triggered by the pressure of feet, fills the air and drives everyone exposed to it, crazy. Love is in the air .... At the end Jim Moriarty (Mr Sex) walks free, released from his cell by Mycroft Holmes himself ... 

Private Stephen Bainbridge’s request in TSOT, regarding a mysterious stalker, marks the beginning of the GUARDSMEN case. Jonathan Small (literally: Jonny Little), a brilliant, ruthless monomaniac (who strongly reminds me of Jim Moriarty), stabbs guardians/facades with a ‘meat dagger’. At the end Mary Watson is pregnant ... ‘stabbed’ by ‘Johnny boy’ (Hamish=James) Watson ... the HOUND hidden behind the facade of the facade .... Matroshka ‘poppets’ indeed.

“Mary – lots of love ... poppet ... oodles of love and heaps of good wishes from CAM.”  (Telegram from Magnussen, keeper of the deepest and darkest secrets and scandals,TSOT)

THE BLUEBELL COMPANIONS

Alongside little Kirsty’s message about Bluebell there appear two more requests on the Inbox page of Sherlock’s website (they can be easily read on TV screen). In films neiter images and certainly not texts appear on screen out of coincidence. Pictures are there for certain reasons, even if it’s just for the purpose of a fitting decoration. Texts on the other hand are much more specific. Someone must have had the idea to put it there and someone had to create the image. Especially the makers of Sherlock BBC have repeatedly mentioned that everything that appears on screen has its meaning. With this in mind, what can be deduced about those two earlier requests in Sherlock’s Inbox?

1- Please help victims of China earthquake. It costs just 5p. 

China - right from the beginning a certain ‘easterly’ theme appears and runs from there throughout the whole story like a red ribbon until the moment the Eastwind finally approaches in the shape of Eurus. In a metaphorical reading I connect the East to emotions and memory. 

An earthquake is a sudden outburst of held back and bottled-up energie. When the pressure gets too high it results in a violent release of that energy. Explosions .... rocks crack, the earth shakes. Earthquakes can trigger landslides, volcanic activity or cause a tsunami. Major changes are also often referred to as ‘earthquakes’.

Costs of 5p ... A penny (p) is a coin and a unit of the britisch pound (£), the official currency in the UK (a currency Sherlock doesn’t know how to spend?). 5p is money. The saying goes that time is money. A minute is a unit of time. Viewing it in reversed order ... money is time = 5 penny are 5 minutes. ‘It took her (Eurus) just five minutes to do all of this to us.’

Reading it that way, a possible translation of the first request in Sherlock’s Inbox could be:  “Please help victims of emotional upheaval. It takes just 5 minutes.”  :)

2- Re. Mudchute Query

Mudchute is a railway station situated in the Millwall area on the Isle of Dogs. The name Millwall has its source in the large number of windmills built on the river wall in the 19th century. They were needed to ground corn and wheat into flour that was brought along the Thames. The original station was located on an old Victorian railway line that had been disused for many years. An elevated station opened 1987. When the line was extended under the Thames, the station was rebuilt close to the tunnel entrance. It opened 1999 and was finally completed 2009. The station was originally intended to be named Millwall Park but then renamed in Mudchute, refering to the engineering overspill when Millwall Dock was being created in the 1840s. (X)

Basically ... the second request in Sherlock’s Inbox is about a query regarding a railway station, built in the Victorian area at a place linked to mills (♪ Remember the maid ... the maid of the mill ...♪, TAB), disused for years, rebuilt and elevated, named, renamed ... until it was completed in 2009, the same year the Unaired Pilot was created. Well .... that sounds a bit ... familiar?

PERFUME AND TOBACCO ASHES

Appart from Sherlock’s cold case messages addressed to Jim Moriarty and two requests from - Kirsty Stapleton and Stephen Bainbridge - there are only two other entries on The Science of Deduction ... Sherlock’s own analysis about perfumes and tobacco ashes. Basically that’s about ... scent/smell and fire residues.

SCENT:  From Kasbah Nights to Claire de la Lune, perfumes play a significant role in this story and Sherlock is a true expert in smellig and recognizing the different brands. The first thing that comes to mind, related to the word ‘scent’ is a dog - more precisely a scent dog. One of the most prominent representatives of that breed is the Bloodhound. And it is well known that Sherlock Holmes is indeed compared to a blood hound in ACDs The Sign of Four. That same quote has been adopted in TEH (Sherlock the Bloodhound), it appears on John’s Blog and is read by Mary. But in Sherlock BBC the bloodhound isn’t only linked to Sherlock himself. The HOUND is also connected to John Watson, Jim Moriarty, Victor Trevor, Eurus and Redbeard the Irish Setter, also a scent dog.  

(The dogs in Sherlock’s mind palace  The bloodhound in his hands   Transformation of Redbeard  and the ‘Follow the dog’ series by @sagestreet​)

FIRE RESIDUES:  Sherlock has an extensive knowledge regarding tobacco ashes. This characteristic has also been taken from canon.

I have made a special study of cigar ashes—in fact, I have written a monograph upon the subject. I flatter myself that I can distinguish at a glance the ash of any known brand, either of cigar or of tobacco.  (ACD, A Study in Scarlet)

In TSOT drunken Sherlock proclaims loudly ‘Ash! I know ash!’  Almost the same words (‘I know human ash’) uses the guy from ASIB, whose aunt had been among the plane crash victims in Düsseldorf (’Sherlock Holmes baffled’). In the same episode Sherlock steals an ashtray from Buckingham Palace. In TEH Sherlock’s return from hiatus is underlined with at least half a dozen scetches of phoenixes, rising from the ashes, at the walls of the Landmark Restaurant. Another bird that has great resemblance with a phoenix can be found on Brenda’s gravestone at Musgrave Hall  (Among the funny gravestones).

Ash is the residue of a fire damage. Fire and burning is one of the main themes in Sherlock BBC. From Jim’s threat to burn Sherlock’s heart out to the gingerbread man burned to a crisp, from John’s Guy Fawkes bonfire to Sherlock’s admission ‘I’m burning up’, from the Baker Street living room in flames to the great fire at Musgrave Hall ... not to mention all the exploding or not quite expoding bombs throughout the show ... fire anf burning is never far away in this story.  

(Love is a burning thing   A case ablaze   Set this house on fire by @gosherlocked)

TOBACCO ASHES ... CHEMISTRY BURNED

Tobacco s the common name for plants belonging to the Nicotiana family. It contains the highly addictive stimulant nicotine. The dried leaves of the plant are mainly used for smoking in cigars, cigarettes, pipes, etc ... Nicotine is a widely used legal drug. The burning of tobacco results in smoke and the residue left behind is ash. Sherlock knows ash. Interestingly and unlike to canon, in this modern adaptation Sherlock doesn’t simply know ‘any known brand of cigar or tobacco ash’, he has analysed exactly 243 different types of those ashes and he explicitly corrects the number 240, cited by John. Is this seemingly unimportant correction just there to emphasise Sherlock’s annoyance over John’s mockery or is maybe another meaning hidden behind that corrected number?

243 ... ‘This is your living, Sherlock – not two hundred and forty different types of tobacco ash’ - ‘243!′

243 different types of tobacco ash are not Sherlock’s living. 243 different, tobacco products - burnt to ashes - are not Sherlock’s life.

As mentioned above, tobacco contains nicotine and nicotine is a drug. Viewing Sherlock BBC on a metaphorical level ... all drugs are chemistry and chemistry is love. The chemistry of love, burnt to ashes ... 243 times over. Hmmmm ....  Then an idea hit me and I asked Google a question:

This answer is from January 2020. The first official series of Sherlock BBC aired 2010 and the Unaired Pilot has been produced in 2009. I seem to recall that the first and the second series have been accepted by the BBC at the same time and since 2009 several more Sherlock Holmes adaptations have seen the light of day (Guy Ritchie Holmes, Elementary, New Russian Holmes, Miss Sherlock, Mr Holmes, Sherlock Gnomes, Holmes&Watson, Enola Holmes ... to name just a few). 

Could it be that the number of different tobacco ashes, analysed by Sherlock, mirrors the number of different adaptations about the famous detective? Sherlock Holmes ... reborn again and again with each adaptation, like a phoenix from the ashes, and yet he was never able to live a full life ... including emotions, love and sex?

‘All lives end. All hearts are broken’, that’s what Mycroft tells Sherlock in ASIB. Chemistry burned to ashes in an endless row. ‘So many days not lived, so many words unsaid’ ... says Eurus in TFP and referes to the coffin whose lid is adorned with a brass plate, I LOVE YOU, written on it  (A coffin for love). You are absolutely right  @loveismyrevolution with your idea of Sherlock standing between two ‘angels’ in that scene, although I would rather call them ‘choices’. Because this scene has great resemblance with the three solutions/choices Sherlock has to choose from after the event on Barth’s roof  (Solutions or choices). 

At that time Sherlock is confronted with two elemental forces ... love and sex. The one is represented by Molly (mirror for John) and the other one by Jim Moriarty, Mr Sex. Sherlock chooses neither one of the two. He backs away and walks a third path. He decides to live a celibate life - married to work - solely dedicated to reason and intellect, represented by Mycroft. That’s why he needs to create a strong facade to hide his true feelings for John. But then, unexpected and without noticing it at first (delayed action stabbing), even this facade gets ‘penetrated’ by John. Love (Rosie) is conceived and this changes everything. (Changing of the guard)

After the first shock (shot), Sherlock starts to go deeper into himself than ever before. He repeats the investigations about himself (the pink case) from a different perspective. Everything that happens in S4 reflects, in one way or another, occurances from S1-S3 ... arranged differently and some new actors are added. For example: the morgue-scene in TLD is a mirror of Sherlock’s fall in TRF ... it’s another Reichenbach. Eurus’ five tasks of Sherrinford seem to be a sort of ‘final distillate’ of Sherlock’s repeated analysis. In the coffin-scene Sherlock is once more confronted with a choice. This time though SEX is excluded. Sherlock has to choose between LOVE or BRAIN. And just as he did after the ‘first’ Reichenbach, Sherlock tries again to back away. At that stage though Eurus doesn’t let him. Sherlock’s emotions force him to go back to the very beginning, to find the truth. What that truth is and what consequences will come from it .... is still untold in this story, as I read it. There’s a final distillation but not a final solution at the end of S4.

“This is your living, Sherlock ... not 243 different types of tobacco ash” 

... says John, refering to his own Blog. But is this really the truth? The counter on John’s Blog stops at 1895 in ASIB and the text entry, read by Mary in TEH, is a quote from canon. Already in the first series, in TBB, Sherlock asks John - his blogger/biographer - to pass him the pen and near the end of S4, in TLD, John’s Blog has ‘gone a bit downhill’ and people actually think it's Sherlock’s Blog. This leaves the question: is Sherlock taking over the narrative of his own story now? What kind of story will it be? How will it end? Will Sherlock have to make a third choice in the future? A choice between Dr Watson, the ‘fixed point in a changing age’ and John Watson, who could be so much more than just an ‘eternal’ friend? After all, there are two Faiths in the story, two serial killers and Hamish (Jim, Mr Sex) hides right in the middle of John (H) Watson ... at the very centre of the web, one might say. 

Two times John    Pairs-Twins-DoubleOHs   Double OH seven Bond Air is go   The big question   and an excellent explanation of the idea about ‘Two-John’s’ in the comments on this post by @lukessense

Will Sherlock BBC turn out to be one more adaptation that ends as a ‘missed oportunity’ ... one more chemistry burned to ashes .... another sample of tobacco ash for Sherlock to analyse and add to his list? Or will it be different this time? Something new ... something big? Will it be the story about the emotional and sexual awakening of the literary character Sherlock Holmes? 

Only the future will tell ....

Thanks for reading and thanks @callie-ariane for the scripts.

February, 2021

[sashayaweh]

Sam and Bucky dance to this song after having to take refuge in a safe house during a particularly high stakes mission. Theres a record player and Sam makes this necessary senior citizen taunts when he catches Bucky's frequent glances towards where it sits on the wooden shelf. Eventually, Sam walls over to fiddle with it because Bucky insists on faking disinterest, but Sam really wants to see him being not-so-boring for once. It was rare to see the other man take interests in his surroundings, barring the hyperawareness that he had for every environment he found himself in.

Sam could almost imagine Bucky's robo-brain whirring to calculate all the exits, people, and vantage points for any possible threat. He never seemed to fully relax. Even sitting in a chair, he sat stiffly as if he was ready to leap out at at any moment. Sam could understand. He wasn't brainwashed and weaponized for 70 years, sure. But he has seen war and death. Things he'd rather forget. And he's felt fear. The initial fear of the thousand foot free falls, the fear of the police and the banks, and the fear of losing himself in it all. So, Sam gets the mental burden and understands how hard it is to leave once you're in.

So, he fiddles with the record player and pretends not to know how to work it. There's no other records visible, but luckily one is still in place. Bucky would eventually get irritated and put everything into place because he knows what Sam is doing. And he knows that Sam knows. Because Sam knows everything. Bucky assumes this from the amount of time the other man spends talking. So, he puts the record on like old times and ignores the lump trying to force its way up and the memories that resurface. Steve-

"You're lucky, man. Etta James, and a classic at that, talk about a two for one. Looks like our luck it starting to turn around, CP30," Sam smile toothily and Bucky wants to do do something to that gap in his teeth. He doesn't quite know what that is yet. Maybe punch it because Sam knows he doesn't understand that obvious reference. But Sam's smile soften to a close, and the corners curl at the edges as his head begins to sway with the notes. Like silk curtains, his eyes slip close in simple pleasure as if he was settling himself into the music.

Bucky watches and feels awkward. At some point, in the past, he would know what to do in the situation. He would know what to do with the violins and the soulful tones curling words of longing into the air. And tired fulfillment. Maybe, he would know what to do with Sam but he doubts it. Or at least how to...be himself. Maybe then they wouldn't argue for once. Sam opens his eyes and looks over to see Bucky who stood, stone faced and deep in thought. The focus of his hooded stare was intense and Sam scoffed. The other man was being broody again.

"Are you even listening to the music or did you zone out again?" He shifts, slightly elbowing his companion and Bucky blinks, his thoughts shifting back to the present.

"You started talking, I couldn't help myself," Bucky quips and Sam let's out a soft scoft that becomes a short laugh. Bucky feels his own lips twitch.

"You gotta relax, man. You could beat a piñata with the stick you have up your ass," Sam shakes his head. That wide tooth smile is back but this time its less cocky and a little more warm. Bucky rolls his eyes and looks away. He does that a lot. At least he understood the reference this time.

Sam sighs and stops the music. He replaces the needle at the original point and let's it go. After a few seconds of crackling silence, the song fills the room again. Sam slaps the back of his hand gently against Bucky's chest and steps back with a mischievous grin on his face.

"Wanna dance, old man?"

Bucky gently freezes in shock but Sam catches it because he expected it, really. Its why he asked in the first place. He wants to shake up that tightly wound exposure that Bucky has at all times. And he was bored. Bucky was not a talkative person and their current predicament left them without many sources for entertainment. It'd been hours since they arrived, yet Sam was feeling the time pass under his skin like an itch. He was exhausted and body weary, but it was better to stay awake so he could orient to the new time zone. As a result, he couldn't help but pester the other man.

"No."

Sam just kept looking at him. His gaze was sleepy, but a twinkle of the earlier mischief still shined through. Similarly, his skin reflected the warmth of the sun as it clung to the early evening and seeped through the windows. It was lucky that they got to be above ground this time.

The staring lasted a long moment. Like it always did. Then Sam shrugged.

"I know dancing may not be a particular talent of yours-" but before he could finish, Bucky was in his space and the rest of Sam's sentenced disappeared with some of his bravado. Bucky was fast and his sudden closeness wasn't expected given the man's reservations a second ago. The sudden adrenaline that had sparked through Sam's started to fade too. He wasn't scared of his companion, but the man's behavior was largely still a mystery to Sam which meant that sometimes he was caught off-guard.

Bucky raised his right hand out, brow arched expectantly, and Sam took it with caution. The man's other hand rose to hover a few inches above Sam's hip, and it took a few moments before he realized Bucky was waiting for permission. His cheeks warmed and he hoped his complexion made it less obvious. He gently guided the metal hand until Bucky settled it on the jut of his hip, the surface cool and smooth under his soft hold.

"Aren't you a gentleman? Thats that old-school chivalry," Sam teased. Bucky pulled their bodies closer and smirked wryly.

"I aim to please." A new song had started and Bucky briefly tore his attention from the heat he felt spreading along his front. He hadn't danced in a long time. Not like this.

The current song featured a masculine husk crooning affections for the listener. It was accompanied by the distinct, steady tempo of a piano. Bucky felt his body catch the music, the way he'd been taught, quickly adjusting to an appropriate rhythm. Sam followed without much of a pause, finally starting to settle into the feelings of sharing this foreign intimacy with the familiar stranger who was holding him so damn gently. Even so, Bucky gripped him firmly like he'd catch Sam if he even thought about falling.

It was...nice. Nicer than Sam (or either of them, really) had expected. He hadn't been held in who knows how long. He was too busy and had mostly outgrown flings, but it wouldn't be fair to a potential partner if he randomly left on long missions that required little to no contact with those who didn't have the clearance. But that was kind of an excuse. Since everything that had happened, Sam hasn't much felt like having others in his space. He was a social person and owned that, sure. But it was hard to open up authentically as much as he teased Bucky about his tendency to isolate himself. He tries to take the advice he regularly gives to the veterans he takes under his wing. Its enough to sustain his close relationships, including whatever he has going on with One Armed Wonder, but he has little energy to offer anyone else. He has to remind himself that thats okay.

Without thinking, Sam realized he had sunk his head into the crook of Bucky's shoulder. He had started to drift, still following the gentle sways of his partner's body like a boat welcoming the gentle rocking of small waves after a storm. Bucky hadn't said anything, luckily, so Sam remains in his position and enjoys the comforting sounds of soul that has wrapped around them.

He had finally put Bucky onto some real good conditioner after growing sick of the greasy tresses the man sported as the Winter Soldier. No judgement. Its hard to have a solid hair care routine as an international assassin for magic super Nazis. But now, it smelled like honeyed coconuts instead of the scentless, dollar brands he used to buy at random. Even though Bucky's hair was shorter, Sam still caught wiffs of it near his neck. It was more noticeable this close given the man's lack of cologne.

Bucky had noticed earlier when Sam's head dipped into his shoulder. Shortly after, he though he had heard soft snores, but the man's body had otherwise remained upright and solid like usual. He had continued to follow the pattern they'd set, so Bucky had just shifted his hand to his partner's lower back to provide support and kept their pace steady. Otherwise, he lost himself in the heat of Sam's hand and the confusing stillness that had settled in his chest. He felt...anchored. But that was Sam. He was strong and steady, and reliable, but just as capable of sinking as anyone else without the support he inarguable deserved. The support Bucky tried to provide.

Steve was gone now. He'd left the both of them to figure out the aftermath of everything that had happened. Bucky wondered if it hurt Sam like it hurt for him. He didn't blame his Steve; couldn't begrudge him that act of selfishness after all they'd been through. Without Rogers' strong presence between them, they had been left to scramble in the gap and reshape it for two. Sam had his family and Bucky had his therapist, but nobody could understand the them as much as the other, as different as they are. So here they are, slow dancing in a safehouse Rhodes had been generous enough to lend them on short notice. He was amicable towards Bucky, but the generosity was really for Sam. Bucky's neck itched, likely with dried sweat, and he sighed internally. He needed a shower.

The man worked his hand against Sam's lower back instinctually and the other man responds with a questioning hum tinged with sleepiness. Bucky doesnt have an answer so they continue in silence. The song had changed. It was a woman again. She was singing the Blues, if Bucky guessed correctly. He's been picking up more of the music Sam liked. It could be relaxing but full-bodied one moment or rich and thrilling the next.

So far, he has only worked his way up the mid-80s. Sam jokesthat his sensitive hearing isnt prepared for the young and hip tastes that dominate the charts, but he'll still sneak recent artists into his recommendations so Bucky isnt completely "out of the loop." Like always, Bucky would just roll his eyes, but now and again he closes them and try to imagine what Sam felt when listened to the music. Wonders at the connections the man shares with the melodies, and the histories curved into the lyrics. Some things, he couldn't ever understand, even if he tries. So, other times, he just listens.

Now, he's curled over his partner's slightly shorter stature, nose brushing the other man's temple. Sam was not a small man. He was built like a brick house. His upper body was strong, but his lower half was thick with muscle and padded by soft curves of flesh. Probably because he only does legs. Meanwhile, Bucky's own body is near the opposite: wide, sturdy chest that tapers to a firm waist and steady, straight legs. They contrast nicely, Bucky thinks. Filling up the spaces the other doesn't. For two people of their size, they still manag to fit snugly with little space between their bodies. Any closer, and Bucky isn't sure how he'd handle the proximity. He feels lulled into the calmness of the evening that had unexpectedly crept up on them in the quiet of everything around them, save for the music.

The two danced a bit longer, but eventually Sam's body grew too weary after the lack of sleep. With hesitancy, they quietly parted after the final notes of the song slipped from the record player. Bucky turns stopped the music while Sam flops into the nearby couch. His growing exhaustion does not stop him from throwing a smirk Bucky's way which the man met with his regular deadpan stare.

"Not bad. Not a single hip replacement necessary. I'd say thats a success for two old men." Sam quipped. Bucky stayed silent.

"You're not old," he finally said. He hadn't moved from his spot by the record player.

"Hmmm. Well, compared to you, 42 isn't that old." Sam lets his eyes close again but Bucky clears his throat, causing one of them to open in question.

"There's a bedroom upstairs," he explains carefully. They've been on the move for some time now with little time for real rest. If Sam was going to finally sleep then it should be in a real bed, at least.

Sam lets out out a quick laugh, "if you think you can butter me up with a dance-"

Bucky cuts off his teasing with a quick glare. If there was ever a moment being the Winter Soldier has served him, it was now. Otherwise, the heat he could feel trying to redden his ears would send Sam into a fit of hysterics.

"I did a perimeter check when we arrived. There's three bedrooms upstairs. All of them have en-suites bathrooms so take your choice," Bucky grumbles out, avoiding eye contact with his counterpart. The earlier stillness he had felt was slowly disappearing now that they were interacting again. His nerves were more taxed than before. He'll analyze that later. Maybe with his therapist, but she was kind of petty, so maybe not.

Sam's teasing smirk has settled into something a little more kind as he rises frim his seat and crosses the room to where Bucky stands. He roughly claps the other man's arm a couple of times before settling the familiar weight of his hand at the ball of Bucky's shoulder.

"I'm just messing with you, man. Thanks though. That couch would do my back in after being thrown by that explosion. Luckily, you were there to provide some cushioning," he says with that toothy smile. Before Bucky can respond, Sam bids him goodnight and slowly makes his way upstairs. Bucky watches him go, dry-mouthed and slightly confused. Once Sam has completely disappeared from view, Bucky takes in his surroundings and feels the emptiness of the room without Wilson's presence.

He'll do one more perimeter check then turn in for the night. Even he can feel the pullings of sleep. Maybe tonight, he'll dream about dancing.

[tosimplybe]

My safe hot drinks 🍁

In honour of fall / autumn 🍂 coming in for Americans (and my continual cold despite the weather) here’s some hot drinks!

Hot chocolate 🍫

Misery Hot Chocolate - 15 calories

Tastes like hot chocolate if you squint... I drink it before every school test for the energy and fullness it gives me! Honestly kind of a miracle

Ingredients

Hot water

Almond milk (unsweetened) - 7 cals

Teaspoon of unsweetened cocoa powder - 7 cals

Shit tonne of fake sweetener - 1 cal

Teaspoon instant coffee - 0 cals (optional)

(Half a teaspoon of cornflour / cornstarch - 10 cals COMPLETLY OPTIONAL but makes it so thick like a fancy cafe)

Method

Pour boiling water into a mug. Add cocoa, sweetener and coffee and stir because it’s gonna CLUMP. I mean you can stop here and not add milk but I’m assuming you’re not a psychopath so just splash in a tiny bit. Cry as you drink this abomination

Tea ☕️

Chai masala - 7 calories

If you can bear the weight of how culturally incorrect this is compared to the creamy delight that is actual chai masala, this is incredible! You can sub in honey, or my favourite sticky honey chai I don’t since honey has so many calories it terrifies me :/ sucks because I keep bees

Ingredients

Chai loose leaf black tea mixture - 0 cals

Almond milk (unsweetened) - 7 cals

Sweetener - 0 cals

Method

Fill your cup with a tiny bit of milk then up to the top with water. Pour this into a little saucepan, add the tea and put it on the stovetop. Boil it then simmer for ages like 7-10 minutes until it smells good. Strain into a cup, add your preferred sweetener (or don’t) and drink that creamy incredibleness

Matcha 🍵

Matcha latte - 10 calories

Genuinely my favourite drink. Allegedly good for the metabolism but honestly who trusts that. If you can froth your brand of almond milk do it’s so good

Ingredients

Matcha powder (don’t buy the weirdly cheap health supermarket one it’s a bad idea it’s so grainy and bitter honestly just buy like the second cheapest or it’s unbearably bad ok rant over) - 3 cals

Almond milk (unsweetened) - 7 cals

Sweetener - 0 cals

Method

Boil your water, then add a little tiny bit of cold so it’s not boiling. Idk I heard it on a podcast it stops it burning or something don’t ask me. Whisk in a tiny bit of matcha with a fork while wishing you owned a cool bamboo whisk. Drink it in a tiny bowl if u want to be fancy - bonus of warming up your hands!! Sweeten and pour in your almond milk (or drink without)

Coffee 🎃

Pumpkin spice latte but it’s really goddamn sad - 10 calories

I’m not American so I couldn’t drink a real one if I wanted to but according to the internet the high cal version is pretty similar to Starbucks. I get the feeling someone is lying. Either way it tastes good to me! Get into the Halloween spirit

Ingredients

Watered down shot of espresso - 0

Pumpkin pie spices (cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, cloves etc) - 0 (at least I don’t count it)

1 tsp pumpkin (you can use a purée but I just grab a chunk of cooked pumpkin) - 3 cals

Almond milk (unsweetened) - 7 cals

Method

You can use a blender but who has time to wash that. Take your pumpkin and add whatever spices and sweeteners and some hot water and MASH IT!!!!! Until it’s liquidy enough that it can dissolve. Add your coffee and almond milk and stir until you can just pretend it isn’t lumpy. I would Not recommend drinking the last few sips it will be sludge but the rest? Pretty good

Dirty tea 🧉

London smog (hear me out) - 7 calories

Ok so every time I mention this to someone they look at me like I’m crazy but I swear it’s good. Works really really well with chai too!!!

Ingredients

Earl gray / lady gray tea bag honestly just any flavour you have - 0 cals

Shot of espresso - 0 cals

Almond milk (unsweetened) - 7 cals

Sweetener - 0 cals

Method

Boil a kettle and brew your tea strong. Add it to a cup and sweeten as desired. Add a shot of espresso and some almond milk. Cross my heart it’s good

Tips:

Almond milk calculated as .2 of a glass of unsweetened! Feel free to use any amount of any milk if you don’t have a ridiculous fear of milk like I do :D

Honey will make most of these drinks 100 times better

If you have any sugar free / low calorie drink flavouring things add them and let me know how they go!!

You always deserve the full calorie version. If you are looking for permission to have a 300 calorie hot chocolate, this is it. Go ahead. You always deserve food. Never limit something you enjoy.

Send me pictures and let me know if you like these!!!(particularly the London Smog and pumpkin, my irls think I’ve lost my mind and I’d like some backup)

Enjoy and stay safe <3

[luninosity]

Okay, so, some Falcon and the Winter Soldier thoughts (will have some spoilers) for episodes two and three. General non-spoilery comment first: I feel like these were both *okay* episodes - neither as good as the first, but I didn’t dislike them, either. I’m still really curious to see how we’re going to wrap this all up in three more episodes; it doesn’t feel like we’re halfway done yet!

Okay, more spoiler-y notes below the Read More, not in any real order, just as I think and type. I’ll probably forget some things, but for now, here’re some thoughts...

--I like ep 3 slightly more than ep 2, mostly because of Zemo!

--I actually really love Zemo here (I liked him in Civil War, too): complex, sardonic, enjoying poking at people, a villain we do feel sympathy for even as he’s still sharp enough to remind us that he is a villain. Daniel Bruhl has always done a fantastic job flipping between calculated cruelty, wry humor - the whole “I am a Baron” moment was great - and pain that for him is still raw, about the loss of his family. (Some things’re awfully cliche - look, the supervillain’s playing chess and reading Machiavelli in his cell? really? - but, y’know...sure. Why not. We expect some cliches in the superhero genre, and this is an inoffensive one.)

--also Zemo dancing. That’s it. That’s everything.

--moving on from that: I’m also really liking how they’re writing John Walker. He does have charm, and there’s a certain amount of sympathy - especially as we see him worrying about filling the Captain America shoes, in ep 2 - but we’re also getting this really subtle sense of wrongness about him. He’s clearly vindictive and angry when things (and people) don’t act according to his mental script for them, and he’s willing to use his name and power to do things like get Bucky released...which in context and given our sympathies for Bucky is a good thing, but...it’s also an indicator of his willingness to do what he wants, because he can. (To be fair, Steve Rogers also often did that! - but Steve earned our trust, both in narrative and character. From his first introduction to WWII leadership experience to all the Avengers stuff, Steve consistently acts to protect people, and he’ll also listen if someone else has a good idea or if someone needs to talk, like with Wanda.) So I’m really liking this slow-fuse character development.

--mixed feelings about Sharon. I love that the show’s acknowledging how much she sacrificed for our main heroes, with no reward. On the other hand, she also clearly knew the consequences that could happen; she said as much at the time. The level of bitterness seems like a lot. But I’m also interested in everything we still don’t know about her - if she’s not the Power Broker herself, she’s obviously Up To Something. So that should be fun.

--hey, look at that X-Men location, with Majipoor! Also a nod to Wolverine’s favorite bar there, I think?

--I love heist and disguise plots!

--I also really like Bucky’s having to revert to the Winter Soldier - Sebastian Stan does it so brilliantly, with so many layers of emotion: not wanting to, loathing it, recognizing the necessity, shutting off all emotion and just coldly doing it, hurting but covering it up...just fantastic, and you know I love some hurt/comfort, and this seems like such a great set-up for emotional hurt

--but! this also seems like...a weird plot hole, kind of? Bucky’s pretty famous at this point, right? I imagine the criminal underworld knows he’s been pardoned and deprogrammed, right? or do they assume Zemo, with his knowledge of Hydra, still has some special control over him?

--along the same “this seems like someone didn’t think this through” path, Sam, you’re a professional, turn off your phone on a mission. Oh my god. Face-palmingly stupid - and I think somewhat lazy writing, as the writers plainly needed a giveaway, and went for the first idea they had. Even if it made a main character look incompetent.

--the Flag Smashers and Karli are...fine. They feel very Generic Marvel Villain - not the big space alien type, but the other type, the “I have a personal loss and motivating pain so I’m a little sympathetic but also Clearly Evil, watch me kill civilians so the audience won’t ever find me TOO sympathetic” type. Meh. Fine. Zemo’s more interesting, but...fine.

--Anthony Mackie is such a fantastic actor - every bit of his reaction to the Isaiah Bradley reveal is so good. The anger, pain, frustration, ferocity...heartbreaking. Actually that whole scene is so good - his emotions at discovering this secret history are palpable, and it’s so painful, because we also understand why Bucky would keep the secret - as someone who knows about pain and trauma and being experimented on, and knowing Isaiah wants to be left alone - we feel really deeply for both characters here, and it’s great.

--I actually liked the abrupt swing from the Isaiah Bradley encounter to the casual everyday racism of the cops on the street - is it subtle, no. But it’s not meant to be: it’s meant to be standing up and shouting about how not that much has really changed, and about how pervasive racism is. I know some reviews were all, “this was just too much!” or “too forced!” but...look, it needs to be shouted sometimes for people to hear.

--Bucky’s notebook being Steve’s, oh, ouch, my feelings. If I had the time and energy to write fic...

--(also, if I had the time and energy to write dark!fic: where’re my fics in which Zemo’s implication about the Winter Soldier “doing anything you want” gets played with? what or who does Bucky have to do to keep the undercover charade going? so many Bad Wrong Kinky power dynamics and explorations of consent and what this would do to Bucky’s head, here, and honestly I’d totally read them all, just saying.)

--Sam and Bucky together...I don’t know. This is one of the elements that I’m not actually a huge fan of, but I think it’s partly a personal genre / sense of humor thing that’s not clicking for me, personally, again. Like...

--I don’t find people shouting aggrievedly at each other to be funny? I’m not sure why it is.

--I mean, I get that they’re doing, like, eighties buddy cop movies, but...it got old really fast then, and it’s not something we needed to bring back. It’s not clever, and it’s...well, shouty and annoying.

--(I say this as someone who genuinely likes the first two Lethal Weapon movies...but the significant difference is, I think, we’re also shown in both those movies that Riggs and Murtaugh care about each other. They don’t want to be partners initially, and they don’t get along initially, and they do argue over tactics**...but they immediately feel responsible for each other and act to protect each other even as they argue, because it’s the right thing to do and we’re shown moments of them awkwardly trying to connect, because they both have that deep sense of...protectiveness...that makes them Good People - like, if they learn something that the other person needs to know, they tell each other. They protect each other’s families / love interests. So by the end of the second movie, with that fabulous character death fake-out, Murtaugh’s initial shock and grief is real and powerful and painful, and so is his genuine relief when the worst isn’t true - and it’s all earned.) (**however, they tend to argue tactics *before* jumping in - “is it 1, 2, 3, go on 3? or 3, then go?” And then once that’s established, they go ahead. That makes a difference as far as...well...competence and teamwork!)

--(Sam and Bucky, as far as I can tell, don’t do the above, and just...maybe shouldn’t be working together?)

--I also don’t find grown men acting like my youngest nephew, when he’s having a temper tantrum, to be funny. Staring contests? Random insults? Sulking in silence? Oh, grow up.

--(Also, yes, writers, we see you with the “couples therapy” and “get closer and make your legs touch” and “landing on top of each other as they hit the ground” moments. I, at least, personally, am very tired of...I don’t know that I’d call it queerbaiting exactly, but this idea that we’re supposed to find these moments funny...because why? Because, ooh, they’re two men getting close to each other, physically or emotionally? Why is this a thing we need to draw attention to? Do you think you’re doing some sort of fan service? Please either make Sam/Bucky happen or stop doing this.)

--both Sam and Bucky are highly competent and professional agents, or they should be. They should know how to work in the field - even with people they may not like - and adapt to shifting strategy, make best use of available assets, include people in the plan, etc. I can’t help but compare this to something like, say, Leverage, which also has a team who mocks each other and makes jokes but clearly absolutely respects each other’s capabilities, has a plan going in and tells everyone what the plan is, and adapts (and trusts each other to adapt) on the fly as necessary, and does it all without random insults about someone’s (PTSD-related) staring and “robot brain”.

--one of the very specific moments that bothers me a lot is the ending of the therapy scene (yay for showing heroes in therapy! but also I’m pretty sure she’s...not a great therapist?). Bucky finally opens up and says something real, about his own self-doubt and wondering whether Steve was wrong about him....and Sam just...brushes it off and goes, “we’re done here,” basically. Not only does that feel wildly out of character for former counselor Sam, it feels cruel. I really deeply dislike that moment the more I think about it. Makes me want to scream.

--Sam insults Bucky way more than the other way around. It’s starting to feel very one-sided (it’d be better if more clearly reciprocal, though it’s still not a dynamic that’s my favorite), and again, feels out of character - maybe this is Anthony Mackie’s sense of humor, but Sam isn’t Mackie, and Bucky isn’t Seb, and it reads as...a weird unbalanced power-trip thing to me. And also out of character for Sam, who can be sarcastic (”If you guys eat that sort of thing,” about breakfast, when Steve and Nat have randomly shown up at his door) but that’s not the same as just throwing unprovoked insults at a person who’s trying to recover from trauma, and a lot of those insults seem to center on things that were done to Bucky, that he had no choice in (the staring, the arm, etc), and that feels....it just feels mean, to me. Make fun of things he’s had a choice in / can do something about, if you have to - hair, clothes, liking “old people’s games” like gin rummy or pinochle, not knowing who Beyonce is, I don’t know, there are so many options that aren’t cruel! Do that instead. Let Bucky have a good comeback for once, too!

--the action scenes are action scenes. Also fine.

--Sam might be right about destroying the shield, and the show may even be (unintentionally?) setting that up as the best outcome, but that’s a problem for the future, Sam; get it back first. Also it’s a problem you caused by giving the shield up - did you really trust the government to leave it unused in a museum? You’re not that naive.

--overall, it’s...a perfectly fine show, so far, I think? Solid, and interesting, but not great. I think some of what doesn’t work for me is because it doesn’t work for me personally, as far as the shouty insult-heavy action “comedy” bits that I’m not enjoying, but I think they’re doing what they aimed for with it, so in that sense, I guess it’s working? There’s a lot of really cool stuff around the edges - John Walker, Isaiah Bradley, that Dora Milaje stinger, the bigger world of a history interwoven with racism and superpowers, the chillingly effective use of Bucky’s past - but I wish I liked the central Sam-Bucky relationship more. Individually they’re wonderful - they’ve both had such powerful scenes dealing with family, trauma, and consequences - but I feel like, in the effort to do the buddy comedy dynamic, the writing has just made me really sure that they actually genuinely don’t like each other? To such an extent that if they show any affection / caring / interest in each other in the last three episodes, it won’t be believable. (I mean Sam and Bucky, not Mackie and Seb. Mackie and Seb’re adorable.)

--I just want to think about Zemo dancing some more.

[fablesrose]

Tell Me a Story 1

Description: The local mafia has served Y/n well previously, but with the way things are going now, enough is enough. Instead of getting out, why not take everything down? So she makes a few calls, but things don’t always go to plan.

Word count: 2,205

Pairing: cop!Dean x mafia!reader

Square filled: fake dating

Warnings: none this chapter

Masterlist ~ Bingo Masterlist

Remaining parts will be in the Bingo Masterlist

A/n: This is for @girl-next-door-writes‘s Make Me Feel Bingo. I wanted to write a specific scene and then made a whole AU in order for this to work and it became infinitely more complicated than it needed to be. Enjoy! 

“Tell me a story.”

Chuck was a dangerous man. He didn’t look it, but he had an eye and a leash where you would never expect it all over the city. No one knew what he wanted, what his end goal was, maybe that was what made him dangerous.

Those words made me nervous. Chuck loved a good story and if the man next to me didn’t tell one up to his standard, then it wouldn’t end well for either of us.

This was all my idea. It was me who got the cops involved. I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Sam, I know you don’t want to hear from me, but-”

“What do you need?”

“The Fallen isn’t doing too hot right now.”

“I can help you get out Y-”

“It’s not as simple as when you slipped between the cracks Sam,” I hissed at him through the phone. I don’t know why I even tracked him down, he had a good life now, but I needed to do something.

“Simple? You know it wasn’t simple.” Sam sounded offended.

“Exactly. It wasn’t when you did it, and like Hell is it simple now. It’s a thousand times worse in every way since you left. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to go.”

“Okay, fine, we’ll figure something out.”

“Thanks- Someone’s coming, don’t contact me in any way for at least four days. You know the drill.” I hung up the phone and went on my daily business.

Four days later I received a text with a phone number in it, “He’s clean. He’ll help.”

I saved the number in my phone and deleted the conversation. I had to tread lightly.

I tried to control my anxiety. If I was found out I wouldn’t be surprised if Chuck burned the whole city to the ground.

So needless to say I did a fantastic job of hiding my anxiety.

Eventually, when I was sure that I was alone I pulled up the number Sam gave me. I guess it was now or never.

The phone rang a couple of times before a man picked up and rattled off his law enforcement credentials and his name. Okay, maybe this guy could help me.

I took a deep breath and spoke out loud the sentence I had been practicing in my head for the last few days which was a risk in and of itself, “I’m a high ranking member of The Fallen and would like to be of assistance in taking down the current, highly wanted, leader of said… organization.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, “Pardon?”

I sighed, my anxiety creeping back in, but what came out was an annoyed clip, “I said I’d like to snitch on my boss, a highly wanted individual, now can you help me get rid of him, or did Sam lie to me?”

“You know Sam?”

“Well, no der.” I tried to calm my beating heart, but the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a mistake, “I’m sorry for wasting your time, this was a mistake.”

“No no, wait.” I heard him swallow, “I’m going to talk to some people, let me see what I can do okay?”

My voice cracked, “Okay.”

The call ended, and all I could think was, Well there’s no backing out now.

Never before had I felt like I was in a dystopian novel more than this chapter of my life. I was nervous, like even the TVs were watching my every move to see if I was thinking traitorous thoughts, straight out of “1984.”

Every meeting, every glance in my direction, every moment of silence, and I swore everyone there already knew what I had done. But I kept a straight face in the serious moments, laughed when it was polite, and I wasn’t dead yet.

The day came when I met him in person. The safest place I could think of was my apartment. I paced back and forth for the whole afternoon constantly watching the clock, then it seemed like ten minutes after four it was six o’clock already. He was due to my doorstep any minute now.

A knock came to the door and I felt stone cold.

Slow steps took me to the sound. I opened the door a crack to see who it was. A tall man stood on the other side, in casual clothes thank goodness. He was casually looking around, but to the trained eye, I could tell he was watching to see if anyone was paying special attention.

“Yes?” Don’t give too much away, don’t volunteer any information. Yet.

He finally focused on me and I took into account the strong structure to his face, one could either call him intimidating or handsome, depending on his mood. Right now he was walking the line while leaning towards the former.

“I believe you’ve been expecting me,” he spoke quietly, his voice sounded very similar to the one I heard on the phone, but one could never be too careful.

“Oh? And what’s the connection between us?” I hoped my face was perfect innocence, but I knew my eyes were calculating and cautious.

“Sam.”

I closed the door to unlock the chain. I quickly let him in.

“I assume it’s safe here?” His eyes scanned the room, looking for anything that could be a problem.

I locked the door behind him, “As safe a place as any. I personally had soundproofing installed. Not many people come here, less chance for bugs. Neighbors are friendly, mostly elderly couples.”

“I was going to say, pretty small apartment for someone in the mob,” he extended a hand for me to shake, “Dean Winchester.”

I huffed, “Yeah, it’s kinda my job to blend in. Not all of us have Hollywood mansions. I glanced at him from the kitchen as I grabbed two glasses, “I see height runs in the family.”

“Somethin’ like that,” Dean sat on the couch in the living room.

I handed him a drink, “So...”

“So indeed,” he swirled the liquid in the glass before setting it on the side table, “I’m currently being transferred from the my current department a couple hours away to the local PD. Once that’s done I will be going under cover. You will be my in. Does that work?”

I drained my own drink, “Swimmingly.” I set my own glass on the floor by the feet of the chair I was sitting in, “I honestly can’t believe I’m doing this.” I spoke it mostly to myself, but he heard it all the same.

“Yeah, why are you doing this? What made you join in the first place only to try and tear it all down?”

I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the chair. I guess I should have seen the question coming. “I joined The Fallen when I was a lot younger. Why does anyone join the mafia?”

“Protection, a safe place to do illegal things, they’re desperate?”

I chuckled, “And usually somewhere to belong, but yeah, you hit the nail on the head. I was desperate. Nowhere to go. And let’s leave it at that.” I started cleaning my fingernails, my hands needing something to do. “It was a classic mafia back then. Don’t mess with us, we don’t mess with you. If you do, you better watch your back. It was okay. It was safe. That was under this guy named Nick. He’s in prison now, but you probably knew that already.”

Dean nodded his head.

“In the power vacuum he left behind, I helped get your brother out. Covered his tracks, but there wasn’t anyone to follow them. Sounds like he’s got a nice life now.”

“Why didn’t you get out with him?”

“Still didn’t have anywhere to go. Sam, he’s smart. Got back into school, had a nice girl waiting for him on the other side. I didn’t have any of that.  The Fallen was all I had, figured this was better than being on the run from myself.” I sighed, “Anyway, Crowley comes in. He’s a businessman at heart. He  made the community safer. Kept local businesses afloat. It felt like we were doing something good.”

I smiled to myself. Happier times.

“I guess I got soft.” I looked up from my hands into his serious face, “Now Chuck has the whole city wrapped around his twisted finger. No one knows what he wants. He’s got no honor system-”

Dean scoffed.

“Hey, it might not have been much, but Crowley and Nick? They had their own code that if you knew what it was, then nothing surprised you. Chuck’s a wild card. He’s destroying everything good about this place, and like it or not, I don’t. And if I can do something about it, I’m going to. Okay?”

Dean set his jaw and nodded.

“So how do you wanna play this mister hot shot cop?”

“That’s a good question, one that you are gonna answer.”

I raised my eyebrows, “Oh?”

He shifted to a more relaxed position on the couch, “Yup. You’re the expert, so how are you gonna bring me in? I’ve got to observe, gather information and evidence, and hopefully set him up so we can catch him in the act of doing something ‘life in prison’ worthy.”

“Can we get a death sentence?”

Dean slowly gained a more guarded posture, “And why would you want that?” As Dean relaxed he seemed more personable, but with that one statement he looked suspicious of me and my motives. His eyes gained that hard look that could break steel and I was terrified to see him angry.

I curled in on myself, “Past experience.”

“I’m gonna need to know this kind of stuff sweetheart.”

“Look, we both know life in prison isn’t a guarantee. Nick was supposed to get a life sentence, but he got out. Now Crowley’s dead and Chuck is in power.” There was a pause where neither of us spoke. “There’s always something. You’re in law enforcement. You should know that.”

He sighed before nodding once again, “Fine, we’ll see what we can do and what we can get, okay?”

“Okay.”

“How are you going to get me in?”

I rubbed my temples. How was I going to get him in? “I think our best option is for me to just bring you in as a new recruit. No deals, tell him the least information possible. Whoever brings someone new in becomes their mentor so that’ll work out...” This was going to be hard. Chuck was a difficult target. “We’ll say you’re new in town. You desperately need some extra cash, so you’re willing to join. You don’t really care what you have to do. The trick is to lie the least amount as possible. Chuck doesn’t like liars, and he can always find out information. So I hope there aren’t many people who know you’re doing this.” I locked eyes with him.

“No, not many at all.”

“I hope you’re right, or we’re both dead.”

This conversation ran through my head as we stood in front of Chuck. It was the monthly meeting, where everything you could think of was discussed, including new members.

“So, there’s a new face.” Chuck was looking at the pair of us, a passive invitation.

I stepped forward with as much confidence as I could muster, “Yes, this is new recruit-”

“Officer Dean Winchester, yes I know.”

I nearly choked as my eyes widened in fear and surprise. I glanced at Dean and all I could think was, “We’re dead.”

“Now the question is, why does the new cop in town want to join the local mob?” Chuck stood from his chair and walked around, “Little short on cash, need a little excitement?”

Dean chuckled, but I could tell he was hiding his nervousness, “Yeah, something like that.”

“Good, what’s one more cop on the payroll? You’re in.” Chuck finally looked back at the two of us, and my heart was still pounding out of my chest despite how impossibly well this was going, “Oh, you didn’t know he was a cop did you? Looks like some couples therapy material.”

I swallowed, but couldn’t hide my confusion, couples therapy?

“Oh come on! It’s obvious!” Chuck hesitated, “Well maybe not obvious, but Y/n’s not the hook-up type.”

I blushed, this was getting out of hand, but as long as Chuck wasn’t going to kill me, I would put up with it the best I could.

Chuck clapped and rubbed his hands together, “Oh I love a good romance. So how did you guys meet?”

Dean seemed to snap into it, or maybe it was me who was out of it, I’m not sure, but Dean grabbed my hand and intertwined our fingers.

“I don’t know, sir, I’m not much of a story teller.”

“Come on Dean.” Chuck smiled, a little too eagerly.

I tightened my grip on Dean’s hand, mostly out of anxiousness. I was out of options and stocked up on fear. It was up to him to get us the hell out of here.

“Tell me a story.”

Best Buds Taglist: @kitkatd7 @snarky--starky @confetti-its-an-imagine-blog @kaogasm

Dean: @akshi8278 @msmarvelouswinchester

[thewickling]

On Qishan Indoctrination’s Duration

@pumpkinpaix: Do you know how long the Qishan indoctrination lasted? something tells me anywhere between 2 weeks and 2 months.

Me: Off the top of my head no.

[Two seconds later]

Also me: *rattles off events and their exact timeframes from memory to calculate it*

[Five Seconds Later]

😅 Me: I actually remembered more events to consider. Actually let me grab all the information and calculate it for real.

Here's that turned into a meta.

The day that Wang Lingjiao dies we learn this: "She had been following Wen Chao for almost half a year. Half a year was the most time that Wen Chao could spend on a woman, from loving her to becoming tired of her." (Evil, Part One). Since she was with Wen Chao during the indoctrination, this places a hard maximum time frame it can occur in less than six months. To determine the duration of the indoctrination, I started with the half year of Wen Chao/Wang Lingjiao. Then I list all the events within that timeframe and their duration to subtract from that half year period. That gets the range for the indoctrination.

For ease of estimation, I'm doing to do the following approximations:

Treating a month as 30 days

defining a few days as between 3 and 6 days

Wen Chao and Wang Lingjiao's relationship began prior Qishan Indoctrination

All the Relevant Timeframes

Let's start with "For the reason that other sects taught badly and wasted talent, the Wen Sect demanded all of the sects to each dispatch at least twenty disciples to Qishan within three days" (Courage, Part One). The indoctrination was likely sparked off by the Burning of the Cloud Recesses that occured "last month" (Courage, Part Two). I consider if safe to assume that Wang Lingjiao was already together with Wen Chao at this point because Lan Wangji is still fairly injuried at this point and the Wens don't seem to have long enough tempers to wait long after the burning combined with the fact that MXTX has a tendency for every tight timelines so let's say a few days prior to the demand's release.

Next is the night-hunt at Dusk-Creek Mountain. On the day that Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian are rescued the latter shouts, "'Jiang Cheng! Where the hell are you?! It’s almost been seven days!!!'" (Courage, Part Five). That's nice we have a definitive amount of time seven days total between being trapped, killing the Xuanwu of Slaughter, and the rescue.

Now we must consider how long it took for them to arrive in Yunmeng post-rescue. In Poison, Part One, Wei Wuxian confirms that, "it only takes five days [sic] from Dusk-Creek Mountain to Yunmeng”. Jiang Cheng berates him for only counting the time to return Yunmeng but not time to arrive in Dusk-Creek Mountain and search for him. They traveled with a feverish Wei Wuxian and an injuried Lan Wangji so I'll use the entire five days. It'll also include the mount of time it took before Wei Wuxian to wake up post passing out just to make things easier and I don't doubt they did rush back since Wei Wuxian was ill. While the seven days arguably count as part of the indoctrination proper, I consider the five days not to be part of the indoctrinationeven if formally it hadn't ended and some disciples might have remained with the Wens based on the fact that post-Dusk Creek Mt night night the indoctrination "disintegrated completely. All of the disciples returned to their sects" (Poisons, Part Two).

It took Wei Wuxian a few days to recover and then "half a month later" the Fall of Lotus Pier occurs (Poison, Part Two). The paragraph following states one day so that suggests this is loose time keeping and not tight time keeping so I consider it fair to consider it half a month and then the fall. The Fall of Lotus Pier itself takes less than a day because Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng return late into that night to the sect's doors closed (Poisons, Part Three). It's safe to say a half a month and 1 day from his recovery to the Fall.

They travel "half a day" to escape after discovering their sect dead, but that night Wei Wuxian returns there after Jiang Cheng is captured (Poisons, Part Four). Wen Ning helps him save Jiang Cheng and then it takes "the second day" for them to arrive at Wen Qing's Yiling branch (Poison, Part Four). That adds another 3 days from the fall to arriving in Yiling.

After arriving, Jiang Cheng kicks up a fuss and "with the needle in Jiang Cheng’s head, he slept for three days" (Poisons, Part Five). It takes them a "few days" (Poisons, Part Five) between him waking up and arriving in the fake Baoshan Sanren Mountain. "Jiang Cheng had been in the mountain for seven days" for the golden core transfer (Poisons, Part Five). Jiang Cheng waits almost "almost six days" for Wei Wuxian to find him post transfer (Evil, Part Two).

Between then and Wang Lingjiao's death is "three months" that timeframe is repeated in Evil, Part One to Two. Though the reference points are slightly different it's either when Wei Wuxian disappeared or when the Sunshot Campaign sects joined together so it's a bit of a loose timeframe but we can take that as a minimum amount of time.

Maths

I am going to do this in two "phases" all the concrete timeframes and then the "few day" rougher estimates grouped together.

Conversions from months to days

half a year so 365/2 = 182.5, rounded up to 183 for Wen Chao/Wang Lingjiao

(.5 X 30) = 15 for post-Wei Wuxian's recovery up to Fall of Lotus Pier

(3 x 30) = 90 for between Wei Wuxian in the mass graves/start of the Sunshot Campaign to Wang Lingjiao's death

Concrete timeframes:

183 - 3 [travel to Qishan] - 5 [return to Yunmeng post rescue] - 15 [Wei Wuxian's recovery to before the Fall of Lotus Pier] - 1 [Fall of Lotus Pier] - 1 [Jiang Cheng's capture and rescue] - 2 [arrival in Yiling] - 3 [k.o'd Jiang Cheng] - 7 [gold core transfer] - 6 [Jiang Cheng waiting for Wei Wuxian] - 90 [between WWX in the mass graves/start of Sunshot Campaign to Wang Lingjiao's Death] = 50 days

Looser timeframes:

50 - (3-6 [Burning of Cloud Recesses to release of indoctrination demand]) - (3-6 [Wei Wuxian recovery]) - (3-6 [travel to fake BSSR mt.]) = 32-41 days

Now remember how the quote was almost half a year, I'm going to take off another 3-6 days to account for the fact so 26-38 days.

Conclusion

The indoctrination lasts at maximum approximately 26 to 38 days so a month give or take a week. While this does have about 6-9 days for Wen Chao and Wang Lingjiao to have already started their relationship (the burning of Cloud Recesses estimate combined with the travel to Qishan), it would still be reasonable to reduce it futher to account for the start of a relationship for your writing purposes.

Also, if you do not consider the time that Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji properly part of the indoctrination, I would subtract 6 days as the first day Wen Chao was still in charge and most of the disciples didn't disperse until later that day so 20-32 days maximum.

[the-scooby-gang]

Us... But not quite.

Part 6

Summary: after falling thought a portal while they were being chased by their most horryfying monster yet, The Scooby Gang finds themselves in a place they have never been before. A place called Crystal Cove.

Fred felt like he was in the Twilight Zone.

They were once again on the side of the road. The vans were parked side by side, the tire marks of when they nearly crashed against each other painting the street.

He was suddenly really glad he was not the one driving. If it was his twenty-eight old ass looking directly at his seventeen-year-old baby-face he would have launched the car off the cliff and killed everybody. Daphne would have never let him live that one out.

Said seventeen-year-old clone was looking blankly at them. It was freaking him out a little. Either young him was better at poker than he remembered or-

No. Nononono. He was not even going to think about that possibility. Nope.

He thanked whichever gods were listening that it was only young him on the van. He didn’t think that a full gang meet up would do any good for their already on edge nerves.

“So… I believe there is a logical explanation for this” Velma was fiddling in place, a nervous look in her face. The pieces for what the hell was going on were falling in place but the picture they are making was getting exponentially more aggravating the more she looked at Fred’s young face. Even the ascot looked new.

They had all come out of their respective vans, Daphne being the only that was technically inside since she remained on her seat, only her feet on the outside with her door wild open. Fred and Velma were side by side while Scooby was standing next to Daphne's legs enjoying a nice head scratch from purple nails. Shaggy, the showoff, had swiftly made his way to the roof of their van by climbing one of the nearby trees. Joung Fred, however, stood there next to his open door. Alone.

“God, did I really have such a babyface?” Fred looked unblinking at the young clone of himself, one hand absently stroking his chin, probably remembering the days where his face was smoother and the ‘I’m going to grow a beard’ phase haven't crossed his mind yet.  

“Yeah. Yeah, you did. 100% infant with an ascot” Daphne shrugged, a smug look on her face. Fred gave her a side glance.  

“What do you mean by ‘Did have’? Who are you people and why you have my face?” the younger Fred said, apprehensive. The young man was with his back straight as a rod, one foot towards them and the other towards his van, one breath away from dashing back to the stirring wheel and hightail the hell out of there.

At least Fred was somehow relieved that this younger version of himself was not trusting them immediately. He would be really worried if any version of him didn’t immediately think that twenty-eight-years-old doppelgängers weren’t a highly convincing masked crook. Not with their chosen career.  

“Hey look, this is making as much sense to you as is making to us right now. For all we know you are nothing more than a bunch of pixels and we are stuck again in that computer simulation,” he said softly like he was trying to calm a wounded animal.

Younger Fred blinked startled. “…What are you talking about?”

“Oh, he is talking about that one time with the baseball virus- “ Daphne started to explain, just to Velma to swiftly put a hand on her mouth, purple lipstick be dammed.

“That is not relevant now! Look, Fred – I’m assuming your name is also Fred?” a nod of agreement. “Ok good. So, Fred, for what I could take out of this, the facts appear to be pointing at-” but before Velma could finish her phrase, young Fred was already taking a step back towards his own van, his face confuse and even a little frightened.

“What facts? What’s going on in here? All I know is that I went out to get my Dad’s coffee and there were you guys coming on the opposite direction…” his eyes suddenly got a glimmer over them, a tentative smile blooming on his handsome face “Is this a trap?”

“God, I wish” Fred sigh. It would be so simple if it was. “Can you imagine? It would be a weird implementation of the Borden method”

Younger Fred assumed a pensive look.

“No, I think it’s more off an Angier method since you are more my clone than my twin brother.” Said young Fred, one hand over his chin, the other pointing towards Older Fred face, seeing the marks of the added years into his counterpart visage.

“Well, yeah. But I’m not launching you on a tank of water. I just arrived here, I won’t know where to get one.” He gave his younger self a once over, making a quick calculation “To be honest if you, I was more likely to use the Deckard method on you than anything else.”

“Dude, if you can barely find yourself a human-size tank of water, what are the chances of you finding the holograms for that one to work?” Asked the younger Jones but with a glimmer of joy in his blue eyes, the previous confusion and fright seemingly forgotten.

“You talk like I can’t improvise. What kind of amateur do you take me for? And also, do you believe that I don’t have back up holograms on the mystery machine?” Fred, the old, arched one of his eyebrows, a smirk on his face with his arms crossed, his chest puffed in pride of his trap making abilities.

Meanwhile, the gang was watching speechless the back in forth between them as if it was a tennis match. Daphne was especially interested in the overwhelming joy radiating from their lover young counterpart. Didn’t the rest of his gang talk about traps with him? He looked like it was the first time that he could share his interests with someone.

“Well gang, I can say with 99,9% certainty that this is a certified Fred.” Velma declared, both her hands on her hips and her lips pursed in mock awe.

Daphne fake punched her arm, a smile in her face. “Shush, don’t interrupt them. Fred is bonding.”

Both Freds turned towards them after that exchange, remembering they were not alone on that side of the road. Turning their heads back to each other, they started laughing, doubling over when their lungs started lacking air. It was a contagious laugh. Fred laugh was just like that. With two of them, the effect was duplicated so it was no surprise when everyone ended up joining in.

After some time, when they got their breath back, young Fred held out his hand

“I’m Fred Jones, nice to meetcha”

Taking it as the peace offering it was, Older Fred took the hand giving it a vigorous shake.

“Hi, Fred Jones. I’m Fred Jones” he snickered “And this colourful bunch behind me is” he waved his remaining hand on their direction.

“Daphne Blake” the redhead waved.

“Velma Dinkley” Velma fixed the red-trimmed glasses in her face.

“Norville Rogers” he pointed to the lanky man seated on the roof of the van.

“Call me Shaggy” he reclined more on the roof enjoying the morning sun.

“and last but not least: Scoobert Doo. Our beloved Scooby-Doo,” he glances back at young him, a knowing smirk on his lips “But you know that already, don’t you?”

Scooby approached the young Fred. Scooby held up his paw that young Fred took without hesitation.

“Rice to reet you ragain, Rreedie”  

“Nice to meet you again Scooby” he smiled at the Great Dane, with earned him a face full of dog kisses unleashing a stream of laughter from his chest.

“So, like, I take from that we, like, do exist here in this world, right? It’s not just you?” Shaggy asked, jumping from the roof, going towards the laughing teenager who was now on the ground, removing the more than 100 pounds of dog-friend from him.

The young man remained on the ground, one arm over his eyes, whizzing like a dying frog. Panting between the still bubbling laughter, young Fred calmed down slowly. Seeing that the young version of Fred was not going to get up so soon, they joined him on the ground.

Laying on the grass with their heads close, looking at the sky they could easily convince themselves that it was just another day in their lives. One of their moments’ in-between cases, stopping in the middle of nowhere, looking at the clouds. If only.  

“Ok, so what is happening here? is it time travel? Interdimensional time travel?” came the calm question. They side glanced the seventeen-year-old boy in their midst than each other. Shaggy than turned his head to the boy at his right, a smirk on his lips.

“Like, the mystery machine had many upgrades over the years but a flux capacitor was not one of them, man”

Shaggy could feel the hole that Velma was opening on the side of his head with her glare. He was already hearing her voice in the back of his mind saying ‘now is not the time for jests, you absolutely reprehensible man’.

“What Shaggy is trying to say is that, from the moment we arrive at this place, nothing here has been remotely familiar to us. But the few people that we interacted with seemed to know us on a personal level” Daphne tried to circumvent the tension that Velma’s glare was bringing to their small space of side road with a more thought out explanation.

Too bad Shaggy fear of death, always present since the moment he was exposed to the world outside Mrs Rogers womb, was left inside the van because instead of shutting his cakehole and avoiding death: persuaded by Velma he said:

“Like, that is in no way what I was saying- “

“Yes, it was,” Daphne said between her teeth, trying once again to avoid seeing Velma yeet Shaggy into the ocean.

“Nu huh”

“Yun huh”

“Nu huh”

“Yun huh”

“Ignore them, they are five years old,” Fred said, hugging Velma in hopes of changing the course of the conversation and diminishing the death glare. It appeared to be working. Not before Velma smacking the back of the young chefs head, of course.

“HEY!” came two indignant yells, Shaggy appearing more offended at the five-year-old commentary than the smack.

Scooby, face-palming himself, turned to his left and put his paws on both of the young man shoulders (that were trembling from suppressed giggles. At least he was founding their weird dynamic entertaining) and looked him directly in the eyes.

“Rook, Rreddie we come from a rlace ralled Roolsville.  Rhere is no Rristal Rove any rhere” he said, hoping that a more direct approach was what they needed at the moment.

There was a beat of silence. Fred, the younger, was looking at Scooby like he had grown a second head. He looked around, seeing all those faces that were so familiar and at the same time so different. He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat.

“…Please tell me that I understood him wrong and that you guys don’t come from a place called Roolsville.” he pleaded, for the sake of his sanity, that he had misheard the entire thing.

Another prolonged silence.

“You did understand him wrong,” Velma said.

“Oh, that’s a relief-“

“Its actually Coolsville. A town in Ohio”

He blinked slowly. Looking at Velma’s eyes, he pinched himself. When nothing happened, Fred, the youngest started shaking his head in disbelieve.

“…Ohio?”

“Yeah, I know, not ideal. But it’s home so we make the best of it” Shaggy head said from its new location over Daphne’s lap, her hands carting through his hair.

They noticed that young Fred was completely indifferent to their position. Good news, then. His gang at least was the bunch of cuddly bugs that they were.

“It has been a while since we went back home, come to think of it” Daphne mused, French braiding the shaggy hair under fingers.

“We cleared most of the mysteries there, anyway. I think the crooks in our universe may be a bunch of idiots but they are not stupid.” Velma added, snuggling closer to older Fred, Scooby laying over their legs.

“Yeah, to attack the home town of international mystery solvers is the peak of dumb moves” Fred, the ancient, theorized. His lovers nodded. Yeah, that makes sense.

“International?” the small voice got them by surprise. They turned once again to Fred, the infant, laying there spread eagle looking into the sky like he was expecting the heavens to open up and the Archangel Gabriel to come and announce the second coming of Crist.

Older Fred’s face softened. He was suddenly faced with his counterpart age. At age seventeen he could barely imagine how his life was going to go, much least its outcome. Mystery solving had been a childhood passion, but no one, much less himself, could have imagined how much it would grow. Little him probably had his entire world scale vastly amplified in just a fraction of a second.

The possibilities must look so much vaster for him now.

“You betcha, Little Me. Samurai ghosts in Japan, an army of mummies in Egypt,” he said softly, looking at his own young eyes “Hell, is not even international any more. Not after that case on the moon base.”

“Interplanetary mystery solvers, baby!” crooned Daphne receiving the softest cheers from Velma and Shaggy. Scooby let out a melodic howl. Older Fred was pleased that they were all in the same wavelength. That this moment was earth-shattering to his younger self, it deserves a careful approach.

“…Interplanetary mysteries… Interplanetary traps.” Fred, the younger, eyes were sparkling, thinking about all the new plans, terrains to explore and exploit for hiding places, exotic ropes and knots techniques. He was practically vibrating.

The gang laughed good-heartedly. Yup. This was now a 100% certified Fred, no doubt about it.

One by one they got up, Older Fred helping his dreamer self from the ground. The young man was still light years away from them, his eyes big and full of ideas, a goofy smile on his face.

Older Fred giggled and, patting his younger self’s back, he said:

“Oh yeah, all the interplanetary traps. I even made my own traps! Patents and all.”

“What, really???” If the boy was vibrating before, now he was almost phasing out of the dimension altogether. His smile was so bright that it could bring sight back for a born blind man seven times over. It made a mirror smile bloom in his own face.

“Yeah, man. The Jones method for trapping masked criminals.” He looked at the excited boy, who was smiling as if the government had decided that the Leap Year date was replaced and instead of the 29 th of February they added the 32 th of October: Halloween, Part 2, and fell in his heart the same tug of longing that he felt looking at any children of the places that they visited.

They had talked about it. They joked at the dead of the night. It was too soon, they know. But what was so bad in speculation? Thinking about how many. Who was going to carry it? Should they give adoption a shot? Should they give magical baby incubation a thought? That was one of Daphne’s favourite ideas yet. She was mesmerised by the idea of a baby growing on a cabbage (from what Gran had told them it could be any plant really. The popular now was pumpkins and peaches surprisingly enough). Mashing last names together in hopes that their hypothetical children would have a nice-sounding one was a nice pastime when stuck in the road for hours.

Blake-Dinkley-Roger-Jones was the one with the best ring to it, they had decided one drunk night in Paris, perched on the Eiffel Tower balcony disregarding gravity and death (such was the power of wine) then getting away from the edge to waltz to non-existing music, smiling with glee.

They changed the order again the very next morning. What was the fun in sticking to any order anyway?

Shaking his head away from the warm memory, Older Fred passed his arm over his younger self shoulders, noticing that he was, at least, one head taller than him.

Oh, yeah. The second grown spur. He spent an entire year of college getting used to his way longer limbs all over again.

“Tell you what: We go to this Crystal Cove town together and I tell you all about it.”

Younger Fred looked up at him.

“…Will you?” his voice was small. Why was his voice so small?

“Yeah.” There was a sudden felling on his belly. He didn’t like it. He didn’t know what it was but something suddenly was felling off. Why was his voice so small? “We can even try to make a new one together” he suggested, ignoring the felling for now. Maybe it was nothing. It was probably nothing. Maybe.

Little him lighted up like a tree on Christmas, nodding his head so hard he was afraid it was going to roll right of his shoulders.

“Everything is nice, everything is great, but don’t you guys think is going to be a little of an eyesore, not one both TWO mystery machines parading down the street?” asked Daphne, her voice coming from the middle of the clearing where both vans were parallel parked next to each other, breaking the moment.

“Yeah, that would be a sight to see” Velma grimaced.

“Dude, ‘sight to see’? That amount of groovy energy is going to obliterate people on impact” Shaggy and Scooby were looking at both vans with calculating eyes, as if they were questioning if such a thing was possible.

With the way their lives are going so far? It was possible.

“Well, we have two options right now. Option A: Keep it quiet for now. Once we acclimate to the town and the people acclimate to us because let’s face it, trying to keep our existence a secret is going to backfire phenomenally on our asses and cause more trouble than it is worth it.” Velma said, her ‘I’m planning’ pose in full display.

“Option B is:” came the voice from the back from one of the vans. Suddenly, Daphne kicked the backdoors wild open shouting “HELLOOOOO CRYSTAL COVE!!! GET READY FOR TROUBLE AND MAKE IT DOUBLE!!! MYSTERY INCORPORATED IS NOW COMING TWICE AS STRONG!!!” she struck a pose, Shaggy and Scooby throwing confetti over her head while Fred made fake sounds of trumpets. They dissolved in giggles afterwards.

Velma groaned, one hand over her eyes the other holding her glasses.

“One day. One day I swear I’m going to kill you guys in your sleep”

“We love you too” were the four answers that she received.

Fred, the infant, smile at the scene. He hoped that his gang would turn up like this one someday soon. The cuddling also seemed comfortable and fun, he should ask his gang what they thought about start doing that.  

“Ok, what if we did like this: Since I know the place better than you guys I can show you the clearings and caves that we can hide the van and we can go from there.”

“That sounds good but now the question is: which van?” Daphne asked, one hand up pointing from one van to the other.

There was silence. The Freds were suddenly looking at each other in the eye trying to glare the other into submission. It was clear that neither of them would give up their four-wheeled babies.

The glare was intensifying. Slowly they started circling each other as if they were in an old western. The atmosphere seemed to change. Mirroring frowns faced each other with murderous intent. They appeared to want to start growling. Nothing good was coming out of this.

That’s why Shaggy put himself on the middle of the Fred circle before any words could be said and newborn friendships dashed. “Ok, ok, ok. None of that! What if, instead of choosing between vans we, like, fuse them? Would that be good? Would you dudes chill?” he raised one arm to each of them, looking like he was trying to convince hungry reptiles from eating each other.

“And how would we do that?” Younger Fred asked, not as much perplexed as they expected and more on the side of curious, but his eyes never left his perceived threat.

“Like this, dude.” Shaggy smiled at them, straightening his back. He snapped his fingers.

Both vans dissolved into shapes of light. They stayed floating in place for a fraction of a second then, faster than bullets, they flew over their shoulders creating a wind strong enough to nearly throw them all over the trees. Fred took hold of his younger self arm while Velma grabbed the back of his jacket with on hand, Daphne with Scooby on her back with the other, digging her heels in the ground with practised ease. Shaggy seemed surprisingly unaffected by the gale. The light orbs circulated one another in beautiful arcs of colour to them merge behind Shaggy’s back in what looked like a mini supernova. They watched the display unfold in front of them speechless. The gang with amazement that the years could not diminish and the new young member with awe, trying with all his might to understand what was happening before his eyes.

It was finished just as soon as it had begun. Behind Shaggy, the new mystery machine laid there, matching her previous look but at the same time not.

For an outsider, the van was just the same as it was before.

But they knew better.

The Mystery Machine 3.0 was, from the outside, a perfect mix of both vans with some key differences making this MM her own. She had the sliding doors of the other dimension gang van, a feature that was not present on the younger Fred version. Getting closer, putting their hands over the warm metal, they noticed that the paint job remained the same but the green was lighter than before and the daises were particularly bright orange. The van had incorporated the backside door from the younger man's van as well. But the inside…

“Like, I hope that you guys don’t mind that I, like, added some things in it,” said Shaggy, smiling with his hands in his pockets.

They were all in the back door looking in. They turned their disbelieving faces towards the lanky man standing behind them looking proud.

“…Its larger in the inside?” young Fred asked uncertainly of what his eyes were seeing.

“Not by much. I, like, made the whole van a little bit larger that’s true, but the inside is just a little bigger than it was before. Now” he passed them and got inside, laying with his arms crossed behind his head on the brand new sofa perched on the left side of the van “I can lay down back here without having to contract my whole body like a slinky.”

“Well, that your own fault for being a giraffe” Velma laughed going in as well. “Did you upgraded my lab?”

“You know it, honey bee” came the lay back answer.

She clicked one of the small buttons on the opposite wall to the sofa. The upper half of the wall folded back, pushing forward a small table full of beakers, flasks and chemicals. The new wall that came forward had a screen in it, a corkboard full of pictures, calculations and trap anagrams, and a built-in magnifying glass lamp. She seated in a small wheeled stool that unfolded itself from a space that opened in the floor. Ok. Not only is the van larger, but it also has pocket dimensions. He can dig it.  

“I thought that only dentist had one of these…” younger Fred said in amazement joining them in the back as well, touching the magnifying lamp. He was looking around like a kid in the candy shop, looking at the upper wall over the sofa that also had some buttons of their own and he would be lying to himself if he said he was not curious to discover what that wall had to hide “Did you add these tech things or…”

“Nope. Most of them were, like, already here. I just added the chemicals Velma was talking about some weeks ago and the magnifying glass. The rest? I’m not the only one that can make things out of nothing, little dude,” said Shaggy, untangling his arm from the back of his head and pointed towards ancient Fred, who had moved while they talked and was now seated behind the steering wheel. He turned around when he felt eyes on his back, seeing his younger self looking at him, clearly taking that as a confirmation that he could also make vans fuse with his will alone.

“Noooooooo. That’s not true.” He smiled at his lounging boyfriend, then he turned his gaze to his now deflated counterpart “I need duct tape first.”

His gang laughed while younger him wiggled closer to him sitting on the bean bag lying next to the front seat, his eyes shining with that new piece information, crossing his arms in the seatback, resting his head over them. Scooby got inside and closed the door behind him while Daphne went and assumed her place at the shotgun. Fred started the van and turned towards their original destination.

“Do all of you guys have powers or something?” asked the teenager, looking at all of them with new eyes.

“Or romething” said Scooby building momentum in his hind legs for a leap.

“Oh no. No, no, no, nononono” Shaggy hoisted his torso up, waving his hands frantically in front of him to no vail.

Like a bolt, Scooby jumped over his owner sending both rolling into the ground. After licking the lanky man face thoroughly through his laughter and the stream of ‘Down, boy, down!’, the Great Dane jumped to the now vacant seat and made himself comfortable.

“Scooby, you cheater that cheats” Shaggy gave his friend the stinky eye but his smile made it lose its effect. Scooby flashed him his tongue them got even comfier. Throwing his arm over his eyes, the lanky man groaned

“I swear to god, I’m cutting your soda supply. Too much caffeine in your system. There is no way that you have all that energy stored in that furry butt of yours”

The van occupants bubbled with giggles. Velma turned to the younger of then.

“Let us add the explanations of what we can and can’t do for when both the gangs are together. These are, as a whole, pretty long stories. It’s going to be easier to say it in one go instead of repeating it multiple times.” A sudden thought came to her mind. She added, “I take that you guys still live with your parents since you mentioned your dad early, so we are going already to say it twice unless you think that we should tell with your guys' parents present…”

“Nah, tell the gang first. It will be easier that way.” He let out a small chuckle “I can already see my dad trying to find a way to turn this into…” he trailed off, a thoughtful look in his face as if he was remembering something. Out of nowhere, he jumped in alarm hitting his head in the sealing. Ancient Fred hit the brake and turned his torso around to have a better look on his younger face, a concern morphing his handsome face.

“What is it, Little me?”

“I FORGOT MY FATHERS COFFEE” Young Fred had both hands in his head, a panicked look in his blue eyes.

“Ah, shit” the unison answer made the young man smile through his panic.

Turning the van around in a hurry, older Fred was quick to reassure young him.

“No worries, Little me. Here is the plan: we go back there, you give me the order, I go get the coffee since they would find weird for you to change clothes between the five minutes that we were there and then we go find your dad, how is that?”

The young man let a sigh of relief “Thanks, Big me.”

Fred smiled at the nickname, feeling warm. And Daphne had to go and ruin the moment.

“Awwww. They are so cute, they already have nicknames for each other” she giggled and cooed at them.

“Shut up, Daph” both of them turned to her, with just made she giggle harder.

“They are talking together now” Velma joined, hiding her lab after checking it one last time to see if it was all in order.“So cute”

“Adorable.” Came the observation from the floor.  Shaggy laying sideways, one hand holding his head upwards, while the other was loosely over his hip was looking at young Fred with a smirk. He winked a feel seconds later, just to reassure the young man that they were just messing with both of them.

Scooby snickered behind him. “Rovely”

“What is this? ‘Bully Fred day’???” Older Fred asked, giving Daphne a side glare while simultaneously trying to glare at the backseat passengers through the rearview mirror. It was doing funny things to his face.

“Yeah!” was the answer he got while young Fred was looking at his older self-face with concerned, his “Dude, is your face supposed to do that?” was almost drowned on the laughter.

“Nah, he’s fine, little dude.” Shaggy stretched until his hand was in ruffling hair height.

“Hey, do you know how long it takes to get it in place?” Fred, the younger, was battling the hand away.

“Of course, we do. We live with the geriatric version of you” Velma shrugged.

“Velma, I’m 28!” He said with fake anger “You’re just three years younger than me!”

“Irrelevant.” She turned her head sticking up her nose mockingly, one hand pointing skyward.

And so, the journey back to the Blood Stake went like that for the entire trip until they parked once again in front of the red light building. Once there, it was a quick go in, ‘I FORGOT MY DAD’S COFFEE’, comprehensive looks from the onlookers, and go out.

Once back inside the van, Fred, the ancient, turned back around and once again they headed towards the town.

“Okie Dokie, now where to, Little Freddie?” Daphne asked, looking at the teenager expectantly, ready to absorb any road knowledge that he could give her.

“Ok. Once we reach the beginning of the city, you’re going to see the arch with the town’s name. From there you go straight. When you see the Fruitmeir’s turn right and then left. You turn left again on the blue house on the corner; the city hall is the biggest building on the right side.”

“City hall? That’s a new one. Does our version of dad work there?” Older Fred looked at younger Fred in the rearview mirror, the question written in his eyes.

The younger man looked at him for a moment, like he was not expecting that answer from him. He shrugged in acceptance not long after because, you know, different dimension him, different dimension dad. He could ask older him for what his dad did later.  

Noticing the silence, the young man notices that he hadn’t answered yet. Ops.

“Sorry, thinking a little too hard there for a moment,” he said shaking his head.

“Comprehensible, love.” Assured Velma, putting one hand on Fred, the younger, shoulder giving it a small squeeze. “Happens with all of us from time to time”

“Mostly in the shower,” said Shaggy.

“Especially in the shower” added Daphne with a faraway look.

Younger Fred laughed. He couldn’t wait for both gangs to meet. He could already tell they are going to be fast friends.

“Yeah, my dad works in the city hall.” He giggled, snuggling his head further into his arms “He is the mayor after all.”

[prorevenge]

[Long] How we destroyed our teacher and principal:

Apologies in advance if some details are blurry as this happened almost 14 years ago. Also, this is going to be a long one, so bare with me, I swear the result is worth it, at least it is to me.

The beginning: It all started when I (M25) was 12 years old. My grade 7 teacher (M46 at the time) was infamous for being intimidating and, in my opinion, abusive to his students. He was the disciplinarian of the school. He was in charge of keeping track of detentions and announcing who will be sitting every Friday during assembly.

We suspected at that time that the reason why he never got fired was either because his students were too scared to report him, or because of the fact that the principal was his brother-in-law.

Reasons why I hated him: He was constantly making vaguely racist remarks, complaining about the "New South Africa" and constantly bringing up how his life was better during the Apartheid regime (He's a white guy who was raised on a farm).

I always felt like he had an issue with me as a person because I'm a practising Muslim. He would make the class laugh at how "funny" Muslim women looked with their heads "wrapped up". His jokes about Muslims missing out on eating bacon were endless, in fact, he one day purposely stood in front of my desk eating a cheese and bacon panini.

He used to often rant about how the school is no longer a "pure Christian institution as it once was back in the day". He would say these things and glance at either me, my twin sister, or the black students in the class who practiced their own African religions.

When it was his birthday, my mom encouraged me to buy him a gift. I spent of my pocket money, which was already limited (my parents didn't believe in allowances) to buy him a big slab of chocolate and a long piece of Droëwors (dried sausage). Throughout the day, he would get gifts from students in his class and others.

He would get up from his desk to greet and thank them, and then shake their hand. I remember noticing this because I always found it weird when students shook hands with teachers because of how small our hands were compared to theirs.

However, when I gave him my gift, all he did was look at me for like a second, look away and nod his head slightly. I remember being thankful for not offering my hand out for him to shake because I thought he might have ignored it in front of the entire class. To say I felt like shit is an understatement.

The experience that made me hate him the most happened just before we wrote 2nd or 3rd term exams. I was walking with my friend David (fake name) back from the tuck shop during interval. We took a shortcut between the English and Afrikaans kindergarten classes and saw a group of boys huddled together.

One of them walked towards us and I saw that he had one of those camping multi-tools with the folding knife out, and instantly got a fright. He told us "Give me your stuff before I cut your neck" and then started laughing and walked back to his friends. It was clearly a joke but David looked close to tears and I had a very bad fright because of what he done. I told the guy (Fake name Xander) that he's not allowed to have knives at school and that I'm going to tell my teacher.

We walked straight to our teacher and when we spoke to him, David burst into tears.

We told him what happened and David was sobbing when he said he felt like he was going to die. Our teacher barely looked up from his computer while we were speaking and when he asked for the guy's name. We told him the name and he said he will deal with it and for us to go out for interval again.

I went home and told my mom who I felt didn't fully believe me at the time.

The next day we saw Xander were basically making fun of him for getting into trouble with our teacher and likely getting expelled at worst, or sitting a Saturday detention at best. He laughed back at us and said our teacher just came to his class, asked to speak to him and told him to never bring it to school again. No detention. No suspension. Basically nothing. He still had the knife on him for the rest of the day before.

We were so upset we went back to our teacher and I told him that Xander said that he didn't get into trouble for having the knife. He gave me the ugliest look as if I was bothering him, and coldly said to me that maybe I should fix my late-coming problem before I try to get other people in trouble.

I would come late 4 or 5 times a month because my mom's car's battery terminals were broken so the battery would run flat and she couldn't afford to have it fixed. She had to put the neighbour's battery in her car, start it, and then idle it while she took that battery out and put her own battery back in to charge up. My mom taught me the value of always having a number 10 spanner in your car lol.

I felt betrayed by my teacher. The person who was supposed to make us feel safe while we were away from home.

When I spoke to my friends about it, they told me that Xander was actually the principal's son, meaning he was my teacher's nephew. I decided to take the opportunity to speak to my friends about getting evidence that our teacher is treating students unfairly.

3 of my 4 close friends had camera phones. I sat in the far left corner, my one friend sat in the opposite corner by the door, our other friend sat in the middle, and the last friend was right at the back of the class by the window on the left. One thing about our teacher: he did not give a fuck about where we sat as long as we answered him when he done roll call and didn't bother anyone when we swapped seats.

We came to an agreement that whenever our teacher would sound like we was going to say something vaguely racist or islamophobic, we would all discreetly take videos of him.

Any private conversation we had with him was voice recorded on our phones. We caught him on camera telling a really racist joke about black people, and saying that Hindus must have a lot of problems since they have so many Gods. We caught him saying a lot of bad things, but a lot slipped through our fingers because we weren't fast enough.

It was extremely difficult to keep our friend group motivated to record him and not tell anyone else about it. It was especially difficult because at the time I had a hand-me-down Samsung D900 which was seen as an expensive phone at the time.

My mom prohibited me from taking it to school. She instead bought a cheap R79 ($5) phone for us that could only make calls and send SMS's. This was in case she needed to reach us in an emergency. I got caught several times sneaking my camera phone to school. My biggest mess up at school was when my mom phoned me on my Samsung and I answered it. Big oof but I was a dumbass.

After I think a month we decided that we couldn’t let it go any further.. One of our friends was a black guy named Tatenda (fake name). Tatenda was a problem child. His mom died when he was four and his dad was an alcoholic. He was raised mostly by his uncle who up until today I think was a pimp. He used to act out at school because of undiagnosed ADHD, his dad and uncle didn't believe in learning disabilities and always assumed he was just lazy and badly behaved.

Tatenda especially got onto our teachers nerves because not only was he black, but because he would bring broken calculators from home and take them apart during class. One day our teacher told him to clear his desk and throw away the bits of plastic and calculator shit. He ignored the teacher. The teacher then started screaming at him, and Tatenda done the only logical thing an 12/13 year old would do in such a situation: he mockingly put two pencils into his ears.

Our teacher lost his shit, grabbed Tatenda and threw him against the door. The narrow window pane cracked and Tatenda's head was bleeding. He told us he was fine during interval afterwards and we put money together to buy him a Sprite. I almost cried when my friend who sat way behind me said he got the whole thing on camera. We didn't even trust that the whole class' testimony would get him into trouble. We decided that enough was enough.

The revenge: First we showed the video to Tatenda's uncle, who showed it to his father. Then I showed my mom all the other videos and recordings.

She. Lost. Her. Mind.

One of my friends sent all of it to his older sister who had a Facebook account and she posted it there and tagged the school and as many parents as she knew. It blew up. Parents and people from around the province phoned the school demanding answers as to what is going to happen to our teacher. He was immediately suspended.

There were rumours circulating that he had to go into hiding because Tatenda's uncle and his friends were looking to kill him. I even met Tatenda's dad for the first time in the weeks after the whole thing exploded. He liked to joke that his dad sobered up especially for this lol.

The principal pulled Xander out of the school. We never saw him again. My mom told me an investigation was launched against the school because of the improper handling of bullying complaints. If I remember correctly, 3 English kids in my class alone spoke out against teachers dismissing their complaints of bullying by the Afrikaans kids. We were a mostly white, Afrikaans speaking school with 3 Afrikaans classes but only 1 English class per grade.

They called us"souties" which was short for "soutpiel" which literally tranlates as "salty dick". It's a derogatory term for English speaking, white South Africans. It means your one leg in is South Africa, your other leg is in England, so your dick is hanging in the ocean.

We only saw our teacher once after he was suspended. He looked badly beaten up, and was accompanied by a policeman and two other male teachers so he could gather the rest of his stuff from his class.

But it didn't end there.

Because so many kids needed the evidence that they were being bullied and nothing was done because of it, the CCTV footage was brought up. My friend's mother who was part of the school governing body that time, told us a few years ago that when they reviewed the footage, it became apparent that the principal was having an affair with one of the grade 2 teachers.

He could be seen grabbing her ass at the furthest point away from the camera. They slipped up a few times and kissed in clear view of the camera, but I guess once you're surrounded by the cameras everyday at work, you forget that they're there. It was very apparent that sometimes they thought they couldn't be seen.

My mom's friend's sister (basically my aunt) sells Tupperware and one of her regular customers and close friend's is the principal's ex wife. Not only did she leave him, but they were not married in community of property due to a prenup agreement. The house they lived in was in her name since before marriage, so she effectively made him homeless because none of his family wanted to take him in.

He ran into severe debt from staying in guesthouses and burned many bridges from overstaying his welcome at friends. As for my teacher, his reputation was destination fucked. He served jail time, don't know how long, and eventually left the country because it seemed everyone knew his face from the media attention he received.

The reason why I made this post: I was never going to tell this story on Reddit as I've told it over and over through the years since primary school. But I felt I had to because of what I experienced at the beginning of this year.

My family is part of a non profit organisation that has feeding schemes all over the country. The last Friday feed of February I'm standing security as I usually do since we're few volunteers and there's many homeless people and most are on drugs and can get violent.

I'm walking down the line to make sure there are no fights or anything that could start a riot, and I see a familiar face. My old principal is standing in the line, waiting for a bowl of stew and bread, with absolutely no idea who's standing beside him. Obviously he wouldn't have recognised me, but I never forgot his face. I'm not gonna lie, I cried quite a bit behind my sunglasses. Seeing him brought back the feelings I had when I was 12 years old in 7th grade, trying absolutely every excuse in the book to not have to go to school and be bullied by my teacher.

So yeah, for those of you who are still reading, this is the end of how my friends and I destroyed the lives of my teacher and principal.

If you got this far and are feeling depressed, worthless, or less than your peers, I love you. I appreciate you, and you, are seriously fucking awesome. Bye Bye..

(source) story by (/u/Mobi_Wan_Kenobi786)

[trueromantic1]

The Myth of Me and You Is Fiction Turned To Truth

Summary: After the events of both seasons (SVU 22x16 and OC 1x08), Olivia and Elliot find themselves in the unique position of knowing where there love story will end up, but having no idea what exactly will transpire to get them there. One thing they do know? Their love can only grow deeper, and that they’re bound to enjoy the journey.

Author’s Note: For the purposes of this story, SVU 22x16 ended on May 28 (canon) and OC 1x08 ended on June 4 (not canon). This picks up on June 7.

Title comes from Great Ones by Maren Morris. It’s definitely an EO song.

Rating: M, possibly Explicit eventually

ff.net: here

AO3: here

Her phone beeped, drawing her distracted gaze away from the paperwork in front of her. Seeing the text message notification lighting up the screen, Olivia took off her glasses and put her pen down, picked up the phone, and leaned back in her chair with a sigh as she unlocked it.

Can I buy you dinner? There’s news.

She frowned, trying to tell his mood from those few words. Realizing it would be impossible, she glanced out at the nearly empty squad room before hitting the call button instead.

“You didn’t have to call. I know you’re at work still Liv.” Judging by the voices she could hear in the background, he was still at work as well. She knew they’d been dealing with the lawyers and IAB ever since Morales turned out to be a mole and decided suicide by cop was the best way out.

“It’s fine El. I needed a break from the paperwork for a minute anyway. The one thing they never prepare you for is just how much paperwork you do when you’re in charge of a squad. So, what’s going on?”

He chuckled, and she could hear the creak as he leaned back in his own chair. “That’s what dinner is supposed to be for Liv. If I tell you now, what would be the point of dinner?”

She smiled, recognizing his tone as the slightly flirty one she’d been hearing more of ever since what was supposed to be Fin’s wedding. Neither one of them was ready to jump into a relationship, but they’d come to a silent understanding that night by the water. “I don’t know Elliot. We’ve never needed a reason for dinner before. Why don’t you just tell me the news now, and then you can come over to my place later and we’ll get Chinese. Noah’s taking advantage of it being summer vacation and is at a sleepover so his friend’s mom can take them to an early show of a ballet she worked on costumes for. Apparently, they allow friends and family to come for free on Tuesdays, but it’s normally during the school day.”

“Oh, I bet he’s excited. Sleepover during the week and going to a professional ballet performance?”

“Yes, he’s thrilled. It’s all he talked about all weekend. Now quit stalling Elliot. What’s going on?”

“I never could get one by you, could I? Okay. Well, Angela Wheatley woke up earlier today, and is expected to make a full recovery. Bell and Washburn went over to the hospital once they cleared her for visitors. And we’re finally supposed to be done dealing with IAB and the lawyers over this. We still have to wait for IAB’s official report, but I got the feeling none of us were going to get in trouble for what happened. They told Bell they’d already spoken to you as well, so you should be done with them for now too. And then on a more personal note, you remember I told you I was looking at apartments in the city? At Fin’s not-wedding and then that I had some more appointments the rest of that weekend? Well, I found one, and I went down and signed the lease today during lunch.”

“El, I’m glad things are working out with the case, and that IAB will be out of all of our hair. It’s still bothering me what exactly Richard Wheatley was planning with that fake text sending me to the hospital. But I guess we won’t know unless he decided to tell us. But way to bury the lead! El, that’s great! I can’t believe you found a place in just a week. You didn’t just settle for something did you? You need a good place for you and Eli to make a home.” She knew he’d been anxious about getting out of the one bedroom short-term he’d rented after Kathy’s death, so she hoped he’d taken his time to find something he really liked.

“It’s nice, knowing you worry about us. And thanks. Don’t worry, it’s actually a great place. Rent’s a little higher than I’d planned, but I can make it work. It’s about halfway between here and the one six actually. About two blocks from the school Eli will be going to, assuming they’re back to in person by then. And it’s a three bedroom two and a half bath, which I figure will come in handy if any of the kids decide to visit and don’t want to drive home ever. And it’s near a park, in case anyone else wanted to visit. I take possession this Sunday, and Bell gave me Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday off so I can get some stuff moved in. I’ve got some furniture scheduled for delivery on Monday.” The calm she’d been hearing more and more in the last few weeks shone through, which she knew was at least in part because he’d finally started talking to someone. But she thought a lot of it had to do with settling back into the city, since he’d confided that as much as they’d been happy in Italy, the energy had just never been exactly right to him.

“I’ll always worry El, you know that. I’m glad though. Now you and Eli have all summer to get settled in. Hopefully he’ll meet some of his future classmates, so he won’t fell so new when school starts back up. And you know, it just so happens, I might know someone who could come help you get things set up. You know, if you were interested.” She made sure to infuse her voice with a hint of suggestion, upping the playful flirting they’d been indulging in just a bit. She mentally patted herself on the back when she heard the hitch in his breath followed him clearing his throat. His next words, voice lowered and with a hint of a growl, proved he hadn’t lost a step either, as she felt herself flush with arousal and a corresponding dampness between her thighs that she was fast becoming reacquainted with that caused her to cross her legs and shift in her seat to try to alleviate the pressure.

“Is that so? Well, far be it from me to turn down someone willing to work up a sweat with me. Why don’t we discuss it more over dinner? I should be able to be to your place by 7, if that works for you.”

She checked the time, then the stack of papers she needed to finish, then glanced into the squad room. Seeing her people were now at their desks, folders open in front of them, she quickly calculated it’d be at least another hour before she could even think of leaving, especially if she planned to take three days off next week. “Make it 8?”

“8 it is. Want me to pick up our usual on my way over, or are we having it delivered?”

“Hmm, better pick it up. You know how busy they get. If you call it in when you leave, it’ll probably be just about ready by the time you get there.”

“Sound good. I’ll let you go so you can finish up all that paperwork. See you in a few hours Liv.”

“Alright. Bye El.” Hanging up, she pressed the phone against her chest a moment, savoring the warm feeling she always seemed to get when she talked to Elliot these days, before standing up and walking out into the squad room.

“Anything you guys haven’t finished by 7, you can leave until tomorrow. Short of a new case, you can all clock out then, since we’re currently between cases.” She turned to head back to her office and the stack of paperwork, but turned back around when Amanda spoke.

“Are you clocking out then too Cap? I know Noah’s at that sleepover. You shouldn’t stay late finishing paperwork anymore if we aren’t.” Her detective’s voice was concerned, and she realized just how much her stress and worry over the last three months must have shown, despite how hard she tried to hide it.

“Yes, he’s already called me to say goodnight, because apparently they will be too busy the rest of the night with sleepover stuff to worry about me. But don’t worry, I’m clocking out then too. Even if that pile of paperwork is only going to grow when you all turn in your paperwork.” She turned again, hoping to make it into her office before anyone thought too hard about her clocking out when she didn’t have to, but Fin’s teasing voice told her she was too late.

“You? Clock out early when you don’t have Noah waiting at home? What’s up? You got yourself a hot date or something?”

She was a Captain. Had been a police officer for over twenty years. She’d had to keep her cool when being questioned on the stand by lawyers all the time. But she knew, she knew, that she couldn’t hide the hitch in her step or the slight wince as he asked his question. Even as she turned back around, her face carefully blank, she knew he’d caught her. “Date? No, I don’t have a date. Who would I even have a date with?” Internally, she winced again as she heard a voice that sounded suspiciously like Elliot Stabler tell her that asking that many questions just made her sound defensive, and therefore all the more suspicious. Registering the varying degrees of shock on the three’s faces, she smirked to herself for surprising them at least.

“Oh, I don’t know. A certain Detective, maybe? I saw you two together at the ceremony, off in your own little world by the water. Almost like old times, ‘cept the flirting was a little too obvious.”

Trying to control the embarrassed flush she could feel, she internally cursed. She’d hoped everyone had been too preoccupied to pay attention to her and Elliot, but knew that had probably been too much to hope for. She knew the rumor mill had picked right back up when he’d returned, and people realized they were talking again. “Alright, yes, I’m meeting Elliot for dinner. But it’s not a date. We’re just going to do some catching up over Chinese. We haven’t really had much time to just talk since he came back.” She ignored the pointed look he shot her, and appreciated that Amanda and Kat at least pretended not to be interested, as she finally made it back into her office. She heard his footsteps though, saw him shut the door behind him as she sat down behind her desk.

“You sure about this? I just don’t want you getting hurt. Don’t forget, I was here when he left.” She could see the worry clouding his face, and resigned to give him the truth. After all, he’d been there for it all.

“I’m sure. We’re…Taking things slow. We’ve talked, and while neither one of us is ready to just jump straight into a relationship, we’ve discussed it, and have agreed that’s where we’re heading. So we flirt some, and we spend time together, and we talk. We’re not defining it yet. I know it sounds like dating, and maybe in a way it is. But what’s important to us is rekindling our friendship, first and foremost. We’ve already talked about why he left, how he left. And I’ve told him not only what it did to me, but I’ve told him what he missed. He was…Devastated. It turns out the whole family was in France at the time, and by the time the kids came back, it had already become old news. He swore he would have come back had he known, and I believe him. I’d always wondered if he’d just stopped caring, but if you’d seen how he looked, you’d have had to believe him too. So yes, I’m sure about this. We’re going to take things slow for now, but we know where we’re going to end up, even if we aren’t sure when that will happen. Speaking of Elliot though, I’m going to take a few personal days next week to help him get moved into his new place. He gets the keys on Sunday, and his furniture comes Monday.”

He still looked a little worried, but she could tell he would take her at her word. “If you say so. I have to say, I’m surprised you guys already talked about that. But I’m glad. You deserve to be happy Liv, and I think he’ll make you happy. And don’t worry, I’ll cover next week for you. And I’ll let the others know you’ll be taking some time, and make sure they don’t ask you any questions.” He turned and left the office, leaving the door open behind him as he went back to his desk, stopping to talk to Amanda and Kat on his way.

Putting her glasses on and picking up her pen, she smiled to herself as she went back to her paperwork. She still had a lot to work through before it was time to head out, though she was hoping the anticipation would make the time pass faster. Afterall, it wasn’t every day she got to head home to a hot meal and an even hotter man, not that she’d tell him that. His ego was already inflated enough.