#watsons face is everything to me <3

[somethingintheforest]

'Am I under some sort of cloud beacause of my name?'

+ bonus smug Watson

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

When The Clock Strikes Midnight.

my masterlist || ask me anything <3

authors note - hi, my last post of the year, i just want to wish everyone reading this a very happy new year and that everything turns out alright, tpwk and stay safe!!

this is a pretty angsty piece i would say, as it covers topics of alcoholism where reader struggles with her alcohol, so please if this sort of thing triggers you in anyway, please do not read and if you do, please proceed with caution.

word count - 3.9k

in which, you and harry broke up just over a year ago, and have not seen each other since, but when your friend invites you to a new years eve party with all your close ones there, the last person you expected to see walk through the door was him.

The last place you saw yourself tonight was here.

Your best friend Maura had practically dragged you out of the confines of your apartment when she heard that you didn’t have any plans for New Year’s Eve, and insisted that you dress up and come along to the party her boyfriend Watson was throwing.

You tried to deny her nagging and told her that you were going to order a takeaway, most likely Chinese and facetime your mum like you did last year, and that would be that.

But no…she wasn’t having any of it.

So you chucked on a jumper, which was on the nicer side and paired it with a skirt and tights and your vans before applying a tiny bit of mascara and lipgloss and brushing your hair, before you were ushered out of the house into the Uber Maura had ordered whilst you were getting ready.

So now, here you were.

You find yourself in a corner of Watson's living room at the party, nursing a glass of coke as people swirl around you in a lively dance of laughter and chatter. The pulsating music fills the room, but you, lost in your own thoughts, wonder why you agreed to come in the first place.

Maura's insistence was hard to resist, but your reluctance lingers like a shadow.

Despite the energetic atmosphere, you're content to sip your non-alcoholic beverage and observe the whirlwind of festivities. Maura and Watson seem immersed in the revelry, blissfully unaware of your desire for a more tranquil evening.

The room's vibrant energy contrasts sharply with your subdued mood, as you contemplate the impending arrival of the new year with a sense of detachment.

Watson, with a hint of tipsiness in his step, ambles over to you in the corner of the living room. His usual laid-back demeanour shines through, but the warmth in his eyes intensifies as he wraps an arm around your shoulder.

"Hey, you made it!" he exclaims, a wide grin on his face. Despite the slight wobble in his stance, you can't help but smile in response to his infectious enthusiasm.

Leaning in, Watson expresses genuine happiness that you decided to join the celebration.

"I'm so glad you're here, buddy. No one should spend New Year's Eve alone, right?" He punctuates his words with a friendly squeeze, and the camaraderie between you two, forged over the past six months since he began dating Maura, feels more like family than friendship.

In his slightly inebriated state, Watson plants a gentle kiss on the side of your head, a gesture that reflects the bond that has developed between you.

"You're like a little sister to me, you know that?" he chuckles, his words carrying a warmth that transcends the alcohol-induced haze. It's a testament to the solid foundation of your relationship, built on trust and camaraderie.

With a playful twinkle in his eyes, Watson decides it's time to shake off any lingering reservations you might have.

"Come on, let's hit the dance floor!" he declares, tugging you toward the centre of the room. The music's rhythm wraps around you both as Watson, with his signature charm, spins you into the lively dance.

Laughter and cheers surround you, and in this moment, you can't help but appreciate the unexpected joy that Watson has injected into your reluctant New Year's Eve.

As you sway to the music, Watson continues to share anecdotes and jokes, making the dance floor an extension of the bond you've formed. His boisterous laughter and the genuine joy in his expression erode any lingering doubts you had about attending. In the midst of the revelry, you realise that Watson's presence has transformed the night from an obligation into a shared celebration.

With each step and twirl, Watson's camaraderie becomes a comforting presence, and you find yourself immersed in the moment.

As you engage in conversation with Watson on the crowded dance floor, the doorbell unexpectedly rings, interrupting the lively atmosphere. Watson glances towards the entrance, a perplexed expression momentarily crossing his face.

"I'll be right back, just need to see who's at the door," he informs you, detaching from the dance momentarily.

Curiosity piqued, you nod and watch as Watson weaves through the festive crowd towards the entrance. The door swings open, and to your shock, your ex-boyfriend Harry steps into Watson's house.

They exchange greetings, and you can't help but wonder how they're connected. Watson glances your way, and you sense that he must have divulged your presence to Harry.

The room felt suffocating as you sat on Harry's sofa, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken tension. The air crackled with an impending storm, and you could sense that something was about to shatter the fragile peace that had held your relationship together.

Harry's eyes, once filled with warmth and adoration, now held a distant sadness. His fingers nervously played with the edge of his shirt, betraying the turmoil within.

"We need t’talk," he finally uttered, the weight of those words settling in the room like a leaden silence.

You looked at him, anxiety clawing at your chest.

"What's going on, H?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He took a deep breath, his gaze dropping to the floor before meeting yours again.

"I've been thinking a lot, and... I think we need t’take a break," he confessed, each word hanging in the air like an unspoken truth.

The room seemed to tilt, the weight of those words crashing into you.

"A break? What do you mean?" Your voice wavered, a sense of dread settling in the pit of your stomach.

Harry's eyes welled with tears as he struggled to articulate the pain that lingered in his heart. "I can't give y’what y’deserve. M’career, the constant traveling , I can't be the best boyfriend f’you. Y’deserve someone who can be there f’you, not someone who's always halfway across the world."

More like you can’t give him what he deserves, your a mess, A drunken mess who can’t be trusted around a glass of wine or a gin and tonic.

It was your fault that he had had enough of the relationship, he was sick of looking after a girlfriend who couldn’t even look after herself, you weren’t what he wanted anymore and who could blame him?

You didn’t even want yourself anymore.

Your eyes mirrored the pain in his, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"But I don't want someone else. I want you," you pleaded, your heart breaking with every passing second.

He reached out, fingers gently wiping away your tears, a tender ache etched across his features.

"M’know, and s’why this hurts so damn much. I love you, but I can't watch y’waiting f’me all the time, feeling lonely. Y’deserve more than that."

The room echoed with the silence of shattered dreams as you both sat there, wrapped in the agony of an impending separation.

"I thought we could make it work," you whispered, your voice barely audible amidst the heartache.

Harry's voice trembled as he spoke, his eyes mirroring the anguish in your own. "I thought so too, but I can't keep asking you t’wait f’a future that's uncertain. It's not fair t’you."

The weight of the impending break weighed on you both, and the room became a crucible of emotions.

"I can't believe this is happening," you uttered, your voice catching on a sob.

Harry pulled you into an embrace, holding you close as if trying to memorize the feel of your presence.

"I never wanted to hurt you," he whispered, the words a fragile admission of the pain etched across his heart.

As the room witnessed the unraveling of your shared dreams, the tears flowed freely, and the echoes of a love that once burned bright now flickered in the dimming light of heartbreak. The sofa, witness to your shared laughter and whispered confessions, now bore the weight of an anguished goodbye.

"I thought we were stronger than this," you choked out, your words a desperate plea for reassurance.

Harry's response was a strained whisper, heavy with regret. "Love isn't always enough, and that's the hardest part to accept."

Your heart skips a beat as Harry's eyes sweep the room, eventually locking onto you. The unexpected encounter catches you off guard, and you feel a lump forming in your throat. Unsure of how to react, you instinctively turn I’m away, making a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

you navigate through the crowded kitchen, the echoes of the past still haunting the recesses of your mind. The room, once a sanctuary, now pulsates with the vibrant energy of the New Year's Eve celebration. As you lean against the counter, you attempt to catch your breath, the atmosphere thick with the weight of unexpected emotions.

The room is a sea of faces, laughter, and clinking glasses, but in this moment, you feel a profound sense of isolation. The air is heavy with the unspoken tension that lingers after encountering Harry, and you find solace in the rhythmic pattern of your own breaths. Each inhale and exhale becomes a deliberate act, a quiet rebellion against the memories that threatened to resurface.

Your eyes inadvertently gravitate towards a bottle of vodka on the crowded kitchen counter, a silent temptation beckoning from its transparent confines. The memories of your past struggles with alcohol loom heavily, each incident etched into your consciousness like a haunting refrain. The room pulses with celebratory energy, yet the familiar lure of numbing the pain through a drink threatens to unravel your hard-fought sobriety.

The bottle stands as a silent witness to the battles you've waged, a tangible reminder of the coping mechanism you once clung to in moments of despair. The urge to drown the resurgence of emotions triggered by seeing Harry again intensifies, as if the vodka holds the promise of temporary relief from the tumult within. However, the echo of past hospital visits, the panicked calls from Maura during Harry's tours, and the aftermath of your own struggles remind you of the high cost that accompanies each sip.

The sterile hospital room bore witness to your feigned slumber as Harry and the doctor engaged in a conversation that would forever echo in your memory. Their voices, a discordant symphony of concern, cut through the antiseptic atmosphere.

"You need to understand the gravity of the situation, Mr. Styles. Her liver is under immense strain," the doctor explained, the weight of the diagnosis evident in their tone. "Excessive alcohol intake has brought her here before, and if it continues, we risk irreversible damage."

Harry's voice, tinged with a mixture of fear and frustration, joined the conversation. "What can we do t’make her stop? This can't be good f’her, and I can't bear to see her like this again."

The doctor, ever composed, responded with a professional calm. "Encouraging her to seek professional help is crucial. She needs intervention and support to address the root causes behind her drinking patterns. This goes beyond just a medical issue."

Your heart sank as you lay there, eavesdropping on the conversation that underscored the depth of your struggle.

"She's in a dangerous cycle, and we need to break it before it leads to irreversible consequences," the doctor continued, the gravity of their words sinking in.

Harry, struggling to comprehend the severity of the situation, pressed for guidance. "What should I say t’her? How can I help her understand the impact of her actions?"

The doctor's response held a note of empathy. "Express your concern without judgment. Encourage her to seek counseling or join support groups. It's crucial that she feels supported and understood during this process."

As the dialogue unfolded, you grappled with a mix of emotions – shame, guilt, and the daunting realization that your actions were not only affecting you but those who cared about you.

The familiar pull of an old coping mechanism clashes with the resolve you've built over the past year. Without much thought, you lift the bottle, contemplating the relief it promises, only to freeze as a voice interrupts your inner struggle.

"Don't you dare take a sip from that bottle."

The words, stern and commanding, cut through the haze of your thoughts. You recognize the voice instantly, and a mixture of surprise and apprehension washes over you. Slowly, you turn around to face him, the bottle held in your hand like a delicate secret.

Harry stands there, his expression a mixture of concern and determination.

"You've come too far t’let this be y’undoing," he states, his gaze unwavering. The air between you hangs heavy with unspoken emotions as you contemplate his unexpected intervention.

Resisting the urge to avoid his gaze, you decide to walk past him, hoping to escape the confrontation. However, his hand closes around your wrist, preventing your departure.

"Let it go," he implores, his eyes searching yours for a hint of understanding. The bottle dangles between you, a tangible symbol of the inner turmoil that threatens to resurface.

In the charged silence, Harry's grip on your wrist feels both restraining and grounding.

"Y’don't need this, and y’know it," he adds, his voice softening. The vulnerability in his eyes mirrors the complex history you share, the wounds of the past laid bare in this unexpected moment of confrontation.

Glancing at the clock, you note the relentless ticking, each second stretching out like an eternity. Twenty minutes until midnight, and the anticipation of a fresh start intensifies. The atmosphere feels stifling as you wrestle with conflicting emotions, your hand still in Harry's grip. The unspoken tension lingers, and you decide that the arrival of the new year will also signal your exit.

Jerking your hand away from Harry's hold, you feel a surge of frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

"I can't do this anymore," you mutter, the anguished words hanging in the air between you. The clock's relentless countdown amplifies the urgency of the moment.

Turning to face him, you meet Harry's gaze with a steely resolve.

"I'm not a child. I can do what I want," you assert, the words carrying a weight that transcends the immediate situation. The bitterness in your voice mirrors the tumultuous emotions churning within.

Harry's expression shifts from concern to a mix of frustration and helplessness.

"This isn't about control, it's about caring," he argues, the lines of his forehead creasing with worry. The room feels smaller, the air thick with the unresolved tension of the past.

"I don't need your care," you snap, your tone cutting through the charged atmosphere. The proximity of midnight becomes both a countdown to liberation and a reminder of the constraints that linger. The resentment that simmers beneath your words reflects a deeper struggle against the shadows of a shared history.

You walk out of the kitchen, the bottle still in your hand, its cold surface a stark reminder of the internal struggle you've been wrestling with. Glancing down at it, you contemplate the temptation it holds. However, a determined sigh escapes your lips as you decide against taking that path. In search of solace, you spot Maura near the bathroom, engrossed in conversation with a friend.

As she notices you approaching, Maura ushers you over with a warm smile. The vodka bottle clinks softly, drawing her attention.

"You didn't, did you?" she asks, her eyes widening with concern. You hand her the bottle, and she gasps when she realizes its weight.

"I almost did," you admit, the honesty heavy in your words. "Seeing Harry after a year... it's just really hard, and I thought I needed something to take the edge off."

Maura's expression shifts from shock to a compassionate understanding. She places a comforting hand on your shoulder, leading you away from the commotion.

"You don't need to have a drink to feel something, darling," she reassures, her voice a soothing balm. "Facing those emotions is tough, but numbing them won't make them disappear. You're stronger than you think."

The weight of her words resonates, and you find a sense of grounding in Maura's wisdom.

"I just... I didn't expect it to hit me this hard," you confess, the vulnerability of the moment laid bare.

Maura nods, her empathy evident. "Love has a way of lingering, especially when there's history. It's okay to feel, even if it's painful. You've come so far, and I know you can navigate this without resorting to old habits."

As the clock ticks closer to midnight, Maura's words serve as a reminder that facing the emotions head-on is a strength, not a weakness.

The night air in the back garden carries a crisp chill, providing a respite from the crowded and charged atmosphere indoors. With just five minutes until midnight, you find solace in the quietude of the outdoors. The rustling of leaves and the distant hum of laughter create a backdrop for contemplation as you seek to contain the swirl of thoughts within.

The faint glow of string lights casts a gentle illumination, revealing a mosaic of emotions etched on your face. The weight of the past, the encounter with Harry, and the echoes of previous struggles converge in this moment of reflection. The cool breeze becomes a metaphorical breath, allowing you to exhale the complexities that have unfolded throughout the night.

Despite the passage of time, you find that lingering feelings persist, stubbornly anchored in the recesses of your emotions. The garden, illuminated by the soft glow of string lights, becomes a backdrop for a bittersweet revelation – you still carry a flame for him.

However, self-awareness prevails, and you acknowledge the undeniable truth that echoes in the quiet of the night. The person you once were, entwined with Harry in a different chapter of your lives, no longer aligns with the person he seeks now. The journey of growth and self-discovery has shaped you both in divergent ways, leading to an understanding that the path forward must be traversed separately.

With a deep breath, you accept the inevitability of change and recognize that clinging to what once was will only hinder your individual paths.

A subtle clearing of the throat interrupts your contemplation in the garden, prompting you to turn. To your surprise, Harry stands there with two glasses of lemonade, his expression softening as he offers them to you.

"Been looking f’you," he says, a hint of concern in his voice.

You accept the lemonade with a nod, appreciating the gesture even as the complexity of emotions lingers in the air.

"Just needed some fresh air," you reply, your gaze momentarily dropping to the glass in your hands.

Harry takes a seat on the concrete step next to you, the night air carrying a blend of both familiarity and unspoken tension.

"Mind if I join you?" he asks, and you find yourself hesitating before reluctantly nodding. The silence that follows is palpable, laden with the echoes of a shared history.

"I never thought I'd see you again after everything," Harry admits, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon. You sense a vulnerability in his tone, a shared acknowledgment of the complexities that led to your parting.

"Yeah, life takes unexpected turns," you respond, tracing the rim of your glass with your fingertips. The garden, once a haven for solitary reflection, transforms into an arena for the unspoken exchange between two people navigating the remnants of a connection.

Harry's gaze meets yours, and a soft smile plays on his lips. "I've missed this, y’know? Just talking like we used to."

The sentiment catches you off guard, and you muster a small smile in return. "Things change, Harry. We change."

Harry's admission hangs heavy in the air as he confesses,

"I've missed y’a lot. Every night before bed, you're all I think about." The vulnerability in his voice is evident, the weight of unspoken longing underscoring his words.

You take a moment, the weight of his confession settling in the quiet of the garden. With a sigh, you respond, "It was the right decision to take a break. I was a mess, and I wasn't what you wanted."

However, before you can elaborate, Harry interrupts, a furrow forming on his brow. "No, s’not why. I never once thought about breaking up with y’because of y’drinking problems. It was the constant leaving, the distance. I felt like I couldn't be the partner y’eeded."

His words catch you off guard, a mix of surprise and realization washing over you. The clarity in his confession adds a layer of complexity to the narrative you had constructed in your mind.

"I thought... I thought it was because of me," you admit, the vulnerability echoing in your own voice.

Harry reaches for your hand, a gesture that conveys both comfort and sincerity. "It wasn't about you. It was about me feeling like I couldn't be the best partner f’you. I should've communicated that better."

The garden, witness to the intimate exchange, becomes a space for newfound understanding. The dialogue unfolds, untangling the threads of misperception and unveiling the intricacies of the emotions that lingered beneath the surface. As the clock approaches midnight, the shared revelations become a poignant marker in the journey toward healing and clarity.

His thumb gently traces circles on the back of your hand as he continues, "I regret asking for that break. I didn't realize how much it would affect me, being without you. I've spent every night wondering if I made the right decision."

You meet his gaze, a mix of compassion and acceptance in your eyes. "H, it was the right decision for both of us. I was a mess back then, and I couldn't have given you what you needed. It wasn't just about the drinking; it was about me figuring myself out."

Hearing you call him by the familiar nickname of ‘H’ has his heart twitching beneath his rib cage, oh how he’s missed you calling him that.

He squeezes your hand, a silent acknowledgment of your words. "But not once did I think about ending things because of y’struggles. It was the constant coming and going, the uncertainty. I felt like I was leaving y’alone too often, and it wasn't fair t’you."

As the conversation deepens, the layers of misunderstanding peel away, revealing the raw authenticity beneath.

"I never wanted you t’feel like y’couldn't be yourself," Harry admits, a sincerity coloring his tone. "I should've communicated better, been more honest about how I was feeling."

It isn’t long before the people crowded inside the house start counting down from ten, only second away from being embraced by 2024.

“10…”

“9…”

Harry leans in close, his words a hushed confession, "I still love you."

“8…”

“7…”

Caught off guard, you turn to look at him, the sincerity in his eyes echoing the sentiments you thought were buried in the past. you find your voice, whispering amidst the cacophony, "I love you too."

“6…”

“5…”

The counting continues, a rhythmic backdrop to the shared revelation hanging in the air. In a moment of vulnerability, Harry's gaze lingers on yours.

“4…”

“3…”

And that’s when he musters up enough courage to ask for the first time in a year. "Can I kiss you?"

“2…”

“1…”

As the countdown approaches its climax, the world outside the window erupts in cheers.

In the final seconds, the clock striking midnight, Harry softly presses his lips against yours, a tender exchange that marks the inception of a new year and a rekindled connection, forged amidst the symphony of shared confessions and the promise of a fresh start.

And this all happened when the clock struck midnight.

[bunnypansy]

NSFW Alphabet: Rook Hunt!

Rated R for EXPLICIT CONTENT!

A short (hm.) script covering the ABCs of Rook's sex life!

Featuring: Rook Hunt, and you!

Beware! This film contains: gender neutral reader, knife play, blood play, sounding, somnophilia, predator/prey dynamics, voyeurism, exhibitionism, nudes, sex tapes, mirror sex, marking, dacryphilia, praise, body worship, masochism, overstimulation, bondage, impact play, guided masturbation, mutual masturbation, cucking (yeah), dick piercings, outdoor sex, public sex, stalking, face sitting, nipple play

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

You will NEVER catch a member of Pomefiore lackin when it comes to aftercare. No one is better at pillow talk than Rook Hunt. Too good. Make him stop talking. Seriously, this guy starts talking after you finish and doesn't stop until you fall asleep. Mostly about how well you did, how beautiful you are, certain things you did that he particularly liked. Rook doesn't like baths, so he'll give you a shower instead, but he's still going to pamper you. You won't have to lift a single finger- frankly he won't let you. After a soothing shower that he used as an excuse to worship your body, he'll place you in front of a vanity and tend to you like you're a delicate doll. A hand tucked beneath your knee as he lifts your leg, fingers smoothing over your thigh as he rubs a sweet-scented lotion into your skin, his mutterings becoming muffled through your sleepy haze.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

For Rook to pick a single part of you he loves the most of an impossible task, this boy could go on and on and on about every part of your body down to your fingernails…however…. It's your eyes, definitely. He takes pleasure in seeing every micro expression you make, and your eyes just give it away. Definitely enjoys heavy eye contact during sex.

Rook’s favorite part of himself? Elementary, Watson, it’s his shoulders. Why, you ask? Well for one, his shoulders are very broad and well defined (catch me pushing my dorito-Rook agenda) from all the archery, and they’re still dotted with freckles from all his time in the sun, so he appreciates them aesthetically. However, much more important is the scratches you leave on them; red, raised, sometimes bleeding, nothing pleases him more than the physical evidence of your pleasure on his body.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)

So… if you guys know anything about the semen and diet connection, you probably know that a high protein diet results in a very salty and sometimes uh… nasty flavor. We know Rook does a lot of exercise, and protein is a necessary component for building muscle so the first time you swallow for him it's a pretty gross experience. However, with a sustained relationship, Rook will happily change his diet for you so his cum has a bit more of a neutral taste. In terms of texture, he remains well hydrated so it's a bit syrupy and has a nice slightly off-white color. Rook likes cumming both in and on you, so every time you fuck, you are sure to end up with cum dripping from your hole and stuck to your face by the end of the night.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He desperately wants to let a couple other men have their way with you and photograph the whole thing. Rook has always enjoyed watching you masturbate, nearly as much as he enjoys bringing you pleasure, this is simply a natural progression of those desires. Ideally, there'd be If he could truly have his way, he'd film everything, then make you watch it back while he fucks you; the whole time commenting on little things you do that drive him crazy and attempting to recreate what happened in the video. Honestly, Rook is so up front about what he wants that is hardly a secret

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

His experience is middling. I believe Rook has probably had 3-4 relationships, but none of them lasted longer than a year (he was a bit too obsessive and his partners were put off). He's fairly experienced, but also knows that it's important to learn the intricacies of every person he's with, and not everything he knows will work instantly. Rook will approach every session like a learning experience, exploring new places and techniques to make sure he can find all the little spots that drive you crazy- and once he does, God knows he's going to abuse the fuck outta them. Also his first time was in the woods, thanks

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

Before I start, I'm drawing a firm line; Rook Hunt does not like doggy style- or anything where he can't see your face! He firmly believes that any position where he can't see your beauty is a waste of his time. So of course he likes missionary and the mating press, but his real favorites require some extra supplies. Namely a mirror. If Rook is feeling rough, he'll shove you right up against the mirror and take you from behind; but usually he prefers to have you settled on his lap, one arm hooked beneath your leg to lift it up to your shoulder as he fucks you. He likes having the free hand to tease you with (:

Now, I know everybody likes big dom Rook but he's a switch okay guys. The seeing your face rule sticks for even when he bottoms, he needs to see you constantly. Honestly missionary has to take number one for him, but he's also real fond of being tied to the bed, it gives him no choice but to admire you as you work.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Usually if there's laughter in the bedroom, it's just Rook teasing you a bit, but that doesn't mean he's no fun! Having a partner you can laugh with is valuable to Rook, so if something happens while you're fucking it out, he won't be afraid to giggle a little, maybe poke a bit of fun at you, then rather easily slip right back into sexy times.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He's part of Pomefiore, did you think this man was anything but well-shaved? Frankly, his pubic hair is beautiful, somehow princely?? It's fine and light, but very soft and incredibly well trimmed- not to mention always clean, and never smells like ball sweat. He can't manage to grow a happy trail, just a tiny little path that starts beneath the waistband of his pants and ends in a small tuft at the base of his dick. Otherwise, he's completely shaved down there, smooth balls and not even ass hair.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Painfully so. Rook will be intimate with whomever he chooses to bed, fuck buddies, one night stand or long term lover, it’s just in his nature. He has a knack for making your feel like the most gorgeous, lovable person on the planet while you two have sex- it’s something in the way he holds you, unabashedly keeping his eyes on your face the entire time he presses kisses against your neck between proclamations of your beauty, checking in and focusing wholly on how you feel. Your pleasure is his, afterall. Never, not even once, will you get the impression that Rook isn’t madly in love with you.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

A lot. Once a day, maybe more, if we're all honest with ourselves. Rook is a man who loves indulging his senses- He's got a high libido and he uses his own orgasm as an energy boost, which is enough to make a horny man, but he's also incredibly easy to rile up. He fully indulges the pleasure of masturbation, his favorite places to do so being your bed and outside. Rook really draws out the process; starting with gloves on, letting the leather get slick from his own precum as he slowly strokes up and down the length, squeezing around the tip just for a bit of extra pressure. Eventually, he'll pull the glove off and touch himself a bit more fervently, by now he's getting noisier, letting slip soft calls of your name, whimpering as he rocks his hips into his hand. Rook only whacks it while thinking about or looking at pictures of you, after all, you're the most beautiful thing in the world, what else would he touch himself to?

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks):

Voyeurism: I think we could all see this coming. The stalker, a voyeur?! Shocking. He prefers when you don't know he's watching you (he'll receive consent beforehand don't worry boo-boo), something about the thrill of getting caught makes blood rush to his dick. Please let him take photos though

Photography/filming: Master of the nude.Sending you nudes, receiving nudes, whatever it is, Rook likes it. Rook’s nudes are downright artful. The lighting and angles are always perfect, even at night, and he never fails to look beautiful. Rook is the king of the post work-out gym bathroom photo; standing before the mirror with the hem of his shirt between his teeth. He likes to record when he's fucking you too, just so he can watch it throughout his day as a sort of pick me up. He's also fond of some good photos after sex when you're an absolute mess, expect for him to gush over them in your presence

Exhibitionism: this goes well with the voyeurism kink, one of his greatest fantasies would be watching you have sex with another person, then get caught jerking off to you two

Mirror sex: Tenfold if you're self-conscious, he makes your anxiety his pet project. To Rook Hunt, there is nothing sexier than sitting you in lap, legs spread, forced to watch yourself while he fucks you to stupidity. Not to mention, he gets the best view of your body.

Marking: Take a shot every time you read beautiful- but really, he thinks you look beautiful covered in little rose and violet hickies. A painting of his conception, an empty canvas covered in his marks. If you cover them with makeup he'll sneakily wipe it away every time you see each other that day.

Dacryphilia: there's nothing that makes his pride swell more than bringing you to pleasured tears. Of course, Rook isn't the type to enjoy your pain, he'll never want to see you cry because you're scared or hurt, but if it's because you're overwhelmed? Then he's happy to make you cry even harder.

Praise: Again, a guy who cannot stop talking, specifically about you. It's even worse if you're self-conscious; he'll make you sit in front of a mirror, on his lap and guide you through every part of your body and why he loves it, and you. Oh and of course Rook does the standard encouragement. Murmuring sweet things as he slowly pushes into you; "good job, you're taking me so well" or "deep breaths, darling, I'm almost all the way in". And when you're close to cumming; "ah- you're close, aren't you? Go on, cum for me, you can do it"

Body worship: I feel like this one is obvious. He loves everything about you, he finds every inch positively beautiful. If Rook wasn't so hopelessly horny for you, he'd do nothing but kiss every part of your body up and down. But alas. Horny.

Predator/Prey: must I even elaborate? Man is literally a hunter. However, Rook prefers a long con; stalking you throughout the day, appearing here and there, then finally striking when you're all alone. What he really likes is watching you get nervous and fidgety before you finally break and run away from him, so Rook can chase after you. In the end it'll probably end up with you two wrestling and he's absolutely okay with however it turns out- win or lose

Overstimulation: this is on pleasure dom Rook!!! All Rook really wants to do is make you feel good as much as possible, even if that leaves you twitching and crying because you've cum 6 times in a row.

Masochism: PAINSLUT ROOK!!! Rook likes everything you give him, and if what you give him happens to be pain? So be it, lay it on, baby. Nails scratching down his back, biting, hitting- just anything

Bondage: something about being physically tied down makes him feel like a hunted animal, like you two have been fighting back and this is the result of his failure. Rook, the perfect hunter, lines to feel like he's been defeated once in a while, it keeps things fresh!

Impact play: This is for bottom Rook for sure, but please spank him, slap him, whip him. You could slap Rook across the face and he'd get hard. I'm not even kidding. He's particularly fond of riding crops, especially on the inside of his thighs or across his back

Knife play: cut him. Do it. Do it. Do it. Being roughed up makes Rook feel satisfied, bruising, bleeding. And yeah he'd absolutely be okay with branding- if you're in a long term relationship. Cut your name into his thigh, he wants it

Blood play: Rook finds the look of blood against skin striking and gorgeous, he's not inclined to hurt you unless you ask, you can draw blood from him however you like. Hitting him til he gets a bloody nose? Hot. Biting him til he bleeds? Hot. Cutting him up? Hot.

Somnophilia: Rook is nasty okay. His stalker tendencies and love of vulnerability have made a monster, and if you'd let him, Rook would love to sneak in your room and fuck you while you're fast sleep

Guided/mutual masturbation: tell me that Rook wouldn't make you sit on his lap while you jerk off, you can't. Sat in front of a mirror, guiding you through every move so he can watch you write and get his lap all wet. Ahhh he's so cute

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

If you're okay fucking somewhere, so is Rook. If you let him, Rook would fuck you in front of anyone and everyone, this is NOT hyperbole. While the preference isn't strong, I think Rook probably prefers to have sex in public places that anyone could walk into; living room, kitchen, the counter of a public bathroom- of course the woods is a classic. The risk of being caught gives him a thrill that the bedroom just can't do!

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

It's the little things with Rook; how your neck looks when you turn your head, the little way you jump when he sneaks up behind you, how it feels when he can overpower you. Generally, Rook likes seeing you vulnerable, that's part of the reason he enjoys stalking so much.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Genuinely this was so hard to think of, but Rook won't treat you like trash. I know some of us like mean, cruel men, but Rook won't do it, he refuses to mar your beauty or tell lies about his feelings towards you. One of Rook's defining traits is unwavering, brutal honesty, so chances are Rook will never degrade you- he just cares too much. Doesn't mean you can't degrade him though-

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Giving, for sure. He likes seeing the cute faces you make while sucking him off, sure, but he thinks the noises you make while he's tongue fucking you are much better. If Rook is going to give you, head you're going to ride his face though- it's the best position! Sitting on Rook's face means A) he can see all your facial expressions and B) you can quite easily make him do whatever you want, which sounds lovely to him

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Honestly Rook will move at whatever pace you like but let's forget about that for a minute. Rook naturally wants to start out slow and sensual, dragging his cock along your walls, making sure to hit all your sensitive spots with each thrust in and out. As he goes along, Rook gets more excited and his thrusts pick up speed, turning a bit more rough and shallow until he's finally cumming. When Rook cums, he goes still while he's fully inside you, shuddering and moaning as he fills you up. He's got a habit for biting when he cums, like an animal sinking his teeth in to make sure you stay there while he finishes.

Now, I'll elaborate on quick rounds with Rook because they're a bit different. If you need to be fast, or if Rook is so horny he's gone feral, the word "slow" exits his dictionary. His thrusts start and stay hard, fast, and deep, it really gets across the desperation he feels good you, how cute 🫶

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Absolutely! Rook has no problems with a little pick-me-up sex, something to just satisfy your needs and move on. Of course, he prefers to draw out sex, but also takes a good amount of pleasure in tearing as many orgasms from you as fast as he can before sending you on your way, weak-kneed and sweating. I like to think Rook keeps a vibrator on him just got this sort of occasion

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Are you kidding me rn. Rook is the risk man, the only ones fighting him for this position are the tweels, and it's real close. Rook could approach you with something new to try every single week, and if you're the one to ask for experimenting, it's highly unlikely Rook will never say no. Maybe to like… vomit? Any way you slice it, Rook if freaky deaky and pulling you along with it

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

We all know Rook is athletic, baby!! I give it six rounds before Rook gets a bit too overstimulated and needs to give his dick a break before it turns purple, but he's happy to go on pleasuring you while he gets a little rest- but chances are you're exhausted by then too. How long each round lasts really depends on what you're doing, but he can last around 25-35 minutes before- not including any foreplay -so it'll really be up to you to keep up

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

This country boy is mostly an acoustics only partner. It's not that he's against toys, there's just nothing he's particularly interested in using on you. I believe Rook owns a good ol wand vibrator that he uses on you during guided/mutual masturbation, just because he appreciates how squirmy and whiny you get when he presses the toy against your sensitive spots.

But if you're using toys on him oh well… that is a different story. I think he mostly prefers good ol 'weiner up his ass, but Rook is real fond of a good vibrating cock ring and a few bullet vibes- taped to his nipples or the base of his cock. He also likes nipple clamps, ball gags, blind folds, riding crops, and basic whips.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

You'll be shocked but Rook mostly likes to play things fair, he'll tease a little but Rook is straightforward. If Rook wants to fuck you, he'll just come out and ask, no need for any roundabout games! When it comes to actually having sex, Rook wants to make you feel good, he's not going to delay making you cum your brains out!

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Rook Hunt is for sure the noisiest man you’ve ever met. Not that he’s a screamer, moreso, he will not stop talking. We all know he can go on for hours about things he’s passionate about, but he’ll hardly let you get a word in edgewise, he’s too busy going on and on babbling about how gorgeous you are, how good you feel, praising how well you’re doing, murmuring sweet nothings- proud member and president of the “can’t shut the fuck up” club. Of course, you’ll get some good, loud moans from him too (usually interrupting his endless chatter). Rook is more of a moan guy than a grunt guy, it comes out high and is usually accompanied with a shudder and pleased sigh.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Sounding. This is WILD but Rook likes wild, and he would absolutely be 1000% be down for sounding, in fact he's the one who brought it up. He's already done research, he's already bought toys- come babe, keep up, get the rod in his dickhole already!! (Also I think he has piercing nipples, they're just basic golden studs, but they look cute on him)

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Rook is rocking long but kinda skinny. He's around 5.5 inches in flaccid, getting up to an even 7 when he's fully hard- man is a major league grower. As I said, a bit on the skinny side and no prominent veins, but his tip is a lovely cute pink and he gets so twitchy and leaky when he's hard. I'm not sure he has a dick piercing, just because he's a bit worried about the healing interrupting his sex life or exercise, but Rook has thought about getting a piercing or two- guiche or prince Albert I think

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Turning on Rook is like turning on a light switch; you only need one good slap and you could do it with your eyes closed. You could breathe too close to him and Rook would get hard. Rook would fuck you every single day, multiple times a day if you let him. He's not afraid to ask you- or send videos of himself masturbating to the thought of you! Mwah enjoy the teasing babe

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It really depends on whether or not he tops, honestly. In terms of topping? Rook could never sleep after sex, it makes him energized! For this reason, Rook actually prefers not to have sex after dark, morning or midday sex works out better for him. After a good round or two, sometimes Rook will go straight into a workout.

Bottom Rook, though? He still feels refreshed but he's more likely to just settle down for a little while and chill out. He likes to lay back with you and blab on about whatever comes to mind- Rook low-key the king of pillow talk, he could give a 5 page essay debrief on your sex life.

That's all for today's showing guys, thank you for watching!

Hooooo boy! This one takes the cake for the longest alphabet yet at 3.8k (for reference, Trey's was 2.1k) this alphabet gave me some trouble, I didn't expect Rook to give me this much of a challenge! I think I got in my own head and tried to make this one really professional for a lil, then I went back a read some of my last alphabets and eased up. But there was a lot of writing, re-writing and re-formatting- sorry @birtha I did not mean to take this long, but it's finally done and I hope you like it! Also for that anon who sent in the Barbatos req, I see you, I hear you, I love you, it's in the works. Mwah thanks for reading you guys are baller

[galaxythreads]

unhinged, unconnected thoughts about the Hunger Games 1-3:

Katniss is one of The best female characters I have ever read in my life

Peeta is the definition of sad, wet paper man

I AM SO GRATEFUL THERE WERE CONSQUENCES From the games!! Like Katniss has permanent hearing damage. PEETA lost his LEG

Katniss' severe PTSD was so harsh and brutal and so so so good

Haymitch was such a little guy and I adored him for that. What I really liked about his character was that like -- he survived the Hunger Games. This was not a good thing. He was devastated by the fact that his family was killed and the only way he coped with that was by drinking. There was no getting better. There was no magic fix. It didn't just go away. Then he had to train and prepare 20 kids to go fight in the Games just like he did, knowing that he was sending them all out to die or survive like he did, and I have to imagine that toward the end, Haymitch probably hoped they died. It was easier than living

The Capitol was absolutely horrifying

The PTSD from the Games was vivid and it was so nice to see that this horrible bad thing that happened to the characters didn't just go away because they were in another book. Like it impacted their choices forever

Katniss and Peeta about to take the berries reminded me of Romeo and Juliet and I think that was probably on purpose. Neither can live without the other.

KATNISS IS FREAKING SIXTEEN AND ACTS LIKE SHE'S SIXTEEN

Katniss runs off and screams and cries and breaks down and fails and makes selfish decisions and selfless decisions and like she is SUCH A GOOD CHARACTER. Like I Honestly didn't think there would be a female character that competed with Joan Watson for #1 female for me, but Katniss is like. She's up there.

Gale was overall meh to me. He was There, but the emotional impact he had on Katniss was overall... yeah. just dots.

I'm really glad that Katniss was able to heal enough after 15 years from the Games to have kids. She wanted kids, and the mothering instinct is there, but she didn't want to bring them into a world where they wouldn't be safe. But Katniss having kids means that she does feel safe.

"you love me. Fake or real?" "real"

"sweetheart"

I literally did not realize the Hunger Games was science fiction until I got like halfway through the second one and was like oh yeah, yeah this is science fiction.

I CANNOT BELIEVE THAT THEY SENT THEM BACK TO THE GAMES IN BOOK 2!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH

like all I'd heard about the Hunger Games was book 1, so everything after that to me was just ?????? and I was SO MAD but it made so much sense from the Capitol's perspective and I so wanted to strangle Snow.

District 13 overall annoyed me tbh, but I did get where they were coming from.

Everything in this series is so heavy. Like you feel the weight of the entire world just seeping down on you and it's actually kind of nice. I feel like the Hunger Games decided yeah, this is a dark, gloomy kinda world and then kept that tone. Books that keep the tone are SO RARE and i adore them.

PEETA PEETA PEETA

BREAD BOY

AMNEISA

PRIM DYING LIKE ???????????????????????? so good. So good. Like the whole reason Katniss went into the Games was to save her and like. She died anyway. Tragedy my beloved.

Katniss being so bad at speeches was absolutely hilarious. She is very much a speak from the heart kinda person and I'm glad that was never "fixed"

I love how a running theme in the series was that they have to document everything. There are video cameras everywhere, recording, always recording, and if they aren't it didn't happen. But Katniss is screaming IT HAPPENED IT HAPPENED anyway. Like with Rue's death.

I love that Peeta is so protective of Katniss, but would wholey hold her bow while she punched someone in the face. Like he's protective of her while respecting her strengths.

this series is dark, but I am going to reread this 4000000 times.

[goldencherriess]

Sentiment.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Fem! Reader

Word count: 3.3k

Requested? Yes! And it was by @gaitwae (i hope you like it <;3)

Summary: Sherlock finds himself entranced by Lestrade's best friend and co-worker.

Warnings: kinda office romance, fluff

Masterlist

Sherlock Holmes was a man of pragmatism and cold truth. He could answer to any question, he could find a resolve in everything (science always played a part in this sense), but when his dear roommate and companion, John Watson, suggested that maybe the suspect was in love with the victim's wife, he felt repulsed by the idea.

"Absolutely not, John! Have you paid attention to the details, to the facts?"

John's eyebrows shot to the top of his head. "Have you?"

Scoffing, Sherlock put his hands in the coat's pockets. "Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side. No, we're dealing with a cold murderer this time, not some love sick puppy. If he were in love, his eyes pupils would have dilated when we asked about her, but they did not. And I-'' he trailed off when he saw a familiar mop of hair appearing behind John and talking to Lestrade, a notebook in her arms.

John turned around, eyebrows still raised and he crossed his arms, a smirk finding its way on his lips. His eyes met Sherlock's again. "You were saying?"

Sherlock licked his suddenly dry lips and blinked. "I, uh-"

"Cat got your tongue, Sherlock?"

It was as if Sherlock's brain short circuited, cutting all the ties to reality. He blinked and gulped thickly. ''When in love and looking at the object of all your desires and affection, your pupils get dilated. The pulse gets increased and you feel your breath leaving you. But that's not true, that's just an illusion, it's your body reacting to hormones. It's just pure science, really.'' he said, whispering the last part and never taking his eyes off of Y/N.

She was laughing now, touching Lestrade's arm and shaking her head in amusement. And Sherlock felt his stomach twisting into something he couldn't name. He tilted his head. ''I'm right, aren't I, John?''

''I don't know, Sherlock, but it doesn't seem so to me.''

Sherlock's gaze slowly left Y/N's figure and met John's eyes. His eyebrows pinched together. ''Why do you say that?''

John's smirk never left his lips. ''Your pupils dilated.''

Sherlock nodded, a realization dawning on him. And his eyes were again on her, just drinking her in. ''They did, didn't they?''

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Y/N L/N was a woman of soft love and indulging daydreams. A pure romantic at heart, she could find meaning in every glance and smile (she did learn best from Jane Austen). But when her best friend and co-worker, Greg Lestrade, inquired about her new crush, she mumbled an excuse, blushing furiously and averting his gaze.

"Oh come on! I know you, Y/N! Been knowing you for years now. So, who is it?"

Shaking her head, Y/N replied. "No one."

Lestrade furrowed. "Then why are you blushing?"

''Why are we talking about this now? We're at a crime scene.'' she almost snapped.

Lestrade pursed lips, nodding and putting his hands in his pockets, his gaze looking in the distance at nothing particularly. And for awhile, neither of them said anything, the bustling of the forensic pathologists filling the air. Y/N fumbled with the notebook in her arms, her gaze sliding towards a certain curly haired man. They rarely talked about anything other than work, but she always found herself enticed by what he was saying. His mind worked in mysterious and interesting ways and she only wished to understand it more, to be the one overtaking his thoughts. Just like he did hers.

He met her eyes across the room and she felt her face flush. He acknowledged her with a nod of his head and she smiled his way.

''It's Sherlock, isn't it?'' voiced Lestrade besides her.

She snapped her head towards him, almost getting a whiplash. ''What?''

He just laughed. ''I'll be sending you over to him with work more often, then.''

Her laugh matched his and she smacked his arm, while shaking her head. ''You're impossible.''

''But the best!''

''At annoying me, maybe.''

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Sherlock kept coming to crime scenes with John as he usually did. And things just went as they usually did. Anderson and Donovan were insufferable as ever, making wrong assumptions and awful comments. Graham (or was it Greg?) was useless as ever and John muttered praises under his breath, as always (''That's brilliant, Sherlock!'').

Except this time he was suddenly hyperaware of her presence. She always seemed to be there, in the corner of the room silently watching him work through the mystery and fog. It clouded his mind. He blinked, trying to get rid of the incorrigible thoughts and the tightness in his chest. He cleared his throat and risked a glance at John, who had his eyebrows raised. ''Right, well, uh, I have to think about this one, really mull it over.''

He straightened his back, popping the collar of his coat. But then, he looked at her and paused in his tracks. ''Unless, Y/N has anything to add to the case.''

She seemed lost in thought because once her name was spoken, by Sherlock no less, she snapped out of it, a blush adorning her cheeks. She visibly gulped and took a step forward, hugging her notebook closer to her chest. Her eyes met his and she had to inhale just so she could breath again. He was looking at her so intensely that she felt like she was being analyzed under the microscope, as if he could read through her. As if he could take her apart, soul by soul, layer by layer.

Y/N tore her eyes away from his and flipped through her notebook, only stopping when the date of today caught her attention. ''Well, uh, I believe the victim's wedding ring is missing.''

''There wasn't any wedding ring.'' interrupted Lestrade, frowning.

She nodded. ''Exactly. If you look at her left hand, you'd find the shadow of a wedding ring. She's very tanned, she must've returned from a vacation. Somewhere warm, as there isn't any sun in London. But she never did take off her wedding ring, the white line around her finger is the proof of that.''

''She could've just lost it.'' added John thoughtfully.

Sherlock remained quiet, his gaze pinned on Y/N, attention undivided by anything else but her. He was listening in, his mind screaming at the possibilities.

Y/N shook her head. ''No. The pictures of her husband in her wallet tell me otherwise. She cared. She wouldn't just let her ring get lost. There's something else there. Someone must've taken it. Maybe our killer.''

Sherlock's eyebrow arched and his eyes lit up. ''Impressive observation, darling.'' He started smiling and he grabbed her shoulders, leaning in to kiss her on both of her cheeks. ''Thank you!'' he said in a very excited voice, much like a kid would exclaim on a the Christmas morning at the sight of presents.

And he was off, the coat fluttering behind him in waves and leaving her flustered and red in the face. His kisses on her cheeks burned her like fireworks in the sky. She touched with shaking fingertips where his lips met her skin and she slightly smiled.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

221B was quiet, John gone God knew where. The rain was splattering against the windows in loud and almost thundering drops. Sherlock was sitting in his armchair, deep in thought, his hands lanced in a prayer position. He sighed and closed his eyes, his mind going off the rails.

The squeak of the front door pulled him to the reality. His eyes snapped open and his ears perked up. Light footsteps. Not John, as he walked harshly, his feet dragging behind him (he never actually left the war behind). Probably a woman, then. But not mrs. Hudson, as she always wore heels.

Sherlock slowly got up, his eyes never wavering from the door. The creeks of the stairs. Not a client, as the footsteps didn't sound urgent.

He was now in front of the door, touching the door knob and opening it like a storm cleaning everything in its path and he was met with the surprised eyes of Y/N L/N. She was drenching and panting, the rain really wearing her down. Her hair was soaking, raindrops falling from it and down onto the carpet with splashing sounds and the clothes were sticking to her skin and hugging her curves. Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek to not glance down her figure out of respect and dignity.

She sneezed, eyes closing and eyelashes shining with raindrops.

''Looks like you're catching a cold.'' Sherlock said in greeting.

She nodded before sneezing again.

''Bless you.''

She shivered and her arms hugged her waist in an attempt to find some warmth. Sherlock's eyes softened, but his voice remained impassible. ''Do come in, you're soaking my carpet.''

Flustered, the words came out of her mouth in a mess, closing in on each other and flying from the tip of her tongue. ''Uh, I'm sorry, didn't mean to- I just-''

''Save your energy and stop explaining yourself, you're obviously shivering and in dire need of a hot bath. Go do that, you're my guest. I'll prepare tea and get you some clothes to change in. Then we can talk.''

He gestured her towards the bathroom, before turning his back and leaving her with a red nose and a freezing face.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

He was stirring the tea when he heard her small footsteps padding on the floor. ''Do you take your tea with milk?'' he asked without looking up. ''I usually do and-'' Sherlock lifted his head and his words died in his throat. He finally understood the concept of your breath leaving you at the sight of something beautiful. Because Y/N was beautiful, a rare landscape. An oil portrait that deserved to be admired in a museum. Almost Mona Lisa like. She was wearing one of his old sweaters, back from his university days, and some worn out pants he found in the back of the wardrobe. She was wearing his clothes. Alas they were a bit too big on her, the sleeves of the sweater falling down her hands and swallowing them whole.

''No milk for me.'' she replied in a meek and already raspy voice. The cold was catching up to her.

He blinked the awe from his eyes and handed her a cup of tea. ''Careful, it's hot. And you should take some meds.''

She thanked him by nodding her head. ''Where's John?''

''With his new girlfriend, I presume.'' Sherlock scoffed, turning around and searching through the kitchen drawers. ''He's never out his late usually. He always goes to sleep early.''

''And you don't?''

''I don't sleep when I'm on a case.''

''But you need the sleep.''

Sherlock met her gaze and flipped towards her a bottle of medicine. ''And you need to take these.'' he replied with a sarcastic smile etched on his face. But his eyes betrayed his whole cold demeanor. They were soft, almost warm. And Y/N was afraid to maintain the eye contact for too long. His eyes haunted her. She felt vulnerable under his gaze. Exposed.

She thickly gulped. "Can you start the fire? I'm still a little bit cold."

"If you take the meds."

"I will."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I mean now."

She huffed, but complied anyways. The tea burned her throat, the aroma bursting in colors on her tongue and the sweet smell tickling her nostrils.

Sherlock nodded and then entered the living room, crouching down near the fireplace. "Why are you here?"

"Do you want me to leave?" she asked once she was seated in an armchair.

Sherlock glanced towards her. Y/N was sitting in his armchair, slowly sipping her tea and looking around curiously. No one actually sat on it, besides him. He never let anyone. He inhaled and tore his gaze from her and onto the split firewood in front of him. "Do you want to?"

"No." she replied, watching him.

He got up, the fire coming alive in reds and oranges, the wood cracking. "Then stay." His eyes didn't stray from her as he took a seat in John's chair. "Why are you really here, though? We're not actually friends, so you can't say you came to visit. You were panting, so you must have run all the way here. Unless, you missed the bus. But that can't be as you live on the other side of London. And you weren't planning it, either. If you did, you would have known they announced rain later today and you would have carried an umbrella. But you didn't, so I assume this was a spur of the moment idea. Am I correct so far?"

She blinked. "Yes, but-"

"And you didn't come on behalf of work, either. You would have carried some files and you would have been all business, no play, as you usually are." He leant forward on the seat, his arms coming to rest on his knees. "So, tell me, why are you here, Y/N?"

Her cheeks reddened and she shifted in her seat, her hands gripping the tea cup. "Did you just deduce me, mister Holmes?"

His eyebrow arched, hiding under a stray curl. "Why, was I wrong?"

Y/N shook her head. "Not a bit."

A smirk bloomed on his lips. "Of course I wasn't, darling. I never am."

"You're quite narcissistic." she replied, her eyes watching him over the rim of the cup.

"I believe the correct word would be modest."

She hummed, the corner of her eyes crickling in amusement. She gently put down her cup and looked him in the eye. The fire sprayed shadows on his face, the room in a low glow. "Did you solve the case, Sherlock?"

Confusion overtook his features. "Is this why you came all the way here?"

She shrugged inocently. "I was curious. Did you?"

He nodded, the fire reflecting in his eyes and ebony hair. "Yes. You helped me. When you told me about the wedding ring, a light went off in my head. I searched through her wallet. You were right, she cared too much to lose a wedding ring, it meant a lot to her. And I think someone got jealous."

Y/N arched an eyebrow. "An affair?"

"But not on her part, though. Love is a strong motive. It makes you do crazy things." Sherlock whispered.

His gaze burned her. He searched her eyes, as if he was hoping to find something in them, and then his gaze drifted off to her lips. "I know the signs." he said.

"What signs?" Y/N replied breathless.

"Your cheeks redden every time you look at me, your pupils dilate. You think I don't notice, but I do. Every time."

She swallowed. "Is that- Is that a bad thing?"

He got up to his feet and took slow steps, only stopping when he was close enough to take her wrist. A gentle touch. Her heart almost beat out of her chest and a lump formed in her throat when Sherlock leaned in to whisper into her ear, his breath warming her skin. "I took your pulse."

Y/N fluttered her eyes shut when she felt his lips skim over her jaw before he lightly kissed her cheek. "The feeling's mutual, by the way." he said in a low whisper, his lips caressing her afire skin.

And then he was up and away, smiling genuinely at her, a sparkle in his eyes. "You should get some rest. I'll be sleeping on the couch, you take the bed."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he beat her to it. "Please, you're my guest tonight. It would be my pleasure."

Y/N nodded, getting on her feet, her eyes meeting his chest. He was wearing the purple shirt he wore last week. His figure towered over her and he gently took her hand. "My room's that way. If you need anything, tell me. Good night, darling."

And he pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

John found the atmosphere weird that morning. His eyebrows were scrunching and he looked at Sherlock. "You're awfully quiet." he said while he spread butter on toast.

"Am I, really?" replied Sherlock, not taking his eyes off of the newspaper he was reading.

"Yes, you are. Don't you, usually, ramble about some newfound case?"

"Usually."

"Then, what's different this time?" replied John before he bit into the toast.

The clicking of a door and the sight of a just waken up Y/N made him choke on the food. "Careful, John, you'll die if you do that again. Good morning, darling. Tea?" said Sherlock in a sweet voice.

Y/N simply smiled at him, averting her gaze from John.

"I'm sorry, I feel like I'm missing something." laughed John.

"No, John, you're just delusional." said Sherlock, while he poured tea in a cup for Y/N, who was blushing furiously under all the attention.

"Wait 'till Greg hears about this!" replied John, still smiling in awe.

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Who?"

"Lestrade." said Y/N from besides him.

"I thought his name was Gavin."

"It's Greg."

"When did this happen?" interrupted John, all sparkling eyes.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, picking up the newspaper once again. "Nothing happened, John."

"I'm not believing a word! This is too good-"

"Stick to blogging, John, gossiping doesn't suit you."

Offended, John gasped, turning to look at Y/N. She avoided his gaze, drinking her tea and looking at the walls around them. "Right... My bad, then." he said, sighing.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Sherlock Holmes started smiling at crime scenes. It was almost off putting, the way a genuine smile would break through at any moment. In front of a corpse, no less.

Lestrade noticed it. He also noticed the oh-so-not-subtle glances. Sherlock's eyes would slip over to Y/N and she would meet his gaze, almost shyly but smiling.

Then, the detective started asking her opinion on the cases more often and Lestrade knew. How could he not when it was all so obvious?

"You know, Sherlock, one day you're gonna steal my co-worker." he said as he approached him.

Sherlock's face remained impassible like stone. "That won't ever happen. She'll come willingly if you keep boring her. Send her on real cases, she's smart enough to solve them on her own."

Lestrade opened his mouth to reply but he was left in the dust after Sherlock spotted Y/N. "Yeah, okay..." he trailed off as he watched Y/N greet Sherlock with a blush and a shy smile.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"Let's have lunch." said Sherlock to Y/N, meeting her eyes and standing straight. He wore his blue navy coat and a white shirt this time.

"To talk about the case? I think I found a lead and-"

"No."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "No?"

He took a step closer to her. "No. Let's have lunch to talk about ourselves."

She felt her face flush. "Oh."

Sherlock's eyes held a look of amusement and adoration and he smiled. "I believe the correct word would be yes." He lightly took her hand, his thumb caressing her skin in slow circles. "Please, do me this honour and let me take you out on a date."

Y/N smiled up at him, before standing on her tip toes to kiss his cheek. "I'd love to."

Bonus:

"I kind of set them up." said Lestrade as he and John watched the interaction between Sherlock and Y/N from afar.

"How so?"

"I stole Y/N's umbrella and then set her off home, asking her to stop by 221B in order to ask Sherlock what progress he was making in solving that case."

"Oh, Greg! That was brilliant! She spent the night there."

"Did she?"

"Yeah."

"Interesting."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

A/N: oh wow this somehow turned to be a long one. It was supposed to be around 2k words, more or less but I kinda got carried away.

I hope you enjoyed it! Every feedback is appreciated! If you'd like to be added to the tag list, just comment under this post or send me an ask!

Have a great day xx

Tag list: @bohemianrhapsody86 @andreead

[keenzinemugstudent]

Oh look at me making another story idea or maybe a one shot? Either way here goes, you and Miguel were in a relationship for like 3 to 4 years you guys were going through some things because he had new job but he didn't spend enough time with you and always stressed from working but you understood but you also noticing that he was drifting from you and your relationship it also did not help that his new assistant who happened to be his brother's girlfriend Dana

(hehe same name as mine)

started to flirt with him a lot Miguel didn't take it seriously saying that you were being paranoid but one day when you come to his job to bring him something to eat on your anniversary only to see him and her getting freaky 😔 you pack everything and leave without a word just pictures of him and her together in his office left on the kitchen counter in your shared apartment.

you find out two weeks later that you were pregnant which freaked you out because you did not think that you could get pregnant you are always told that because of how your body was there was no chance if you ever having children then boom you find out that you're pregnant so you spend the whole entire year focusing on yourself and your newborn daughter which you named Gabriella O'Hara.

Again years later you than find out that your best friend Mary Jane Watson was getting married so you decided to come back home to New York for the engagement party and visit when you get there everyone is shocked and surprised and find out that you had a daughter you were in a not really good shape to really talk to anyone you basically just kind of stopped talking to everyone after the break up with Miguel and cheating so yeah this was their first time meeting your daughter they knew she existed just never got the chance to meet her face to face ( they video called ) you find out from Gabriel that Miguel and Dana were engaged not surprised just did not care (yes tf you do😭💔❤️‍🩹😭)

after losing your daughter in a crowd unfortunately she meets her father who is surprised to see a little girl that just looked like him but had your eyes and your nose that's when he put the pieces together (yeah you fucked up dude)

after spending a night with Dana he comes back to your shared apartment and sees the note left behind and the pictures of him in Dana together he freaks out tries to contact you but no avail tries to contact other people but they also don't know where you are and know what he did so even if they did know where you were they wouldn't tell them so yeah he was like in a really emotional state throwing things hurting himself he was just really pissed off

But you did not want him to know about you being pregnant and yeah I know it sounds bad but Miguel had really bad anger issues after getting his new high paying job which thankfully he started seeking help with after you left and he seeks comfort in Dana (idiot) which led to them being engaged, he was invited to Peter's engagement party that's when he met your daughter because she had bumped into him which wasn't their first meeting (Gabriella was playing a field with her soccer ball that's when Miguel saw her and thought she was a lost child and just started playing soccer with her Gabriella does mention that she did make a friend but you did not know that it was your ex bf,

Being scared you say your goodbyes quickly leaving the party Miguel chased after you trying to get answers but you were gone again, you had a panic attack ,

worried that he was going to take your daughter from you and he would fight for full custody which you wouldn't blame him for but you also thought it was unreasonable seeing as he showed little interest in having children mostly because of his past with his family but when you left he started fantasizing at the idea of you two married and having children he would have loved to adopt, so to find out that you had a daughter and kept it fr him broke his heart

so yes he now knows that he has a daughter and he might be fighting for custody if you are willing to agree to let him get to know Gabriella oh yeah and his brother knows about his daughter he kept it a secret, basically is petty revenge for yaknow hooking up with his girlfriend

now Miguel is trying to fix everything trying to win back your affection and apologize for everything he's done in the past which is just going to be really hard to do on both ends hopefully they both try to resolve their issues for their daughter's sake who just wants both her parents back together.

Drama and Angst y'all when I first found out about Miguel story I found out on tiktok that he cheated with his brothers girlfriend I was like wow bro that's fucked up and I haven't really seen anyone make any Miguel X reader cheating stories yet so I was like okay let's do this

[littlexscarletxwitch]

Hi! I have a request for Florence. Can you you write one where the Florence is away filming and her and the reader are really missing each other, so either Harry Styles or Emma Watson helps the reader surprise Flo on set. You bring Billie as well. After shooting is over for the day they go back to the house Flo is renting, and just cook dinner and cuddle. For the rest of the week, the cast can see Florence is so much more at ease with the reader visiting. :)

── ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎ 𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗲𝗿

paring: florence pugh x fem!reader

tag(s): fluff, a bit of spice but sfw, short blurb, established relationship

warning(s): grammatical error, unedited, not proofread, alutions to sex

word count: 1,800

note: The whole set thing was really hard to picture, since I've never been to one, so the whole thing could be inaccurate, but just go with it (?). Apart from that, it was kinda fun. I really hope you like it. Also you just gave me the best excuse to add Mr. Harry Styles. (Should I write for Harry? I luv him so much). Also, let's pretend that Flo and Harry are the best of friends because I said so (*cries*). [By the way, should I try writing smut. I feel like I'm ready but I'm not 100% sure.] I'm not a native english speaker, so please let me know about any sort of mistake. Hope you guys enjoy <3

requests are open! <3

Waking up everyday and not seeing her stupid cute face made your heart ache. 

It’d only been a month since she left to start shooting her new movie, but it felt like it had been years since you last felt her touch, heard her laugh or felt her lips against yours. Yes, you two would facetime every morning and every night, but it wasn’t enough. It never was. You needed her close to you, you needed her hugs, you needed her to cuddle you to sleep. You just needed her badly. 

And she wasn’t coming home for at least one more month. You didn’t know how you were going to be without her for so long. You could tell that Billie missed her too, and that only made your heart ache even more. 

“You miss mama too, don’t you, babygirl?” she gave you the most heartbroken sad puppy eyes. “Yeah, that’s it. We are going to visit her, would you like that? Would you like to go and see mama?” as if understanding exactly what you were saying she started to bark at you, her tail swaying back and forth. 

So it was settled. You and Billie were going on a road trip. You knew it was a long ride for her, but she actually liked being in a car. Plus, she was a great companion. 

[...]

You didn’t know this, but Florence was missing you like crazy as well. She loved working, she was really excited about this new project of hers, she just didn’t expect to miss you so bad. She had grown used to waking up to your face, you making her breakfast when she had to leave for work early, or just taking Billie out for a walk with you. She missed all of those things.

If she didn’t have to shoot a scene, she would spend all her time rumbling about you to her castmates or crew. Especially to Harry Styles, who she had grown close to. He knew how she felt since he missed his partner as well. So they would spend their time telling eachother everything about their amazing lovers. 

Talking to Harry about you made her missing you a little bit easier. But still it wasn’t enough. She needed to feel you again, to smell your scent, to sleep next to you. She needed you badly. 

What she didn’t know was that you and Harry had spoken recently. He knew about you coming to visit your girlfriend, and was excited about his blonde friend's reaction when she’d see you. You had called him the night before, telling him your wonderful idea, he immediately agreed to help you in any way he could. You told him that you would be on your way the next day, and would probably arrive by 12 P.M. All he had to do was keep Florence off of her phone, so she couldn’t call you and you wouldn’t have to lie to her over the phone, since you were terrible at it. 

[...]

You guys woke up the next morning, everything already packed and hit the road at 8 AM. It was going to be a four hour trip to Las Vegas, where the shooting was taking place. You had about four stops, so both you and Billie could go to the bathroom and stretch your legs. And by 12.30 P.M. you arrived in Las Vegas. You thought Billie would be stressed by then, but she was actually having the time of her life sticking her tongue out the car window. 

Once you arrived, you called Harry and asked him about the set address, which he texted you immediately after ending the call. He told you that distracting Flo had been really easy since she had a lot of work to do, but by the time you would arrive at the set she would be free to spend some time with you. 

After another 20 minutes in your car, you arrived at the set. You were scared that the security guard wouldn't let you pass, but Harry was waiting for you outside, so you didn't have any issue with that. 

Once you got out of the car, Billie trailing behind, you made your way to him and hugged him. Over the past month you guys became some sort of online friends. You would always see each other while you would facetime Florence, and somehow developed a friendship once exchanging phone numbers.

You pulled apart from the hug and that’s when it hit you. After being away from your girlfriend you were actually going to see her. Billie could tell your excitement, her tail swaying back and forth. You smiled at her. She was as excited as you were.

“Okay, so she’s in her trailer right now. I believe she has a half an hour break. Let’s take you to your better half before they need me on set.”

Harry quickly made his way to this sort of parking lot filled with lots of caravans. He stopped at the first row and pointed to the fourth one. 

“That's hers.”

“Um, can you tell her to come out for a second?”

“Sure thing.”

He made his way to Florence’s trailer door, knocked and just opened the door. He stuck his head inside, and you heard him muttering something to her. Once he was done, he gave you a discreet thumbs up and stood next to you. He was as excited as you and Billie were, he noticed Florence's mood changed ever since the shooting had started, and knew that seeing you would make her really happy. 

The first thing Florence noticed was a white and brown blur coming her way. She didn’t realise it was her own dog until Billie was licking her face. 

 “What are you doing–?” She started but cut herself off once she saw you next to Harry. She couldn’t believe her eyes. 

She gently put Billie down and ran towards you. She hugged you and lifted you up from the ground, spinning you around. You both started to laugh. Once she put you down you rested your hands on her cheeks and smashed your lips against hers. It was a much needed kiss, showing each other how much you have been missing the other. You both heard Harry had said something about he had to go, but you two weren’t actually listening, too absorbed by each other. 

[...]

After what felt like hours, you and Flo could finally head home. Well, it wasn’t actually home, it was just a flat where Florence was staying until she was done shooting. You guys were all over each other as soon as you got there. Kissing and touching, making up for the lost time. But with Billie present, demanding Florence’s attention as well, you couldn’t do much more.

Florence wanted to cook for you. She wanted the both of you to feel at home. So she made one of her favourite recipes, which was obviously delicious. Florence's cooking abilities were like heaven itself. During dinner she told you the things she could about the movie she was working on, how excited she was to work with Greta Gerwig, since she was a remarkable film director. You listened to every word she said carefully, not getting enough of her raspy low voice you’d been missing for a whole month. You told her about your work, that you asked for a week off so you could do this trip. How the idea came to your mine all because of Billie, which upon hearing her name started to howl. You both laughed at her.

After dinner, you were the one cleaning everything up, since she did the cooking and you didn’t mind washing the dirty dishes. There was something relaxing about washing the dishes for some reason. You actually zoned out, lost in your own thoughts about how much you had been missing her, how badly you craved her. Florence noticed the shift in you right away. 

“What’s up in that head of yours?” she asked softly in your ear, her arms around your waist. 

“I was just thinking of how much I had been missing you,” you chuckled. 

“And how much is that?” she said as she buried her head in the crook of your neck, leaving small bites and kisses here and there. 

“Oh, you have no idea,” your head lifting upwards giving her more access to your sensitive skin.

“Then show me,” you could hear the grin on her face even though you weren’t facing her. 

You quickly washed your hands, turned the water off, turned around and smashed your lips against her. You could taste the wine in her mouth, making you feel a little bit dizzy. But it didn't compare to how she made you feel. You felt the butterflies in your stomach erupt, heat creeping all over your body. It was as if it caught up to you all that time being away from her. Missing her in every way possible. 

You two made your way to your now shared bedroom and made uo for the lost time.

[...]

You ended up in her arms for the rest of the night. Her holding your waist tightly as if never ever letting you go again. It was the first time in a month that you two could actually get some rest. You felt at ease with her being this close to you. That was what you had been missing, those little moments when it was just you and Florence. The rest of the world didn't matter, it was just the two of you. And Billie, of course, who was sleeping at Florence’s feet. 

[...]

For the rest of the week, Florence’s castmates and crew could tell that something had changed in her. She was less stressed, she appeared more rested and she wasn’t on her phone as much as she used to. They soon realised that you were the reason why once you showed up on set trailing behind her and Harry. 

They all immediately knew that you were Florence’s girlfriend. They already knew how you looked, since Florence was constantly showing you off, but it wasn’t your face that gave you away. It was the fact that Florence couldn’t get her hands nor her eyes off of you. 

Which everyone thought was really cute and hilarious. Especially Harry, who would constantly tease Florence about it. But they were all happy that she was back to her regular self. 

When you left, everyone thought that Florence would go back to her grumpy self, but she actually didn’t. She knew the shooting was almost done, so she was just counting the days to see you again. Only one more week and she could wake up to your cute snoring face.

Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated! <3

-M

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi Steph, how are you lovely? Thank you again for everything you do for us! I'm sort of in the mood for fun Johnlock marijuana fics. John and Sherlock accidentally or not so accidentally getting high (and preferably naughty). I just finished lifeonmars' 'Smoke' and itching for more 🤭

Hi Nonny!

AHHHH okay I honestly don't think I HAVE any that I've read? If I do they'll be on one of my Drugs lists:

Self Harm, Danger Nights, and Drugs

Drugs and Drugging Pt 2

Drugs and Drugging Pt 3

I did a quick look on my MFL list and here is what showed up when I did a tag search... I haven't read them so I don't know if the drugs referenced IS pot/weed... If anyone has others that they can or would like to add, please do!

RECREATIONAL DRUG USE (MFLs)

Smoke by lifeonmars (T, 4,827 w., 1 Ch. || Marijuana, Recreational Drug Use, Fluff, Humour, Rock and Roll) – Sometimes time and space collide to show you something you've been missing. Sherlock's pipe helps.

Better Than by pandoras_chaos (E, 9,869 w. || Marijuana / Drug Use, Oral / Anal Sex, Awkwardness, Pining) – Mrs Hudson looked up at him and started giggling, seemingly unable to help herself as she clutched at her stomach and leaned back into the sofa cushions. Sherlock felt his face twitch, and he tried to contain the rumbling chuckles as they spilled forth from his throat, but it was useless. "The thing about John...?" she prompted after a few minutes of breathless laughter. "Ah! Yes," Sherlock sighed, reaching for the ashtray and collecting the expertly rolled joint, "The thing about John is..." he brought the lighter up to the end of the paper, took a drag and held it for a moment, feeling his chest expand with the fragrant smoke. "He's..." he exhaled long and low. "He's fucking brilliant." Mrs Hudson let loose a bark of high, girlish laughter. "You mean he's brilliant at fucking, dear," she corrected, reaching for the bag of crisps on the table. Sherlock felt his cheeks flush, but his face split into a sly grin. "I wouldn't know, Hudders." He sighed a bit wistfully, "I really wouldn't know."

Sit Pretty For Me by LipstickDaddy (E, 19,502 w., 10 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting Pre-S1, Recreational Drug Use, Light BDSM, Strangers to Lovers, Matchmaker Mike, Light Angst, Happy Ending) – What if John and Sherlock met once before, at an underground sex club, a decade before Mike Stamford introduced them that afternoon at Bart’s?

On Dates, Drugs, and Destiny by squire (T, 20,055 w., 3 Ch. || ASiP Divergence, Romance, Arranged Marriage, Crack, Humour, Fluff, Angst, Misunderstandings, Love Confessions, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Jealousy, Friends to Lovers, Courting, Drugs / Recreational Drug use, Case-Related Drug Use, Sherlock Being an Idiot, Meddling Mycroft) – When Sherlock Holmes and John Watson first meet in the lab at Bart's, it isn't actually for the first time. But why does only one of them know this - and should the other one keep the secret, or will revealing the truth ruin their friendship forever? A story of John being not Sherlock's date, of Sherlock being around way too much drugs, and a Destiny that always has to have the last word.

Heart on a String by AngelSpirit (E, 23,257 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Alternate First Meeting, First Kiss / Time, Infidelity, Angst, Fluff, Kidlock/Teenlock, Mentions of Recreational Drug Use) – John and Sherlock got married with Cracker Jack rings when they were 7 yrs old. It wasn’t official, but for their whole lives they took it very seriously.

Gilded Cages by MaryLouLeach (E, 52,323 w., 21 Ch. || Supernatural Creatures AU || Rape/Non-Con, Graphic Violence, Suicide Attempt, Attempted Murder, Vampires and Werewolves, Blood Drinking, Slavery, Dom/Sub Undertones, Torture, Anal Sex, Turning, Recreational Drug Use, Drug Addiction, Dark Sherlock, Protective Mycroft, Possessive Sherlock, Bonding, War, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Angst, Child Abuse) – The vampire remained motionless in the dark of his prison; his eyes clasped shut as if he were sleeping. However Vampires didn’t sleep, or rather this one did not. Sleeping would bring dreams; dreams were solely a human condition, whereas nightmares, nightmares were what plagued the sleep of the immortal. Sherlock knew he was a monster, and even now in this hellish prison locked in the unfurnished room, he felt the darkness of soul start to fester. Pushing at him and all he wished to do was silence it, he needed his fix needed more. The last addict he fed on wasn’t enough. He needed more, needed to shut out the screaming that plagued him that weighed him down and kept him shackled to his hunger. Part 1 of the GILDED series

Your Many Tendencies Series by apliddell (T, 52,222+ w. across 5 works || WiP || Femlock, POC Characters, Enby Character, Sherlock’s Violin, YouTuber John, UST, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Slow Burn, Domesticity, Fluff, Recreational Drug Use, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock’s Past, First Kiss, Love Confessions, John’s Family, Christmas, Anxious Sherlock, Hurt / Comfort, Institutional Racism) – John Watson returns to London after a long absence, somewhat the worse for wear. She meets Sherlock Holmes, and starts feeling excited about life again.

Save Me or Let Me Drown by GubraithianFire (E, 72,986 w., 16 Ch. || Shameless AU || Dysfunctional Family, Alcoholism, Recreational Drug Use, Angst, Humour, Clubbing, Bipolar Disorder, Custody Battle, Mutual Pining, Family Fluff, Smut, Handcuffs, Anal Sex, Shower Sex, Rimming, Come Shot, Angst With Happy Ending) – How Sherlock escaped from his family, John sacrificed everything to his, and how, together, they built their own. Part 1 of the The Watsons series

Filthy/Gorgeous by MirabileLectu (E, 87,951 w., 12 Ch. || Prostitution, Alternate First Meeting, First Time, Recreational Drug Use, Drugs, Angst, Drama)– Even if this was legal, even if there was nothing technically wrong with what he was doing he knew that if he were caught, or if he were seen by someone he knew, or if he were found out in any way the shame would never, ever die. What would his regiment say? What would his family say? What would anyone say if they discovered that John was currently in a cab on the way to pick up a male prostitute for the evening?

To Light Another's Path by BeautifulFiction (E, 128,654 w., 19 Ch. || Post-TGG, Sick Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Drug Addiction / Recreational Drug Use, First Time / Kiss, Case Fic) – Teaching John to observe seems to be a losing battle, but when Sherlock falls ill and submits himself to John's care, will he realise that there is more to life than the science of deduction? Meanwhile, there is a murder to solve, and John must try and convince Sherlock not to sacrifice his own health for the sake of the case.

[topsyturvy-turtely]

Fluffbruary with turtely

(missed days edition)

Day 26

[day 25] [day 27]

prompts: ice | beautiful | night by @fluffbruary <3

fandom: BBC Sherlock

will be uploaded to "That Stuff Called Fluff" on Ao3!

A/N: mainly inspired by the absolute amazing, lovely, kind, sweet, beautiful, lovely, heartwarming [insert all other positive adjectives to describe a person here] @justanobsessedpan - AN ABSOLUTE MUST FOLLOW BLOG!!! Arie drew this amazing art about a year ago and i was IMMEDIATELY inspired to write something based on it. i did NOT forget it... i'm just slow. thank you, bestie, for letting me use your art this way! here is the perfect perfect drawing (tap for better quality):

♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡

"Ah, fudge!", John said, facepalming. They had just walked back into the changing room after their ice-hockey training.

"What's up?", Mike asked.

"Forgot my helmet at the rink. I'll be right back!"

John rushed out, grabbed his helmet from the bench right next to the ice, straightened up and-

dropped the helmet. It bounced a few times on the ice. It made loud thuds.

"Watson! You alright?", a voice from somewhere on John's left hand side yelled.

"Yeah, Greg, just forgot my...", John's eyes were fixed on the boy on the ice rink. It was a figure skater. A really beautiful figure skater. "Um..." His skating was... beautiful. His face was beautiful. In fact everything about him was beautiful. "My uh..."

The skater finished a flawless pirouette, in a half sitting position, his leg stretched out. How is that even- Wait- why did he stop- oh my god. Is he coming- what- wait that's-

"Your helmet?", the figure skater asked with a kind smirk on his lips. A kind smirk?! What the hell is a kind smirk?!

"Sorry- what?", John asked, after his brain finally registered that the figure skater had said something.

"You forgot your helmet?"

"I- uh... Yeah- I-", John let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. He half recognized Greg smirking at him, bemused.

"Do you wanna go-", a side glance at his friend proved his suspicion. He didn't care. "On a..." Damn, this guy has gorgeous eyes. John gulped. "Date? With me?" Where did that question come from?

The boy raised his eyebrows. "Is that it?"

"Is that what?", John countered.

"We only just met. And we're gonna go on a date."

Oh, shit. He hadn't been thinking. He had just spoken. Come on, Watson. Get a grip! Confidence! Confidence is everything! "Problem?", John asked, feeling himself grin (hopefully convincingly).

The skater bandied looks with Greg, bemused as well as amused. He shifted his weight on one hip, then looked John up and down. "We don't know a thing about each other. I don't know where we're meeting. I don't even know your name."

Oh, right. Awkwardly John fumbled with his helmet, stuck it under his left arm, so he could extend his right, "John Watson. Speedy's. Tomorrow night at six P.M.?"

The boy shook his hand, with a suspicious eye. "Sherlock. And fine. But only because you're cute when you're flustered."

"Why- I am not-"

"See? Cute. See you tomorrow.", and Sherlock glided off the ice. There was a certain swing in his hips that made John drop his eyes...

"What. on earth. was that?", Greg asked with a disbelieving chuckle.

"That, Greg", John sucked in a breath. "Was me realizing, there's no way in hell I am straight." John said, still staring at the door through which the beautiful figure skater had left.

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A/N: this was so fun to write! i love reusing/ scrambling up quotes from the show :P hope you liked this too! again please follow justanobsessedpan, promise you won't regret it! (feedback as always very welcome!)

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[assortedseaglass]

The Seamstress & The Sailor - Chapter Eight

Tom Bennett x OFC

[Masterlist]

Warnings: Language, injury detail, World on Fire spoilers

Word Count: 5.8K

Note: It’s a long chapter! The last one got a lot of love that I wasn’t expecting, so thank you! If anyone has any suggestions or things they’d like to see happen, give me a message!

December 1939

Dear Tom,

You’ll notice there’s no photograph enclosed. There are numerous reasons. 1. The last person a group of lonely sailors want to look at is serious old me, 2. We can barely afford our groceries, let alone a trip to the picture parlour, 3. I have some self-respect and shan’t be “oiling myself up”. Besides, I’m sure you all got plenty of entertainment on shore leave, though what makes you think I have any interest in your exploits I don’t know, seeing as I never have before.

How was shore leave? Did you have much time to relax? And answer properly this time! I hope for Norman and Terry’s sake, you were gentle with them! And you’re right, Norman sounds like a bit of stuff for Dot. Now Cora has Roger, maybe I could have Vic? When are you bringing him to Longsight? Is he handsome?

It’s a dreadful thing to say, but sometimes I envy you. Out there, seeing the world. At night, when I’m thinking of you and Albie, I dream that I have the cold wind and salt spray on my face. Tell me what it’s like. Has this been the making of you?

We found out yesterday that Albie will be back for Christmas. Dadda and Dot are beside themselves. Cora and I, of course, can’t wait to have him home but the three weeks between now and Christmas seem like such a long time for so much to happen. I shan’t be happy until he steps through the door.

I must admit, Dot has been insufferable recently. She was eighteen on Sunday and has taken her official arrival into adulthood rather too seriously. She has an opinion on everything, though sadly I think it’s what she has heard some of the older women spouting at the factory. She’s becoming such a snob – no one can do any right in her eyes. Nothing is “proper” or “civil”. We had hoped the war would give her a dose of reality but it seems to have done quite the opposite. Dadda’s drinking is getting worse again, though he isn’t as angry as he used to be. Sometimes I wish he’d shout at us, at least it would show someone is living in there. Now, he’s like a ghost, wafting between the house, the dockyard and occasionally the pub with your dad.

Speaking of, your dad said he’d written to you recently. I don’t know if he mentioned it, but I’ve been spending a lot of time with him. You know I’ve always likes the quiet, and your dad might just be the quietest man in Longsight. It all started when Walter Watson tried having a go at him for giving out the Peace Paper. Well, your dad didn’t back down and Walter Watson went on his way. You should give your dad more credit. I know you don’t always see eye to eye but you’re more alike than you think (stubborn). Anyway, since then we’ve been handing out the Peace Paper together outside the factory, and he gives me a lift home on the bike. He loves you so much, Tom. Sometimes, I catch him through the window doing nothing but sitting by the wireless. I miss mam and Albie, but at least I have Cora, Dot and dadda. He’s haunted by all this love he has nowhere to place.

They’ve moved me onto making the Lancasters at the factory. I don’t know if you’ll have seen them, they’re mostly flying over Europe. Enormous things, they are. The foreman had us line up on one of the wings to see how many it would fit. Almost thirty of us! I’m enjoying the work, but I can’t help but feel so detached from the war. I never see the work we do in action, and I think of you and Albie, even Lois, out there and feel like such a fraud. They’re advertising nurses training at Manchester Royal and I thought I might apply. What do you think? Maybe it’s spending all this time with your dad – I so admire Cora and Dot and Roberta, but I want to be patching people up, not making the things that hurt them in the first place.

Speaking of the girls, Hattie and Jude are back this weekend so we’re going dancing with Roberta, C and D. Can you believe it, Hattie has a fella! A young farmer she met in the Land Army. Glen, he’s called. I don’t think she’s bringing him with her, her mam would have an apoplexy. We’ll have to make do with the few men we’ve got and each other. Speaking of which, since when did you get so defensive of Queenie Warren? Last I remembered you were avoiding dances and saying she’d go for “anything with a pulse”. You know I’d never say anything to her face, but you and I were always in the same mind about her. Cora always saw far too much good in her, Dot far too much bad. You and I saw the real Queenie. Charmingly nonsensical.

I miss having someone to confide in. I sometimes thought you and Albie were the only people that understood me. I wonder how you and I got to talking and why we never do anything in the day. Just sit in our kitchen at night and chatter. Are we friends? Or just two people whose lives correspond? I hope we’re friends, Tom. I know you aren’t one for sentimentality, and I’m silent as the grave but, as I said in my last, letters seem to be my medium. Every thought I’ve ever had comes pouring out with ease. Believe it or not, I can’t wait until you come into the kitchen at witching hour and sit with me while I sew or play piano. It’ll mean the world has gone back to normal. Please take care, for me, and God bless.

Your friend,

Bess.

Tom finished reading the letter that had come with the latest resupply from the auxiliary vessel. From the netting that hung above his bunk, he grabbed pen and paper.

“Can’t keep your sweetheart waiting.” A low voice teased from the opposite bed. Tom balled up a piece of paper and threw it at Vic, who smirked and shut his eyes. They were on shift in less than an hour, enough time for him to get some rest and Tom to reply to the letter. He lay it next to a fresh piece of paper and began to write.

Dear Bess,

I was glad to get your letter but sorry to see no photograph inside. I’ve told the lads all about the dark haired Vaughn girl and they’d love to get a look at you. You know you’re gorgeous -

Fuck. Did he really just write that? Well, no going back now.

You know you’re gorgeous - I saw those men clambering to dance with you before I left. And you had Walter Watson and Frank Smith fighting over who got to dance with you first. Lucky girl.

Tom looked back to the letter Bess had written him. “What makes you think I have any interest in your exploits I don’t know, seeing as I never have before.” He blanched with embarrassment.

Shore leave was fine, though Port Stanley isn’t much. Picked up a lovely bird while I was there. A real one. Bright yellow, she is. Called her Vera. Norman and I are taking bets on when she’s going to lay an egg. And I know you’re already thinking that I’ve swindled the lads out of pocket by buying a male, but she really does lay eggs. First one came just as we left Port Stanley. I think Norman and Terry enjoyed shore leave more, though Terry nearly lost his stomach next morning. Tell Dot I’ve got a fella for her, and that I’m keeping him safe.

He looked at her letter again. “Maybe I could have Vic? When are you bringing him to Longsight? Is he handsome?” Soft snores came from Vic’s bunk, and Tom observed him from the corner of his eye. He was handsome, Tom supposed. Tall, bonny face. Hatred bloomed momentarily in his stomach.

Vic is handsome, I’d say. But you’d make a boring couple, you’re both too serious.

Funny that you envy us, Bess. I envy you. What I’d give to be tucked up in bed, smelling a fresh pot of coffee and bacon from downstairs. Cook keeps us well fed, but it looks like slop. On my down shifts, I’ve taken to standing on the stern and watching the horizon. Sometimes it feels like if I just stood on my toes, I’d see you all on the other side. Stood there, cold wind and water washing over my face, is the smallest I’ve ever felt. Was always scared of that before. I wanted to feel big but out there, my insignificance is calming. Does that make sense? Certainly makes me less scared of dying. I’m just one bloke. How about, when this is all over, I take you on a cruise? That way you can see what it’s like for yourself. Bet you’d love to make yourself dresses and suits for sailing. Like Bette Davis or Marlene Dietrich.

I’m sorry Dot is giving you grief, and tell her I’m sorry for forgetting her birthday. She’ll grow out of it soon. She’d better or she’ll have you and Cora to answer to. And crikey, Bess, the list of people I’m going to have to sort out for you is getting longer by the day. I know you said you wished your dad would shout at you, just so he seems human, but you and I both know what he gets like. He’s not himself when he’s drinking and if he lays a finger on you I’ll be back from the navy quicker than you can say Hitler’s Only Got One Ball. Think you should release him back into my Dad’s care, that way someone can keep an eye on his drinking and it doesn’t have to be you.

Dad did indeed tell me that you’ve been spending time together. I don’t think much of your taste in men. Will I be calling you “mum” soon? From what he told me, it sounds more like you were the one to send Walter Watson packing. Thank you, for spending time with him. When I’m home, I can’t bear to spend more than an hour with him but when I’m away, I worry. Lois always knew how to handle him, handle both of us.

I know you won’t believe it, but I’m glad Hattie has a fella. It means the rest of us won’t have to put up with her appalling dancing. Seems like everyone is getting paired up. Hattie and her farmer. Queenie and Frank Smith, if that’s still happening. Cora and Roger. Your Dot and my Norman. We’ll be the only ones left. Though, by the time I get back, you might be in training and I’ll be on my tod. I can imagine you as a nurse. Just seeing you would make the fellas’ day but heaven forbid they try anything. Not if you treat them like you did Walter Watson. I think it would suit you. And it’d be good for you to get away from Longsight. I know it’d only be a few miles, but you could have your own life there. You loved it at the tailors, and this might give you some of that life back.

I’d miss you though. I do miss you.

Tom paused his writing and stretched is hand.

I hate that you question our friendship. You’re the only person that treats me right. Dad and Lois think I’m a lost cause. Maybe I am. But I never feel that way with you. Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I imagine I’m sat in your dad’s armchair listening to you play the piano. It became such a routine that I think I find it hard to sleep now without it.

The auxiliary boat is leaving soon so I best give them this letter. I’m sending with it all my care for you and your sisters. Give Dot a birthday kiss from me and tell her that when I’m back I’ll take her for a dance.

Don’t worry about me,

Tom.

He jumped from his bunk, straightened his uniform, donned his cap and grabbed Vera’s cage. On deck, Campbell was bidding farewell to the auxiliary ship’s captain.

“One for the post!” Tom called.

“Cutting it fine, Bennett,” Campbell said, but allowed Tom to hand over his letter and ignored the birdcage. “Shift in twenty minutes.”

“Yes, sir.” Once the letter was sailing towards Bess, Tom made his aways along the various decks rattling the coin purse in his pocket. “Time and date she lays an egg,” he called to his fellow sailors, holding up the little birdcage. Somewhere, along the way, kind and gentle Norman joined him. Below deck, Terry was tapping away at the wireless operations table.

“Y’alright Terry? Name the day, name the time Vera lays an egg. Nearest time wins, threepence a bet.” Tom said, leaning against the doorframe as Norman handed over the betting book. Terry removed his headphones and scribbled down his prediction, turning it to the little yellow bird.

“Today, eleven-hundred hours.”

“Hey,” Tom interjected. “No coaching. Good lad, Terry.” The boys moved to the mess hall, and Tom made a beeline for Vic, now awake and ready to start his shift. Tom rattled the money purse at him while Norman took more bets.

“Time and day she lays an egg,”

“Sure it’s a girl?” Vic scoffed.

“She laid an egg at Port Stanley,” Tom quipped back.

“Bet she looked surprised,”

“I wouldn’t know what a surprised bird looks like,”

“Find that hard to believe!” Vic said good-naturedly. Tom turned to look at the room, a roguish smile on his face. His eyes landed on the man leant against the deck frame.

“Ginger?” Tom shook the coins. The man turned, barely looking at Tom until he came near level to his face. Mistrust was written across his pale features.

“Why would I want to line your dirty Manc pockets?” Men sat up in their hammocks and stooped in the doorway. The whole room stilled to watch the men square up.

“Dunno,” Tom smirked. “Maybe you’re saving up for a whore in Argentina.” A few people sniggered.

“Alright Tom, simmer down,” Vic spoke over his shoulder. “He gets over excited, Henry.”

The ginger man took no notice, but averted his attention to Norman, who laughed next to Tom.

“You laughing at me lad?”

Norman stopped immediately, eyes shifting from Henry to Tom.

“No, Henry.”

“No, sir.” Henry asserted.

Tom could feel his piss curdling. Fucking prick.

“Don’t have to call you “sir” now, does he? Same rank.” He leant to Norman. “Don’t call him sir, Norman.” There was a long pause while Tom surveyed the room and everyone waited for Norman to speak. Henry got there first.

“No, sir.”

“No, sir.” Norman said softly to the ground. Tom nodded. Of course. Before Henry moved away, he looked Tom in the eye, smug that he had won the altercation.

“’SIR’” Tom said cruelly in Norman’s face. The quieter man went pale.

“Come on, Tom,” Vic warned. “Play nice.”  

Every atom in Tom’s body was starting to thrum. Two months he’d been at war without so much as a sniff of a fight, and here Henry was kindly offering up his services. Tom straightened his shoulders and squared his jaw. He felt like a prize fighter, ready for the first punch. Vic watched his friend’s nostrils flare and knew what was coming. Tom turned lazily on the spot and watched Henry walking away. Cocky git can’t get away with it that easily.

“You’re lucky you get called Henry.” Men around them hissed with expectation, and he heard Vic issue another warning. Henry immediately prowled back towards him.

“So what is it you’d like to call me?” His tone was calm but his posture was anything but, fists balled and face looking up at Tom’s jutting jaw. Norman edged closer to Vic.

“Spoilt for choice really.” The circle of men was closing in, anticipation wending through the air. “Let’s just say it wouldn’t be a word a mother would use. Although,” Tom sniffed and looked the smaller man up and down. Here came the first blow. “Your mother might.”

For a moment, it looked as though nothing would happen. For a moment.

Henry slammed Tom into the store cupboard and Vic jumped in front of him.

“You want some!? You FUCKING WANT-”

CRACK

Henry’s fist made contact with Tom’s jaw before he had time to finish his sentence. No sooner had Tom hit the ground was he trying to get up again, grappling with the many hands attempting to restrain him. Henry walked away, shoulders hunched in frustration.

“OI! Take your hands off me!” Tom shouted, straining to be unleashed.

“Stay down!” Vic shouted. “THAT’S ENOUGH!”

Tom checked his nose for blood and smirked at Vic. Calm and measured Vic. Not anymore. “Hey! What is wrong with you? Why do you have to go around winding the rest of us up? Why can’t you just do your job like the rest of us?”

“I’m standing up for Norman ‘cos he can’t stand up for himself.” Tom shouted. Norman shuffled his feet, not having moved from where he stood.

“You don’t give a sherbet about Norman. Think you’ve made his life easier by making an enemy of our Henry?” Tom sniffed at this, trying to ignore Vic’s astute rebuttal. “’Standing up for Norman’. No, you used him to get at Henry because that’s what you do-”

Tom had no chance to respond. The lights of the mess hall cut out and red flashed all around. The emergency alarm wailed, men scrambled to their stations. This was it. Exercises and drills had led to this moment. Vic stood and held is hand out.

“Come on, mate. Take my hand.”

“Nah, mate.” Tom stayed on the ground. “Better get on with my job like you say.”

With one last annoyed glance, Vic ran out of the mess hall. Tom launched into action. He sprinted down the narrow corridors of the Exeter as other sailors hurried past. The cry of the siren faded as blood roared in his ears. Skidding to a halt at the end of the corridor, Tom jumped the stairs of the gunroom and began removing his boiler suit. Campbell, dressed in his cap and overcoat appeared at the hatch.

“What’s the story, sir?” Tom called up, tying his sleeves around his waist and watching the others get to work.

“All you need to know is that she’s sunk nine of ours and we’re not going to be the tenth. Get on with it!”

“Got it.” Tom sped into the gunroom and stared up at the turret. Henry and Vic were already preparing the missiles for loading. They placed them in their barrels and Tom lifted each into the gun, listening with intent as they were fired beyond the steel of the ship. All around them came bangs and clatters. After the firing of three missiles, Tom’s arms were throbbing but he continued the work. All at once, the ship shuddered and an almighty bang rang deep through the gunroom. The lights flickered off.

“Fucking hell,” whispered Vic. The screams of men echoed above them.

“If that took the canary out, nobody gets a refund,” Tom laughed, trying to ease the terror in his stomach, the terror reflected in Vic’s eyes as he looked at him. More screams rent the air.

“Fucking hell,” Tom looked up and saw fire curling down the turret. The world stilled. As ash began to fall against his face, Tom watched the flames fade against the darkness and was reminded, irresistibly, of Bess’ hair. The image of her sat on the front step of her house, smoking a cigarette and lit by the setting sun was just racing through his mind when the air was sucked from the gunroom and he was thrown into the steel wall. Heat swept across Tom’s body and the ship was silent.

He was back in the Vaughn’s kitchen, watching Bess sewing Robina Chase’s red suit. A cigarette hung loosely from her lips and every so often she glanced at him, as though checking he was still there. His eyes felt heavy, and Tom felt himself drifting into sleep as the fire crackled in the grate, Bess humming along to the wireless. The snap and pop of the flames became louder, and the smoke of Bess’ cigarette stung his nostrils.

He woke with a gasp. With lungs of fire, Tom crawled to his knees and spat black tar against the ground. The room was silent but for the hum of flame.

“Vic,” His voice was hoarse from the polluted air. His friend lay next to him, unmoving, and Tom tapped his foot. “Vic,” He rolled him over and bile rose to his mouth. Vic’s once bonny face was charred beyond recognition. Plasma oozed from the cracked skin and his teeth were bared in a grisly smile. Is he handsome? Tom fought the urge to vomit as his breath came in ragged rasps. From across the room, an agonised moan sounded. Tom stood and dragged is heavy body towards the noise. It was Henry.

“Got four dead here,” Tom called out. “What about you?”

“I’m not dead,” Henry groaned, and as Tom rounded the corner, he froze. Henry was slouched against the gunroom’s loading dock, his right arm missing below the shoulder, grizzled skin dripping blood onto the floor.

“Don’t you worry, you bastard.” Tom’s mind seemed to take over his body as he grabbed a cable from the wall and crouched by the man. “You ready? Right, this is gonna hurt.” He paused for Henry but he said nothing. “Right? We’re gonna get this tied off. I’m gonna count to three-”

“Just do it,” Henry murmured as Tom placed the makeshift tourniquet around what was left of his arm.

“Right,” Tom braced himself. “One-” He tightened the tourniquet and Henry screamed as Campbell raced into the room.

“We’re gonna need a medic down here, sir.” Tom growled, looking at the bits of body strewn around him.

“The medic is in worse shape than the able seamen,” Campbell wiped his dirty brow. “We’ve lost a lot of men but we don’t seem to be sinking.”

Tom hung his head and looked at Henry. “This’ll have to do for now. Let’s get you up.” He threw Henry’s remaining arm over his shoulder and hauled him to his feet with Campbell’s help. Henry cried out and shuffled towards the ladder. “We’ll get you up these steps and, if you slip, I’ll catch you.”

Once they had carried Henry to the sickbay, Tom made his way through the ship, checking for other casualties. He moved through the smoke-filled corridors, hand in front of him as torchlight pierced the smog. Terror was sinking into his bones. Vic’s face flashed in his mind and he blinked. At every turn he feared tripping over another body. Breathing heavily, he fumbled his way around until a faint twittering pricked at his ears. There on the floor, cage upturned, was Vera. Tears filled Tom’s eyes as he righted the cage and peered in. In the corner, freckled and inconspicuous, lay an egg.

✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼

It was a typically crisp and overcast Wednesday in Manchester. Bess took the early shift that day and was sitting in the window of her bedroom, hair dripping as she dried it with a towel. Dot and Fergal were still working and, downstairs, she could hear Cora beginning dinner.

A flurry of movement caught her eye and she looked down the road to see Douglas Bennett pedalling furiously towards his house. He dropped his bicycle by the door and hurried inside. Best check on him later, she thought.

She moved from the window to the bed and lay her head on the pillow. From beneath the it she pulled out a small biscuit tin and lifted its lid. The letters she exchanged with Tom could no longer be contained in Bess’ books, and so she hid them under the bed with her box of buttons and ribbon. Tom’s face peered up at her from the top of the pile and she reached out for him. A violent shiver ran down her back and her blood ran cold. Bess stared back at him as ice prickled at her skin.

“Bess? I’ve been knocking,” Bess jolted and slammed the lid of the tin. Cora held the bedroom door in a white-knuckled grip, her doe eyes wide with concern. They glanced momentarily at the biscuit tin but she said nothing.

“What is it?” Bess’ voice was barely above a whisper.

Cora swallowed. “The Exeter,” her voice wobbled. “It’s been hit.”

Neither spoke. Not for a while. Not until Bess choked on the air. “Oh, my darling-” Cora made to move towards her sister but Bess was faster. She pelted from the room and down the stairs, slipped on her work boots and Albie’s overcoat before running into the yard. She wrestled her bike from the fence and cycled to the only place she could think of.

“Dadda?” Bess called out when she reached the dockyard, frantically searching for her father. A few people gave her pitying looks, and one man whistled at the sight of her in her nightdress and overcoat. “Dadda? Fergal Vaughn? Has anyone seen Fergal Vaughn?”

“Bess?” The voice came from behind her. She dismounted from the bike and watched her father emerge from a cabin, cup of tea in hand. He took in her ashen face and his cup fell to the floor. “My God,” he was striding towards her, hands outstretched. “What’s happened? What’s happened to my boy?”

“Nothing, Dadda,” Bess whispered weakly and her body slackened in front of him. Fergal caught her before she fell to the ground.

“What is it then, my girl?” He cupped her face in his large, calloused hands. “Tell me, my darling.” Concern overcame his face as he watched her.

“It’s Tom-” An ugly sob ripped her throat. “The Exeter-” And another. She had no need to say more, for Fergal had wrapped her in his arms and begun rocking her back and forth.

“Come. Let’s get you home.” The few onlookers watching the scene retreated as Fergal picked his daughter’s bike up from the ground. “Sit on the saddle, I’ll wheel you home like I used to.”  

The night had darkened by the time Fergal wheeled the bike onto their street. Lampposts were flickering into life, and his daughter’s sobs had subsided. She sat limply on the saddle, breathing deeply though still shaking. They came to rest outside the front door and Bess moved to stand. Cora opened it before Fergal could retrieve his keys, and behind her Bess saw Dot perched on the staircase.

“A pot of tea, I think.” Fergal stepped inside and removed his coat. Dot moved to the kettle. One of Bess’ booted feet was barely over the threshold when a muffled cry caused them all to freeze. What followed were a series of loud crashes and more shouting.

“STOP! STOP IT” The voice was shouting. More crashes sounded.

“Douglas,” Bess whispered and ran across the street. The front door was unlocked, and Bess entered in time to see Douglas pick up the wireless and throw it against the table, copper wire spilling from the splintered wood.

“I want him back,” Douglas’ voice broke as he shouted. “I want him back! I want my boy back!” Bess ran to him and gripped his arms. He folded into a chair and his body heaved as tears mingled with the salty tracks already coating his face. She held him tightly, cooing and soothing him as he shook.

“Douglas.” Fergal’s voice was firm. Bess watched as her father entered the kitchen and placed a hand on his friend’s back. “You’ll stay with us tonight.” It was a statement, not a question. Douglas nodded in Bess’ arms and stood to be led away. Bess turned down the paraffin lamp and followed her father back into the house. Cora was already pouring five cups of tea when Douglas slumped into the armchair. Dot ran downstairs with a blanket and draped it across his shoulders, before wrapping her arms around him. Bess joined her, as did Cora. The Vaughn girls took Douglas in their arms, and Fergal watched with pride as fear for his own son worried his nerves.  

✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼

The HMS Exeter juddered through the South Atlantic, aflame but afloat. Tom Bennett made his solitary way along the upper deck, glancing at the debris of ship and sailor as he did so. Coughing, he came across a row of tarpaulins. Hammocks. Each was bundled and he knew that beneath were the bodies of the crew. The breeze from the water had blown one away and Tom paused as he looked down at the man. It was Vic.

“I’m sorry.” Tom said as he knelt beside Vic’s body. “I should have shook your hand.” With bloodied hands, Tom covered his face and stilled for a while.

“Didn’t have you down for the praying type, Bennett.” Campbell approached him with a cigarette. He didn’t offer one to Tom.

“I wasn’t praying sir.” Tom stood. “I wouldn’t give God the work. He’s got enough on his plate sorting this shit out.”

Campbell nodded. “Hell of a crew. I’m proud of every one of you. You took part in a famous victory today, Bennett. You should be very proud.”

“Yes, sir.” He felt sick. “I am, sir.” Campbell left him to his thoughts, and Tom looked around. Bloodied and battered men lined the deck railings, and he could barely distinguish one from another. One sailor still had his cap on perfectly and was attending to some of the wounded.

“Oi, Terry. Your winnings mate.” Terry watched Tom approach, bemused. “You were as near eleven hundred hours. Well done, yeah?”

Terry didn’t move. After a moment, he said “I can’t take this. Half the lads who bet on it are dead.”

“Well, you can do what you like with your half. All the lads put in fair and square. It’s our money now.”

Terry eyed him. “Well, I think we should give it to the widows. Or the chaplain or something-”

“We’re in the Atlantic.” Tom wanted to scream. “Off a country I’ve never heard of, chasing a ship I can’t even fucking pronounce.”

“What has any of that got to do with the money?” Terry asked in disbelief.

“Vic’s dead,” Tom said simply. “And I never got to shake his hand. The world’s fucked mate, so look after number one.”

Terry laughed bitterly and thrust the coin purse at Tom’s chest. “Keep the fucking lot.” Hot panic flushed Tom’s cheeks and his chest began to heave. He had to get out. One way or another.  

✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼

“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name,” the crew chorused in solemn unison. Those who remained uninjured hadn’t slept through the night, working to put out the fire and prevent the ship from sinking. Tom stood by the gun turret, eyes bloodshot and unmoving as he listened to the men praying. He didn’t join in. Despondent and weary, when Campbell had finished the memorial service, he made his way below deck to the sickbay.

He glanced around but could see no sign of the man he was looking for. Cap in one hand and coin purse in the other, he moved through the cramped deck, between injured men and those assisting them. Someone passed him a cigarette and he took a puff. As he handed it back, his target came into view. Arm bandaged, and gazing sadly through the porthole by his bunk, was Henry. He seemed to sense someone’s eyes on him, for he inclined his head as Tom moved forward and placed the money in his lap.

“I know it won’t go far, but you need it more than me so-” Tom trailed off. Henry watched him. He’d never known Tom Bennett so quiet.

“Thank you for seeing me right after it happened,” he nodded to the covered remnants of his arm. Tom shook his head as though saving another man’s life was nothing.

“Graf Spee has sunk,” he said finally.

“What, did we hit her?”

“Nah, captain scuttled his own ship so we couldn’t take her. Shot himself. Don’t know if that counts as one for us, what with it being an own goal-”

“Shut your noise, will you?” Henry hissed, though it made Tom smile. There was a moment’s more silence.

“Don’t tell anyone I’ve done this,” Tom said softly to Henry.

“Yeah, I’ve heard they’ve been giving you grief about the money.”

 “Yeah, well I ain’t doing it for the lads.” Tom was quick to correct him. “I’m doing it for Vic. Sort of soppy thing he’d do, isn’t it?”

Henry nodded, and Tom continued. “This doesn’t make us mates.”

“No,” Henry half-smiled. “Thank you for the money.” The smile Tom returned was gentle and genuine. He nodded to Henry’s arm.

“Maybe you could put it towards a hook?” Before Henry could retort, Tom meandered away and out of sight. A moment later, he returned.

“Could you lend us a few bob, Henry?”

“Jesus Christ-”

“Not for me!” Tom held up a placating hand. “Just need a little to send home.” Henry handed over sixpence and Tom touched his cap. She’ll have to get a photo now, he thought.

Note: Hitler’s Only Got One Ball was a British war song. This was hard to write because there is so much dialogue in the show. Watching it back closely to get the transcript, there are a few moments where you can see Tom beginning to panic. So well acted by EM! Next chapter should be up soon. I know I said it last time, but I’m so excited about the next couple of chapters!

Tags: @aemonds-wifey @multiple-fandoms-girl @jessssica1234 @babyblue711 @anditsmywholeheart @allthefandomtherapy @valerie977 @bookwyrmsblog @phantomontheinternet @chainsawsangel @greenowlfactif @thelittleswanao3 @yentroucnagol @beiigegalx @skikikikiikhhjuuh @just-emmaaaa

[mariana-oconnor]

Charles Augustus Milverton pt 3

Last we left off, our intrepid heroes were indulging in a bit of light safe cracking and Watson was discovering some things about himself and his relationship with the law. (Watson has a Robin Hood complex, I'm telling you)

Of course, then their criminal activities were disturbed by a mysterious noise.

So far I had not dared to look out, but now I gently parted the division of the curtains in front of me and peeped through. From the pressure of Holmes's shoulder against mine I knew that he was sharing my observations.

Very tense moment, but the image of the two of them, one head above the other, peering through a crack in the curtains is very cartoonish in my head.

Right in front of us, and almost within our reach, was the broad, rounded back of Milverton.

Just... hit him with something. It's fine. Murder can just be another fun thing to add to your criminal resume.

I felt Holmes's hand steal into mine and give me a reassuring shake, as if to say that the situation was within his powers and that he was easy in his mind.

I believe this is the second hand-holding of the story.

In my own mind I had determined that if I were sure, from the rigidity of his gaze, that it had caught his eye, I would at once spring out, throw my great-coat over his head, pinion him, and leave the rest to Holmes.

I knew you were planning murder, Watson! Well, accessory to murder. But still.

The idea, however, that he might have an appointment at so strange an hour never occurred to me until a faint sound reached my ears from the veranda outside.

A rendezvous? At this time of night? How scandalous.

“It is I,” she said; “the woman whose life you have ruined.”

Well, who's about to get murdered. As is the general fate of blackmailers in murder mysteries. If you ever find yourself in a murder mystery story, don't blackmail anyone. It's the surest route to becoming a victim possible, right up there with saying 'I just remembered something' to someone in a public place but refusing to say anything until you're sure.

“So you sent the letters to my husband, and he—the noblest gentleman that ever lived, a man whose boots I was never worthy to lace—he broke his gallant heart and died."

Firstly, lady, you need to get over your self-recriminations. I bet your husband had done some things that were at least as bad. And also... people in these stories die of the silliest things sometimes. Did he have a heart attack because of the shock, or did he literally die of a broken heart because he found out some secret of yours? What was the secret? If it was just that you sent some letters to another man before you were married, then he really overreacted.

"But I will make allowance for your natural anger. Leave the room at once as you came, and I will say no more.”

That's very big talk for someone who's about to die.

“You will ruin no more lives as you ruined mine. You will wring no more hearts as you wrung mine. I will free the world of a poisonous thing. Take that, you hound, and that!—and that!—and that!”

“You've done me,” he cried, and lay still.

The singularly least dramatic last words. I love it. You can't even say something cool when you're dying.

The woman looked at him intently and ground her heel into his upturned face.

With perfect coolness Holmes slipped across to the safe, filled his two arms with bundles of letters, and poured them all into the fire. Again and again he did it, until the safe was empty.

Holmes having his priorities in order. Getting rid of everything.

A daring chase across the garden! Scaling a wall! Kicking free of a pursuer! 2 miles across the heath! The drama! The...

We had breakfasted and were smoking our morning pipe...

Sudden and unexpected change in tone. 🤣

(Also, do they share a pipe?)

Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, very solemn and impressive, was ushered into our modest sitting-room.

Oh hai, Lestrade!

That's a very respectful description of Lestrade from you Watson. By the time you wrote this had the two of you become better friends, or are you just trying to butter him up in case he comes to ask you about this story you just published in which you admit to burglary and being an accessory to murder?

“That's rather vague,” said Sherlock Holmes. “Why, it might be a description of Watson!” “It's true,” said the inspector, with much amusement. “It might be a description of Watson.”

OK. Is the amusement here because Lestrade thinks it's a ridiculous idea or is the amusement here because Lestrade sees through Sherlock's facade of innocence? It could go either way. Holmes isn't really trying to hide it very well, though.

I'm going to choose to view it as Lestrade knowing, but having no evidence to accuse them on. Mainly because I'm quite fond of Lestrade (only partially because of his portrayal by Rupert Graves) and I like to occasionally believe him capable of more than just getting things wrong. I will allow that his track record with such things in the stories is less than stellar, though. It's unclear whether ACD meant it one way or the other.

And they are protecting the identity of some unnamed noble lady. I'm sure Watson's exploding from the chivalry and adrenaline of it all.

And thus Charles Augustus Milverton died ignominiously with terrible famous last words and no one cared a jot. Even the police, really. RIP to The Worst.

[pearlsofthec]

While not as celebratory as October (MY B-DAY MONTH!) and not yet as festive as December, November is a month that’s always full of promises to me. It’s the month when I usually swear to myself I'll get everything done, so I can try to relax when it's Christmas time. While my productivity levels aren't as consistent as I'd like them to be, my will to be productive certainly is. I'm definitely a list kind of girl, loving making them just as much as I enjoy reading them in magazines and on archive blogs from the 2010s (classygirlswearpearls and rookie magazine, I’m looking at you guys). So what better way to start the month and try to get myself together than by writing a big ole' list? My November Guideline:

To be inspired

On TV: Spencer Hastings, Blair Waldorf, Tanner Hall

I may have only watched a season and a half of Pretty Little Liars, but that absolutely doesn't stop me from loving and pinning essentially every single outfit ever worn by Spencer Hastings on television, EVER. I love the way it's simultaneously classic and dated. I've never been one to fear a dated style or outfits that might one day make me sigh and go, "Oh my God, that was so ten years ago for me." I guess that's my way of contributing to history and experimenting with the millions of inspirations I'm constantly bombarded with via social media. I specifically love this aspect of her style, how she wears what she wants, what she loves, but always communicates a deep appreciation for a more traditional way of dressing. 

A lot of the same things can be said about Blair. Again, a character from a TV series I haven't watched all the way through (I can't make it past the first few episodes of season 3, sorry!), who was a pillar of preppiness back in the day, and is still wildly beloved, despite having committed a few fashion faux pas in my opinion. The craziness of it all and even the grandma-ness of it all actually fascinate me about Blair's wardrobe. How she constantly projects a vision of who she needs to be. Spencer does the same, obviously, but with Blair, it's almost like she viewed every day of her life, every problem she needed to face, as a new plotline of an old movie that needed to unravel. For each plotline, she reacted as a different heroine would, and each heroine, naturally, expressed herself differently through fashion. I just love these characters she creates for herself, and I feel like I often have the same instinct to curate an outfit like that when getting ready.

Tanner Hall, directed by Diane von Fürstenberg's daughter, Tatiana, is in the same aesthetic line as the previous mentions. The movie is set in a quintessential New England boarding school, where beiges, browns, and muted greens seem to be the only existent colors. The whole wardrobe is gorgeous, designed by DVF, and the holy grail for all those who are obsessed with an old-time preppiness. While the movie's plot may be flawed, its attempt to portray the delicious whimsy and melancholy of a girlhood that tries to expand inside the claustrophobic gates of the school is genuine and comes from what, to me, is a mixture of personal history and folklorized memories. I really like the softness of it all; you can almost smell the crisp apple scent through the screen.

On the web: 2010s Emma Watson, Silly Lettuce, Eva Meloche 

I can't really explain my current fixation on Emma Watson, but I have the feeling it has something to do with the fact I've been looping her Burberry campaigns practically every day. The songs are so reminiscent of a carefree city life, going on long taxi drives in the rain and putting your hands over the steam of your coffee on a cold day in the park with your friend, wet fall leaves on the cement sidewalk. I used to admire Emma Watson a lot when I was younger, and it's nice to rediscover this fondness for her. And let's be honest, she is definitely one of the founders of the gamine community; all I have, I owe to her!

Now, my current admiration for @silly_lettuce on Instagram is totally aesthetic, and I'm not afraid to say it. Gorgeous girl, gorgeous outfits, what's not to love. I could go on and on about her style in general, the silhouettes she wears, the boots, the knee-high socks, but instead, I'll just urge you to check out her page! So timeless, yet so young, fun, fresh, and COOL!!!! 

Eva Meloche is a YouTuber I've been watching for as long as I can remember, and not only do I adore the calm energy all of her videos exude, but I also really love her travel stories and spot recommendations in general, which always come in handy. Oh, and, of course, she has impeccable taste. Even though her style is different from mine, I guess I use her content as a way to explore.

To wear 

I think it's totally healthy to have an everlasting lust for new clothes and new products. Maybe it's because the holiday energy is already lingering in the air, or maybe it's because I'm fresh out of a father and daughter trip to Paris, but recently, I've been loving to revisit my old favorites. And by old, I mean back-when-I-was-twelve old, which includes:

Red Valentino patterned A-line dresses

Ok, I know they may be a bit too young, but if you get it, you get it, I guess. With some ballerinas or Mary Jane pumps, a cute overcoat, and a nice pair of sunglasses, you'll look positively '60s. Honestly, any A-line dress works, but RED V makes me remember my trips with my grandparents and going shopping with them.

The Cardi-blazer 

So basic, I know, but I cannot stop thinking about the Ba&Sh Gaspard cardigan and Guspard blazer. I just love how it elevates a basic outfit. With a pair of jeans and a trench coat over it, it has infinite potential. I can definitely see myself wearing it to a lunch with friends, for some afternoon shopping, or just for a coffee run. I love the Ba&Sh cardi-blazers, specifically because of how cool they look without ever being an "in-your-face" type of item. The buttons are nice and discreet, and the style is put together but not excessively frumpy.

Flap Brogue

Maybe it's the Miu Miu enthusiast in me, but ever since they released the new collection of shoes with Church's (my dad's fave), I've been loving all outfits that include a pair of brogues. I already had a pair of light brown oxfords (which are my one true love), but I really wanted something in black and thought that a pair of flap brogues would be a nice addition. They're perfect to wear with sheer hosiery, a mini jean skirt, and a cozy black sweater to tie it all together.

Statement sweater

Talking about sweaters... I just have so many cool statement ones living in my brain recently; it's a bit concerning. What's better than wearing a huge sweater that screams "look at me" when going out with friends or having a nice dinner party? I've been specifically lusting over two models: the Kritzia glittery, oversized turtlenecks with animal motifs and the Zadig and Voltaire Alma "rock and roll" red one.

Statement everyday shoes 

It's so 2016 to talk about Golden Gooses, but... I just love them. I happened to buy them after quite a bit of time resisting after I found myself with soaked ballerinas after a violent rainstorm, soon-to-be late to my lunch reservation. The Golden Goose store was my knight in shining armor, literally, offering me shelter and shoes. And maybe it was the desperation, maybe it was the pink sparkly star, but all I know was that I left that store in a glittery haze, enamored by the sneakers I'd just impulsively bought. No regrets!

To Discover

Maison millais (The Eloise perfume specifically… i need it)

Armocromia

Isak Zenou

Brai (pyjamas)

Louvini

Sekiguchi dolls

[holmesillustrations]

Vote for your favourite, the top 9 will proceed in the bracket. Since theyre all different shapes and sizes, make sure to click into the full views!

Paget Eliminations // Other Artist Eliminations

Full captions and details for each illustration below the cut:

All Sidney Paget illustrations are for the Strand Jul 1891 - Dec 1904

"I found myself mumbling responses." Scandal in Bohemia Characters: Holmes, Irene Adler, Godfrey Norton, Vicar

"Mr John Turner" said the waiter.” Boscombe Valley Characters: Waiter, John Turner

"We got off, paid our fare." Speckled Band Characters: Holmes, Watson

"Taking up a glowing cinder with the tongs." Copper Beeches Characters: Holmes, Watson

"Tell me everything," said I." Yellow Face Characters: Grant and Effie Munro

"I'll fill a vacant peg then." Crooked Man Characters: Holmes, Watson

"A nobleman." Naval Treaty Characters: Holmes, Lord Holdhurst, Watson

"Here are the names of twenty-three hotels." Hound of the Baskervilles Characters: Holmes, Postmaster, James (Telegram Boy)

"It was the face of Selden, the criminal." Hound of the Baskervilles Characters: Watson, Selden, Holmes

"Holmes held up the paper." Dancing Men Characters: Watson, Hilton Cubitt, Holmes

"We sat down and we drank and we yarned about old times." Black Peter Characters: Patrick Cairns, Capt Peter Carey

"Did you take any message to Mr. Staunton?" Missing Three-quarter Characters: Holmes, Watson, Cyril Overton, Waiter

[jhilsara]

I Can See You

Pt. 1/ Pt. 2/ Pt. 3/ Pt. 4/ Pt. 5/pt. 6/Pt. 7/Pt. 8/Pt. 9/ Pt. 10/

Pt. 11/ Pt.12/Pt.13/Pt. 14/Pt.15/Pt.16/Pt.17/END

Mariana Jimenez-Watson or MJ works in a normal pub living life paycheck to paycheck. Nothing exciting happens to her except the occasional drunk getting thrown out. She's 24 working away and finds a wrench thrown into her very boring life. His name is Hobie and she thinks maybe, a little excitement isn't awful. In fact she might start to crave some change for once.

Small moments of Hobie meeting his world's MJ. AKA I made an MJ variant and I think she's neat.

Chapter 7

Mariana's out buying a few bottles from the liquor store, to pick up for the pub. It was suppose to be a quick in and out, but everything just goes to shit and throws her day off.

She sees something zoom by in a blur out of the corner of her eye. She turns to the window and sees Hobie, well Spider-Man, in the middle of a fight that was getting closer to her. Before she can even think to pay for her purchase, the clerk is scrambling to get out the back door. She sees a crowd rushing to get off the streets and the hoard screams as they run for their lives.

She’s frozen in place, eyes glued to the window, watching Hobie in the distance. She shuffles on her feet for a second, knowing she should run back to the pub, but she doesn’t. All she can think about is how the last time Hobie fought the Goblin he ended up bleeding out in her floor. She can't leave, she feels something deep in her gut compel her forward.

“Fuck me…” She mutters to herself, knowing it’s a bad idea to go out there. A very bad idea. She never said she was bright though. Her self-preservation has never been her biggest trait, especially when it comes to her friends. She sees Hobie's bloody body flash in her memory and it's enough to push her forward.

 She runs out the front door of the store, trying to get a better look. She’s has to help. She doesn't know how she will, but she has to. She’s almost knocked over by group of people running past her, scattering the streets to get as far away as possible. Bodies pushing past her, ricocheting her around between people like a pinball.  

She sees the Goblin's silhouette and her stomach churns. They're the person who can hurt Hobie. She feels a bubble of rage building in her.

She’s still standing in front of the liquor store on the empty streets. The Goblin’s face turns looking towards her. Ice runs through her freezing her in place. The Goblin's masked gaze looking through her. They don’t move just keep staring at her, fidgeting with the bomb in their hands.

She realizes they're not looking at her, but the liquor store behind her. A bomb to a liquor store would cause a massive explosion, and she's just collateral damage. She feels her feet move as she tries to escape, but everything happens in slow motion. She sees Hobie turning to follow the Golbin’s line of sight, his masks eyes widening as he locks onto her.

He’s swinging toward her, almost tunnel vision trying to get to her. The bomb is hurled toward the store. He’s desperately trying to be faster then the Goblin’s explosive. He shoots his web towards her, trying to pull her to him and swing them to safety. The projectile hits the liquor store and the explosion goes off. The building combusting, bricks flying, fire raging, and glass shards moving as deadly projectiles. 

Hobie has MJ in his arms but the two are flung to the ground, rolling into the street.

She can’t hear anything, or rather she can, it’s all just ringing in her ears. She’s struggling to move, but she knows Hobie’s on top of her. His body shielding her from the falling debris.

She sees his chest moving rapidly and she thinks he’s coughing. Everything around her sounds too far away and too close at the same time. Her visions blurry and she’s in more pain than she’d care to admit. She can't see past Hobie's body and the bright light of fire and the darkness of smoke. 

She groans as she tries to pry herself off the street to sit up. Hobie’s in front of her, and while she can’t see his face, she knows he’s frowning or glaring at her. Probably a mixture of both.

His head turns trying to look for the Goblin through the smoke and fire. He can’t see much past their small area though. He grunts and turns to look back to her.

She feels his eyes look her over, assessing the damage. He moves to help her up, trying to be as gentle as he can. She hisses in pain, eyes widening for a moment. She feels something wet on her face and she realizes she’s bleeding. She goes to touch her forehead and recoils from her own hand.

She’s definitely going to get scolded when this is all over.

Hobie leads them through the smolder and on the outskirts there's flashing red and white lights. There’s a few ambulances and firetrucks arriving trying to maintain control over the situation. Hobie takes her to one of the EMT’s and hands her off like a kid. She gives him a confused look.

“Don’t, do not look at me like that,” He tells her softly before turning to the medic. “Take care of her and don’t let her out of your sight… She’ll go runnin’ back in.” He gives her an accusing look at the end of his sentence.

She’s in a lot of pain but she’s not letting him go back without a fight, “Don’t do that to me,” she moves to get up but he’s faster. He’s webbed her hands down before she can even fully stand up.

She shoots him a nasty glare, “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” she demands.

Hobie ignores her and addresses the EMT, “I’ll be back for her, don’t let her wonder off alright?”

She groans and bites her tongue to stop herself from screaming his name in irritation. She loses sight of him quickly as he disappears into the smoke. She tries to pull against the webs, but she knows it’s useless. She turns to the EMT who looks at her in confusion and a hint of amusement.

She gives the guy a pointed glare and tilts her head down to her hands, wiggling her fingers in exaggeration.

“I don’t, Spider-Man said to not let you out…” he tries to tell her, voice much too timid.

She leans forward and meets the man with her much stronger conviction, “If you don’t get this web off of me… you better hope you’re gone when he get’s back.” She growls out at him.

He blinks for a moment before he immediately is cutting the webs. She doesn’t know what he saw on her face, but it was enough to scare him into helping her.

Once she’s free she assesses her surroundings, trying to find the best course of action. The smoke is still billowing up and there’s a large fire that two trucks are actively trying to contain. Explosions are still happening, she can hear them in the distance. So Hobie’s still fighting.

She turns to the EMT, an idea popping into her head. “Do you have any flares or a flare gun would be better?” she asks him frantically.

The man blinks at her and points to the firetruck that’s on the outskirts with him. She nods her head and jogs over. Her body is screaming at her but she doesn’t care. She has one goal in mind.

She grabs one of the firefighters, “Do you have a flare gun?!” She demands, voice firm.

He is taken aback by her but he points over to the equipment they have out. She doesn’t do more than quickly look over and find what she’s looking for. She snatches it and goes running off back into the smog. They man tries to call out after her, but his yells fall on deaf ears.

She’s sprinting towards the noise. Her field of vision is short and she doesn’t have a lot to go off of. The airs thick and she hacking up a lung, but she’s thankful she has decent cover.

She can see the Goblin before she sees Hobie. The lights at the bottom of their glider makes it a beacon for her.

She checks her flare gun and counts. She has three shots. She has to make them count.

She’s trying to find something to give herself a better view. She notices a fire escape on the side of one of the buildings and doesn’t hesitate to start climbing. She climbs until she’s about level with the glider’s lights.

She raises the flare gun and tries to keep her aim steady. She can’t afford to miss. The flare alone won’t kill the Goblin, but it will explode their own mass number of bombs. That’s all she needs. She just has to take them out, just long enough to help Hobie.

She can’t see much besides the lights and not knowing where to look for Hobie is her only concern. She takes a deep breath, positions herself, following the lights and shoots.

She sees the flare light up a bright red and fly across they sky. It lights up the area that surrounds it. She can see that it just skims past the Goblin.

“Fuck!” She mutters angrily.

She sees the glider move, it wobbles and turns toward her direction. In her panic she aims again, sending a second flare. If the Goblin get’s close to her there is no guarantee Hobie can save her. He thinks she’s stuck with the EMT.

She has to do this quickly because she's on her own.

Her aims slightly better this time, and she it nicks the Goblin. It's still not what she needs and it doesn’t do much besides irritate the villain.

“God dammit! I can’t be muckin’ about right now!” She growls to herself.

 She goes to aim once more but the lights that have been encroaching upon her suddenly spiral as if they were knocked away. She sighs in relief, but now her aim is totally off. To be fair, it was off to begin with. She can see the glider frantically moving and she literally cannot waste her last shot. She decides she has to get closer. She's of no help if she just wastes three shots and annoys the villain. She refuses to be a nuisance.  

She goes back down to the street to try and follow the glider. She’s running trying to keep up with it. Her lungs are burning from inhaling the smoke around her but she doesn’t care, she’s determined to take the Goblin out.

When she finally finds herself close enough she stays low to the ground. She sees them fighting above her. She has to time this perfectly.

She sees the Goblin hover, unmoving for a split second. They look around, trying to find Spider-Man. He’s taken this chance to hid in the smoke. She doesn’t waste her time and aims the flare gun up at the bottom of the glider and shoots. The glider, from what she remembers, has countless bombs attached to the bottom of it.

The Goblin sees the light but doesn’t have the reflexes to dodge or understand what’s happening until it’s too late. The glider combusts.

Even with the Goblin high above her, it’s not far enough away that she can escape the blast zone. The explosion sends her hurling back. She hits the ground hard, her head hitting the concrete with a gross crack.

Her vision swims in front of her as she lays down on the ground. There's a blurry form of someone running toward her, her ears are ringing, head throbbing in pain. She loses consciousness before she can even decipher who's running toward her.

When she finally comes to, she’s in the back of the ambulance and she’s hooked up to an IV and and a heart monitor. The noises a low thrum in the background. 

She groans and tries to move but she feels someone grip her wrist in their hands. The gloved hand tells her its Hobie.

Her eyes drag slowly over to him, “You’re so stupid ya know that?” He mumbles to her, tightening his grip.

She looks at his masked face and wishes she could see his expression. Maybe she doesn’t though. It’s easier to talk to him if she can’t see his brows furrowed at her. Or a scowl of disappointment on his face.

The EMT is on her other side, working on her, “She’ll be good to go soon, nothing too damaging." He reassures them. "Except maybe some damage to her decision-making skills.” He mumbles.

She turns her head slowly to glare down the EMT and she’s surprised it’s the same one who cut the webs off her. She raises an accusatory brow at him.

He stands quickly, “I’ll uh, let you two have a minute.” He says stumbling to get out and close the doors.

As soon as the third party leaves the tension in the small truck is palpable.

She can feel his eyes, regardless of if they’re behind his mask, burning holes into her. He takes his mask off once he knows the EMT is gone. She brings her eyes over to look at him and his stare is stony. He won’t move his eyes away from her. They roam her body, looking at the damage.

She takes a deep breath, “Hobie-” She starts to talk but he stops her.

He leans over her, gently cupping her face and looking into her eyes in the way he always does. That gaze that’s too intense, like he’s picking apart her soul.

She hears the heart monitor spike up. She almost curses the damn machine out. She tries to even out her breathing.

“I need you to listen to me when I tell you to stay back.” He tells her, voice low and more serious than she’s used too.

“I know, but I couldn’t sit there when you could have died back there!” she starts to defend herself, her voice rising.

“That’s not for you to worry ‘bout, I can’t-” He starts to say but looks away. He stands fully and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I can’t always protect you and I don’t know what to do if that happens.” He says quietly, his back turned to her.

She sits up slowly and narrows her eyes at him. She can feel herself getting irritated in her own righteous fury.

“And you think I don’t want to protect you?!” she asks accusingly.

She gives a huff of disbelief, “You are so busy, fighting to keep this city safe, and you don’t look after yourself half the time!” she tells him her voice cracking as she tries to hold back.

He turns quickly to her, “I signed up for this, I know what I get into everyday MJ!” he tells her with a ferocity behind his gaze she’s never seen before. “I know how to handle myself, you don’t!” He says, his tone hard.

She meets him with her own volatile emotions, “I can’t just sit and wait for you to crawl into my window at night to patch you up Hobie! I can’t, I refuse.” She says shaking her head and avoids his eyes.

She takes a shaky breath, “I’m either in it with you or-” she can’t finish her sentence and runs her hands through her hair, bringing her knees up she rests her forehead on them.

He balks at her, “Or what? Ya givin’ me an ultimatum?” He says defensively.

“No! I’m not, I just-” she’s exhausted and angry tears are pricking at her eyes. “I just need… fuck,” she takes a sharp breath.

She looks up at him, “I’m not trying to make you run off okay? I’m not giving you an ultimatum but you can’t give me one either.” She pleads.

“Telling me to not help you when I can, isn’t fair. You don’t get to tell me how to live my life.” She says looking up at him, trying to make him understand.

He instantly deflates and takes a step toward her, he takes a deep breath, “I’m not trying to tell ya what to do luv, alright?” He sits and grasps her hands in his tightly.  

“I just can’t lose you.”

Her heart monitor, while it has been going crazy, spikes loudly at his words. She wants to throw the treacherous thing out right now. Her heart feels like it’s going to explode.

“I don’t want to lose you either.” She says softly, gripping his hands. “I need you to not put me on the sidelines okay? I’m asking you to trust me a little.” She says.

He sighs and pulls her into a tight embrace, Shoving his head into her neck, “M’sorry alright.” He murmurs softly.

She wraps her arms tightly around him too, clinging onto him.

“How do you feel?” He asks pulling back, brushing her hair out of her face.

“Sore, but fine I think.” She says giving him a soft smile.

“Let’s get you home.” He presses a kiss to her forehead that makes her face heat up.

He pulls his mask back on and opens the ambulance door looking for the EMT.

She sits there for a moment just taking in what happened. Her face is warm and she can’t stop her heart from pounding.

She rubs her face and sighs, she’s too caught up in him… and she doesn’t think she wants out.

[queeniecook]

June 3

Yesterday, after Caleb left to go see Lilith, Rahmi and I had an uneventful afternoon at the house. We watched all the Ghostbusters movies with her three kids. It was a much needed escape for the Watson family because today was the day of Rahmi and Thomas’ divorce hearing.

I went with Rahmi to the hearing, while Caleb entertained Rahmi’s kids at the Watson family farm.

Honorable judge Dallas Brown was the overseer for the day. I totally forgot that Mina married a judge.

Naturally, Thomas brought his “friend” along.

“Your honor, as stated in the papers Rahmi was served with, I don’t intend to try to take the kids away from her. I want visitation rights. She’s always been a great mother to them and I don’t want to make things harder on them during all of this.” Thomas started.

I wanted to awkwardly pregnant lady stand from my seat and yell at him. If he doesn’t want to make things worse for the kids, why go after the farm?! But, I kept my mouth shut. I’m sure Rahmi had the same thoughts as myself during his speech.

“The farm has been in my family for generations. MY FAMILY. Not hers. When my parents had their will written up, I’m sure they never dreamed of Rahmi and I parting ways. I never dreamed it would happen back then either.” He continued. Perhaps that was true, but he’s the one who strayed. 

“I just want what is my birth right. Of course the kids would all inherit it from me when I pass on, this isn’t about taking anything away from them. It’s about what’s been taken from me.”

I rolled my eyes so hard they almost fell out of my head.

Finally, it was Rahmi’s turn.

“Joe and Beverly Watson stated in their will that I would get the farm if Thomas and I ever got a divorce. That was their wishes, in black and white. Thomas didn’t object to them putting that in the will, he knew about it. He was fine with it. If he wanted to object, he should have done it back then.” Rahmi stated simply and sat back down. I had to hold myself back from clapping. 

The lawyers – Angela Pleasant for Rahmi and Kaci Sherwood for Thomas, were allowed to go back and forth with stipulations and compromises before presenting things to the Judge Brown.

Ten minutes later ~

“I have great news! Judge Brown sided with you, since it was clearly Mr. and Mrs. Watson’s wishes and they made them in  sound mind with witnesses, Thomas doesn’t have much of a case.” Miss Pleasant informed us. 

Rahmi breathed a sigh of relief as did I. I was fully prepared to open mine and Caleb’s home to the better parts of the Watson clan but the idea of their family farm being ripped from all of them was tragic.

“Everything else is settled as well. The divorce is going through as well as the custody agreement.” Miss Pleasant added, I zoned out after that because it was a lot of lawyer speak.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Watson, but what Rahmi said was correct. Your time to object to the will and actually be able to do anything about it would have been back when they were drafting it.” I overheard Miss Sherwood telling Thomas and Florence. 

It wasn’t long before there was a explosion.

“I can’t believe you let that trollop get the farm and all that land! Why would you ever agree to let something go to her?!” Miss Florence berated Thomas loud enough for all of us to hear it. 

“I thought we would be together forever like my parents! That’s why it wasn’t an issue!” Thomas snapped back. 

Florence’s face twisted in disgust. “Love doesn’t last. Only money does.” 

“You’re not who I thought you were.” Rahmi’s soon to be ex husband mumbled to his floozy. 

Florence huffed and with dramatic flair, flung opened the courtroom doors and stomped outside. Hopefully to never be seen or heard from again.

I shared a victory hug with Rahmi after Thomas left with his counsel.

We also celebrated with some food, because I was starving! I’m really glad things worked out for Rahmi and her family today.

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

Credit for courtroom set goes to shelby628 on the gallery.

[droughtofapathy]

The Gilded Age's Broadway Divas: Caroline "Lina" Schermerhorn Astor (Donna Murphy)

A queen among her people, Mrs. Astor rules over New York high society, and spends the show being challenged by New Money Bertha Russell at every turn.

Two-time Tony winner Donna Murphy is one of Broadway's greatest Divas. Though most recognize her as the voice of Disney's Mother Gothel in Rapunzel, her voice is better known to me personally as one of my earliest gay awakenings for her audiobook performance of Ruby Holler, but that's a separate story. One of Sondheim's most beloved interpreters, Donna has such an expansive repertoire that limiting myself proved damn near impossible. Her Tonys for Best Actress in a Musical were in 1994 (Passion) and 1996 (The King and I) and I will forgive her for the later despite my documented hatred of that musical.

Other sumptuous performances include: The Mystery of Edwin Drood (Ensemble, later Drood), Wonderful Town (Ruth), Hello Dolly! (Bette Midler's Tuesday night alternative and superior performer in every way), and Encores! Dear World (my #1 theatre experience of 2023). With the later two, Donna is well on her way to achieving the Jerry Herman trifecta. Someone mount a production of Mame starring Donna Murphy as Mame.

#1: "Could I Leave You?" Follies - The Stephen Sondheim 80th Birthday Concert (2010)

Many a Diva has taken on this song, but no one can come close to the rapturous performance Donna Murphy gives during the iconic Ladies in Red segment of the Sondheim 80th birthday concert. This video right here is the reason I am the Sondheim woman that I am. There have been many women who have played Phyllis over the years, and I've fallen a little in love with all of them (Jan Maxwell, my beloved), but Donna is everything.

Surrounded by five other iconic Divas dressed in red, Donna shows that her acting choices whilst singing remain unmatched. The controlled start, the rapid devolution, the rage in that final word. And the strands of hair that will not stay out of her face. I am obsessed. The reactions of the other women (note Patti LuPone's glee and Marin Mazzie, dear friend and Passion co-star's bursting pride) say it all. The entire concert is one marvel after another. Do yourself a favor and watch it.

I consider this song one of Sondheim's greatest works (Send in the Clowns, eat your heart out...but also...Donna did that at the 90th birthday concert, so there's that too).

#2: "Hit Me With a Hot Note," a benefit for Fran Liebergall (2015) and What About Joan (2001)

I couldn't decide which version to post, so you get both. Congratulations. This song showcases Mrs. Astor's wild side as Donna delves into growls, shimmies, shakes, and belts. "Hit Me with a Hot Note" is a Duke Ellington song that appeared on Broadway in Jelly's Last Jam (which will receive an Encores! production this spring). I never thought a white woman could scat, but I'm not mad about it.

The first video is a concert benefit for Fran Liebergall in 2015. The second is from a short-lived tv series in the early 2000s where Donna plays Ruby Stern, a smart and staid doctor who has a dream of appearing on Broadway. Apparently, the producers of the show were totally unaware that two-time Tony winner for Leading Actress in a Musical Donna Murphy could sing. I'm just as shocked by that as you are.

#3: "Surabaya Johnny," LoveMusik (2007)

Mrs. Astor is one of many real-life historical figures on Donna Murphy's acting resume. Another real-life figure is that of Lotte Lenya, an Austrian-American actress and singer best known for her work/marriage with Kurt Weill. LoveMusik explores that relationship. Lotte Lenya had a distinctive voice, and here Donna transforms her own signature voice to match Lenya's.

LoveMusik received mixed reviews, but garnered four Tony nominations for Best Musical, and Best Leading Actors for Donna and for leading man Michael Cerveris, The Gilded Age's Mr. Watson.

Donna has truly perfected the way to break down during a song.

#4: "The Story of Lucy and Jessie," Follies (2007)

Prior to the Sondheim 80th, Donna played Phyllis Rogers Stone in the 2007 Encores! production of Follies (alongside Christine Baranski). This was considered her triumphant return to the New York stage following an unsteady attendance record in the early 2000s owing to a long battle with vocal hemorrhaging (running concurrently with multiple miscarriages). Her turn as the jaded former Follies girl was nothing short of sublime. In those days, Encores! concerts weren't remotely the fully choreographed shows they are now. Donna, who describes herself as a "singer who moves well," proves that in spades.

To my everlasting devastation, this clip omits the opening verse, but I think her legs more than make up for it. The little glove removal moment is a nod to an alternate number that has been used in place of this one depending on the production. For singers who are not as dance-capable, "Ah, But Underneath" offers up a sensational strip tease, and I, for one, would have liked to see that too, even if Lucy and Jessie is a better number.

#5: "Loving You," Passion (1994)

Though her riveting portrayal of a chronical ill woman who seduces a soldier in mid-19th century Italy earned Donna her first Tony, it was not a well-received show. Audiences disgusted by the obsessive and unattractive Fosca would cheer when she collapsed onstage every night. They couldn't fathom how Giorgio (Jere Shea) would leave his affair with the beautiful Clara (Marin Mazzie, who appears totally nude for the opening number) for a sicky woman like Fosca. Since then, like most Sondheim shows, we have come to appreciate the brilliance of the story, the score, and the actors with time.

Donna's immersion into this role is the stuff of Broadway legend. This song in particular, though simple in melody and lyrics, carries such deep emotion, and the way she sings as if every note pains her just ruins me. Her dramatic range cannot be praised enough. The entire proshot can be found HERE, and I cannot recommend it enough.

Story time: a few years ago I bid on the original lobby board that hung inside the theater, and I am now a proud owner of a piece of history. It stands in my living room and is nearly as tall as I am. It is my most treasured possession.

Bonus: For a more comprehensive of all things Donna Murphy, please enjoy this playlist curated by @princesspufferr. And if anyone wants a bootleg of Dear World, I've got you covered.

LINK TO MASTERPOST