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alectothinker · 8 months

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the unwanted guest reference compilation (revised, thank u tltblr!) (scroll down for additions)

every day i thank tamsyn muir for her planet sized brain (and the new short story). will be quoting heavily from TUG so spoilers under the cut!

woo this is a long one. (will probably miss stuff, im a non-western zoomer)

References are in the order that they appear in TUG ->

Pal’s mask being a reference to his shattered and glued-back-together skull:

“This is PALAMEDES SEXTUS, whose mask is distinguished by being plain, of shattered wood clumsily taped or glued back together.” (page 480)

Pain (slight pain) (jk. pretty good amount of pain)

2. An Inspector Calls by JB Priestly:

“IANTHE Oh — Inspector. How terribly good of you to call so late.” (page 483)

Ok there are so many other parallels to AIC in this story (the setting, the stage play format, overall message) and I’ve written briefly about it here

3. This better not awaken anything in me [original clip from community thank u @what3ver]

“[Ianthe gayly describing infinite strip poker with harrow] Yuck. I hope that hasn’t awakened anything in me.” (p492)

(she’s tucking the image away in her mind palace as we speak)

4. Ace attorney (i LAUGHED)

"Palamedes slams both hands down flat on the lid of the upper coffin, then thrusts his arm out to point an accusing finger at Ianthe. PALAMEDES you're avoiding the question!” (p493)

Insert ace attorney OBJECTION dot gif here

5. and right after ace attorney, Monty Python:

“IANTHE No. It's a fair cop, guv'nor. But, in this instance, society really is to blame.” (p493)

Probably a reference to Monty Python's Flying Circus, "Church Police". Quote taken from tvtropes:

Man: All right, it's a fair cop, but society's to blame. Church Policeman: Right, we'll arrest them instead.

6. Looney tunes:

“IANTHE (Brightly) That’s all, folks! Back after the break.” (p495)

Here’s a clip of porky pig saying it bc why not: That's All Folks HD

7. Hamlet

“VOICE ‘Use every man after his desert, and who should ‘scape whipping?’” (p500)

Original quote:

“Use every man according to his desert and who should 'scape whipping? Use them after your own honor and dignity, the less they deserve ... the more merit in your bounty.”

notes: very hot of dulcie to know shakespeare

8. Haters meme (?)

does this even count as a meme at this point. Idk but i love that dulcie said it.

“VOICE Truly, wonderful news for my haters.” (p501)

9. The bible (ofc)

“PALAMEDES (as if reciting) ‘And her body was like the chrysolite, and her face as the appearance of lighting, and her eyes as a burning lamp; and her arms, and all downward to the feet, like in appearance to glittering brass.’” (p502)

Palamedes quotes Daniel 10:6 when Dulcie reveals (?) herself to him. I'm not super familiar with the bible, but depending on dif sources from google (lol), the original quote describes either Christ or the angel Gabriel appearing to Daniel:

"And his body was like the chrysolite, and his face as the appearance of lightning, and his eyes as a burning lamp: and his arms, and all downward even to the feet, like in appearance to glittering brass: and the voice of his word like the voice of a multitude." (from the Douay-Rheims Bible)

ok finally stuff that might be a reference but I havent been able to figure out a lot has been figured out! additions from tltblr here:

p481

> probably nothing, but any significance re pal’s calling card being the skeleton hand? probably a reference to the skele hand harrow made him in htn (via @guyrunsbackwards)

p482

The Almond Room?? Is this anything. It seems so weirdly specific lol

“IANTHE the master will see you in the Almond Room, sir.”

crowdsourced possibilities:

the almond room representing babs' borrowed amygdala, which is involved in processing memory, decision making, and emotional response; would make sense for the investigation/interrogation to take place here (via @confusedbyinterface)

may be a reference to the game Clue, where the individual rooms in which the mystery happens have specific names (via @the-light-of-stars);

a reference to cyanide, which smells like almonds (@the-light-of-stars, @satans-poptarts); + @winged mentioned that in a lot of early 20th century whodunnits, someone has a revelation about the real conclusion when they smell almond somewhere it shouldn't be (vs pal and ianthe having their revelations about babs' soul in the almond room)

p487

"IANTHE False things have a piquancy which the real can never match. PALAMEDES is that from something? IANTHE Everything's from something.”

• ianthe is this actually from something. google yielded no straightforward results :(

p503

"IANTHE You look to me like a small boy holding a tail when he doesn’t even know where the donkey is.”

Nothing in particular just the image of tiny pal playing pin the tail on the donkey is so. He’s baby. Also he probably found a way to be very good at it via psychometry lol

@mayasaura: Under the circumstances, the donkey thing also reminded me of Buddhist parable of the blind men and the elephant, about the limits of perception in understanding the true nature of being. Or, to quote Wikipedia: "The moral of the parable is that humans have a tendency to claim absolute truth based on their limited, subjective experience" <- ianthe turbo roasting pal, love to see it

Miscellaneous / theatre techniques:

> What's up with the coffins?

@tangelotime: the coffins might be a black box theater technique, using boxes to represent certain settings rather than faithfully recreating them on the stage; @the-light-of-stars mentioned that the arrangement of the coffins depends on Pal's questions:

first he asks a philosophical question thus the arrangement in the style of a greek symposion - their style of dialogue also is in reference to Plato's work 'Symposion', as well as Ianthe offering Pal wine and the servants placing velvet cushions. The next question is about Babs' murder thus arrangement in style of a courtroom. Then a question about Gideon, the cavalier, thus arrangement in the style of a fencing ring. The last arrangement follow a question about Ianthe's motives for Corona and they are playing cards- both a classic trope symbolizing a battle of wits and a metaphor for Ianthe holding secrets (cards) that she has to reveal one by one (via @the-light-of-stars)

@transbutchbluess, @gwydionmisha also ID'd the greek symposium scene as a parody of a socratic/platonic dialogue, which "presents a discussion of moral and philosophical problems between two or more individuals illustrating the application of the Socratic method." (via wikipedia)

> continuing with the theme of theatre, @valence-positive also mentioned that the servants thumping the coffins at the same time after each question may be a theatre technique to underscore Pal's question; @winged made the connection to bells/gavels/gongs, which are often used for judgement (which occurs during the discussion of Babs' murder and Ianthe's intent/endgame.)

the coffin thumping might also be a reference to the bell toll in A Christmas Carol (via @winged again, you have a huge brain); it's also implied that Pal's visits parallel the three ghosts who visit Scrooge and induce a moral awakening:

"IANTHE Five minutes to midnight, I'd say. You can't last much longer, and we both know it. PAL You said that three visits ago." (p483)

vs the original novella by Charles Dickens (taken from sparknotes again):

“You (scrooge) will be haunted… by Three Spirits… Without their visits,” said the Ghost, “you cannot hope to shun the path I tread. Expect the first tomorrow, when the bell tolls One…. “Expect the second on the next night at the same hour. The third, upon the next night when the last stroke of Twelve has ceased to vibrate. Look to see me no more; and look that, for your own sake, you remember what has passed between us!”

Pal makes Ianthe realise that Babs' soul has been slowly fusing with hers all along, which is similar what the third ghost does in ACC:

"The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come leads Scrooge through a sequence of mysterious scenes relating to an unnamed man's recent death...Scrooge, anxious to learn the lesson of his latest visitor, begs to know the name of the dead man. After pleading with the ghost, Scrooge finds himself in a churchyard, the spirit pointing to a grave. Scrooge looks at the headstone and is shocked to read his own name."

Finally, like other references in TUG (An Inspector Calls, Dulcie's Hamlet quote), A Christmas Carol criticises the treatment of a disadvantaged class. AIC and ACC both end with the characters faced with the morality of their actions. (intertextuality! delicious)

I also thought the thumping was similar to the synchronisation thing we see in ntn:

"[Ianthe] flounced up the dais, threw herself back into her chair—the dead bodies jerked their left hips convulsively, all in unison" (Nona the Ninth, p335)

Ok that’s it thank u for reading the whole thing ???? And thank you so much for contributing guys! Feel free to leave a reply or dm me if you have any additions <3

#the unwanted guest spoilers #the locked tomb spoilers #most revisions/additions will be further down in the post!#im surrounded by big brains here and i love it #the locked tomb meta #the unwanted guest #the locked tomb #text

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chao-chachaslide · 2 years

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Did you know you can glitch out google slides

#guess who found out that maybe adding a different music file on each page perhaps wasn't such a good idea #it's not like it doesn't work anymore but the audio players no longer display properly and sometimes the music stops very abruptly #the sonic powerpoint is going to be the death of me #i have my english gcse tomorrow and i am freaking out because i can remember the sonic lore #but not 100 quotes from romeo&juliet and an inspector calls #help skksjkd #stfu miles

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kaivenom · 29 days

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My favourite book came to life?

Summary: you went with your brother's to solve a case but when you get there you start to realize similarities with the murders and witnesses with your favourite book.

Pairing: Gabriel x Winchester!reader

Warnings: none, murder scenes? but not explicit written

Masterlist

Finally the ride ended, you loved your brothers but being on a car with them for eight hours was suffocating sometimes. You closed your favourite book, the ride let you read it once again.

You checked in on the motel and create your covers, this time you were a FBI rookie again, you are always the rookie because you are the younger.

You three spent all the morning asking witnesses and seeing the murder scenarios. Something about the settings was strange, more strange than a creature killing people , this procedure sounds familiar to you somehow.

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

Two days passed since you got on the town and two new murders occured. Officially the assasin it's someonw who read your favourite book.

"I tell you guys, maybe it's a normal serial killer who it's a nerd for this book."

"I think we should be here one more day to check the theory."

That afternoon you visited the new witness, she opened the door dressed like a character from the book and refused to be called by her real name.

"Officially it's a monster, she is completely brain-washed."

"How can we talk to her? Use your book knowledge."

After one hour you convinced her to speak to you about it, you told her you were the inspector from the book and she started to open up.

You said goodbye to the woman and left the house, before getting into the impala, your Dean picked some candy wrapping from the floor.

"Son of a bitch."

"It's the trickster."

"Who?" you repplied confused.

"It's someone we dealed with twice, he is a total pain in the ass," by his faced you could see that he is, "he can alter the reality and change his appareance, all of this it's his game."

"Maybe the only way to get out it's follow it, back there i was the inspectorfrom the book, and this morning the witnesses weren't brain washed, his game its escalating, we need to adapt."

"And for what porpuse?"

"Reveal the mistery and capture the assain." you said quoting the protagonist of the novel."

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

Your strategy worked, you advanced a lot on the case, you almost got him. It was raining outside but you needed to clear your mind, just like the inspector you think, so you got outside and leaning against the motel wall under a shelter from the rain.

You noticed someone with a coat and a black umbrella, just like the final witness of the book, the one who gives the final hint to get the killer.

He got to your side and hand you a letter, you couldn't recognize his face from the town but that doesn't matter. You run to your brothers to give them the information. The chart talked about the police officer and his name, just like the book.

You three went fast to the police man's house to get him in hopes that the game ends and find the trickster. The man was in fact in his house and you arrested him because he was human but no trace of the supernatural one.

"So, we were wrong?" Dean was starting to get frustated.

"No, the trickster it's on town, how else can the victims have that personalities..." while they continue to argue you realized somethin.

"Shut up, i think the letter it's an anagram."

Half and hour and you were going to the location on the chart, a storage outside the village. When you entered you found the man who gave you letter.

"It was you, you killed those people," you are not able to hide the rage of having been fooled by that man, creature.

"I didn't kill them, the officer killed them and i didn't care but then i read this book," he showed to you like it was a comercial, "and thought about taking the opportunity to try some new ideas."

"Disgusting."

"I made it obvious for your brothers to come but i didn't thought about you gorgeous," he started to get close to you, "how are you related to them?"

"Hey, relax with our sister, mate."

"But at first they where just settings, later they started to be characters, why?" you asked, trying to ignore your brothers's attack of protectivity.

"Because i saw you and i was intrigued. You read the book and you found the similiarities but you needed a little hint, i supposed you would love a litte roleplay."

"I like it, not the killing humans part but the yes."

"Are you guys really flirting at this moment?"

"Perhaps we can meet again some other time."

"If there are no murders yet."

"I will have that on mind." he smiled playfully and blew you a kiss from the air before snapping his fingers and dissapearing.

"Son of a bitch, he escaped again, if you weren't flirting with him..."Dean almost screamed at your ear.

"Sorry okay? i didn't know he can do that, you should thell me more about him the next time."

"Oh no, we are not going to talk about him, we don't want you to date him, seeing how you two were right there."

Sam only laughed a little behind you and you three made your way to the impala. When you sat on the backseat and oppened your book, there was a paper with some numbers, a phone number. Smart and pretty Trickster.

#spn #spn imagine #spn x reader #supernatural #supernatural x reader #supernatural imagine #dean winchester #sam winchester #gabriel #gabriel imagine #gabriel x reader #spn gabriel #spn gabriel x reader #spn gabriel imagine #trickster #trickster imagine #trickster x reader

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notyour-valentine · 8 months

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Welcome to Downton, Mr Shelby 12 ~ Tommy Shelby x Crawley!OC (Series)

[Masterlist] [Taglist] [Series Masterlist]

Summary: Just a lot - we have places to go with this story

All my writing is produced by an adult and created with an adult audience in mind (18/21+). You are responsible for your own media consumption.I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.

Wordcount: 5400 words

Part 12

Charlotte.

His head snapped up. All this time he had thought, he had been talking about Mary, but Charlotte?

How?

She was still practically a child. It simply wasn’t possible. How could she even come into contact with someone like that?

"I will do what I can to protect your cousin from harm.", He assured him, his grey moustache quivering, "however the safest way would be to remove her from Shelby's sphere of influence in it’s entirety.”

He pronounced every word with a sharpness.

“Can I trust you to do that?"

"Of course you can.", Matthew hissed. The man’s tone had been as insulting as his accusation shocking.

She was family too and he felt responsible for her, for all of them. Being the heir did not only mean that he would one day own the title and the estate, but he would also be the head of the family, tasked with protecting them all. And even if he wasn’t, she was still his family - Goodness’ sake!

After the Inspector had left, all and any idea of lunch at the club had evaporated as he immediately began to make inquiries, calling in favours and asking for references - anything and everything that could be found out about Mr Thomas Shelby from Birmingham.

"As quickly as you can, please."

The days of waiting on responses were gruelling and left him agitated and unpleasant. Since he knew in advance, he simply prolonged his London stay until he had to return to Downton, and even then he did not wish to leave the papers in the office in Ripon and so he brought them home with him.

A part of him wanted to act immediately, felt like running up to the big house, taking Charlotte aside and telling her, warning her, but then he realised that she would not know any of it.

She would know the charming handsome man Campbell had described as luring women in. And she wouldn't believe him, at least he couldn't be sure. If he couldn't convince her at once, she could go to him to ask him, or to confront him, and then who knew what could happen.

So Matthew needed evidence, concrete, indisputable evidence that would convince her enough to make her stay far away from that man.

But the more he found out, the less he understood.

There was no record of his birth, no criminal record, nothing- until he went to France.

It was as if he appeared in 1915, a man grown and ready for war.

There was no criminal record after the war either, no mention apart from a newspaper article that described him as partaking in a protest in Birmingham where they lit a bonfire with the King's portraits.

In the article he was quoted as talking about how the men loved and served their king but that they felt abused by the new police tactics- headed, incidentally, by a Chief Inspector Campbell.

So this might be personal.

Matthew didn't remember much of criminal law, but he knew that personal matters always muddied things.

And then, he tried to look at his businesses. Companies had to be filed, which was comparably easy to find, or so he thought.

The first was a bookmaking company with a gambling licence from 1919 for the races. It was quickly followed by some factories and a motorcycle and car business, focussing on trade, all established in the following year.

But to find his way through that web took time and energy. Companies owners by other companies owned by other companies- it was like walking through a labyrinth with moving walls.

It also made the paperwork on his desk at home pile up to astronomical levels.

Matthew looked up as the door clicked open.

"I thought I'd bring you some tea.", His mother said with a smile.

"Thank you, Mother.", He said, offering her a tired smile.

She put it down on the desk, her eyes glancing across the paperwork before she picked up a page from what the war office had sent him, detailing his outstanding report of his exemplary war record that earned him gallantry medals.

"Huh.", She said surprised, before placing it back onto the table. "Charlotte never said Mr. Shelby was a war hero."

She said it in passing, almost casually, before she walked over to open the window.

"Charlotte knows Mr. Shelby?", He asked, his heart thundering in his chest.

A small part of him had - up to this point - held out the hope that it had simply been a mistake.

"Of course she does. I told you about the charity initiative she has joined? It is his initiative. Didn't I mention his name?"

Matthew's gaze danced through the room as he was desperate to hold onto something - anything - other than the terrified feeling in the bottom of his stomach.

"Whatever's the matter?", She wanted to know. "Are you ill?"

"No,", he whispered, running his hand through his straw blonde hair. "I am not ill."

He cleared his throat and tried to avoid his mother’s piercing gaze, but to no avail.

“Matthew, I wish you would talk to me.”, she asked gently, sitting down on the sofa and inviting him. “It is no good to keep your grief locked in like that. Lavinia-”

“This isn’t about Lavinia!”, he snapped a little harsher than he had intended.

He didn’t want to talk about Lavinia, not to his mother and not to anyone and the very last thing he needed right now was a mention of his own greatest personal failure when he was trying to prevent another.

“What is it about then?”, his mother asked.

Matthew paced up and down the room, trying to think of what to say, knowing the wording was key. He didn’t have proof yet, and if it got out before he had that proof, there was no way of knowing what would happen. It was like being in France all over again - every moment could prove lethal but one simply had to move.

“I have heard things about Mr. Shelby that concern me.”, he finally said.

“What things?”

Matthew couldn’t say, not now at least, not until he had it in indisputable black and white.

“The point is, it is not a man Charlotte should be in contact with. For her own good.”

His mother raised her eyebrow. “For her own good? What harm could there possibly be in working for a charitable foundation?”

If that so called charitable foundation even exists. If it isn’t just a ploy to lure her in. If the man she works for wasn’t a criminal. At least according to Campbell.

“The cause does not matter. She should not be anywhere near him whatsoever!”

His mother’s jaw tightened.

“Matthew, this isn’t like you. You can’t just tell her where she can and cannot go!”, she scolded as if he was the one in the wrong here.

“Well someone has to forbid her and if that person is me then so be it!”, he insisted, his chest heaving with heavy breaths.

His mother, however, seemed to be completely calm.

“Don’t you think you are overreacting? I don’t know what you’ve heard but Charlotte seems very taken with him and frankly, I admire him. But if you are unsure, perhaps we could invite him for tea.”

“Him?”, Matthew asked, his voice sounding breathless and foreign to his own ears. “For tea?”

Isobel Crawley nodded. “Charlotte does not want the family to know the extent of their workings just yet. She fears that Robert would put a stop to it.”

Oh how very soothing.

Matthew bristled. Things were far from good if he already had her keeping secrets from her father.

“I don’t want you helping her anymore. No covering, no helping her get away. Nothing like that, do you hear me?”, he demanded.

“Matthew, you are getting rude!”, she snapped right back, her cheeks flushing.

He raised his hands and took a step back.

“You’re right. I am sorry. I didn’t mean to sound that harsh.”, he said, “but Mother, this can’t go on.”

“Whyever not?”, she asked impatiently. “You make such a fuss but refuse to tell me why!”

Because I can’t tell you yet.

“Perhaps I should just talk to her.”, he thought out loud.

I needn’t mention all of it, just perhaps find her a distraction, a new occupation to keep her busy. She was a good girl and far easier to sway than Edith or Mary.

The longer he thought, the more the idea of a distraction seemed suitable. Perhaps he could try and find a different man for her to be interested in, a decent fellow from a good family. She deserved that. Cousin Violet would have a list ready by sundown and he could work with that.

Yes, a distraction might be the very best thing.

Besides, he still had time. She was busy now preparing for the Wrinnington Ball next week, and shortly after was the races they would all be attending with Sir Richard. While Matthew knew these social obligations would cement the path of his future, he was not overly fond if them, but if they kept Charlotte busy and bought him time, he had to cherish them more as simply a necessary evil.

He thought of her even when he wasn’t thinking of her, simply put. Even in business meetings and while going over reports, she was never far from his mind, lingering in his thoughts like a dancer in the wings before a performance, awaiting what would soon take place in front of a packed audience, with blinding lights shone upon it.

And there it was again, the doubt, the guilt, the worry.

He had planned it out, had decided it long ago, had overthought and approved the plan, his plan.

It didn’t matter now, it shouldn’t matter, nothing should, because he had thought everything over, everything but this.

She trusted him.

She had trusted him, had trusted him longer than he realised, but the moment she fell asleep in his presence, her head slightly slumped, her chest rising and falling slowly, her hands resting in her lap-

It didn’t matter how or why, it mattered that she felt safe enough around him to allow her exhaustion to overcome her, to let her eyes flutter shut. She trusted him not to harm her, not to put her in danger.

Thomas Shelby couldn’t remember when someone had last trusted him so, without him demanding or ordering or threatening.

Even his own family members were beyond reluctant and persistent, often complying only because there was no alternative, or simply stopping to resist.

She had trusted him blindly, stupidly, the way only a person could who had experienced the world as a pretty, harmless place.

His men had trusted him, Tommy thought, back in France, though they had not trusted him, but rather their Sergeant Major. They had trusted him because they thought they knew him, because it was easier to follow the command if it came from a familiar face, in a known tone, but that made it no less deadly.

Men were dead now because they trusted him.

Dead in the mud, dead in the field hospital, dead in the canal and the streets of Birmingham - and dead in their prisons.

The boy had trusted him too, the one playing at being an outlaw, with a wooden gun and a holster made by the woman who did what mothers do.

He had trusted Tommy to protect him, to keep him safe and from harm and now he was buried like he had once been, only under far firmer, drier ground.

Sometimes, now, when he dreamt of that horrid night, of the creaks and cries of bursting beams, the frightened calls of his comrades and the deafening silence, he saw himself there, and Arthur and John, and Freddie and Danny and the rest of them. Sometimes, when he dug, his hands clawing at the earth, he turned to find the face of the boy right next to him, his eyes wide and still filled with fear, as if he was yet a few heartbeats away from death, as if his heart was still thundering in a feeble attempt to get the blood where it needed to go.

And if it wasn’t the boy and the mud, it was the shovel and whispers of German.

When he was awake, he could fight ehm with whisky and occupation, but in his dreams, he forced himself to think of her, of the loose strand of hair that fell in front of her eyes, somehow escaping both hat and hairties, a rare mishap in the perfection and poise she normally portrayed.

He could conjure the image even in his sleep, even in his nightmares. And in them, like she had in life, she was so calm, not even the noises coming from the darkness would startle her.

Breathe with her. Just breathe with her.

And he did. In and out, in and out.

The shovels were still there, but they wouldn't disturb her. She just kept sleeping and he kept breathing.

In and out. In and out.

To his shame, he found himself focussing on that every night before he tried to sleep, no matter where he was, which bed he was lying in, he always brought her with him.

He had tied her fate to his by parading her around in front of Campbell like a prized racehorse and as revenge, she held the key, the only key to salvation in her silk-gloved hands, the same he had tainted my mere association.

He had seen hell in France, and now he had created his own purgatory.

His plans, those he had made in sleepless nights, now finally came together but there was no satisfaction, no relief, no joy, even though it was going well, too well, really.

Tommy should have known that it was only a matter of time until it all went up in flames.

But like a house of cards, it all came crashing down in a matter of hours.

He had been at May’s, for the horse, and a distraction. He had things to get out of his system, probably. And there was no harm he could cause, not with May.

But before they got anywhere, really, he got that call.

Michael arrested in Birmingham.

Arthur arrested in London.

Billy dead, shot, and pinned on Arthur.

And Solomons and Sabini united against him.

It had been too much in too short a time and when he saw the smug smile under that hideous moustache, he knew. While he couldn’t pin it on Campbell, not entirely, he knew he had his fat little hands involved.

He called it insurance, of course, but it was nothing but retaliation, a strike back to punish him after aiming to humiliate him with Charlotte, or a test to see how quickly he would pull the strings he had threatened him with.

If he had aimed to call Tommy’s bluff, it had worked.

Despite his icy fear, despite Polly shouting at him to get Michael out, he couldn’t bring himself to make the call, to Downton or her uncle in the ministry.

All he could think of were May’s words.

You think your people are ruthless? Try mine.

He would have tried, he could have tried, but not with Charlotte. And the realisation cut deeper than he thought it could.

But failure always stung, still the mere thought of his original plan turned his stomach to the point where he knew he couldn’t come face to face with the girl, and instead skipped out on the meeting with the hospital staff for the foundation that had been nothing but a scam to lure her in originally.

The detailed, neatly written report she had given him was a sweet salt in the wound. Like always, she was trying so hard. She had done so from the very beginning and by now she was good at it.

He could spot the wit in her writing, the cheeky tone she used to describe one doctor’s reaction, almost mocking him for how he treated her as a near-deity due to her title, something she used to her advantage. To their advantage.

Tommy remembered her uncertainty, the refusal of payment for fear she would do more harm than good, and now?

There were things in motion, plans set to work, good plans, that would improve the lives of thousands. He had planted a rotten seed in burnt soil in the name of a scheme, but somehow she had gotten it to bloom either way.

Sweet, foolish Charlotte.

If she had been any less good, he would have had no qualms to fulfil his original plan, and now he was leaving all that behind to protect her. Payment, he found himself rationalising, for all the children who would profit of her work.

But beyond that, while getting his affairs in order in case his Epsom plan failed, he found himself thinking of her again, of how she talked about her father, her family, her duty to them, her uselessness with money, her utter dependence on them, and the risk her sister had taken in setting herself loose from it.

It must’ve worked, though, for her sister and the chauffeur, but Tommy knew a great deal of fools who let themselves be lured in by love. If her chauffeur loved her any less, she’d be stranded and penniless in a country not her own, disowned by her family and lured in by promises of love.

Charlotte had been lured in too, by Tommy and his schemes. Who was to say there wouldn’t be another one to try it for other reasons?

And was there not the risk of someone in his family blabbing? Polly, he thought, if he didn’t get Michael out quick enough would be on the next train to York, knocking on Downton’s door and threatening to bring the whole place down and Charlotte with it. She wouldn’t hesitate, hell, she had already demanded to know why he hesitated to feed her to the wolves to get Michael out of prison.

Even if he didn’t fail, there was still a risk of Polly pulling a stunt like that, one that would ruin Charlotte, one that could see her disowned and out on her own.

Because of me, Tommy thought, because she thought she was helping me.

It was yet another reason to keep him up at night, that allowed him to work until dawn if need be, longer than any other.

"Tommy, I'm going home.", Lizzie said, peeking her head into his office and waking him from his thoughts.

"Yeah. Go home, Lizzie. You should have gone hours ago.", He mumbled without looking at her., and diligently avoiding looking at his watch.

He’d have to give Lizzie a few notes extra.

"I was waiting in case you needed anything…", she said, her painted fingernails red against the black of his door.

I need Arthur back. I need Polly's son back.

I need peace with the backcountry boys again.

I need the clubs and the warehouses back. I need a bullet for Solomons and for Sabini and another for Campbell.

I need a fucking solution for everything.

He took the final sip of his whisky.

I need sleep.

His eyes wandered over to where Lizzie was still waiting.

She didn't say it out loud, but the offer stood all the same.

He covered his face with his hands and rubbed his closed eyes with his fingertips.

Why the hell not, eh?

If he couldn't find rest, he might as well find release.

He locked his office door and followed Lizzie towards the stairs. There was no talking, for there was no talking needed.

Lizzie knew what Tommy wanted - what Tommy wanted from her.

But that was just it, wasn't it?

His feet stopped and he watched her descend and with every step she took, with every step he didn't, he felt the miles of distance between them more than before.

She turned, looking up at him, a silent question written all over her face.

"Good night, Lizzie.", He said softly, before returning to the office.

He hesitated, his hand hovering over Lizzie's phone just like it had over his earlier.

But then he picked up.

The operator had connected him comparably quickly.

"Painswick Residence London.", The butler said. It was a familiar interlude and each time he thought that he really had to get her her own telephone. But by now he knew her too.

"Thomas Shelby. I need to…", he broke off, taking a deep breath. "I'd like to talk to Charlotte please."

He was surprised at how tired his voice sounded.

"The young Ladies and Lady Rosamund are not in residence."

"Where are they?", He asked. "Back at Downton?"

He could call there as well, but she was supposed to be in London. She had said so herself. Or maybe he had missed that too.

"No, Sir. They are attending a costume ball at Hasting's House."

Tommy scoffed, looking into the darkness outside the window.

Of course she's at a fucking ball.

He could almost see her, dancing under the glittering lights of a ballroom, diamonds around her neck and a tiara in her hair with not a care in the world as she was spun around by some red-faced lordling.

"Should I take a message, Sir?", He asked. "Although I doubt she will respond before tomorrow."

"No, thank you. Goodnight."

After he hung up, he unlocked his office once more and poured himself another drink.

Fuck.

Tommy braced himself on the desk and let his head hang.

It wasn't too late to go after Lizzie, or to find someone else who he could make do with.

Or maybe he could go to the yard and take one of the horses out until the sunrise came.

But he didn't want to fuck, not even to clear his head.

So he picked up the phone again. The voice on the other side was the same. “I changed me mind,”, Tommy said. “I do want you to take a message for Charlotte.”

The butler cleared his throat.

“And what precisely would you wish me to convey to Lady Charlotte, Mr. Shelby?”

He had begun the drive south in the earliest hours of the morning, after less than a few hours of sleep, arriving at Ada’s both unannounced and in the middle of the night.

But the night gave him time to make up his mind. In a way, it already had been, but at the same time, it removed all doubt.

In a week, he could be dead, a body rotting in the ground, with the only worth remaining in what he left behind.

Ada’s boy, John’s children - those matters were sorted now. The letter to the New York Post was written, in the hands of Ada.

The business would be in good hands with her and Polly.

That only left the foundation, and Charlotte.

After an early breakfast with his sister, who looked a proper bohemian with her silk robe and expensive coffee tastes, he left for Hyde Park.

By now he knew her mornings were when she was most flexible, and the park was close enough for her to meet him there. And she did, thankfully, alone. One could never be sure with her and her family.

When she came closer he could see beyond her cream coat that revealed just a hint of her pink dress underneath. The colour matched the shoes and the ribbon on her hat, of course.

All these little details he had grown to expect from her.

“Good morning.”, she greeted, offering him a warm smile that couldn’t hide the slight shadow under her eyes.

“Long night?”, Tommy asked.

She tilted her head from side to side, a slight blush creeping up. “Oh you know how it is.”

He really didn’t, but he didn’t want to push it. “Are you well?”, she asked, a line of concern forming between her brows.

“Well enough.”, he admitted as they began to walk. Well enough for a man that could be dead soon.

She huffed slightly, but she didn’t pry- not with her words at least. Her eyes dug into him from the side as if she wanted to see through his skull and into his thoughts.

That’s not a place you want to go, love.

“Is there anything I can help you with?”, she asked softly.

He shook his head.

“Whatever it is, I hope it improves soon.”, she said, giving his arm a little squeeze.

She leaned into him slightly, as they walked, passing nannies pushing prams, and little children running at their sides, a few men rushing to jobs, and a few women taking morning strolls. One could walk through this part of London during this time. Not even Sabini or Solomons dared to get their men into these areas- her areas. That was what calmed him. She at least was safe- safe from the Jews and the Italians and even fucking Campbell.

He had been considering asking her to take Ada and the baby in, just for the Derby day. That way they would be out of harm’s way in case…

She might even do that for him, but Ada wouldn’t go, not to her. He cursed her politics and the stubbornness they both shared. Ada would ask questions, questions he couldn’t answer. And the last time he had told her to get to safety she had stepped right into No-Man’s-Land, with the baby.

By pure luck, it had worked. But this time around it was more than Billy Kimber.

“I have some papers for you to sign.”, he finally said, stopping at one of the many benches by the fountain after glancing at his watch. She only had little time and would soon have to return in time for the train to Downton.

“Papers? Now?”, she asked surprised.

“Not much.”, he assured her,as he pulled forth three folded documents from the coat pocket.

Charlotte had to step closer to read them.

“Tommy, I don’t understand.”, she said softly, looking up at him. “Power of attorney?”

“Yeah.”, he said, holding the pen between his fingers.

“The money for the hospital and the other projects are already set aside, but I’ve slotted some more for the running of it. It should go smoothly.”

“But why?”, Charlotte asked wide-eyed.

“Don’t worry.”, he assured her. “It’s just in case.” “In case of what?”, she demanded to know.

In case my plan doesn’t work.

In case Campbell outsmarts me.

In case I die and I never see you again.

“In case I will be temporarily absent and decisions have to be made for the good of the foundation.”, he lied.

“Without consulting you?”, Charlotte asked, glancing at the paperwork once more. The uncertainty was ever present in her voice. “Yeah. You’ll be able to make calls on your own.”

This was the whole point of it, of granting her power and ensuring that the work of the last few months didn’t go arry. If he had to leave this world, then he would at least leave it with something decent behind and the only person whom he could entrust with that part of his legacy, was her. “Surely it would be better for that trust to be placed in Mrs. Gray or Mrs. Thorne, or even your sister in law.”

Likely.

“They are your family.”, she insisted. “This is as much your project as mine. We built it together. You know the workings better than anyone and you are the only one who actually knows how to run it.” She didn’t look convinced.

“I trust you Charlotte, and I want you to…”

To continue this in case I’m gone.

“I want you to sign. Just so I can rest easy, eh?”

She pursed her lips but she took the pen and signed all three papers.

“Thank you.”, he mumbled, as he took both pen and papers off her again.

“Was that why you were so worried?”, she wanted to know. Tommy decided to nod.

And he also chose not to tell her of the amendment to his will. Karl and John’s children would benefit from the trust fund. The family from the rest.

He chose not to tell her about the houses in Kensington, Mayfair and Belgravia which he had bought- large houses in good areas that she could rent out for a profit. They would bring in a good amount of rent money that should keep the foundation more than afloat as well as giving her not only security but also some form of independence if she ever decided to need it.

That would be his last gift to her, if it came to it. That, and the letter he had already written, kept in the other pocket, separated from her only by the thin material of the other coat pocket.

He already had the stamps on it, and the address, just waiting to be sent in case.

Four pages, he had written. Four fucking pages, scribbled down at Ada’s breakfast table like a madman.

It was the longest letter he had ever written and yet still felt so painfully short. There was so much more he wanted to talk about, so much more he wanted to tell her.

“Tommy, are you quite well?”, she asked, her hand reaching up, just barely brushing against his cheek. They were so warm.

A part of him warned him not to do it. But the louder voice inside him said fuck it.

He had put all his affairs in order, had sorted everything out. Now all the letters had been written, all the papers signed and all the preparations taken.

He could well be a dead man walking, Epsom drawing ever nearer, and a dead man had no time for regrets.

He may never get the chance again.

And so, with the papers back securely in his pocket, he reached for her cheek, feeling the warmth and softness of her skin as he leaned down to capture her lips with his.

Thank you for reading - I'd love to hear your thoughts

Taglist

Overall

@lilyrachelcassidy @jyessaminereads @chlorrox @watercolorskyy @books-livre @quarterpastmidnight @lilyevanswhore @polishcrazyone @zablife @just-a-harmless-patato @stevie75 @flyingjosephine-blog @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @babayaga67 @butterfly-skinnylegend @shelbydelrey @mrkdvidal1989 @raincoffeeandfandoms @midnightmagpiemama @adaydreamaway08 @kmc1989

Tommy

@knowledgefulbutterfly @babayaga67 @signorellisantichrist @lespendy @geeksareunique @look-at-the-soul @lothbrokcore @rangerelik @elenavampire21 @evanore

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poppletonink · 1 year

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Resources For People Studying 'An Inspector Calls'

Videos:

Mr Bruff's Analysis Videos

An Inspector Calls in 5 Minutes

Articles:

Plot Summary

Characters

Themes

Form, Structure and Language

Dramatization

Sample Exam Question

Podcast Episodes:

Act 1

Act 1 Key Quotes

Act 2

Act 2 Key Quotes

Act 3

Act 3 Key Quotes

Structure and Chronology

Setting, Lighting and Dramatic Irony

Character Analysis: Sheila

Sheila Key Quotes

Character Analysis: The Inspector

Character Analysis: Mr Birling

Mr Birling Key Quotes

Character Analysis: Eva Smith

Character Analysis: Mrs Birling

Mrs Birling Key Quotes

Character Analysis: Gerald Croft

Gerald Key Quotes

Character Analysis: Eric

Eric Key Quotes

Mr Birling and Pride

Themes: Class

Themes: Responsibility

Themes: Gender

Attitudes To Women

Blame and Responsibility

Socialism VS Capitalism

Abuse of Power and Corruption

Social Class and Inequality

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magiarec · 1 year

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🆘🏠 WE NEED SAFE HOUSING.

We moved across Canada last year to escape severe medical abuse, but our living situation rapidly degraded. Our next door neighbour is a violent racist homophobe who has dedicated the last year of my life to harrassing us. More details will be under the cut. After months of searching we finally found a new apartment an hour away, and can have it any time in the next two weeks as long as we have the money. We do not have that much money. We can cover moving costs, the remainder of rent on our current place, and all our normal medical/etc bills. We've asked family for help and gotten a resounding "bootstraps" from them. Mutual aid is my only hope.

Our triad is LGBT (what, all at once? yes!), severely mentally ill, two of us are disabled, and one of us is latina. I'm currently still trapped waiting on a reply from immigration, legally can't work yet, and I don't feel safe doing sex work here when an arrest could mean deportation.

🌈 ♿ £0/2000

total cost: deposit (600), rent (1200), eating this month (200)

Here’s what we’ve been trying to get away from for a year. TW for racism, homophobia, slurs, child abuse, assault, graphic violent/sexual threats, sexual harrassment, fatphobia, the police having to get involved, and anything else that I can add if you need. I’m going to list these in the order they happened.

• Tried to break into our house during a four hour long extended breakdown. Hammered on the door til it dented. Threatened all of our lives multiple times. This went on until 2am. First police report.

• Spent a week hammering on our door or window and screaming “WAKE UP” at any time between 4-6am if she heard us using the kitchen the night before.

• Followed me up and down the road when I ran errands calling me a disgusting pig, the d slur, and a pedophile. Followed all of us down the road more than once screaming at us for being worthless [d slur]s while she was a mother.

• Told her children I was a pedophile, and that I might kidnap them one day. Loudly. In front of their friends. Described in graphic detail what she assumed I would do to them if I did.

• Waited on our doorstep for me and pulled out a fistful of my hair when I tried to push past her to get inside. I have not left the house alone since. Second police report.

• Multiple months of her waiting until after midnight to begin blasting religious sermons or the same fucking eminem song six times through our conjoining walls.

• Began weighing our fire escape grates down while screaming at us that she’d burn us alive to ready us for hell.

• Waited until I was home alone and then came up to the door and began calmly telling me that she’d, quote, “cut my clit off” before offering to bring her guy friends over to rape me straight.

• Taped naked photos of herself to our bedroom window.

• Brought a fucking ant infestation into the basement apartments we split and tried to punch me in the face when I told the inspector we’d been putting down traps and all of the bugs came from her side of the building.

• Chased my husband down the side of our house, spat on his face, and tried (almost succeeded before we both tackled it shut) to kick the door open. Third police report that they actually bothered to come out for, and the first one where the officer who arrived took the genuine threats and physical assault seriously.

It’s going on trial tomorrow. Our landlord has had months to evict her for the assults, or not paying rent, or the harrassment, or the way she keeps threatening to shoot his family and calling them the N word. He has told her instead that we’re “probably” moving out soon for the past year and she insists she’s staying until that point - a thing we found out this week when confronting him about her still being here. We also found out that his plan to rent us her bigger unit is contingent on us furnishing it and leaving it for two months when his family comes to stay for a wedding in August.

We also also found out that when the baliffs said they can’t evict her until he does [basic legal step that she could contest] [... that he could have done last year] he decided it wasn’t worth it. So he’s going to illegally evict her. By waiting u til she leaves next week, unlocking her unit, loading her belongings into a van, changing the locks, and installing a gate. His plan is to have her arrested for tresspassing when she tries to come back to her house.

This is insane. It is not legal, it’s deeply unethical even if I hate her ass, and there is no way in hell that she will not just blame us for it when it happens. My husband leaves for work at 4am. She knows this. I am dead fucking certain she will attack him or us before the week is out if we remain here. I am terrified and traumatized and need your help. Please, please help.

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thewertsearch · 8 months

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I know this is a pet peeve, but I continue to contend that none of these quote-unquote "omnipotent" beings are anything of the sort.

...is what I would have said, up until very recently. The above statement might actually be true, but not in the way I originally imagined.

Ok - so, generally, if you're calling someone 'omnipotent', you're saying that they can do anything, with no limits. This is clearly the definition Hussie had in mind when describing Godhead Pickle Inspector, but it doesn't seem to fit First Guardians at all.

After all, if they can do anything, why do they only use a handful of space-warping powers?

Plus, there are things Scratch doesn't know, and his reaction here is evidence that he's not a huge fan of that fact. If he was omnipotent, he could know everything, with no exceptions. Is he pretending to be mad, or something?

So it certainly doesn't seem like First Guardians are omnipotent, at least not in the traditional sense. However...

I only learned this recently, but there's another well-established definition for omnipotence - the state of possessing great or unlimited power. This distinction was actually pointed out to me in an ask, but I didn't quite get it, since I'd never heard that definition before.

By this metric, a battery that never runs out is, technically, omnipotent - and I think the Green Sun qualifies as exactly that. Plus, First Guardians can instantly teleport matter over enormous distances, wielding enormous, possibly infinite energy to do so. Great power would be an understatement.

Bec might not be this kind of god, but - I admit it - he is omnipotent.

#homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 5.2 #asks

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door · 2 months

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my friend asked me for murder show recs and i put together a list of a bunch of them and thought i'd also share it here in case anyone else who was not raised by the glow of mystery! on pbs might want an intro. extremely subjective commentary, obvs. enjoy.

hello. welcome to the world of finding television shows about people getting killed comforting. it's fucked up, but who isn't. here's a list of the ones i like and why and where to watch them.

midsomer murders (1997-current): this is one of those sterotypical "it ran for 25 years and did nearly 18 episodes" british shows. it was adapted from a book series, which are the early eps. they're really fucked up and great imo. the later ones lose that sharpness, but until seasons 20+ i think it's a really solid show. the theme song is performed on a theremin. pluses: every great british actor shows up at least once, incredibly great deaths, lots of hyper niche hobby groups, tom barnaby is the best. minuses: showrunner brian true-may quoted as saying that his version of "english countryside" is entirely white. he was booted from the show at that point, however. i've watched the entire series 2-3 times, except for s5e3 "Ring Out Your Dead" because there's a death in it that i found particularly tragic the first time i watched it and have no desire to revisit it (but ymmv). robyn's fave ep is s3e3 "Judgement Day," because a brass band plays the show's theme song at a village fete and also Orlando Bloom is run through with a pitchfork. (ACORN)

Poirot (1989-2013): truly the goat. David Suchet bodies this role. i don't know how familiar you are with christie, but hercule poirot was her recurring detective character, a fastidious little belgian living in 1930s England. in this show, it's the late 1930s for 20 years, and the sets and costumes are so good. not a single streamline moderne property in england is overlooked. the early episodes are short--40ish minutes each--but they transition to 90 minutes at some point. they adapt all of the poirot books, with the big ones--murder on the orient express and death on the nile--done as higher budget tv movies. (BRITBOX)

marple (2004-2013): another christie adaptation, with 2 actresses playing miss marple in sequence. they also adapted a bunch of non-marple stories to have miss marple in them. set post-WWII, mainly countryside english mysteries. (BRITBOX)

miss fisher's murder mysteries (2012-2015, film in 2020): set in 1920s melbourne, mfmm follows independently wealthy private eye phryne fisher. it's an adaptation of modern novels, so it's less conservative than the christies. phryne's best friend is a suit-wearing lesbian doctor. it's a sharp, smart show, and phryne herself (as well as her relationship with buttoned-up detective jack robinson) is very sexy. it ran three seasons and was followed by a crowd-funded film in 2020, which isn't GOOD, but it is FUN. there's another a spin-off set in the 1960s called miss fisher's modern mysteries, which follows phryne's niece. again--not good, but fun. nothing beats the og series tho. (ACORN)

lewis (2006-2015): this is technically a spin-off of the inspector morse series, which started in the 80s, but i've never watched it so you should be fine. this follows very un-academic inspector lewis and his very academic assistant DS hathaway in EXTREMELY academic oxford england. i really dig the pacing of this, as well as how profoundly weird smart people can be. the big downside is the actor who played hathaway is laurence fox, who's a real stinker of a dude. right-wing, racist, etc. so. ymmv. (BRITBOX)

vera (2011-current): vera is a nearly retired, irascible, set in her ways detective in northumberland. she heads her own department, so part of the appeal is definitely trim youngsters dashing to do her bidding with a "yes mum." she drives a huge old land rover, wears a raincoat everywhere, has no patience for class barriers, and in short i love her. in the newer seasons there is also a detective in her squad called Jaq who is a very cute butch. (BRITBOX)

dalgliesh (2021-current): adaptation of pd james novels following detective-poet adam dalgliesh. set in the 1970s, which sets it apart and which i quite enjoy. his character is really sensitive and thoughtful is a way that's unusual for cop shows. (ACORN)

annika (2021-current): i'm gonna dive into some of the weirder ones now. annika is still pretty serious, but the title character has a habit of breaking the 4th wall to loop the audience in on the meta nature of her thoughts--usually relating to a book or story. it's set in glasgow and they investigate marine crime specifically. annika is played by nicola walker, who full disclosure i find VERY attractive. she's norwegian, she's odd, and she's trying her best. she has a teenage daughter who's gay. (PBS)

queens of mystery (2019-current): this one is VERY odd. think british murders meets pushing daisies. there's a narrator, and occasional technicolor flights of fancy. it follows a very serious detective who was raised by her three aunts after her mother was killed. she comes back to work in her home town and has to navigate both sides of her life, plus still wanting to know who killed her mother. production was interrupted by covid, so the main actress changed between seasons, but the new person is also very good. (ACORN)

brokenwood mysteries (2014-current): this one is sort of...sillier than the rest? it's a new zealand show set in a small town. it's fairly queer (although not nearly queer enough), and one of the things i love the most about it is it maintains a roster of recurring characters (which i think is only possible because of the small size of the NZ film industry). pretty good maori rep, especially jared, a local who seems to know or be related in some way to everyone in town. i adore him. he's off the show now, and i miss him. (ACORN)

mcdonald & dodds (2020-current): set in bath, this is an odd couple partnership of an ambitious young cop lately from london and a shy older cop who has lived in bath all his life and hasn't seen action in a decade. their interactions are funny and lovely, and it's refreshing to see a black woman character allowed to be ambitious. (BRITBOX)

#took out the julie mentions left in the robyn mention #because their love of a tv show playing its theme song on the show is so funny and i love it #gentle murders #this is like. half the length this list could have been #and that's not even getting into the mini-series

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asherloki · 3 months

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7 and 15 for Sherlock and reader. From the grumpy sunshine affectionate list pretty please 🥺

His summer girl

Sherlock x reader

Word count:- 1261

Fluff

Prompt list, and many others I find endearing!

"Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May.." So on I read as I held my book of Shakespeare's sonnets in front of me. Sonnet 18 is indeed my most favourite. The first time I read it when I was in school, then I read it again for college and then to my delight, there's nothing brighter than a soothing summer's day and if your lover brings such brightness to you, you're indeed lucky. As for my dearest lover, the detective, rather the cold detective as people say sat with me. He held me closer to him with an arm, and as soon as I started reading he put his phone down, shifting his full attention towards me and my reading.

"and summer.." I continued reading until his heavy, beautiful voice continued with me,

"And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines.."

We read the lines together.

"you're prettier than a summer's day" interrupted Mr Sherlock Holmes, wrapping another arm around my waist as we both sat in his chair. Snuggling closer.

"someone's not paying attention to my reading, isnt my voice appealing anymore?" I replied. He, having such a voice himself has often loved poems when I read them even more.

"ofcourse. it's still beautiful, your voice will never cease to be amusing to me, at the least your reading." He answered. Our flat is calm at the moment, no client, no shouting at Mrs Hudson and all. Perfect for a poetry session. Sherlock placed his chin on my shoulder from behind, his breathing touching my skin. Just like the sunrays hitting directly at us from the window.

"you're cute, you know that Mr grumpy?" I said booping his nose lightly, when we first met he was this cold distant man, never quite came to talk to me on his own. However, he listened everytime I read or talked, to be more specific talked in metaphors.

"no, not me, you're cute" he said snuggling more. And I didn't object.

"do you remember, four years ago, when Christopher and I broke up? I was talking to my friends and family on my phone when I quoted, "The more I know of the world, the more I am convinced that I shall never see a man whom I can really love. I require so much!" you stood outside my door and listened and when I turned to you, you were startled, yet you gave a nod and went away".

He chuckled softly, uff his voice, so close to my ear,

"I do, from Jane Austen's sense and sensibility it was, also because I wondered what love actually is as you talked of it in phone" he replied, "I've often stopped playing violin to listen to you, reading loudly, like that one time when inspector Johnson called me a fool, you were sitting in the kitchen. I felt bad for taking long to solve the case, and I muttered, "perhaps I am" you came quickly and quoted, "The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool" from as you like it by Shakespeare and glanced at him. That ... that motivated me, and in two days I solved it."

I nodded, ofcourse I remember it clearly. I smiled at all the memories of us, from quote talking to trust, trust to friendship, and then here, now as lovers. He doesn't ask for much, isn't like other men who are clingy and... may I dare say like some who are lusty too. He's just him. How come I found him?

"how come I found you?" he asked out aloud, "my summer day? my Sunshine? you filled my world with light. Everyone else seemed to have liked me getting hurt emotionally but you..."

I paused realising he's opening up? he doesn't do it much, so I listened without interrupting,

"you... having you, I feel... I." he stuttered, "I love you, walking by you makes life easier and happier" he finally said, holding me tighter. How come I not love this man? I caressed the back of his hand. However after a few seconds I let go off his grip on me, baffling him slightly, just to face him. To look at him, the vulnerable Sherlock Holmes, which is pretty rare. I leaned on my hand, resting my elbow on the top back of his chair.

"See how she leans her cheek upon her hand.

O, that I were a glove upon that hand

That I might touch that cheek!" he quoted shakespeare, caressing my cheek.

"oh" I said, "well hello Romeo". It made him giggle and me as well.

"If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more." I replied.

He thought for a moment, perhaps this time I gave him a good move, "and it's from?" he asked.

"oops, was it a bouncer detective?" I teased and got to see him pout, he's adorable at home, "Emma by Austen ".

He hummed and nodded, point one goes to me. He didn't stop, rather started reciting, "And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;"

He continued Shakespeare's sonnet 18. So I, too looked at my book and began reading,

"Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:"

Sherlock held me even closer as he recited next lines looking at me,

"So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this,"

Then I continued with him, reciting my favourite line, "and this gives life to thee".

And we sat in silence, looking into eachother's eyes. The closeness and silence never bothered us. His green eyes gazing at me made me blush and I looked down, smiling softly. Remembering some time has passed perhaps, since we sat like this, so to break the silence I said, "You know what Sherlock" I got up, "I wanna read something casual" saying so I went to look for a contemporary romance novel in our bookshelf when my dearest lover rolled his eyes and said,

"you mean those smutty books, that gives you weird fantasies and you ask me to imitate that in bed?"

I giggled, because that's what I do, I read smuts, get an idea and ask him to do it, "well" I said looking at him, "you don't wanna do it?"

He smiled, shaking his head he replied, "I can't say no to you, can I?"

He too knows how much he likes to have control in bed, and I give him all of that. Was that too private to share? I turned around to choose a book when

I heard his soft footsteps, walking towards me, I turned to him and raised my brows,

"what now detective?"

He said nothing instead came closer and cupped my face, I love it, his big strong hands cupping my cheeks, he leaned to me then said,

"Make me immortal with a kiss"

And his lips met mine. Here, in this flat, the winter man kissed his summer girl. My detective, considered to the cold one met me, the sun girl they say. And the spring that blossomed in our hearts, hope it never fades away.

#bbc sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock x y/n #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock x you

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