#mr john orbit

[thedeviltohisangel]

All The Things I Did (Interlude): The One Thing I've Been Wanting

a/n: wow oh wow i think you guys are going to love this one. another mini novel featuring all the emotions and filth you could ever ask for. john and cass have their formal wedding in south carolina that he always promised her they would. a few little easter eggs in there i hope you guys want to scream at me about. hope you all enjoy, happy reading and love you endlessly!

warning: smut

In May 1946, almost one year to the day that John Egan hung an American flag in the middle of Germany, he was sat in a plush hotel room in Charleston, South Carolina looking at a photo of himself in a smattering of local newspapers and even The New York Times. Locally it was the front page, nationally a column right in the economics section. The headlines ranged from proclamations of a fairytale come true to rumors on how the match would affect the valuation of the Cooper empire. 

He liked the picture they had all chosen though. It was from a photocall Mrs. Cooper had insisted they do just last week. Cass had worn a beautiful forest green skirt and white silk blouse, her smile perfectly measured across her face. There had been a bit of commotion over what John should wear. He wasn’t set to pin on Lieutenant Colonel until June and the communications team had proposed stalling the wedding until his new rank could be proudly displayed in the photographs. Might I politely remind you he is already my husband. If you make me wait one second longer to appease people with this party you will not enjoy the sight was how Cass chose to handle it. In this setting, one completely new and foreign to the boy from Manitowoc, he was entirely reliant on her to guide him.

In the final image, she was looking at the camera but he was looking at her. It was fitting. He was merely a planet orbiting around her sun. He looked stricken by her beauty and nothing could have been closer to the truth.

“Come in,” he called at the knock on the door. He folded the paper and tossed it onto the coffee table. 

“You about ready to get out there? Don’t want Spook thinking you ran away.” Gale clicked the door closed and stood watching his friend. “You’re nervous.” It was a statement rather than a question. 

“I don’t know why. I’ve been married to her for almost three years. Today is just a societal formality.” Marrying in secret in London was not how women like Cass were supposed to carry themselves, according to her mother. If no one was there to see it then they wouldn’t believe it. “Just…what if something changes?”

“What if something changes? Bucky, you two are still going to be the same people tonight as you were this morning. You’re still going to love the wits out of that girl just like she loves the wits out of you.” John stood and started to pace around the room.

“I know that. I know how I feel and how she feels won’t change but it’s now so formal. And there’s an audience and my wedding is in The Times, Buck, the goddamn Times!” 

“The photo did look wonderful,” Gale pointed out as he nodded towards the papers on the table. “Your wife doesn’t need all this if you don’t want it, John. I am pretty certain that girl would run away with you to a farm out West if you asked her to.”

“No,” he shook his head, “all of this is good to be sure she is always provided for. When we have kids, they won’t want for anything.” Wealth like this was almost unmoveable during the Depression. John had been in college for the worst of it. Had seen the toll it took on his family and the people around them. Cass and he could make sure their kids never had to worry about that. 

“When and not if, huh?”

“Buck, you of all people should know we aren’t exactly celibate.” Gale didn’t need the reminder. All too often he had found himself pleading for a moment of respite with the two of them. It didn’t matter when or where, he would run out of fingers and toes trying to count the sanctified places those two had breached. “She’s going to be the best mother.” 

“And you’re going to be the best father.” John and Cass had spent the past year filling in all the blanks their time apart had forced upon them. They had gone to Wyoming for Gale and Marge’s wedding and not a single incident had occurred. It was as if John had never gotten on a plane to avenge Gale that day. They were so in love they talked about having a baby in nine months, talked about the perfect house to raise them in. Talked about names and nursery colors. 

But then they had gone to visit his family in Wisconsin. And something had snapped. All the anger they had hidden from each other in the name of surviving the cold German winter had bubbled to the surface viciously. All the anger he had harbored towards her for putting herself in danger would not lay dormant any longer. Anger that every night when he closed his eyes he had prayed to keep his wife safe, that John could take any pain as long as she was spared, and she had negated it all without a thought. Anger that she had wasted almost two years of her life running herself ragged to maintain their relationship and he had been able to do nothing in return. Anger that no matter the horrors he had inflicted upon people, the horrors of Stalag Luft that kept him up at night, the horrors of not knowing who you were looking at in the mirror, that she didn’t find someone better.

“Buck, I’m sorry you weren’t there the first time Cass and I did this. But I am happy you’re here for this one. I couldn’t ask for a better best man.” John pulled him into a hug, clapping his back a few times. 

“I only agreed to see you cry when you get a glimpse of her.” 

“Yeah? You’ve seen her?” She had put him under strict orders that he was not to see her the morning of their wedding. Had even made John sleep by himself. He was missing her desperately at this point. 

“She said the dress was a family heirloom. You didn’t manage to sneak out a parachute?” John blushed and looked at his feet. 

“You’ll make fun of me if I tell you.” He had. They had just agreed to save it for a more special occasion. 

“Not on your wedding day.”

“Cass had the idea that it might make a nice christening gown one day.” Wait until Marge hears how John Egan has gone all domestic on us Gale thought with a smile. “Did she get the gift I left for her?” It was a silver locket, the date and a note that simply said I love you and his name on the back, a photo of the two of them in Wyoming neatly placed inside. 

“It’s her something new,” Gale answered. Her dress was something old, her mother’s diamond headband something borrowed and she had taken the time to stitch her favorite line from Blue Skies inside her skirt in blue thread. Gale cleared his throat. “She told me to pass along that you would get your gift from her…tonight.” All the girls had giggled furiously when Cass had asked him to pass along the message. There couldn’t have been a better man for the job.

“I think her asking you to tell me that is a gift all in itself, Buck.”

----

Cass was sat in front of the vanity mirror, admiring how her new necklace looked with a smile. She had already married John, had been through more life with him than any other couple she knew, but the prospect of the day still had butterflies in her stomach. It was the kind of day that flitted across her dreams as she had grown up. Wondering what kind of dress she would wear. What the ring on her hand would look like. Who would be waiting for her at the end of the aisle. Never before would she have pictured a man like John Egan but now not a day went by where she didn’t think of him and was waiting for both of them at the end of that aisle. 

“Ma’am, all the guest have been seated and Major Egan is making his way to the altar in-”

“I’d like to see him.” Maybe that was what she needed to calm her nerves. Some needed whiskey or cigarettes but she just needed John. “He doesn’t need to see me, I just need to see him.”

And that was how, on his way to walk down the aisle, he was dragged into a room and told to sit patiently while the woman in charge of ensuring this entire wedding went off without a hitch, tied black fabric over his eyes. 

“Is this really necessary?” he asked once his vision was completely obscured. 

“Yes. Mrs. Egan requested it.” Gale sighed as the woman used Cass’ new last name. It always opened the door to something unscrupulous. 

“Mrs. Egan,” John repeated with a wicked grin. “Mrs. Cassandra Ann Egan. My wife.” He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he had asked Cass to write her new name for him just so he could relish in how it looked. How naturally her wrist and fingers moved to draft the letters. It was spectacularly wonderful and he was addicted. 

“Gale? Is he successfully blinded yet?” Cass was getting impatient on the other side of the bedroom door. She could hear her husband and she could feel him. It was like torture not being able to see him or touch him. 

“Spook?” John got up and turned in the direction of her voice, his shins colliding with a coffee table almost instantly. “Motherfucker!” 

“I’m giving you two…” Gale ran through the numbers in his head. He had seen the feral acts the two of them were capable of committing in less than five minutes. Anything more than thirty seconds seemed like they would be consummating a marriage that hadn’t happened yet. “Forget it. You two wouldn’t listen to me anyways. Just remember your parents are right outside!” Gale escorted the planner out and shut the door behind him, a stillness settling over the suite.

“Cass, baby, they’re gone. Can I take this-”

“Absolutely not!” Her voice was no longer muffled as she opened the door and took in the sight of him. Her beautiful, handsome man. Hers and hers alone. The man she had fought for and lived for and loved every day no matter how treacherous. “We have done absolutely nothing the traditional way. Let me have this, please?” John never was too good at denying her anything.

“Fine, then let me have a kiss at least.” Cass gathered her skirt with a small giggle as he stood there awaiting her with his arms open. She pecked him quickly and he leaned forward in a chase for more. “I’m dying, Cass. You didn’t let me see you after dinner last night and now you’re right here in front of me and I can just tell you look heaven sent and now you want to tease me?”

“I’m just so happy right now, Johnny.” Now that name only fell from her lips when the emotions in her chest were too much to even say his name. Whether she was sad or angry or blinded by happiness. He had gotten so used to hearing John that anything different locked him in on a dime. 

“I’m happy, too. Get to marry you all over again.” He felt a little better when her hands rested on his chest, his wrapping around her waist and pulling her as close as he could. His palms could feel lace until her hips and then silk. Maybe a bow at the top of her skirt. “I love you, Cass. Making things grandly official today won’t change anything about us. We’ll still sing as loud as we can in the car and share ice cream on the beach and count stars when we can’t fall asleep.” Her soul warmed when he said the exact words she had needed to hear, not knowing how John had ached with the need to say them. 

“Those sound like the vows you should be saving for later.” 

“I can think of a thousand ways to vow to love you forever, don’t you worry.” She indulged him in a proper kiss then, careful not to mess his perfectly coiffed curls and John restraining himself from tearing at the buttons going up her spine. Everything felt heightened, John unable to anticipate her next move with the fabric covering his eyes.

“What did I do to deserve you?” she asked softly as she knocked her nose against his. “You are so beautiful, inside and out, and intellectual and selfless and meet all my weaknesses with strength...”

“Sounds like a soulmate,” he whispered. “I can’t wait to do forever with you.” 

“We deserve it, my love.”

----

John held his breath as he waited at the altar, all eyes on him as everyone waited for the orchestra to begin playing as a signal of Cass’ arrival. He fiddled with the front of his jacket, ensuring it was straight and smooth, smiling when he caught Olivia and Jill giggling at him from their spots across from him. 

“Your sister is trying to kill me with anticipation,” he whisper-yelled. 

“She’ll make it worth your time, Major,” Olivia teased. Buck clapped John on the shoulders just as the first notes of the Bridal Chorus began to sing through the grove of Spanish Moss trees. 

“Here we go,” Gale said lovingly. Everyone stood and John breathed deeply as Cass’ niece, Jessie, slowly walked down the aisle with a shy grin, tossing rose petals as she did. Her brother Sammy was next to her, two silver rings on a plush pillow in his grip. John squatted down to be at their level as they approached.

“Thank you, princess. You look so pretty.” Jessie threw her arms around him as best she could.

“Thank you, Uncle John.” She ran off to take her seat by her father just as she’d been instructed to at the rehearsal. 

“Sir.” Sammy summoned all seven years of stature he had in him to stand at attention. 

“At ease, Sammy,” John chuckled. The young boy had fancied himself a future soldier. Had been amazed when he found out John was a real pilot just like in his comic books. “My best man, Major Cleven, is going to take those rings and keep them very safe.” Gale took them gently and locked them into his breast pocket. 

“Good work, Sammy.” Buck saluted him with a smile and the little boy was off in the same direction as his sister. John stood to his full height and squared his shoulders, his eyes sharpening their focus on the ornate wooden doors that hid his love from his sight. 

And when they opened. 

And when she lifted her veiled face to look at him, finally. 

And when their eyes met and their smiles matched and the tears welled in his eyes…

Everything felt right in the world. 

Cass kept her eyes on him as she held her fathers arm down the aisle. She had to slip her bottom lip between her teeth to keep from giggling with glee at the sight of John waiting for her. As she got closer, she could see the glassiness in his eyes. He was always so strong. Her stability in this world. The man who had her back through anything with no questions asked. The one person in the universe that loved her unconditionally and with no strings attached and in the exact way that she needed to be loved.

“Do you give this woman to be married to this man?” John was itching to lift her veil and kiss her senseless now that she was this close to him. 

“I do,” her father spoke with pride.

“I love you, Daddy,” she whispered as he pulled her into a hug. 

And then finally it was just the two of them.

And then finally he was able to hold her hand and help her up the final step to stand across from him.

And then finally his shaking fingers found the lace trim of her veil and he finally exhaled as he lifted it over her head. Her eyes were full of adoration as she looked up at him. 

“Hi,” he whispered. His hands landed on her cheeks and her hands rested against his chest.

“I’ve been missing those eyes.” Her own twinkled in kind. John leaned in, he couldn’t help himself, the officiant clearing his throat to stop them.

“We are gathered here today to witness the sacred union of John Clarence Egan and Cassandra Ann Cooper,” they smirked at each other. She hadn’t gone by her maiden name in almost three years. Not since London. “We stand here to honor and celebrate the love shared between these two people, as they come together to start their new life with a solemn vow, surrounded by their closest family and friends.”

A journey of love. Their love had already survived so much. From the moment their eyes had locked on an airfield in England, it had strengthened to withstand the tests of time. Their journey had taken them to the darkest corners of humanity the world had to offer. Had forced them to make difficult decisions in the name of survival. But all those decisions had led them here. All the darkness had led to this overwhelming light. Neither of them would change a thing.

A journey of understanding. They had come together and been torn apart and brought back together. And every stage had led them to becoming a new version of the person they had fallen in love with. They worked hard each and every single day to understand who was sitting across from them. Who was looking at them through the mirror. They had been off kilter for a little while but would always find their balance. 

A journey of perseverance. This was the easiest for them to feel when they looked at each other. They were both stubborn. Bull-headed in their pursuit of survival and a life after war. Aggressively unable to give up on each other. Relentlessly devoted to the forever that they had promised each other. 

“...and dedication to one another that lasts through time. As we stand here today to mark this occasion, we remember that what matters most is not the ceremony itself, but the love and companionship you will continue to share throughout your married life together.” John squeezed her hands. “There are no vows more meaningful and powerful than those which will be shared here today. Your wedding vows are a sacred declaration of your love for each other, the foundation of your relationship as a married couple, and the life you want to build together.” Cass thanked her sister as she handed her the piece of paper her vows were on, turning back to face John and letting his gaze give her the strength to lay bare her emotions.

“John, my blue sky, my love. From the moment I saw you, I couldn’t shake you. You were the first person in a long time to see me. To see all my faults and jagged edges and not to look away but to meet them like a perfect puzzle piece. Where I am weak, you are strong and you have spent everyday making me feel loved and safe and happy in ways words cannot capture.” John used his thumb to wipe a tear from her face and stroked his knuckles up and down her cheek for good measure. “I wouldn’t trade a single moment with you for anything in the world. Even the tough ones, even the painful ones, even the ones where I thought I was going to lose you. Because we’ve already proven our love can face anything and come out stronger on the other side. That forever will only be the beginning for us. And doing life with you, John Egan, will be the honor of my life.” Cass dabbed at the tears under her eyes, John knocking his forehead against hers.

“That was so beautiful, baby. I love you so much and-”

“Major Egan, you could just say your vows.” Gale smiled. Finally someone was getting a taste of what he had dealt with. He handed John the piece of paper and sent a wink in Marge’s direction. John looked down at the paper and swallowed before handing it back to Gale.

“Bucky-”

“I’d rather just tell you, Cass, how I feel in this exact moment because I have never been more in love with you.” She giggled as he held both her hands and locked his baby blues onto her eyes. “I fall more and more in love with you every second that I am with you. You are the reason I survived everything we went through, my love. The reason I made it through to the other side was because I knew that was where a future with you was waiting for me. You had this flyboy dreaming of growing roots from the moment I saw you. From the moment I saw you at a pub with your nose buried in a book, I knew I was done for. I knew you were going to challenge me and make me work to earn your love and it was so worth it, Cass, is still so worth it. We are going to build the most amazing life together, our own little solar system, and I will fight for you and our future every day, Cass. I promise.”

“And you’ve never broken a promise,” she whispered as the tears flowed freely down her face. 

“I don’t plan on starting now, Spook…Can I kiss her yet, Father?” A gentle laugh rippled throughout the crowd around the tears they were wiping away.

“Soon, Major. Repeat after me.”

“I, John Clarence Egan, take you Cassandra Ann Egan to be my wedded wife.”

“I, Cassandra Ann Egan, take you John Clarence Egan, to be my wedded husband.”

“I promise to stand by your side through good times and bad times…”

“...for richer or poorer…”

“...in sickness and in health.”

“I vow to stay true to you and love you…”

“...unconditionally for the rest of my days.” They both finished with a smile, drifting closer and closer to each other as the words wrapped around them. There was no daylight between their torsos as she threaded her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and he locked his fingers at the small of her back.

“Do you, John Clarence Egan, take this woman to be your wedded wife?”

“I do,” he said just to her, his blue eyes molten pool of crystalline love.

“Do, Cassandra Ann Cooper, take this man to be your wedded husband?”

“I do,” her heart skipping a beat as John licked his lips. 

“It is now time for you to exchange rings. Your rings symbolize the eternal commitment that you make to each other, and the never ending circle of your love. May these rings always remind you of the commitment you are making here today.” Gale handed each of them a ring, John taking Cass’ left hand tenderly. 

“I, John Clarence Egan, give you, Cassandra Ann Egan, this ring as a symbol of my love and commitment to you.” The silver band fit perfectly on her finger, John swiping his thumb over it a few times to ensure it was real. That after everything they had been through, the two of them were right where they had always wanted to be.

“I, Cassandra Ann Egan, give you, John Clarence Egan, this ring as a symbol of my love and commitment to you.” The band looked at home on his hand. Like he was always meant to be claimed as hers. 

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may-” He wasn’t able to get the word out as their noses bumped together in the urgency to connect their lips. Cheers erupted from the guests and he held her tighter and tighter and tighter against his body and she slipped her tongue into his mouth, John groaning with ecstasy. “It is with great honor that I present you Mr. and Mrs. John Egan!” Cass giggled as John dipped her triumphantly, his lips pressed to the side of her head as they faced the adoring mass in front of them. Her one hand was gripped tightly by his, the other holding her skirt, as they made their way back to the doors that led inside. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Egan, congratulations! We have the reception area-”

“I think I need to change out of my dress, first,” Cass said to the woman but looking at John. Her fingers were already loosening his tie. “Would you like to help me, Mr. Egan?” He nodded wordlessly, catching her chin between his thumb and pointer finger. 

“Don’t wait for us to start the party, ma’am. I’m going to take my time with my wife.” 

----

The door to her suite slammed shut behind them and he was on her in an instant. They couldn’t help but laugh into each other’s lips as their noses collided, and her hair was falling out of its style and his hat landed on the ground. 

“You make me so happy,” she whispered as her fingers carded through his curls, tossed his tie to the side and slowly began to undo the buttons of his jacket. “I love you so much, John Egan. Just the way you are.” John brought his hands, delicately, to the diamond headband in her hair, lifting gently and placing it on the table by the door. 

“There was a time I would have done anything to hear you say those words.” She whined as he kissed her once then pulled away. Cass pushed his jacket off his shoulders. “I thought, after I heard them for the first time, that feeling would go away. I’d still do anything just to hear you say you love me.”

“I love you. I’m in love with you. I love you.” Her arm hooked around his neck and dragged him down to her lips, his hand fumbling to free her hair from the confines of her veil and pins. 

“If I can’t get your hair out of this riddle…” Her kisses were doing nothing to help his concentration. And her hands on his belt buckle were doing even less.

“You haven’t even seen the complex feminine garments that are under this dress yet,” she teased. 

“Cass, I’ll just fucking rip it off of you if you aren’t careful.” She reached her hand towards her hair, pulling one pin for it to cascade around her shoulders in bountiful waves. “How in God’s name…”

“You were going to get started on the buttons of my dress, Major?” 

Thankfully, he was able to compose himself long enough to undo them without tearing the lace of her dress. The release of her corset and stockings allowed her to take a full breath and John lifted her into his arms, her legs around his waist and her chest between his lips. 

“So, so beautiful,” he muttered in a daze as he laid her on the bed. “And all mine.” 

“Let me see what’s all mine,” she breathed as she sat up and kissed down his chest, his fingers undoing the buttons of his dress shirt as quickly as he could possibly manage. She paid extra to kiss exactly where his heart would be. “This right here is the part I’m most honored to have.” She pressed her hand flat and he placed his on top. 

“It’s all yours. Every last beat.” 

Their kisses were sloppy and impatient as they were both fully bare, John crawling to hover over her and kissing a long line down, down, down. He kissed her clit softly, her fingers threading into his curls instantly. He moved oh so slowly and oh so softly and with direct intention behind every flick of his tongue and curl of his finger inside of her. “All mine,” he repeated. 

“All yours, John,” she panted. Her hips lifted ever so slightly off the bed, his forearm pressing them back down into the mattress with force. 

“You’re so pretty when you cum for me.” Two of his fingers curled against the spot that made her muscles quiver. “That’s my girl.” Cass propped herself onto her elbows to look him in the eye, exactly the way she knew he liked, as his thumb pressed against her clit in the same rhythm as his fingers.

“Oh, fuck, John. Faster.” He obliged. Watched in wonder as her moan caught in her throat and her chest blossomed with the flush of her orgasm. Her hips squirmed as she came back to reality but his fingers weren’t stopping. 

“Want you to make a mess for me, baby.” Ever since he had first learned he could coax arousal from her in such a way, he had been focused on working it out of her again. “Think you could do that for me?”

“Yes, Johnny.” His fingers went deeper and faster and curled against the front of her with a sense of purpose only she would be able to inspire in him. Her hands gripped at her breasts as she moaned. 

“Good girl. Just let yourself go, baby.” She gasped as her hips bucked again, John could hear the change in his fingers pumping in and out of her. Cass was so close he could taste it. When her nails scratched at his scalp and her back arched and her toes curled, he spread her thighs even wider latched his mouth onto her. It was like drinking nectar straight from the source. She writhed against his tongue as he lapped at every drop, John’s own hips seeking friction by rutting against the matress. 

He looked absolutely sinful. Chin coated in her cum. A curl hanging down his forehead. Kissing at the inside of her thigh to make sure he didn’t miss a drop. 

“John…” She was practically out of breath as he stroked her clit one more time just to watch the way her stimulated body reacted to his touch. 

“You soaked the sheets baby. I’m so proud of you.” 

“Need you inside me,” she whimpered as John stood, pulling her to the edge of the bed. “Need my husband to fuck me.” 

“My wife needs my cock?” he asked rhetorically. She nodded, trying to move her hips forward to close the gap. He tapped her with the head of his length before teasing up and down her slit to gather her wetness. He saw stars as he pushed into her. She welcomed as much of him as physically possible, her brow furrowed and mouth agape as she watched him rock in and out of her gently. “Cass.” His hand reached to wrap around her throat as he picked up his pace. A moan escaping her lips in time with his thrusts. 

“Cum inside me, John.” He almost lost his focus at her words. They had been so careful since getting back. Not wanting a child to complicate the things they had been working through. But maybe now that all of that was behind them…

“You mean that?” He needed to be sure, his hips quickening with a mind of their own. 

“I’m cert- oh, right there.” She grabbed his wrist as he hit a particularly sweet spot deep inside of her, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. “Oh, Johnny, I’m so close.” Her own hand reached between them and began to work tight circles around her clit. John loved watching her touch herself. Had a habit of sitting behind her in a mirror and talking her through exactly how he wanted her to do it. 

His hip snapped quicker, the sounds of skin on skin and her sweet moans echoing through the room. “Get there with me, Cass, come on baby.” She knew how many thrusts away he was based on the way his forehead creased and his moans sounded strangled and he would always seek out a kiss from her. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she chanted as he stilled and she felt a warmth filling inside her that she hadn’t experienced before. He gripped her hips and pulled her forward, burying himself inside of her to the hilt. Her breath caught in her throat with a squeak as her whole body went stiff before it was shocked back to life by her orgasm. Her moan was the sweetest song as it caressed his ears, his chest heaving as he looked where their bodies were connected. 

“Going to need to do that a couple more times before dinner,” he said, “Just to make sure I’ve gotten the hang of it.” A knock at the door broke their trance.

“We’re busy,” Cass called out lazily as John moved to drop his forearms on either side of her head. He kissed the side of her neck and she craned it to offer him more skin to love on.

“Mr. and Mrs. Egan, we’ve delayed your arrival as much as we can.” There was a very specific balance of timing for such an affair. The first dance and the dance with her father and his mother had to be cadenced perfectly with the toasts and the dinner. Not to mention the five tiered wedding cake and not to mention they had a ship that would be waiting in the morning to take them to their honeymoon. If they were any later, everything could be derailed. She knocked again.

“I am a little hungry,” Cass noted, her thumb smoothing over the crease in the middle of his forehead. “And you did promise you’d sing Blue Skies for me tonight.”

“I did, didn’t I?” She nodded. “Guess we better get you all cleaned up then.”

----

There was an empty chair at the head table the whole night because Cass refused to leave her husband’s lap. No one was surprised that they were late. That Cass’ hair was no longer in the elaborate style she had had previously. Both of their sisters certainly noticed the way her knees buckled and John tightened his arm around her waist. Gale and Marge recognizing the shade of lipstick peeking out from just underneath John’s collar. 

“And now the best man, Gale Cleven, has a few words for the lovely couple.” John whistled as Buck made his way to the microphone, Cass kissing his cheek until he got the hint and turned to kiss her.

“If any of you are new to the John and Cass solar system, I can say with authority they are like this all the time.” The crowd laughed and John raised his glass before taking a sip, Cass burying her face in his neck. “I’ve spent a lot of time with John Egan. Known him from the moment he put on that uniform, making the choice to serve his country. He is a natural pilot. A natural leader. It’s natural for him to love others but hard for him to accept their love in return.” 

“I think he’s trying to make you cry,” Cass whispered. 

“He might.” 

“When I was writing this speech, I was having trouble finding the words to describe the love these two have for each other. The love that never waivered, even on the darkest of nights. And that is because of two things. Firstly, Cass is his compass, his North Star. She guides him home. To safety, to her. To comfort and to love. In return, John chases away the shadows of the night and brings her a Blue Sky. His favorite song, that fact she stuck around after hearing his rendition should tell you all you need to know, and his favorite sentiment. That the presence of someone you love is enough to chase away all your blue days.” Buck turned and faced two of the most important people in his life. Those responsible for his survival in Germany. Who he would never be able to thank enough for getting him home to Marge. “You two gave me the strength to keep fighting. The strength to make it home to my wife. Because you two gave me the courage to believe in destiny and fate and the notion that our souls can find their other half.” 

Cass used her napkin to dab gently at the corner of her eyes, John’s hand squeezing where it rested on her knee. His eyes were focused on his friend with a look of pure love. The look of a man who had survived unspeakable horrors but had his anchor keeping him sane. One on that stage and the other in his arms.

“I love you, John. I don’t say it nearly enough,” she said with her lips pressed to his cheek. 

“Cass and John, I know you have the most incredible, love-filled days ahead of you and I cannot wait to watch the life you two build together because I know for a fact the world is a better place with your love in it. To my two favorite heathens.” Gale raised his glass, Cass blowing him a kiss and John tightly smiling and nodding in an effort to keep his emotions at bay. The flutes of champagne that were passed out went down in a single gulp, the band starting back up as Gale made his way back to the head table. 

“Gale, that was so beautiful. Thank you.” Cass untwined herself from John’s grasp to wrap Buck in a hug. “Here I was thinking you were sick of us and our antics.”

“I am sick of catching you two working on my future niece or nephew but will never tire of watching you two love each other.” Buck went to shake John’s hand but John pulled him in for a hug instead. 

“You got me through, Buck. Got me here with all these blessings,”John looked his friend in the eye, “I’ll never be able to repay that.”

“You repay me by loving your wife with all you got, every day.” Marge walked over to join them. “Hey, maybe you two even name your son after me!”

“Don’t count on it.”

----

The party showed no signs of dying down even a few hours later. Everyone was sufficiently drunk and full of cake. John had brought the house down when he sang just as Cass requested. She was giddy with her love for him.

“Get some fresh air with me?” she requested as he lifted her up and spun her around. 

“Lead the way, my love.” Cass dragged him out the door and a few yards away, dramatically dropping into the grass with a giggle and John followed suit. “Haven’t gotten to just look at the stars with you in awhile.” 

“We’ve been busy. I wouldn’t mind slowing down a little,” she murmured as her cheek rested over his heart.

“Me neither. A little time away is going to be nice.” A couple weeks on safari in Tanzania followed by a couple weeks on the beaches of Zanzibar. It sounded heavenly. 

“It’s going to be perfect.”

One year ago, they had finally escaped hell. It had taken all 365 days since to learn the new intricacies of the person lying with them. To learn their new scars. To love them as equally as the old ones. To convince each other they were safe and could let their guards down again and love each other with the same reckless abandon they had back in England. They had found their way back to each other. Found their way back into the perfect synchronous dance they had mastered. Found their way permanently nestled in each other’s hearts. No longer two separate people but a union. Two halves of a whole locked into a willing embrace for the rest of time. 

They had each other. And not a worry on the horizon.

#masters of the air #john egan #callum turner #mota #masters of the air fanfiction #john egan fanfiction #callum turner fanfiction #mota fanfiction #masters of the air fanfic #john egan fanfic #callum turner fanfic #mota fanfic #john egan x oc #john egan x reader #cass and bucky

[lostloveletters]

Leave a Tender Moment Alone (John Brady x OFC)

Summary: Private Kate Woodward and Lieutenant John Brady are reluctant to wear their hearts on their sleeves, but they're each starting to wonder if maybe they should.

Word count: 1k

Note: Meet Woody! Title comes from the Billy Joel song. For a little bit of context, this takes place before Damn Yankees, but you don't need to read that to understand what's going on in this fic. Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Warnings: Light period-typical misogyny. Inevitable historical and technical inaccuracies.

Private Kate Woodward had a child clinging to her leg, another hanging onto her back, both attached to her like little monkeys. 

The village kids were always in the mechanics’ orbit. Woody wanted to be a good role model for them, even if she didn’t quite know what that looked like. She wasn’t exactly keen to admit it to anyone except Holly, but offering her expertise as a mechanic to the WAC wasn’t entirely out of love for country.

After years of wandering aimlessly up and down the West Coast, she woke up one morning and realized she didn’t like her friends (if she could even call them that), working almost exclusively on stolen cars because she couldn’t hold down a legitimate mechanic job, and especially not the type of person she’d become. So she signed up, expecting to be working on jeeps or trucks, but instead found herself applying her knowledge to planes. 

Her first commanding officer, Lieutenant Deanna Seberg from Glendale, designated her Woody to differentiate her from the dozen or so Catherines and Kathleens who used Kate as a nickname.

She liked being Woody. Woody was tough and competent yet approachable, likable, even. She tried to be good. Helpful but not too imposing. Kept her cursing to a minimum. Checked her temper. Had to. She was part of something bigger than herself, bigger than any of them could have ever conceived of. Finally found a way out through it. She couldn’t afford to fuck it up.

While the handful of other mechanic girls had gotten their experience through family garages or the odd trade school, they accepted her claim that hers came from messing around with friends’ cars. She was good at what she did. No need to push it. 

Thankfully, Kenny had their backs, the young Arkansan drawling that where he came from, women weren’t afraid of getting their hands dirty to get the job done by the end of the day, whatever it may be. If that also involved entertaining English laborers’ kids, fascinated by Americans and their planes, she’d try her damnedest.

“Miss Woody!” Billy shouted, making a running start toward her. 

“Wait!” she yelled. “I can’t—“

Just before impact, which would have surely sent her directly to the ground with three children in tow, Billy was scooped up in Lieutenant John Brady’s arms. 

“You could take off with that speed, buddy,” he said, flying the boy around for a moment before setting him on his feet and ruffling his hair.

Woody smiled as the other two children climbed off of her. “You saved the day, Lieutenant.”

“Miss Woody, now you’ve got to give the hero a kiss!” Sarah, the young girl who’d been hanging off her back exclaimed with a flourish of her hands. “That’s what happens in the stories.”

Brady shook his head. “Miss Woody doesn’t have to—“

Woody gave him a quick peck on the cheek, their small audience of Billy, Sammy, and Sarah giggling and cheering in delight. “Why don’t you kids go make some trouble for Mr. Kenny?”

The children ran off, arms spread out wide as they imitated planes themselves. God, had she ever been that carefree as a kid?

Brady cleared his throat. “I came by to see how the fort’s doing.”

“And just in time. That would’ve been a hell of a tumble if it weren’t for you,” she said.

“You’re great with those kids.”

She smiled. “Thanks. I try to be the kind of adult I wish I had around when I was their age, you know?”

“That’s good of you.”

“C’mon, I’ll show you what we’ve done so far.”

He stuck close to her as they made their way around the damaged plane, Woody taking care to let him know exactly what had been fixed so far and where they were having a bit of trouble. Shuffled a little closer to her when she pointed at one of the engines.

He smelled nice, a reprieve from the mix of fuel, motor oil, and sweat. Not to mention the occasional whiff of cow manure drifting through the air on a strong breeze. For a moment, she envisioned her arms around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck while something soft and slow filled the room. Wondered how he’d hold her.

Shit. Stop daydreaming.

She glanced at him every so often. His expression didn’t change much. Brows furrowed, handsome face etched with concern as he scrutinized the state of his plane.

“Really, I’ve seen worse,” she said.

He scoffed. “That’s reassuring.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that.”

Certainly wasn’t the first plane he crash-landed, but as soon as the words left his mouth, he could practically hear his mother’s voice, ‘John Brady, I did not raise you to speak to young ladies that way.’ Except he’d hardly consider Woody a young lady. She was a mechanic with a mouth when she got a few beers in her. More rough-and-tumble than any of the girls he grew up with.

Everyone seemed to like her, though. Hell, he sure did. Hambone already made a stupid comment about how he should ‘ask Woody to kiss it better’ when his fort, so comically named Brady’s Crash Wagon, went up in smoke. Probably why it smarted to feel like she pitied him or something.

Smarted worse to see the way her lips pressed in a thin line. Kept her gaze anywhere but him.

“Kenny told me you stay out here late working on it. Thank you,” he said, a stubborn substitution for an apology. “I appreciate that.”

“You’re welcome.”

Silence. 

Wasn’t sure what else he could say, and she was doing everything but telling him to buzz off. 

“Well, I’ll let you get back to it, Woody.”

She nodded. “See you around, sir.”

He tried not to kick himself too much as he walked off, not entirely sure where he was going.  

“Hey Lieutenant!” Woody shouted when there was a few yards of distance between them.

He stopped in his tracks, turning around to look at her. “What is it?”

“You got something—“ She gestured to her own cheek.

He wiped the spot on his cheek where she had kissed him and fought back a smile at the grease smudged on his fingertips.

#john brady x oc #john brady x ofc #masters of the air #masters of the air x oc #john brady #masters of the air x ofc #mota x oc #mota #mota x ofc #mota fanfic #hbo war fanfic #hbo war #ch: woody #let's hear it for emotional constipation and mutual pining

[luulapants]

The Fix - Chapter 1

Destiel | Rated E | WIP

Castiel’s eyes scanned the file once, quickly, then again more slowly, taking in every detail, starting to sort them into mental boxes: basic, irrelevant, potentially consequential, definitely consequential, exploitable.

Basic: Kansas Representative Dean Winchester, age 32. Republican. Brown hair, green eyes. Born in Lawrence, Kansas. Resident of Gypsum, Kansas, a suburb of Salina, with an apartment in Washington, DC. Appointed to his seat after the untimely death of his father, former representative John Winchester.

Irrelevant: Graduated from Brown University with a Bachelor’s in political science. Competitive skeet shooter. Classic car aficionado. Chose classic rock songs for all of his campaign rallies.

Potentially consequential: Married to a Lisa Winchester-Braeden, age 34, with a son, Ben, who was born healthy seven months after their wedding. She owned a wellness brand that operated more-or-less as a pyramid scheme. Mother, Mary Winchester, was murdered in a home invasion in 1981, which inspired her husband’s tough-on-crime political campaign.

Definitely consequential: Younger brother, Sam Winchester<, a liberal activist lawyer working with groups such as Greenpeace, The Green Party (a picture of him shaking hands with Ralph Nader), the ACLU, and The Innocence Project. Currently involved in a massive class action lawsuit against the Kansas Department of Corrections. Dean’s previous jobs were in the orbit of their father – his campaigns, his staff, more recently on the board of The Mary Winchester Foundation.

Exploitable: A single Polaroid photograph, stored in a black plastic sleeve, of Representative Winchester, naked face-down on a bed, hands bound and a blindfold tied at the back of his head, the penis of whoever took the photograph buried in his asshole.

Cas traced his thumb along the edge of the photograph, then carefully tucked it back into the sleeve. “So what’s the plan for him?” he asked.

Zachariah held his hands wide as if this were not his devising but rather an inevitability that had fallen into his lap, leaving him helpless but to receive it. “He’s young. Conservative. Politically viable.”

“And easy to control,” Cas supposed. He could see it, the whole trajectory they had planned for Mr. Dean Winchester. Today a representative. In a few years, he could be appointed to the senate when Brownback went for the governorship. He wondered if they would dare to lift a puppet like this any higher than that. A sex scandal waiting to happen. Or maybe that was where Cas came in.

Read the rest on AO3

#destiel #dean winchester #castiel #supernatural fanfiction #the fix #supernatural politics au #I decided that alternating WIP updates might make me work better let's find out

[weast-of-eden]

it seems like some people actually liked my last fic rec, so here's another one, guys! this time i tried finding some fics that were a little different, like AUs, different POVs, rarepairs, WIPs, etc. again, these are pretty all set in canonverse (ACD or Granada) or victorian era unless specified otherwise. so without further ado, here is:

Eden’s ACD/Granada Unique Fic Recommendations

And With Him Disaster by eggshellseas (@/maxwelljacobfriedman on tumblr) 14k | Rated E Summary: John Watson is being stalked by a vampire. Notes: not-your-mother's vampire au, that's for sure. definitely read the tags before getting into this but man, this fic is so, so good. features not only vampire!holmes but also dark!holmes and it's a ride from beginning to end. ugh i want to talk more about this fic but i can't spoil anything!!

Into darkness then without a candle by Solshine (@/thehumantrampoline on tumblr) 10k | Rated T Summary: At first, Moriarty is just a disguise, like all the rest in his wardrobe; a helpful alias to bring Holmes closer to the evils he duels. And then the disguise wins at the Reichenbach Falls. AU inspired by the stage play, “The Secret of Sherlock Holmes." Notes: i can't even get into this. I CAN'T EVEN GET INTO THISSSS. there are no words. if there were, the word would be: UGH. this is such a unique fic and watson really pulls through in this. I CAN'T EVEN GET INTO THIS RIGHT NOW.

Back to Edinburgh by mightymads 4k | Rated T Summary: The Jezail bullet in Watson’s leg causes him so much pain that he is on the verge of despair. London doctors deem it impossible to extract the bullet without inevitable nerve damage. Holmes finds a surgeon in Edinburgh, who agrees to help. It is none other than Professor Joseph Bell. Notes: Dr. Bell says 'gay rights'! also Scottish Watson for the win! this is such a beautiful story, Watson really gets to take the center stage while Holmes gets to worry for his well-being. oh how the tables have turned. plus lots of ACD's personal life mixed with Watson's own, which I think makes this such a unique fic. it's just really nice to read. *chef's kiss*

The Red Notebook by Garonne 10k | Rated T Summary: Holmes is dead, or seems to be. Watson starts to write, and Mycroft starts to read. Holmes/Watson slash set during the Hiatus. Mycroft's POV. Notes: i LOVE Mycroft POVs, and this is one of my favorites. also i love fics that depict watson's stories as completely false, like Moriarty is not real and 'The Final Problem' was just john's way of coping. STELLAR FIC.

Some Power of Selection by wordybirdy 12k | Rated E Summary: John Watson is a struggling doctor in recent practice on London's Upper Wimpole Street. One dreary Wednesday, an urgent telegram summons him to 221B Baker Street, where he meets a sombre and initially taciturn gentleman by the name of Sherlock Holmes. Sparks immediately fly – but not of the positive, life-affirming variety... Notes: enemies to lovers AU for the win! Stamford is such a knob in this one, truly. but that's okay, our heroes figure themselves out anyways. great banter in this one, if you like rom-coms then this is the fic for you!

One Page Is Missing by PlaidAdder 2k | Rated T Summary: "From this point onward I will follow the course of events by transcribing my own letters to Mr. Sherlock Holmes which lie before me on the table. One page is missing, but otherwise they are exactly as written and show my feelings and suspicions of the moment more accurately than my memory, clear as it is upon these tragic events, can possibly do." --The Hound of the Baskervilles, Chapter 8 **** This is the missing page. Notes: ok first of all you should read all of PlaidAdder’s Missing Pages series, it’s so beautifully written. this is the first of the series and the premise is so interesting and mysterious! this fic is for any fans of HOUN (me) or enjoyers of jealous Holmes (also me)

On the Orbits of Asteroids by Sheila_Snow 22k | Rated E Summary: Watson has a secret from his past that he's kept from Holmes, but the past has a tendency to come back and haunt you. Notes: Watson/Moriarty fic. yes you read that correctly and YES it's crazy good. there's still holmes/watson but it's angsty and– i can't even get into it, you just gotta read for yourself. also feat. Moran who is currently questioning his sexuality (yeah watson will do that to you mate)

The Better Part of Valour by rachelindeed 7k | Rated T Summary: Mr Melas considers himself a coward, but more than one man's courage comes with complicated cracks. Notes: for any fans of 'The Greek Interpreter' (aka ME) this fic is the coolest ever. POV from Melas, who is smart, witty, and very observant. you get to meet Paul Kratides when he's not in the middle of being tortured, plus the ANGSTIEST background story about Watson's war injury. Oof. But I literally love this fic guys pwease read it

☆The Adventure of the Purloined Heart by ladyblahblah (@/hungrylikethewolfie on tumblr) 15k | Rated M Summary: A gruesome murder unveils secrets kept buried for years. Some feelings can only be hidden for so long. Notes: This fic checks every single box for me. HOLY SHIT. It's got murder, mystery, intrigue; it's got pining, secrets, and unrequited (?) love. I think the reason I'm so unwell about this fic is because it's a WIP that ends on a doozy of a cliffhanger. if god loves me he will let this fic be finished one day. IT'S SO GOOD GUYS PLEASE READ THIS FIC. in my ao3 history is says 'visited 12 times in the past month.' what is wrong with me

i hope someone out there enjoys these! also i was going to tag the authors whose tumblrs i knew, but then i chickened out, so... sue me i guess?

also if there’s any AUs, tropes, or somesuch fics you wish existed but can’t find, feel free to ask me!! maybe i’ve read something you’re looking for :)

#sorry if i got a little wonky at the end #but that last fic is literally my bible #ngl i kinda gave y'all the goods on this one these are all soooo good #sherlock holmes #acd holmes #granada holmes #granada johnlock #acd johnlock #fic rec #acd johnlock fic rec #granada johnlock fic rec #holmes/watson

[ohwhataniight]

"Oh what a night" – The case of the BBC Sherlock transmasc aesthetics: Relating to problematic masculinities in search for identity

So I sat down and rewrote this silly essay I wrote one day after returning from my trip to the US. Flaneurism at its best (or at its worst, idk). Please bear with me but definitely send in your feedback if you read and feel like it, it means the world to me and it will definitely help me unpack some of my problematicness! Thank you <3

I take a deep drag of my American Spirit cigarette whilst the tail ofmy long black coat swishes behind me dramatically. Dusk-time Boston is lit up. The skyscrapers towering over my tiny figure are glittering against the dark through the blurry lens of my camera phone.

I am consciously imitating the aesthetic of the modern but also always Victorian BBC Sherlock, in the scene following John and Mary’s wedding, in which the world’s only consulting detective surrenders to his noble, quiet pining for his not-gay best friend.

What even is masculinity, anyway? What would I like it to be?

The creators of the series, Gatiss and Moffat, spent 10 years religiously denying the possibility of a romantic or sexual relationship between the two protagonists, while driving the hordes of fans into delirium every time that Sherlock (Benedict Cumberbatch) and John (Martin Freeman) made love with their eyes or confessed their devotion to one another. Despite the queerbaiting, the homophobia and the sexism in the Moftis series, despite the 4th season fiasco, despite the actors denying the possibility of their characters ever running together into the sunset, Sherlock himself never denied being queer. Gay, asexual, demisexual, the interpretations are many, a breath of representation in the relative democracy of fandom. And as if that wasn’t enough, Sherlock and John end up canonically raising John’s daughter together at their 221B Baker Street apartment.

The modernized urban Victorian aesthetic, the provocatively coded dialogues, the deep homosociality, and the simple, pure bitterness towards the creators, renders the community of Johnlock fans more alive than ever almost 10 years after the series’ finale. In some hidden, bright corners of the internet, like fanfiction.net and archiveofourown.com, women and queers publish analyses and fanfiction in which they explore the endless galaxy of human genders, sexualities, and forms of kinship, writing the insufferably British male characters as women, non-binary, FTM, Alpha and Omega, pregnant, high, and always together - two human animals exploring bodies and experiences that belong to us in the shelter of Baker Street, with their landlady, Mrs. Hudson, being their most ardent shipper. We write entire full-length novels for free, with our sole motive being the exploration, the practice in writing, and the communication with other queers, other women, other people who feel like us and live in different sides of the earth which, despite Sherlock not remembering, keeps on orbiting the sun with the certainty born by a Johnlocker for their OTP being endgame.

Back to Boston now, which looks like Glasgow on steroids, with its red brick buildings and the glass towers that pierce the skies - it doesn’t feel as cozy and familiar to me as European cities, but it is big enough to swallow and hide me, safely, away from the suffocating and often murderous, homotransphobic gaze of my motherland, Greece. Boston feels big enough to make me feel free, invisible, and at the same time more visible than ever.

Here’s how I made it happen: in the name of an egotistical but seductive flaneurism, in the idea that here I can be non-binary and roaming the streets while smoking without thinking that, at any given moment, I might be spotted by the people from whom I’m hiding both facts, I end up romanticizing a stroll on stolen land, as well as the tar in my lungs. I feel the need to wander around, heavily perfumed, with a hanful of product in my hair, dressed androgynously in a way that my mother only accepts because she doesn’t understand the meaning of it, smoking as the soundtrack of Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons’ December 1963 (Oh What a Night) blasts through my old headphones. As a queer person living in Greece, I never felt that the streets belonged to me. I’ve always felt like a pariah looking for somewhere to belong to, and the irony of going after that feeling in America as a white European tourist brings a certain sourness to my mouth. Is that how Columbus felt? Was he a sissy who didn’t feel accepted by his mum in their suffocating mediterranean society? No, fuck that thought. Fuck that circle, fuck everything I've been taught by the writers of history. I decide to leave these streets to their people, without it meaning that I’ve suddenly found the courage to reclaim my own back in motherland.

Exhaustion, flight, cowardice? Survival.

Later I will learn that the American Spirits with the Native American on their turquoise box are anything but native-owned. What’s certain is that, in this trip, I found solace while smoking stolen land.

What does that make me? A citizen of the world?

After all, in the entire trip, I pretend I’m Sherlock, the whitest man to ever white man. It’s not as if I don’t have my own personality - at least I hope that I do. It is that through relating (to fictional characters, actors, role models who remind me of an aesthetic I had to build from scratch for my trans self, with the help of other queer people who created fanart or fanfiction, moulding new arhetypes) I find a vehicle for the exploration of my existence more easily, I see my reflection (or the one I’d like to have) in the mirror. In the fandom nobody tells you how to imagine your favourite characters and how not to. Nobody tells you how to write yourself, and nobody blames you for doing it. You create with self-indulgence, and you’re applauded for it. And that saved my life.

For years I related to a genderfluid Tonks, a trans Remus Lupin, a fanon Jean Prouvaire from Les Mis. Through all those experimentations and games, the changing of clothes in the dark, the opening and closing of the closet door, I found a name for myself: Sam. And Sam, like every other trans masculinity with the name Sam, Skye, Noah, and Eliott, contains multitudes. 

For the timebeing, my persona of choice is that of Sherlock, perhaps the most insufferable (and one of the most privileged) characters in the history of British TV (which says a lot). “What do you have in common with that emotionally constipated man?” you ask me because you know that my own sentiments are constantly dancing naked before me. I wonder why that is. Indeed, what do I have in common with that guy and end up projecting so much on him? Me, who hesitates to even cancel a doctor’s appointment in pursuit of constant politeness and people-pleasing (AFAB, you see).

When Sherlock’s landlady, Mrs. Hudson, disapproves of his manners and threatens him with a tete-a-tete with his mother, Sherlock gives her his blessing, saying: “You can if you like, she understands very little”.

Sherlock and his turbulent relationship to his parents. Sherlock who always observes everything while staying outside, because he doesn’t know how to get in. Sherlock, always so different that he’s used to people laughing at him, gaping at him with awe, or wanting to punch him in the face. Sherlock who always attracts attention simply because he functions the way he functions, constantly failing to be a normal human being. Neurodivergent Sherlock, camp Sherlock, forgotten-in-another-era, flaneur Sherlock, who even in the Gatiss series (especially in the Gatiss series) is desperate to love, but he never manages to get it right. And finally, Sherlock the logical, the detached, the cynic: masculine elements that I never managed - and was never allowed to - acquire, and which I desperately, problematically craved, because in society and inside me they have been coded as masc.

I am the opposite Sherlock, and that makes me even more of a Sherlock, I decide, and if that helps me sleep at night, then so be it, for now. 

As Hil Malatino writes in the chapter Fall Out Boy is Trans Culture of his essay Surviving Trans Antagonism: “The boy at the center of a [Fall Out Boy track, brackets mine] is [...] being eminently braggadocious and narcissistic [...]. He’s stationed directly at the center of a completely solipsistic universe. No matter how insufferable this kind of guy is in reality, I would have killed for a fraction of his swaggering self-confidence as a kid” (Malatino 2020, 17).

What even is masculinity, anyway? What would I like it to be?

“Do I look like Sherlock?” I ask you, hopeful and doe-eyed as I prance around in my black suit inside the house while packing for the trip. “Sherlock is gender, you know.”

“Do you really want to know how I see your gender? 100% honest-to-God?” you ask mischievously.

“Yes, I do,” I’m hanging from your lips.

“You are, deep inside your soul, in this tartan robe of yours, Bananas in Pyjamas.”

I think about it. Not exactly Sherlock. I smile though. I see my gender in your words. Goofy, boyish, vintage, loud, sleepy, badly dressed: Me. Headcanon accepted.

If headcanon and fanon - that is, reclaimed - Holmes played by (problematic) Cumberbatch teaches me how to be a boy or a man, then so be it, because I hope that my performance will be filtered, as much as possible, through my “girlish” (though still white) sensibilities. That, and the fact that there is a child inside me who never got to live as an openly, unashamedly neurodivergent, inquisitive little boy. Because there is a masculine side inside me that I must hide every day when I go to work. So I put together a playlist, I put on my scruffy headphones, and I tar my lungs, just a little more, a little longer until I’m able to finally leave my country for good and feel ready to love myself as I am. My coat swishes behind me as I dance alone on the street, invisible among the crowd, yet feeling more visible than ever before.

CITATIONS: Malatino, H. (2020). Trans care, University of Minnesota Press. https://doi.org/10.5749/j.ctv17mrv14

#sherlock holmes #johnlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock #queer #trans #transmasc #greece #sherlock essay #sherlock meta #fan essay #fan meta #autotheory #self indulgent writing #translock #trans sherlock #tw: smoking #hil malatino #queer theory #trans theory #queer studies #trans studies #fandom studies #fan studies

[hollownoire]

Recently picked up Resident Evil 5 on steam for $5 since it was on sale.

Friend owed me a wee favor so I chose to share one of my favorite games from my childhood with him. God, it was so worth it. I completely forgot how fucking fun RE5 is and how goddamn delightful Wesker is voiced and as a villain.

Chris and Wesker are definitely fucking, right? Please tell me I'm not the only one who thinks so.

You don't growl a man's name like that unless you plan on kissing sloppy or fucking, I'm sorry.

"7 minutes is all the time I have to play with you."

First off, you sound disappointed Wesker dear. Second off you're "playing" with John Boulder Redfield himself?

Third off, Wesker didn't give a shit about Excella in the slightest. She's trying to woo him and all he can think about is his super evil plan and fucking with his boyfriend Chris.

For Christ's sake Wesker dumps Priscella at Chris's feet like a cat does a dead bird. Then, instead of...I don't know, just fucking off instantly with his superhuman speed into his batplane and getting his Victory Royale Wesker stays to whisper sweet nothings into an intercom to tease his barn-sized boulder-fisting boytoy some more. It was all fucking tongue and smiles, too, Wesker loved that shit.

Anyway, why the fuck was that ORBITAL LASER there?! BECAUSE WESKER PUT IT THERE. Mr. Matrix was running the whole fucking show! That fucking thing was the only thing that could stop Spaghetti Chinchilla and it was fucking 20ft that-a-ways from where Wesker meticulously planted a bunch of bodies and Gorganzola for Chris to find.

You don't just "misplace" an honest to god orbital fucking cannon as a leather-wearing genetic supremacist venom wannabee supervillain. Wesker bought that thing with his own fucking money. He KNEW it was there.

The nail in the coffin is how Chris reacted after the fight with the orbital laser and Mozzarella. After EVERYTHING Wesker has done so far both in the campaign of 5 and the previous games before Chris is all like:

"I can't believe Wesker would actually destroy the world!" D:

Yeah dude?! They're fucking, end of story.

#resident evil #resident evil 5 #shitpost #albert wesker #resident evil wesker #re wesker #chris redfield #hollownoire #hollowfood #hollowsays #general #biohazard #re 5

[astronotmovie]

In the driver’s seat. Astronaut Michael Collins undergoes simulation training in preparation for Apollo 11. Mr. Collins flew twice in space with his first flight being on Gemini 10 with John Young. On that flight, he became the 4th human to perform a spacewalk. During Apollo 11, Collins orbited 30x in the Command Module to become the 2nd to orbit to the moon solo, after Young did so during Apollo 10. A historic humble hero.

#michael collins #apollo 11 #astronaut #nasa #space travel #space exploration #vintage space #space #space race #space age #moon landing #astronauts #space program #space flight #space man #1969 #1960s #space explorer #space training #project apollo #apollo program

[weclassybouquetfun]

I'm seeing all of these headlines from critics about how ridiculous FAST X as if they are just learning what the Fast and Furious films are. They are ridiculous. And? So? Your point being? Are you going to write that Looney Toons cartoons are silly?

22 years, 10 films, countless implausible moments.

You're going to say the franchise is stupid because you have people driving through skyscrapers or parachuting with cars or even surfing on a car but you say nothing about how we're supposed to believe Paul Walker as an LAPD cop when no LAPD cop in the history of the force has ever looked like that?!

This is the real stretch of imagination.

FAST X. The X stands for X-TREME SPOILERS

THE GOOD -I like a bit of fan service and the franchise keeps doling out heaping helpings of it. We got Letty back, Han back, Owen Shaw, Deckard Shaw, Elena back (briefly), whoever the hell Lucas Black and Bow Wow played in TOKYO DRIFT, Hobbs back and now the gal - Gisele.

Their babies are no longer babies.

At this pace I can't even feel bad that John Cena's Jakob died because we didn't see his body. For all we know he could have jumped out the car when it exploded! We see Han's body and he still returned from the dead so...I'm just saying don't count your dead characters before they hatch.

-I loved that they tied this story into Fast Five because that film was my entry into the Fast and Furious films so I remember that one distinctly enough that I could appreciate how they re-did scenes to add the idea that Dante was in their orbit then.

-Following THE SUICIDE SQUAD's lead and relegating Scott Eastwood to bit player. This feels like they were just trying to help him retain his SAG-AFTRA health insurance.

-The twist with Alan Ritchson's character. They intro him giving a wall of exposition about how the "cult with cars" win everyone over and then we see him won over and I think, "Exactly. As it should be." But no! Mans was luring Dom into a false sense of security. Dom was probably too blinded by that tan Ritchson was sporting for some reason.

-Paul Walker's daughter Meadow having a small role. Wouldn't be la familia without her.

-Jason Momoa was having so much fun and he certainly made for an entertaining villain. I'm all in for a villain who wears nail polish and space buns. And I liked how they actually used his photos from his BAYWATCH: HAWAII and STARGATE ATLANTIS years instead of photoshopping it.

THE BAD -Momoa IMO didn't find a good balance between unhinged lunacy and camp. I wish he was able to blend the menacing aspects of the character into his character when he was being more flamboyant. I think an actor who pulled that balance off perfectly was Chris Pine in SMOKIN' ACES.

-I can turn my brain off, I want to be entertained. If I wanted to logic police these films I'd just tweet Neil DeGrasse Tyson and ask his opinion. That said, bad writing is bad writing and this film had some awful writing. The script was written by Justin Lin, Dan Mazeau (Wrath of Titans) and Zach Dean (The Tomorrow War). I like to think Justin Lin knew some parts of the script was absolute dog piss and quit because he didn't want to have to massage a performance out of his actors using those words.

Justin Lin when handing in the final draft to Universal.

-The CGI was so bad! Regressively so. It was like they were using 2001 technology in some of the big scenes.

THE REST A cliffhanger? Editors exist for a reason. You're telling me I am going to have to sit through another 2 hours watching Letty, Cipher and Gisele on their sub adventure through Antarctica, Deckard saving his mum, Dante acting like he's on RuPaul's Drag Race, Roman with the weak jokes (Tyrese isn't as funny as he thinks he is), then a race to hurriedly find a way to give Brie Larson something substantive to do and because everyone comes back, we will see the return of Mr. Nobody (Kurt Russell) and then shoehorn back in Rita Moreno to close out the film with another speech about family?

#fast x spoilers #fast x #fast x movie #fast and furious #movies #film #vin diesel #jason momoa

[wpmorse]

Jon prowled around Satin in a slow circle, sword in hand, forcing him to turn. "Get your shield up," he said. Jon page 1053

Jov gives Satin a training session before being summoned by Melisandre. Not much to say about this one. I probably should’ve zoomed out just a little bit more showing the crowded area on top of that. I think I have John orbiting satin to the right when Mr. Martin said left.

#asoiaf #pen and ink #a storm of swords #illustration #jon snow #satin

[gumnut-logic]

Ephraim (Part 1)

Okay, ultimately this is @gaviiadastra​ ‘s fault, but I think @onereyofstarlight​ should take some of the blame as well, because she started me playing the game again just recently.

This fic is a crossover...Thunderbirds Are Go and Stardew Valley. Yes, I have finally lost the plot. But since this is the only spark I’ve had that has resulted in words in months, I’m going with it.

I have plotworked much more than I have written here. This is just setting the scene for shenanigans...and perhaps checking the waters to see who might be interested in this crazy and whether it is worth coercing myself to write more.

But in any case, those of you know have played Stardew Valley, I hope you enjoy that aspect, those of you who haven’t, I hope it is fun anyway ::hugs the lot of you::

-o-o-o-

“Thunderbird Two, we have a situation.”

His brother’s voice, no matter how much loved it was, drew a groan.

But Virgil was a professional. “FAB, Thunderbird Five. Coordinates?”

The requested location popped up on his dash and swallowing another sigh, Virgil threw them into Two’s navigation and rolled her towards the north.

They had almost gotten home this time.

The sudden manoeuvre startled Gordon in the seat beside him. A groan very similar to Virgil’s own as his eyes saw their destination on the dash. “Oh, man, you’re kidding!”

“I’m sorry, Gordon.” John’s voice was truly apologetic. Virgil had to give him that. “It should be a quick one. One person incommunicado in a dilapidated mine.”

“Dilapidated?” So, Virgil’s voice was a little sharp and accusatory. It had been a very long day and pulling another idiot out of a disused mine…

John threw the detail at them, his voice showing some of that same tiredness. Virgil was forced to remember that his brother had had as long a day, if not longer than he and Gordon had.

Why did idiots go anywhere near hazards waiting to happen? And why had the damned thing been left accessible in the first place.

He must have grumbled out loud because John’s ever patient voice explained something about Joja being responsible.

Fantastic. That would be another week of listening to John and Scott conspiring to take out the megacorporation again. Reminding them that ‘legal’ was a thing could get exhausting.

Maybe yanking John down from orbit? A holiday in Aotearoa?

The last few miles to the Pacific northwest coast of the US was spent planning said vacation while Gordon muttered curses in the seat beside him.

Definitely a holiday.

But first…

They flew over a small coastal town, the usual people stopping in their tracks and staring up as their big and loud Thunderbird passed over the village and to the mountains behind it. A pristine mountain lake, complete with an island and footbridges, was followed by a cliff with obvious mine workings.

Virgil lowered Two down in a clearing in front of what looked to be a souvenir shop of some kind.

Post-flight and then they were moving.

John continued to stream information. Victim was several levels down in the mine. No room for a pod. So exosuit was the deal. Contact was a Mr Brandy who they met the moment they stepped outside of the module.

“He’s new to the Valley, bit of an upstart. Took over the old Taylor farm on the other side of town. Said he wanted to join the Adventurers Guild and I’m not one to stop a man from proving himself.”

“Mr Brandy-“

“Marlon be my name.”

“Marlon, we’ll take it from here.” The exosuit hissed as he moved and Virgil found it strangely reassuring.

‘Dilapidated’ was an understatement. The mine entrance itself was easy to access and rather misleading because of that. Directly inside was a cavern full of rundown mining equipment – carts and wooden reinforcements that seemed to be barely doing anything. An old shaft elevator looked ready for a gullible victim in one corner. It was a danger zone no longer waiting to happen, but eager for more victims.

Gordon grunted beside him as he dragged over the spelunking kit.

The only way down proved narrow and not for the faint-hearted with a rickety ladder to one side and darkness looming below.

Why did he do this job again?

A few short words and Gordon had the cables set up and hooked to Virgil’s suit, and he was lowering himself down.

“Thunderbird Two?”

Virgil’s boots hit dirt in a cavern not unlike the first, though much darker. He let out a breath into the sudden all-encompassing silence. “Yeah?”

“Victim’s name is Ephraim Taylor. Background check brought up something interesting.”

“Yeah?’ A sound in the silence. Scurrying? Rats were a given but far from enjoyed.

Cockroaches were also a far too familiar encounter, along with bats.

“Apparently, he is a relative.”

“Of what?” There had to be a further way down. He lifted one boulder after another, sifting through a rockslide scarily recent enough to hide the victim’s footprints. “Thunderbird Five, give me a path down.”

“Direct shaft down to the next level is two metres to your left.”

Virgil mumbled an FAB and sure enough, under one of the many boulders to his left there was another gaping chasm. He slammed a cable piton into the floor, guiding his support cable into the pulley gullet. “Access located. Descending now.”

Again, he barely fit.

Another cavern, but this one was more of a passageway, dark and nowhere near as silent as the first. So much scuttling and other unidentifiable sounds.

Virgil swallowed.

“One more level, Thunderbird Two.”

“Thunderbird Five, is there any other life down here I should know about?”

He could hear the frown in John’s voice. “What kind of life? Nothing in particular on sensors. Usual cave biome for the area.”

“Define usual.” He was getting sharp, he knew it. He was tired and the natural denizens of dark places weren’t his favourite things. You’d think his career would have helped with an immunity to such things, but no.

The dark brought up bad memories.

“Nothing hazardous, Thunderbird Two.”

Yeah, right, keep it professional.

“Trust me, Virgil.” John’s softer voice brought with it an understanding that pierced deep with its honesty.

A deep breath. “FAB, Thunderbird Five.”

The next shaft proved even harder to find.

“Virg, you need me down there?” Gordon’s voice was far too bright for the environment.

“Negative, Thunderbird Four.”

A grunt. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

Virgil didn’t bother to answer that as he finally located the access tunnel to the level they needed to be on. Unclipping another cable guide from his suit, he slammed it into the rock floor, tested the draw and, hooking in, lowered himself down.

Maybe they should trial that heavy duty jetpack again and see if the issues it had with the weight of the exosuit could be fast tracked. It would certainly have made this descent easier.

The moment he entered the next cavern there was a difference. This one was lit. Flickering light created dancing shadows. While the light was an improvement, the extra sounds were not.

Definitely creepy. “John…” He trailed off. His brother had already told him there was nothing unusual. Asking again was desperate.

His boots hit the floor and the exosuit hissed.

A body lay half hidden in the rocks. “Target located.” Hurrying over, he did a quick situation assessment and freed his hands from the suit, setting it to passive so he could work.

Scanner light flickered. Young, male, unconscious, breathing, no injur…no, wait…the signal fritzed a moment before once again declaring the victim injury free. What the-?

Concerned the device wasn’t doing its job, Virgil checked the man for any obvious external injury. “Thunderbird Five, diagnostic on the scanner, I’m getting unreliable readings.”

Virgil’s glove caught in a substance on the man’s clothing. As he flinched away, it stretched like sticky goo.

Something slipped out of the shadows beyond the prone rescuee.

About the size of a partly deflated basketball, it was green, squelching as it moved towards them, and glaring at him with little red eyes.

One moment it was there, and then it was on him.

“Jo-aaah!”

-o-o-o-

TBC?

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #stardew valley #Virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #John Tracy #nuttyfic #nutty is nuts #possibly crackfic #I need a holiday

[amyreadsandstresses]

EVEN MORE OF AMY'S DAILY FIC RECS

A too long list for the avid BBC Sherlock fic reader

*Friday - oohmo

12k, 5/5, Johnlock, Rosamund Mary Watson, Parentlock

On a beautiful Friday morning, Sherlock takes Rosamund Watson to school. However, young Rosie has been keeping a secret from him and John. The secret is soon discovered by a phone call, which requires Sherlock and John to come to the rescue for their little girl.

*Take Me Dancing (Again) - aquileaofthelonelymountain

11k, 1/1, Johnlock, Rosamund Mary Watson, Parentlock, Angst, H/C

“Sherlock”, Greg began. The grin faded from the detective’s face from one moment to the next; he was at once aware that something was wrong. “I’m here because … I have to tell you something.” Sherlock turned to face Greg. His posture was bolt upright, his hands were balled into fists at his side. He looked like he expected to be punched, and Greg wondered how much he had already deduced from the little he had said. “There has been a robbery”, Greg began as gently as he could. “John was injured. He’s in hospital.”

*Sex Ed on the Fly - ShirleyCarton

2k, 1/1, Johnlock, Parentlock, Not inapropiate

When John’s five-year-old daughter walks in on them and asks them what they’re doing, John is mortified to the depth of his bones. Sherlock, however, calmly decides to answer her honestly – to John’s absolute astonishment. But within ten minutes, his lover has enlightened Chloe more than could be said about any sex ed he’d ever had, in a way that puts her mind at ease and gives her a basic but important understanding of what love is all about.

*A Waste of Breath - Chryse

Reread, 95k, 25/25, DubCon, Angst, Johnlock, Sebastian Moran, Hurt/Comfort, TW APPLY

John had always assumed Sherlock was uninterested, untouchable, married to his work. He was wrong on all counts. But when Sherlock embarks on a relationship, John worries that he is in over his head...and this time he might be right.

*Longing - belovedmuerto

3k, 1/1, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Pinning

Sherlock Holmes longs.

*An Unexpected Coupling - fantasybean

5k, 1/1, Johnlock, Greg Lestarde, Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft Holmes, Harry Watson, Molly Hooper, Established Relationship

The many times the people around Sherlock and John found out they were married. From getting caught in the act to intoxicated rambling, it's a sweet tale of discovery and amusement!

*for all that bitter delights will sour - darcylindbergh

Reread, 9k, 1/1, Abusive John, Unhealthy Relationship, ANGST, Consent Issues, Miscommunication

“I’m not gay,” John said into the darkness.    Sherlock rolled over, facing away from him. The skin of his cleft slid uncomfortably against itself as he moved, the lubricant becoming tacky as it began to dry. He re-adjusted the pillow under his head. “I know.” 

*I meant to say always - OnceSherlock

8k, 1/1, Johnlock, Fake Marriage, Rosamund Mary Watson, Fluff, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Parentlock

“It means that you can make a wish,” he said to Rosie. She looked at him with wide eyes. “And what can I wish for?” “Anything you want. And if you truly believe in it, it will come true.” “Then I know how to use my wish,” Rosie said, looking from John to Sherlock and back with a grin. Sherlock’s brows furrowed and for a moment John felt like he was missing something of importance. Rosie closed her eyes, her lips moving slightly as she uttered her wish. She opened them again as John leaned closer to her. “What did you wish for, love?” Rosie made sure that Sherlock was listening before whispering into John’s ear. “I wished for you and Papa to be married.”

*A Proper Gift - hungryforpowernotfood

1k, 1/1, Reread, Autistic Sherlock, John Watson, Gift Giving

Sherlock sees a rock that reminds him of John and gives it to him.

*The Dilemma of the Watson Bedroom - jemariel

7k, 1/1, Parentlock, Johnlock, Domestic Fluff

Sherlock hates the name Rosamund. John wanted to call her Katherine. Sherlock thinks it suits her. Meanwhile, he and John are orbiting ever closer together. Sherlock tries not to wonder how long he will have them here, all three of them together in 221B. 

*Spectral Evidence - earlgreytea68

4k, 1/1, Johnlock, Mike Stamford, Halloween

It's 1692 in Salem, Massachusetts, and it kind of makes sense the townspeople think Sherlock Holmes is a witch.

*Love is the Rhythm - eyeus

4k, 1/1, Magical Realism, Johnlock, Mycroft Holmes

Love is a dangerous disadvantage for the Holmes family, immortals until they’ve given their heart to someone else. Nevertheless, it’s not like Sherlock planned to lose his to John.

*Agitate - snozzingsnuffles

9k, 1/1, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mycroft Holmes, Autistic Sherlock

Pushed beyond his limits by his workload, Sherlock suffers a meltdown. John learns a lot about his friend.

*Everyone Needs a Place - PixChuu22

Reread, 32k, 14/14, Disability, Drug Addiction, Johnlock, ANGST, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD Sherlock, Past R/NC, Injury Recovery, Prostitution, Happy Ending

Sherlock Holmes walks back into Dr. John Watson's life two years after his 'death' wearing a tuxedo and a smile and missing half of his left hand. As always, John is drawn back into Sherlock's orbit and finds himself trying to heal someone with physical, emotional, and psychological scars... often to the detriment of himself.

*Climbing into Chairs - paceprompting

10k, 6/6, Johnlock, Rosamund Mary Watson, Parentlock, PTSD, Domestic Fluff

When John returned to Baker Street, this time with his daughter, he didn't expect Sherlock to fall so easily into the role of co-parent. He forgot that Sherlock, stubborn as he is, is quite adaptable. He let John in once before. And as John watches his daughter fall in love with Sherlock more every day, he realizes, fuck, he is too.

*Without A Word - Salambo06

26k, 9/9, Johnlock, First Time, First Kiss, Fluff

After being punched in the face, Sherlock has his jaw wired shut. Unable to speak anymore, they have to learn how to communicate with each other in other ways.

*A Brief Account of Life with Zombies - silverpard

2k, 1/1, Humor, Crack, Zombies, Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Greg Lestrade, Epistolary

Sherlock thinks it's all a bit of a nuisance, John is having the time of his life, and Mycroft is Not Impressed. With anything, but mostly his minions' inability to provide a good cup of tea.

*How It All Started - round_robin

4k, 1/1, Johnlock, Civil Partnership, Greg Lestrade, First Time

The story of how John and Sherlock ended up in a relationship. By accident.

*Beneath His Skin - cathedral_carver

1k, 1/1, Sherlock Holmes, Drug Addiction, John Watson, Mycroft Holmes, Angst

He can only fight a craving like this for so long.

*Sense of Innocence - tenderly_wicked

4k, 1/1, Johnlock, First Time, Not ideal BDSM, Hurt/Comfort

A violent row evolves into angry sex, and Sherlock – the one who’s been pinned down to his bed and thoroughly dealt with – is more than happy with this turn of events. But it seems that John isn’t.

*Ginger - cellardoors

2k, 1/1, Humor, Hair Dye, Johnlock

Sherlock. John. Hair Dye. Gingers.

*To be Loved by You - TwisterMelody

28k, 1/1, Johnlock, Baby Watson, Mary Morstan, Mycroft Holmes, Greg Lestrade, Pinning, Hurt/Comfort, GORGEOUS FIC

Too many times they had confessed themselves in the darkness, leaving it there, never to speak of it again. But this is different. This love deserves the light of day.

*Reassurance - Johnlocked (Krullenbol2602)

1k, 1/1, Johnlocked, Post Riechenbach, First Kiss

Sherlock, after coming back, takes John's pulse at random intervals. This is the story how John figured out why.

*A Case of Mistaken Identity - scribblesinbyline

5k, 2/2, Johnlock, Smut, Roleplay

“Hang on. You can’t seriously be trying to turn us away because we’re together.”

*Thriteen and awake - microcanonical

3k, 1/1, Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes, Mummy Holmes, Bipolar Sherlock, Angst

"In your household, you are a source of worry. You are Too Much To Handle. You are not actually on drugs (yet), merely somewhat sleepless, and as a result alternatively hyperactive and dazed. But one side effect of not being able to sleep is that the hours in a day will double. And these hours must be filled. Last night, you studied anatomy, and you thought briefly that you could be a surgeon. The human body, you thought, is marvelous-- all that fine tuned machinery, and yet that relative sturdiness, that resilience. You learned the bones of your hands and feet yesterday, and they were so beautifully assembled, scaphoid-lunate-pisiform--"

#amy's fic rec #bbc sherlock #sherlock bbc #sherlock holmes #johnlock #sherlock fanfic #john watson #mycroft holmes #autistic sherlock #bipolar sherlock #parentlock #tjlc #tjlc is real #sherlock fic rec #greg lestarde #rosie watson

[spurious]

The Call

(read on AO3)

Rodney gets the call at three in the afternoon on a Tuesday, the phone on his lab desk trilling to life and interrupting his train of thought.

“I swear I’m just going to unplug this thing and make them get me a secretary,” he grumbles—one of the worst things about being back on Earth, working at Area 51 again while various world governments argue about the future of his city, is that he’s so much more reachable now. People who want something from Dr. Rodney McKay no longer have to know someone who knows someone who knows someone at SGC and can get a message into the Atlantis databurst; now every idiot with a minor security clearance can look up Rodney’s goddamn phone number.

“What?” He barks into the phone, scribbling down notations with his other hand.

“Dr. Rodney McKay?” says the voice on the other end, unfamiliar and female.

“Yes, what do you want?”

“I’m calling from Penrose Hospital in Colorado Springs—“

Rodney’s stomach churns at the word “hospital,” and when she says “Colorado Springs” he interrupts, chest tight.

“John? It’s John, isn’t it, he—“

The doctor—or nurse, or receptionist, Rodney’s not listening and frankly doesn’t care, because he’s waving down one of the grunts from the hallway and shouting that he needs to get to Colorado Springs now, is the Daedalus in orbit, or the Hammond?—is saying “yes, Mr. Sheppard indicated you as his next of kin, and…”

About fourteen responses flash through Rodney’s mind then, starting with “It’s Colonel Sheppard,” taking a detour at “I’m his next of kin!?” followed by “Of course I’m his next of kin,” and finally finishing on the important question, which he verbalizes: “Is he alive?”

“Yes,” the woman answers quickly, and Rodney lets out a breath, “he arrived in critical condition, however—“

“I’ll be there in…” Rodney says, snapping his fingers at the frightened Marine he’d flagged down, “fifteen, maybe twenty minutes.”

And then Rodney hangs up the phone and gets on the radio to harangue whoever’s high up enough to make sure he keeps his word; and through a combination of threats, favor-calling, and good old-fashioned shouting, he finds himself running into the ER waiting room at Penrose Hospital.

The whole rigamarole leaves him with only about three uninterrupted minutes to think, during which he works himself into a pretty impressive spiral about what the hell John had gotten himself into—he was supposed to be on leave, for fuck’s sake, and as soon as Rodney’s certain he’s alive he’s going to kill him for making him worry like this.

The anger floods out of him, though, when he’s brought to the little curtained-off area where John is lying in a hospital bed, looking small and exhausted against the stark white sheets.

”Sheppard,” Rodney breathes out, heart hammering in his chest as he crosses the floor and throws himself onto the tiny stool next to the bed. “John.”

John looks wrecked, in a way that’s not wholly unfamiliar to Rodney: there’s gauze and tape across his nose and one cheek, remnants of blood flecked up into his hairline, and the arm that’s laid out over the blanket, IV tucked into the crook of the elbow, is marred by a series of contusions.

Rodney stares, rapt and anxious, as John blinks his eyes open, focusing on Rodney and giving him a dopey little smile.

“You came,” he says, voice soft and raspy.

“Yes, I’m looking forward to the lecture I’ll get from some uniform on not misusing important SGC resources, but what the hell did you expect, that I wouldn’t?”

Rodney wrings his hands, wanting to reach out and touch, reassure himself that John’s alive, heart beating.

There’s another long, slow blink—like the way that cats show affection, Rodney thinks, half-hysterically—and then John tilts his head, thoughtful.

“You beamed in?”

Rodney rolls his eyes. “Yes, keep up please? How else was I supposed to get here fast enough?”

John grins at him, white teeth and little spray of wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, and Rodney wants to strangle him, Rodney wants to kiss him, Rodney wants to wrap him up in fucking bubble wrap and lock him away somewhere safe.

“What the hell happened, Sheppard?”

John looks away, fiddling with the edge of the sheets, and Rodney suddenly knows this injury is the result of some sort of ridiculous extreme sporting endeavor.

“Well, I was on my skateboard…”

“I’m going to kill you,” Rodney growls, furious fondness fluttering in his stomach. “Did you break any bones? You’re not getting any younger, you know?” He breaks his self-imposed rule of not touching then, palpating across the expanse of John’s body, half self-soothing and half an attempt to catalog the damage. “You obviously hit your head, which, well, I don’t think I need to remind you just how many head injuries you’ve sustained already—or maybe I do, maybe the brain damage has already set in and that’s why you’ve done something so reckless, so idiotic that—“

Quicker than Rodney would expect from a man drugged to the gills on pain meds, John’s hand comes up, fingers tangling with Rodney’s and squeezing, hard.

“Hey, Rodney?” John says, and Rodney raises an eyebrow, waiting.

“‘M glad you came.”

Rodney flattens his mouth, looks down at their joined hands, and shrugs. “I’ll always come, you know that.”

#fic #mcshep #just some fluffy post-canon hospital content

[chicinsilk]

US Vogue August 1, 1957

Mary McLaughlin wears a fox-colored velvet headpiece is matched with a fox scarf and the hair, by choice, is in the same eye-popping color orbit. Hat and Fur, by Mr. John. The exact hair color-Clairol's Champagne Beige.

Mary McLaughlin porte un casque de velours couleur renard est assorti d'une écharpe de renard et les cheveux, par choix, sont dans la même orbite de couleur éclatante. Chapeau et fourrure, de Mr. John. La couleur exacte des cheveux-Clairol's Champagne Beige.

Photo Horst P. Horst vogue archive

#us vogue #august 1957 #fashion 50s #fall/winter #automne/hiver #mr.john #clairol #fox #fur #mary mclaughlin #horst p.horst

[blueikeproductions]

Heathers AU 80’s Pop Culture Interests

Veronica: Loves classical literature, John Hughs movies, and Disney movies. Enjoys an occasional fantasy film like The Princess Bride, Willow and Legend (the Tom Cruise movie where Tim Curry plays the devil btw). can usually be found B Dalton Booksellers at the Sherwood Mall pouring through its collection on the weekend. Developed an interest in Transformers from her friendship with Dan.

Martha: Particularly enjoys cute things. A huge movie fan and a bit of film snob, she loves Princess Bride above all else. Likes Jim Henson projects, Disney, My Little Pony, She-Ra, Peanuts, ALF, Garfield, Heathcliff, and sitcoms like Punky Brewster, Saved By The Bell and Mama’s Family.

Dan: Wears his interests proudly. Transformers, ALF and Disney Ducks, specifically DuckTales, are his top interests. Likes sci-fi and fantasy movies like The Last Starfighter, Wizards, Dragonslayer, The Dark Crystal, The Flight of Dragons, They Live, Enemy Mine, and The Transformers: The Movie. Famously he was the only one in his friend group back in Hawkins, NOT traumatized by the death of Optimus Prime. Can usually be found at Waldenbooks, KB Toys, Hills and Ames looking for books and Transformers. Likes sitcoms like Family Matters, Doogie Howser and Growing Pains.

JD: Likes chaos and dinosaurs, especially when the two go together. Dabbles in classic literature, and likes Dr. Jeckle & Mr. Hyde in particular. His favorite non Slushee thing is the trading card series Dinosaurs Attack!. Likes The Transformers, with his favorite teams being the Dinobots and Terrorcons. He also likes Soundwave’s two dinosaur cassettes Overkill and Slugfest. Enjoys westerns, schlocky monster/Kaiju movies, RoboCop, the Mad Max series, Escape From New York, The Terminator, Hellraiser, Critters, The Dark Crystal (mostly because of how gnarly the Skeksis look), The Secret of NIHM, Rock & Rule, and shooting games like Operation Wolf and Duck Hunt. Also enjoys crime shows like Wiseguy and Hunter.

Red Heather: Enjoys romance and mystery movies like Cocktail, Dirty Dancing, Body Double, The Bedroom Window and Vision Quest. Looks down on those who still watch cartoons at their age like Dan and Specs, despite she herself liking a good Bugs Bunny cartoon once and awhile. Enjoys teen gossip magazines like Teen Beat, ‘Teen, and Super Teen, but doesn’t read much otherwise.

Green Heather: A closet Muppets, Indiana Jones and Star Wars fan. Particularly likes the Ewok spin off movies, but desperately tries to hide this from the other Heathers. Absolutely hates romance movies like Can’t Buy Me Love, and chafes when Red Heather forces her to watch them for movie night. Has a thing for musicals like The Phantom of the Opera, Starlight Express and Cats.

Gold Heather: Despite her sweet demeanor and appearance, she LOVES horror and slasher movies like Hellraiser, Friday the 13th, Halloween, Child’s Play, Army of Darkness, Creepers, and Fright Night. The bloodier and more chaotic, the better. Red and Green are too disturbed to really judge or comment and just let Gold enjoy herself. She also dabbles in anime because of Specs, owning a Doraemon keychain he gifted her clipped to her purse. When asked by others, she denies knowing what it is and just found it cute in a crude attempt to protect her reputation.

Specs: HUGE Star Wars fan. Had he survived, he would also be a fan of the Prequels and Sequels, mostly happy there’s more movies to enjoy and analyze, despite agreeing the sequels aren’t that great. Big anime fan, enjoying stuff like Space Adventure Cobra, Demon City Shinjuku, Arcadia of My Youth: Endless Orbit SSX, Doraemon, Saint Seiya, Space Warrior Baldos, Robot Carnival, Giant Gorg, Ronin Warriors and Sherlock Hound, but particularly loves Tatsunoko Productions like the various Time Bokan series and Tekkaman.

Kurt: Enjoys stuff like Conan the Barbarian, TMNT, He-Man, Thundercats, Thundarr the Barbarian, Blackstar and Bravestarr, but hides it initially. He-Man is his jam, and is both his “gay awakening” and the reason he started working out and getting into sports. Once admitted to Dan that Prince Adam/He-Man is his idol and who he strived to be, but failed and instead became an Evil Warrior like Two-Bad (in conjunction with Ram). Likes to collect He-Man toys but is often in a disguise when going to places like KB Toys to find them. Similarly likes collecting He-Man and TMNT comics but tries to hide them In between workout and swimsuit magazines. Also reads the gay model magazine Stud Puppy, but isn’t as good at hiding it… Actually got to model for Stud Puppy in his early twenties as part of a personal milestone.

Ram: A big TMNT fan, especially the movies and video games, but initially hides it. Is actually a pretty big gamer when he’s not playing football, and frequents the arcades to play the games albeit in disguise. An expert BurgerTime, Pole Position, Contra, Pac-Man, Ms. Pac-Man, and Donkey Kong player, and is very fond of Mario and The Legend of Zelda. Isn’t particularly great at sports games like ExciteBike and Track & Field ironically. A casual fan of Star Wars, and unsurprisingly his favorite part of Return of the Jedi is the slave Leia stuff. Enjoys testosterone charged movies like Top Gun, The Running Man, Commando, Bloodsport, Big Trouble in Little China and The Warriors.

Betty: Similar tastes to Veronica and Martha. Seems particularly into Care Bears, ironic given her cruelty later on. Likes sitcoms like Family Ties, The Golden Girls and Nightcourt.

Jamie: Shares Dan, Kurt, Ram and Spec’s interests. Big Dungeons & Dragons kid and loves the cartoon. Big movie guy like Martha. Enjoys stuff like V, Quantum Leap, TerraHawks, Poltergeist, Batteries Not Included and Flight of the Navigator.

Thrash: Shares Ram’s interest in testosterone based movies. Big Arnold Schwarzenegger and Slyvester Stallone fan.

Throttle: Like Veronica, he is a bit of a bibliophile, and enjoys classic literature. Likes Steven King and the Dune series in particular.

#heathers #heathers fanfic #heathers au #heathers the musical #veronica sawyer #jason dean #heather chandler #heather duke #heather macnamara #heathers headcanons #heathers oc #blueike productions #heathers 1989

[random-thought-depository]

While I'm here, I made a partial list of worlds with complex life within 20 light years of Earth in my setting, with short descriptions. I haven't figured out names yet, so I'll just name them by reference to the star they orbit.

"Gaian class" here means an Earth-like planet with liquid water, plants and animals, a photosynthesis-based food chain, etc.. I took the liberty of using the term used by John M. Dollan's Arcbuilder universe and the Orion's Arm universe, at least for now. Given the history of my setting as I've mentally plotted out so far, it might make more sense if the setting's in-universe equivalent of the Planetary Classification List used references from bonobo-like human mythology instead of references from Earth Greek, Norse, etc. mythology, and that would eliminate the necessity of eventually having to ask Mr. Dollan if he's OK with me using some terms from his PCL, but right now I don't feel like doing fictional culture mythology worldbuilding just to have an equivalent of when the characters in Star Trek say "M class planet."

Also, as I said, this is an incomplete list, I'm also planning to put Gaian worlds around Sigma Draconis, HR 7703, and 82 Eridani (and a bunch of stars farther out), but I haven't decided what those worlds will be like yet.

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

Gaian class planet of Alpha Centauri A: A bigger (1.3-1.5 Earth masses), denser, more metal-rich planet than Earth, reflecting the Alpha Centauri system's high heavy element abundance. Gravity is only moderately higher than Earth's (1.15-1.25 G) because of the bigger surface area. The biosphere is quite rich, comparable to Earth's. Climate is similar to Earth, but a bit warmer and with bigger seasonal contrasts because of a higher axis obliquity and the longer year. Oceans are deeper than Earth's and the land to water ratio is lower; the land surface is 120-130 million square kilometers (compared to Earth's 150 million square kilometers) on a planet with more surface area than Earth. There are five continents, but the biggest continent is the majority of the planet's land surface.

The planet has a very big moon (3.5-4.5 Luna masses) in a high orbit (above 500,000 km). This big moon is superficially similar to Luna aside from its higher gravity, being a cratered, basically airless, almost geologically dead world like Luna, but it is much denser and more metal-rich than Luna; it is probably a captured world, instead of one that was formed by an impact.

Gaian class planet of Alpha Centauri B: A smaller and less rich world than Alpha Centauri A's Gaian class planet. There is a single continent, hot and dry in the southwest, warm and wetter in the southeast, cool to cold and wet in most of the other coastal regions, and dry and mountainous in the interior. Fluctuations in volcanic activity over the last few million years have caused considerable fluctuations in atmospheric carbon dioxide, which have caused considerable fluctuations in climate. These climate fluctuations have stressed the biosphere; biodiversity has been reduced and surviving common species tend to be hardier and more generalist than equivalent species on Earth or the Alpha Centauri A Gaian planet. The present climate is broadly similar to Earth's, has been more-or-less stable for the last few tens of thousands of years, and will probably remain stable for many millennia in the future.

Gaian class planet of Epsilon Indi A: This is the Epsindi homeworld.

This planet orbits close to its dim sun, around .5 AU, but nonetheless receives less light than Earth and is a chilly, marginal Gaian world despite a high level of atmospheric carbon dioxide. About a third of the planet's surface is ice-lidded ocean, vast continental glaciers, and cold deserts. The equatorial and subtropical regions are warm, but tend to be dry because the cool climate means less evaporation from the oceans and cooler air holds less water. The planet does not have very much continental crust; the land surface in the liquid water belt adds up to a few tens of millions of square kilometers. Compounding these problems, mountain ranges block rain from most of the warm land that does exist, so this is largely a world of ice, ocean, and desert. This geography means the human inhabitants of this world mostly live in narrow coastal strips of good land and on the many islands that dot the ocean in the liquid water belt. These restricted good lands are peppered with the broken, crumbling remains of the cities and other constructions of the fallen Epsindi civilization. The less technologically sophisticated present human inhabitants often make their humbler settlements in the shadow of these ruins.

Gaian class planet of Tau Ceti: This is the bonobo-like human world.

A smaller, older, less metal-rich world than Earth, for most of the last billion years this was a cool world with low and heavily eroded continental platforms. An upsurge of geologic activity in the last tens of millions of years has caused much new land uplift and mountain-building and also dramatically warmed the climate by pumping large amounts of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere.

Today, the planet is much warmer than Earth. Snow and real cold happen only on mountains, in highland regions, and near the poles. There are essentially no permanent glaciers. Even the polar regions have almost subtropical weather in summer and the polar oceans are basically free of ice even in winter, though the polar lands do experience snow and cold during the dark polar winters. Greenhouse climates have lower equator to pole temperature contrasts, so the equatorial regions are not much warmer than Earth's; the entire planet from the equator to the poles has temperatures compatible with thriving plant and animal life.

Sea levels are high relative to the height of the continental platforms, so much of the continental platform area is covered by biologically rich shallow seas. There is less land than Earth, both absolutely and as a percentage of the surface area; the planet's surface is 25% land and the total land surface is around 110 million square kilometers (Earth's surface is 30% land and Earth's land surface is 150 million square kilometers). The land area is fragmented into multiple continents and many islands. Most land is not far from the sea and has a warm and wet climate. Thus, while there is land than Earth, more of that land is good land. The warm climate does intensify storms, and there are more poisonous plants than on Earth, but aside from this the planet is almost a tropical paradise, with little desert and no cold lands.

There is no large moon, but there are some captured asteroids in high elliptical orbits, the biggest of which is more than thirty kilometers on its long axis.

Gaian class planet of 40 Eridani A: This is the bearfolk world.

For the past few million years, this planet has been locked in a cycle in which its axis obliquity varies from only a few degrees to almost 60 degrees and back again over a few hundred thousand years. For most of this period the average temperature was relatively low and the planet was not very friendly to humans. Low obliquity eras were ice ages, while high obliquity eras had very hot summers and very cold winters. Life here has adapted to this cycle to some extent, but biodiversity has been considerably reduced by the stresses of the obliquity variations. During the cool period, much of the land surface was covered by a very simplified ecosystem in which most biomass was tough, fibrous, nutrient-poor grass-analogues and most animal biomass was a single species of large grazer.

In the last few tens of thousands of years the opening of a new, highly active volcanic rift under the ocean raised the atmospheric carbon dioxide level, warming the planet. This created conditions for forests and richer grasslands to thrive and spread and caused a large-scale collapse of the simple fibrous plant and big grazer ecosystem and its replacement by richer ecosystems (a development that may have been catalyzed by early bearfolk hunting of the big grazers and proto-agricultural ecosystem interventions). Today the planet is in a relatively low obliquity era (obliquity is presently similar to Earth's) and has an overall rather pleasant climate, a little warmer than Earth's. It superficially resembles a quite conventionally Earth-like rich Gaian world, but close inspection of the native plants and animals reveals a relatively low level of biodiversity and many hardy, generalist forms with ability to endure extremes of heat and cold and prolonged periods of darkness.

Many of this planet's native plants are poisonous or otherwise inedible or poorly nourishing to humans, and many of its native small animals are poisonous or venomous, an environmental difficulty that has been very significant to the bearfolk's evolution.

There are three continents, though one is relatively small and another is very thinly populated by the bearfolk because it is still mostly covered by the simplified tough fibrous grass-analogue and big grazer ecosystem where it isn't desert or glaciated. Most of the bearfolk live on one continent, a large land mass that stretches from the northern polar region to a point south of the Antarctic Circle.

Gaian class planet of Delta Pavonis: For most of its history this was cool and dry world, but its sun has now become a subgiant and dramatically increased in brightness, making this a hot marginal Gaian world. Average daytime temperature is over 90 F. There is little surface water, only small seas, so most of the surface is desert, a wasteland of sand and rock baking beneath a blazing, swollen sun. The atmosphere is thin; even in the lowlands oxygen levels resemble a highland such as Tibet on Earth. The thin atmosphere and lack of moisture means the nights can be quite chilly, as the temperature can fall rapidly and dramatically after the swollen sun goes down. The subgiant sun also floods the surface with increased UV radiation. Axis obliquity is low, so the climate is almost seasonless, a year-round brutally hot summer.

Most of the planet's remaining plant and animal life is in the small seas and in the vegetated areas around them. These vegetated areas are mostly scrub and "grassland" (technically not grass but a structurally similar native plant) surrounded by semi-desert, as the seas are mostly too small to generate enough evaporation to support extensive forests. Forests are restricted, mostly existing where highland regions close a sea catch rain.

Much of the planet's water is in vast subterranean aquifers (the planet has a lot of porous rock). These aquifers are interconnected with the small seas. Water from these aquifers wells up to the surface in many places, creating many oases in the desert.

Like the bonobo-like human world and the bearfolk world, this planet had some proto-humans transplanted to it within the last few million years. The Delta Pavonisian branch of the human family have evolved into a sapient species adapted to better endure the harsh conditions of their world; compared to Homo sapiens they have a greater capacity to endure high temperatures, a reduced reliance on perspiration, expanded lungs and increased hemoglobin to enable them to better extract oxygen from the thin air, and almost coal-black skin to protect them from the intense UV radiation of their subgiant sun.

Gaian class planet of Eta Cassiopeiae A: A rich Gaian world, though one with a rather limited land area. Most of the land is a single continent that runs from the fringes of the north polar region to the fringes of the south polar region. This continent is quite extensive in the north-south axis, but relatively narrow in the east-west axis. This continent has equivalents of almost every major land biome on Earth, including high-altitude ones in its mountains, so biodiversity is higher than one might expect given the limited land area. The biosphere is still recovering from a mass extinction event within the last two million years. Nights on this planet are often rather bright, illuminated by two sizable moons and the local sun's companion star Eta Cassiopeiae B.

#my main SF setting

[jonesyjonesyjonesy]

Wildflowers (pt. xiv.i)

a john paul jones x fem!oc fic

summary: Julia Morgan knew nannying for three girls who had recently lost their mother would come with many challenges. But she never thought their father, the enigmatic musician John Paul Jones, would be causing her the most trouble. And while Julia is not in the business of saving broken men, her tenderness might be meant for more than little girls and wildflowers.

table of contents │ previous chapter

masterlist│ko-fi

notes: tropes, tropes, and more tropes

a/n:  Text editor be damned. The girls need Julia Morgan. Part one of two. As a reminder, the tag list is opened. 🥰

pt. xiv.i, wild rose

"I’ve been watching and I just know, Julia. I just know that you are not alone in this."

The corner of my eye twitched. The band of the falsies Pat had given me kept dipping below my lash line. A tear started forming in my right eye.

“Bloody hell,” I spat and ripped them from the crepe skin of my lids. The release of the glue was a tiny piece of heaven.

I didn’t have the heart to toss them overboard and instead set them on the handrail. They looked like angry black caterpillars that were curling up, waiting to die.

A solemn summer breeze glanced over the lake and gave me goosebumps I rubbed my forearms for warmth. Wished I had a cigarette to accompany me. I had my sea legs by now and I undulated with the delicate waves of the current. But I was done with it. The romanticism I had built up from watching the boats trembling with people and music was kaput. I wanted to go back to the dock.

I coughed deeply once more, marijuana still scratching at my lungs. My head throbbed from too much alcohol. Hangover even before getting into bed. Getting old, Julia. I grabbed onto the rail, framing my little lash caterpillars between my hands, and looked out at the mountains ghosting over the glinting, winking water.

This night that had started out so promising was now miserable and here I was alone on the aft deck while up above people danced up above and inside –

I didn’t want to think about inside. She’d had her hand on the inside of his thigh last I’d looked. And he’d been so taken with her touch, whispering in her ear and making her laugh. Without my eyes, I’m sure it would make it easier for him to unwind just as I’d encouraged the night before. If I had stayed, he would have been slightly abashed and withholding and I could have stayed snug between Robert and –

“There you are.”

I’m getting ahead of myself. It’s hard not to when I think about it.

Where to start, where to start…I guess it’s inevitability. That’s the word. Like how the planets orbit the sun. It was inevitable in that heliocentric way. Around, around, around. Inevitable, inevitable, inevitable. 

Although the night before I had refuted Pat’s (and Robert’s and Mr. Grant’s) impression of what was happening between John and I, I cherished that it was known. They saw, felt a potential. That night, rather than hopelessly reach across the bed, I clutched the question in my palm and dangerously imagined the next night. I had to wonder if anyone had bothered to say anything to him about me. I didn’t know habits of infatuation from the male perspective, but from what I could tell, it seemed men never said anything to each other unless it was coded in nods and coughs. Was he being told that there was an obvious quality about us? Did he feel an inevitable feeling about us? Or was he literal when he called me friend? Was our affection for one another deeply entrenched in his tragic desperation for connection?

The day of was a warm and lazy. Room service breakfast, basking on the great lawn, wasting the day away. The exact way to spend a life.

There were moments all throughout the day of that inevitable feeling tucked in pockets. A glance, a shared laugh, his accidental grazing of my hand with his which made us both hold our arms tighter to our sides. The way we intonated Tamara’s name in the same way when she was being indolent. The look we shared after that seemed like neither of us wanted the other to see. Am I making sense? These things feel universal and yet so impossible to put into words.

Inevitable, inevitable, inevitable.

Inevitable like in the goodbye John gave toward the end of dinner before he went upstairs to get ready. “Well,” he let a telling, paternal sigh to stand. “I’m off.” The girls all moaned as he stood and gave each one a kiss to the crown of the head. “Don’t be too upset, you’ll have an extra special night tonight.”

“A surprise? Is there a surprise?” Kiera eagerly asked, shooting up in her chair like a flagpole.

John leaned over her, one hand to the back of the chair and the other on the table. “Julia’s going out tonight. So…”

“I’m in charge?” Tamara smiled and batted her eyelashes.

John scrunched his nose and pinched her chin playfully. “You wish. No, you’ll get some visitors tonight I think you’ll quite enjoy.” He turned to look at me with a sneaking smile. “You want to tell them or should I?”

I smiled back although my thoughts garbled together when my eyes met his. “You can, if you like.”

He rolled his head back to the girls and grinned. “Or do you a have guess?”

Jacinda’s eyes flickered easily, quickly. “Pat and Bonzo?”

Kiera looked to her sisters, her mouth agape and smiling. 

John shrugged. “I can neither confirm nor deny.”

“Will they bring a surprise?” Kiera asked.

“Kiera,” Tamara tutted with a roll of her eyes. “They’re the surprise.”

Kiera frowned. “People aren’t a surprise. Presents are a surprise. That’s a surprise, daddy,” she said instructionally.

“You’re spoiled. And I love you dearly,” he replied with a saccharine tone and leaned in to give her a thick, wet kiss on the cheek.

“Where are you going, Julia?” Jacinda asked me.

I hesitated before replying, “I’m going to go watch your father perform tonight.”

The corner of her mouth turned up and her eyes glinted curiously. If I didn’t know better, I would have told her exactly what I said to Pat the night before: “I know what you’re thinking and no.”

“Why does Julia get to watch you and we don’t? That’s not fair,” Kiera pouted.

“Oh, you’d be bored to tears,” he said, gaze falling to his feet. Then, as if the devil ran his finger down his spine, he lifted his head and looked to me with a smirk. “Very boring stuff.” It was only a brief look, but long enough to send a flicker of feeling through my belly.

“Plus, much too late for little ones to be about,” I added.

John laughed, “Yes, there are too many unsettling and spooky characters around past your bedtime.” His eyes darted to his watch. “Alright, now I’ve got to be off. You all better be asleep by the time we’re back tonight, alright?”

A chorus of affirmatives from the girls.

“And I’ll see you later,” he said to me, drifting away from the table with slow feet.

“Yes, I’ll be one of the crowd. Holding a lighter maybe. Isn’t that what people do?” I teased.

John blushed on my behalf and chuckled, “Oh, Julia, you have much to learn.” He turned to go but stopped short and looked back at me once more. “Let tonight be the start of your real education.”

I returned his blush with a deeper shade of crimson. I had done the studying in the studio with him, listening to his records and his playing, hearing him talk about people and concepts I didn’t know. Or was our time together the studying and the night ahead the education?

The girls and I finished up our dinner, including a rather splendid dessert of ice cream sundaes (I’d have to apologize to Pat and Bonzo for the inevitable sugar high). By the time we returned to the suite, John was long gone, save the fresh scent of his aftershave wafting out from his bedroom. God, I was so used to him and his being, his presence. Only natural, considering I lived in his house and took care of his girls. It added to that inevitable feeling. It would just be so easy to pivot into something deeper than friendship. No worrying if the children would like me, no worrying that I wouldn’t be ready for the responsibility of motherhood.

And this is where I had to grab the emergency brake. This felt deranged. What was yesterday a crush was now a full-fledged life plan. I had to wind it back. Put my head down. Focus on what was in front of me and that was bath time, which ran extra-long that night. I hid my anxious, flying thoughts behind the cover of Where the Red Fern Grows while the girls listened with rapt attention as bubbles popped around them. Once they all resembled raisins rather than little girls, I sent them off to their room to put on their pajamas so I could disappear to change.

I had laid out the dress hours ago, tenderly, spread across the bed as if the woman wearing it had disapparated suddenly. The long, white dress, printed with lively poppies, purple bellflowers, and fern leaves, looked exactly like what someone in Montreux shouldwear. A partial wooden-buttoned bodice and tie at the waist. Almost tropical. I had bought the dress specifically for the trip, although it was more of an aspirational garment, something that I didn’t expect to pull out, but would be nice for an impromptu dinner or an evening walk alone along the waterfront.

As I did the ritualistic contortion, bending my arms around my back for the zipper, I started to question if the dress I had thought was so lovely in the shop window was at all fit for the night. I seemed to stick out like a sore thumb wherever I went. I thought of myself as a smart dresser, not necessarily stylish. I cared for my clothes and cared that they suited my figure, but I no longer obsessed over trends as I did as a younger woman. Here, the crowd of musicians and their sycophants dressed in trends that were exponential of what you would see on Carnaby. With so many people saying “look at me”, no one was at all unique.

7pm on the dot, the Bonhams and Robert arrived. Bonzo was markedly grumpy until he was greeted with a thrill of cheers and kisses from the girls and was unceremoniously ushered into a card game. That left me with Pat and Robert, both of whom shuffled me with eagerness into my room. 

“That’s just a smashing little thing, don’t you think?” Pat said, pulling up the skirt of my dress and admiring the fabric draped over her hand.

“It looks lovely,” Robert replied as if it were consolation. “But have you got anything shorter?”

I balked, “Shorter? No.” 

“Damn,” he grunted. “You see, John’s the type to check the boot of the car before the headlights, if you catch my meaning,” he said and pulled the skirt so it tightened around my backside.

Pat thwapped his hand away from the dress. “Oh, stop that.”

“I’m just saying, if you know where the eye will go, it’s something to capitalize on,” he said with a shrug and cheeky smile before plopping down on the end of the bed and spreading his legs out long.

“Don’t listen to him,” she said and put her hands up in front of my chest. “It makes your tits look great and that’ll be more than enough.”

I had to laugh at their comedy routine. “You’re being awfully presumptive about all this,” I said.

“About what, darlin’?” Robert asked, picking at his nails.

“That…you know,” I began sheepishly. “I don’t know what you all are seeing, but inside of it, it’s just a comfortable friendly sort of thing.”

Robert and Pat stared back at me like I was a child saying they hadn’t broken a teacup even though the handle was still between their fingers.

“And I work for him. So this – what you’re implying or trying to do through…the dress and the…it’s really all appreciated, but it’s altogether inappropriate,” I said with firm finality.

They blinked and then burst into laughter. I screwed my lips together to keep the pinprick of embarrassment from welling in my eyes.

“You’re so precious, Julia,” Pat gushed. “Just precious.”

“Show us the shoes now,” Robert demanded from his throne on the bed.

I tried to ignore their reaction and showed them the woven leather heels that seemed satisfactory, even though Robert remarked that they looked ginormous when I held them up. “Don’t talk about that, I’m sensitive,” I said dryly before clipping them on.

And then it was off to the vanity, which clearly had been on Pat’s mind. She plopped a large makeup case adorned with golden threaded elephants down and began to unload every little thing in her bag of tricks. Robert got up and came behind me, running his hand through my hair. “What are you thinking?”

“Well, I was just –“ I began.

“Just a slight curl, a little spray,” Pat rattled off.

“You’ve got to go big with the hair,” Robert replied.

I stared at my reflection, rendered speechless. The two of them squabbled over my hair as if I wasn’t there, just a form for them to style. It felt ridiculous to be prodded and preened by their fingers, evaluating the pros and cons of what hairstyle would suit the evening. 

“Don’t worry, Julia. You’re in very good hands. You just need to sit and let me do my work, alright?” Pat said in her sweet way that now felt rather condescending given the moment.

“I just prefer something not too flashy, you know, I don’t want –“

I was silenced by Pat’s hands running over my face with some sort of balm or cream that had a sharp and unnatural floral scent. It was abundantly clear that I would not have a say in what was happening to me, so I kept my mouth shut and let them take over. As the saying goes, idle hands are the devil’s playthings, and it became too easy to let my love-addled brain turn to anxieties of the evening.

Meanwhile, Pat worked and Robert commented endlessly. Brushes and fingers, creams and powders, the heat of a curling iron at the back of my neck. I watched the mirror out of the corner of my eye in terror at what was becoming of my face and my hair. Glimpses of big, thick curls weighed down with product and shocks of frosted orange on my eyelid. I must have been paling pitifully because they kept arguing over if they should add more rouge. 

After what felt like a lifetime of this torture, Pat spoke up. “Close your eyes.”

Her fingers drifted into my eyeline, holding the wispy lashes that would plague me later in the night. “No, no, no,” I held up a hand. “I haven’t worn those since the 60s, please.”

“Oh, come on, they’ll look nice,” she retorted, making no move of retreat.

“Everyone wears them,” Robert added. “And Pat puts them on perfectly, you won’t be getting that lazy eye look.”

“Shut up, Rob.”

I dodged left. “No, please, I don’t want them on.” Then right. “I don’t want to look all done up.” I shot up off the tufted stool and backed away from the pair. “I just want to look like me and I don’t wear those.” For the first time, I saw myself directly in the mirror and almost burst into tears. Pat had done a formidable job, but I hated it. I looked so young. I felt transported almost immediately to the time of my life that was just knee socks and wet knickers, when being bold and outlandish was my currency and despite all the risks I was taking, I felt so safe. Right up until I wasn’t. My reflection was just a little girl. I didn’t want to look like a girl tonight.

I grabbed at a lock of my hair and heard it crunch in my hand. “This is ridiculous. I look…ridiculous.”

“You look fantastic! What are you on about?” Robert said with brash enthusiasm. “You’ll be right up there with the best of them, Julie.”

“I’m not looking to be best in show,” I said, my breath quickening. “I don’t do this sort of thing. I feel like a fish in a fur coat.” I lunged for my hairbrush and began undoing the thick strains of curls. “I’m sorry, I know you worked so long, but this is just too much. I look like too much.”

Robert tried to retrieve the brush from me. “You’re spoiling it!”

“Rob, leave her alone,” Pat interjected and guided him toward the door. “Go wait outside, will you?”

They had a quiet conversation in the doorway that I ignored as I paced around the room, tugging on the crunchy curls with the brush. I had about half of my head done, curls softened as much as they could, when Pat spoke up. “Are you alright?”

“Fine.” 

“Julia…”

“You’ve all made this such a big thing and it wasn’t. It wasn’t anything, Pat,” I replied tersely and returned to the vanity. I began working on a curl that had become extremely knotted. “And now I have to appease it unless I want Mr. Grant to eat my kidneys for breakfast tomorrow.”

“Oh dear,” she muttered and came up behind me.

I worked tirelessly on the hair, not minding the pain it was bringing to my scalp, until I felt her hand on my shoulder. The tension in my back melted and I dropped my hands into my lap.

“This is supposed to be fun,” she said apologetically. “And if it’s not then –“

“I’m nervous,” I blurted. “I’m so bloody nervous I feel like I’m going to be sick.”

A sympathetic smile crept onto her lips.

I dropped the brush onto the vanity and curled over onto my fists. “I don’t want this. This feeling. I just don’t want it anymore.” This was ostensibly the first time I had admitted to someone that I was feeling something for John beyond what was acceptable. An untenable, complicated, and illicit feeling. 

Pat’s hand drifted down my back. She nudged herself onto the lip of the stool beside me and wrapped her arms around my waist. “Julia.”

I looked up and found her looking right back at me in the mirror.

“If you don’t want to have them, then don’t go tonight.”

“What?”

“Don’t go. You don’t want to feel the things you’re feeling, don’t go.”

I looked at her incredulously. “I can’t do that.”

“You could,” she replied. Then, her lips curled up into a mischievous smile. “You just don’t want to.”

I let out a limp laugh. She was good at seeing right through me. “I don’t want to look foolish. I already feel so foolish.”

Pat didn’t reply at first. She grabbed the brush and began to work out the curls in my hair again. “Julia, I wouldn’t be here egging this on if I thought you were going to look foolish.” She separated the pieces of my hair into relaxed curls easily with her nails. “I know you feel like you’re sitting on your heels just watching everyone because you’re the outsider. But what you don’t know is that I feel the exact same way. I think most of us do when we’re around the lot of them. I watch and I listen just like you do.” She sighed and reached for a clean eye shadow brush. Gingerly, she pushed the brush into the crease of my eye and began to buff out the orange. “The only difference is…I know them much better than you do. Their mannerisms and habits. I’ve learned over the years how to read them.” The eyeshadow miraculously diffused into a color resembling the golden light of afternoon. “And you need to hear me when I say this.” She gripped my shoulders and locked her eyes in mine through the mirror. “You listening?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve been watching and I just know, Julia. I just know that you are not alone in this,” Pat said. “I see the way he looks at you.”

I flushed desperately. “Pat, please.”

“I know, it sounds like fluff, but listen to me. I wouldn’t just say it to stoke your ego. This is too…this is too big for that. I know that. We all know that. I mean…we all know how huge this is for him,” she said, despondency inching into her voice. “I’m not going to play games when I know how important this all is.”

I touched one of her hands and leaned my head against hers. 

Pat smiled, almost shyly. “And I’m sorry I made you look like a tart.”

“Not a tart, Pat, no!” I cried, enveloped in laughter.

“Well, the look on your face made it seem like I’d tarted you up completely!”

The two of us laughed ourselves silly and, once it abated, I conceded to the lashes now that the “tartiness” had been tamed. And I had to admit, she was right about them. They really pulled the look together and gave my eyes an allure that couldn’t be quite captured with mascara. The final touch was the lipstick. We agreed upon a dark terra cotta that added striking contour to the cupid’s bow of my lips. With a final fluff of my hair, Pat helped me to my feet and admired what had become of the past sloppy hour.

Pat clapped her hands together and squealed, “Oh, the girls will just die.”

Upon walking into the living room, the intense card game was only broken up by Robert’s cry of, “Wow, look at you!” The girls dropped their cards and gasped delightedly. “I’ve got to say, I had my doubts, ‘specially after that outburst, but you look just –“

“Winsome,” Bonzo finished.

“Winsome?” Robert repeated. 

“Yeah. Means pretty,” he replied as if it were the most obvious fact in the world.    

Kiera and Jacinda approached me, both touching the skirt of my dress and admiring it. “You look like a fairy,” Kiera said. “Like you sleep in a flower.”

“No, you look like the flower itself,” Jacinda argued.

“I’ll take both and then some,” I replied, leaning down and kissing each of them on the cheeks. “Be good tonight.”

Even Tamara, who was usually not one to offer a compliment unprompted, shyly added, “You look very pretty, Julia,” and that sent me over the moon.

“Thank god you came when you did,” Robert said, getting to his feet. “I was just about to get conned out of my ascot.”

I eyed Bonzo. “You better not be running a card table here. They’re too young for gambling.”

Bonzo gave me a toothy grin. “No card table, promise. Cross my heart.”

“Don’t listen to him. He’s got his fingers crossed behind his back,” Robert said, lithely dodging Bonzo’s hand going for his crotch. “Oooo…too slow.”

I gave Pat a pleading look and she nodded. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“Boo…no fun at all,” her husband replied.

Robert bounded over to me with an eager smile. “You ready then, Ms. Morgan?”

“Yes, let me just grab my –“ Pat appeared at my side with my ivory beaded purse. “Oh, thank you.”

“You have fun and you don’t worry a pin about us, right, John love?”

Kiera had already made her way over to Bonzo, climbing over him to reach the pile of cards on the side table. “Yes, hurry back!” he grimaced.

“Don’t hurry back. Don’t for god’s sake,” Pat amended.

I smiled at her the way I would at Auntie Gin. With an uninhibited amount of adoration. She had mothered me as I had needed right in that moment. And now she had to let me go. “You come get me if anything goes wrong, won’t you?”

“Nothing will go wrong,” Pat waved me off.

“But I mean it, if anything –“

She started to scurry us out of the suite. “Go, go, go. Girls, say goodnight to Julia!”

“Goodnight, Julia!” the girls said in unison.

Robert and I were forced out the door by Pat. She paused, pretty eyes narrowing. “And good luck.”

I didn’t have time to respond before the door clapped shut in my face and Robert tucked his arm under mine. “Come on, love. We’ve got somewhere to be.”

Robert calmed my nerves immensly on the way over to the casino. Everything I said could be turned into a tongue-in-cheek joke and, for better or worse, he was doing a bang-up job of making me feel gorgeous. By the time we made our way into the venue, I held my head high amongst the overly-trendy crowd.

The concert, or jam as John called it, was being held in one of the smaller spaces. It was much more casual than I had anticpated, with cabaret style tables populating the space and a very lively bar scene in the back. The stage at the front was crammed with gear; a few men milled about double checking cords and microphones. And there was a distinct smell of patchouli and tahitian vanilla wafting about, heightened by the inescapable humidity of bodies in Swiss summer.

Moreso than ever, I realized the unrivaled power of Zeppelin. It was not just a word, but an aura. An aura that was hard to miss when it was embodied in the towering, golden-haired banshee, Robert Plant. We were borne quickly to a more secluded section for the artists and shown to a primely located table toward the front. Even amongst his peers, eyes followed him as if he was untouchable.

“Y’find this suitable, then?” Robert asked as he pulled a chair out for me.

“Me? I mean, it’s perfect.” We had the best view of the entire stage, set up and back from the crowd and all the way to the front of the VIP section.

He shrugged. “It’s alright.”

“Never good enough when you get the best, is it?” I murmured, taking a seat.

Robert didn’t respond; he was making eye contact with someone across the room, gesturing with his hand toward the table in a back and forth motion. I tried to follow his gaze but didn’t see anyone of note, but was distracted by the knot of anticipation in my stomach. There is something so special about the time before a show begins. All the instruments full of potential energy, the audience abuzz and waiting. At any moment, your idle chatter and drinking could be interrupted, exchanged for a musical catharsis.

“I want you to keep an open mind tonight, Julie,” Robert murmured in my ear as he settled into the seat beside me. 

I glanced at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“This is the bird then?”

Our table had been flanked by a stocky, beared fellow who carried a glass in either hand. His eyes were squarely on me, but the question was for Robert, as if I were a sort of specimen being observed in a lab.

“Richard, Julia,” Robert said as means of introduction. “Julia, Ricardo.”

“Hello,” I greeted timidly.

Richard’s blank look transformed into a knowing smile. “It’s a pleasure,” he said with a nod and set the drinks down in front of us. “Heard you’re a fan of the green fairy.”

I frowned until I caught his meaning and looked at the drink in front of me. A chartreuse, bubbling liquid in a champagne coupe. “You’re trying to get me knackered?”

“Best way to be under the circumstances,” Richard replied.

“Richard’s our tour manager,” Robert explained. “Responsible for most all the knackering.”

“Oh, brilliant.”

Richard laughed gruffly and crouched down at the edge of our table. “Well, it’s nice to meet you finally. Heard a lot about you.”

I looked to Robert and shook my head. “That’s what everyone keeps saying and it’s starting to –“

“Oh, hush, Julia. It’s a compliment,” Robert admonished me.

“Depends on who you’re hearing it from,” I said with pursed lips.

“Just good things,” Richard shrugged, eyes shifting every which way. “Good, pure things. Promise. Listen, after the show, head out to the docks. There’s going to be a yacht taking off right after the show, s’not gonna wait except for Maria and her crew.”

Robert nodded. “Got it.”

“You better be there,” Richard said to me with sharpness. “Alright? S’not an invitation. S’a requirement. No running off or tucking in early.”

I looked to Robert to see if I should laugh.

“Hey, cool it, alright?” Robert warned. “You’re scaring her.”

Richard seemed almost affronted. “I’m not scaring her. Am I scaring you?”

“I’m just not used to the way you all communicate,” I answered, trying not to let the nervousness permeate my voice.

“See?” Richard grinned. “Not scaring her. Not at all. Alright! I’ll be around if you need anything.” He stood up and jerked his finger toward the back. “Over there.”

Robert sighed. “Thanks, Richard.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replied and looked at me again. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yes,” I smiled and, as soon as he was out of earshot, added, “if I value my life.”

Robert laughed and put his arm around the back of my chair. “He means well.”

“And I thought Peter was bad…” I grumbled.

“It’s his job to keep us happy,” he replied, swilling his drink quickly. “By any means necessary.”

I swallowed. “Sounds like people who cross you end up with a bounty on their head.”

He snorted. “Yes, you could say that.”

I tasted my drink carefully, the anisey wormwood striking my tongue and hardening my jaw. “Don’t get me drunk.”

“Just enough to loosen you up, Julie Andrews.”

It was at that moment the stagelights shifted brighter while the house lights dimmed. There was a relative calming hush as the group of ragtag musicians filled the stage. I immediately straightened up in my seat and leaned forward. As if he was trying to hide in others’ shadows, there was John, crossing over to the bass guitar sitting on a stand at the edge of the stage. With his every movement, I noticed something new in him. The stagelights brought out the cherry undertones of his lucious hair, showed off different contours of his figure I hadn’t seen, gave him a clear confidence. While his stageclothes were rather tame compared to those hanging in the studio closet, they suited the occasion well: a yellow floral shirt with bishop sleeves, blue bell bottoms, a pair of sensible brown platforms (as oxymoronic as it sounds).

I drank in his every motion as if I was thirsting in the desert and he was water. John pulled the strap of the bass over his head, was distracted by another musician and looked over his shoulder with a laugh, and put his pick between his teeth to turn one of the tuners. Once he was done, he gave a look around, took a breath, and began to pluck out a woozy, cheerful set of notes.  

God, he was so fucking dear to me up there.

I’d been so consumed in watching him, that I hadn’t even noticed the lady of the hour, Maria Muldaur, move to the front of the stage and begin her song. “Well, I tried to run my game. She said, ‘Man, that’s the same old thing that you’ve played before…’”

Her plangeant croon captured the attention of the room. The olive-skinned woman exuded ease and glowed in her rainbow wrap top. And though her bounty of dark curls adorned with a red flower were demurely seductive to the audience, my eyes were constantly enraptured by the slick and inconspicuous bassist in the back corner.

“Play something sweet…something mellow…Play something I can sink my teeth in like Jello…”

I couldn’t get my heart to stop racing. This was an education. The feeling of music pulsing and winding, right there in front of me letting my brain turn off from the world and just thrive in an aural imagination.

As they moved into the second song, Robert touched my shoulder. “Relax, Julia.”

I was sitting stock straight, hands encircling my drink, and a stupid little smile on my face. I knew John couldn’t see me, probably wasn’t even looking for me. But I hoped he could feel me. I was sending everything I had across the room to him. I relaxed into Robert’s hand and smiled sheepishly at him.

“Midnight at the oasis…”

Robert needled his finger into my waist and I laughed.

“Send your camel to bed….”

“Send!” Robert and I whispered to each other in unison. 

I didn’t have much to compare it to, having never been to a concert where the main attraction to me was the bass guitarist, but I was enthralled watching John. He was focused and precise at every turn. His watchful eyes I had grown so accustomed to scanned the band as if it was his obligation. And every now and then, he let the fun he was having show on his lips in a smile, wondering at the surprising gifts the other musicians were giving him. I watched with wide of eyes as possible so it would be singed in my memory forever. 

“Look at you. All starry-eyed.”

“I’m not starry-eyed.”

Robert wrapped a curl of my hair around his finger. “Yes you are. Glimmering.” He didn’t take his eyes off me, watching me watch the stage. “You know, it’s just John.”

I was in so deep I could have stamped on his foot for that remark. “And I’m just Julia.”

He tsked me. “No, no, listen, listen. Like I was saying earlier. You need to keep an open mind.”

“You propositioning me?” I asked.

Robert furrowed his brow, affronted. “Me? No.”

“Because I know you’re married,” I replied, yanking the lock of my hair off his finger. I’d done plenty of research since my humiliation with Jimmy.

“I said no, didn’t I?” he said with a well-humored smile popping back on his face. “’sides, would never do that to John.” His eyes narrowed. “Or, I should say, I wouldn’t do that to John in circumstances such as these.”

I guffawed. “You’re terrible.”

“All I’m saying is that you should keep your options open, love. You never know where the night can take you. You’ve got eyes on you already.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the section. “No, you’ve got eyes on you.”

Robert shook his head vaguely, curls bobbling. “Right over there, Emerson, Lake, or Palmer has got his eyes on you. I can never remember which is which. And over there –“

“I’m not interested.” 

He leaned in closer, whispering in my ear, “You’ve been cooped up all this time with only one man like Adam and Eve and you don’t know the possibility beyond the Garden of Eden.”

“I don’t know the possibility in the Garden of Eden, either,” I remarked.

He raised an eyebrow, perpetual smirk twisting up to the side. “That’s true. That’s fair.”

“And ifwe’re to continue this comparison, you seem to be the snake,” I replied.

Robert sucked in his lower lip and stiffled a laugh. “I could make so many jokes right now and I’m holding my tongue because I’m a gentleman.”

I smacked his arm. “You’re anything but.”

“I try, at least give me that credit.”

I quietly watched John another few moments, my heart swollen and throbbing. “I don’t want to keep an open mind,” I said to Robert. Plainly, clearly. With no hesitiaton. Opening my ribcage and exposing my heart. “I know what I want.”

Robert’s eyebrows jumped as he took in what I said. He saw it now. “I understand what you mean. I know that feeling.”   

The rest of the performance our back and forth was warm and well-humored. My glass seemed to be conspicuously full of champagne every time I reached for it. Whether that was the work of Richard or a trick of the mind, I still can’t pin down.

“You’ve been such a great crowd tonight,” Maria announced after a particularly rousing number complemented by brass and a swinging cadence. “It’s been just a dream to be here. Another round of applause for the band!”

The audience followed her instructions wildly and heartily.

“I mean…I’ve been around the block before but…” she leaned toward the audience and held her hand over her mouth as if it was a secret. “These guys are the real deal!”

Polite chuckles echoed around the room.

“Special thanks to Mr. John Paul Jones of the Led Zeppelin who came through on a whim last night when I called his hotel room completely gassed out of my mind,” she said with a gesture to John who seemed to sink further into shadow for his unassuming bow of the head. 

Robert let out a whoop. “Thatta boy Stanley!” (I decided not to ask).

John eyes darted our way, squinting, most likely unable to see past the footlights.

“Mr. Jones. Oh, Mr. Jones...” she drawled. “Mr. Jones is responsible for our next selection.”

The pianist started a distant, tinkling tune.

Maria looked over her shoulder at John briefly. “He’s not too happy about it, though.”

John rolled his eyes and slunk into his corner as the audience laughed.

“This is for a girl I used to know in Connecticut. Or Vermont. One of those.”

Suddenly my brain attuned to the song plunking out of the piano. A descending jangle that I knew incredibly well. I thought my ears must being playing tricks on me.

Maria adjusted the mic and let it rip. “Bill…I love you so, I always will…”

“He hates this song,” I muttered in disbelief.

“Hm?”

I couldn’t keep from beaming. “He – John, he really hates this song.”

Robert cocked his head. “You look awfully happy about it.”

“And in your voice I hear a choir of carousels…”

‘Wedding Bell Blues’ – probably Laura Nyro’s most famous tune. Lyrically trite, musically uncomplicated. Maria sang it in her own way, lilting and light, not with the same bristling gusto, but it was still…perfect. I could have keeled over and died right there and felt like I had lived a full, beautiful life. Despite his loathe for the song, John played it adeptly and lithely as he had everything else, perhaps with a little more humor behind the eyes. The song, for everyone to hear, was a secret just for us. I couldn’t be alone in this.

“Is this one for you?” Robert asked softly in my ear.

I felt a swell of emotion in my chest. If I had uttered one word, I would have burst into tears.

“Oh, Julie Andrews, look at you,” he cooed and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “You sweet girl.”

Sweet, naïve girl. I was desperate to look like a woman in the mirror and yet I hadn’t felt this young and “starry-eyed” in years. There might as well have been no audience, no singer, not a single other musician.

This song was for me. The song, this whole night. All mine.

I had to take my chance.

to be continued...

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