#sylvia: so this is what i am risking my life over | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lost-tardis-room · 3 months

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please tell me all about in the blood (no pressure, i am genuinely interested though!!!!!!)

AHHAHHAHHHHHAAAA YES OKAY THANK YOU ELI

OKAYYYY SO in the blood, doctor who extended universe book, i think it takes place pretty soon after the Silence in the Library arc cos that's mentioned quite a bit, and Donna's husband Lee (who was, i may add, i think going to be canonically trans but they weren't sure how to show that in a split second without it being confusing but he's trans in my heart) from the simulation is on Donna's mind a fair bit so my guess is it's pretty soon after that ANYWAYS, fairly standard doctor who plot, big problem with technology and people on earth and of course it's because Aliens. specifically its that internet trolls are dying and ofc The Internet gets worked up about that, but as more and more people start venting their anger online everyone gets more and more angry and they become hysterical and sometimes die. which obviously is a big problem they have to solve, i won't give away the plot but its fairly average dr who stuff.

BUT. OHH BOY THE CHARACTERSSSSSSSASASSaSSASaSAS i mean i love ten & donna anyways but they are written SO WELL like SOOOO WELL it's SPOT ON and it's so perfect because they do the same things they always do - the doctor is fully prepared to die (well. very painfully regenerate) just as he always does and uhhh actually maybe it's better if i take pictures there was a lot of frantic margin scribbling & underlining hehee

uhm. spoilers below. and very long post

my handwriting is nigh-on-illegible here i know but it says 'she remembers the Arachna-things [one google search later - Racnoss] from the Runaway Bride she knows he has killed people & that people get killed around him but... [long pause here as i thought of what to write. how do you justify that? greater good?] yeah i can imagine it really is easier to not think about it'.

this is just such an interetsing thing that they couldn't have shown in the show right, you can't show 'she didn't even really like to think about it' visually with the same impact. but like.... yeah. she saw him kill all the racnoss & still travels with him. moral grey areas flawed characters but.... the companions must do some serious mental gymnastics NOT TO MENTIOn the Doctor coping mechanisms or lack thereof.

^^but then there's this!! the hope!! he really can't stand people dying even when he is surrounded by it!! he has to hope!!!

^^ platonic doctordonna moment!!!!! i love them so much heheeee but also Lee.... oughhhhh

^^ SUCH A DOCTOR MOMENT he HAS to carry on for the sake of THE WORLD even when it means Donna is at risk

^^handwriting id - 'see THAT is such a Doctor moment - just like ' 'yeah i knew for ages', lied the Doctor' - he doesn't tell people things b/c he doesn't want to upset them & he hopes that if he doesn't mention it it wont happen. if you see your own grave you have to be buried there etc. & it's maddening for everyone but also kinda tragic'

the doctor was hiding that what Donna thought was going to fix the problem wasnt going to work b/c then she's get upset & angry, which spacey stuff blah blah is whats currently killing people - but Ten (teh Doctor in general) does this A Lot, not saying everything he knows because he thinks it's going to upset/panic/hurt people/

^^ THIS!! he needs his best friend!!! without saying anything & over the phone, Donna can tell!! ajsnjansh i just love them so muchhhh

^^ (they were back in london in present day) the Doctor feels guilty about pulling Donna from her normal, safe life, even though like she wanted to he probably couldn't have said no to that if he tried - and putting her in mortal space danger - but also completely removed from her normal life. she doesn't live like Clara, who fits weeks of time travel in time to show up to work, she's missing out on Normal Life. she's not at home. Sylvia knows she wont be staying for dinner.

sorry a lot of this is kinda depressing BUT i promise you there are joyous bits too! the Doctor is canonically a Kate Bush fangirl!!! and donna has to stop him drinking coffee cos he'e hyperactive enough as it is lol. and -

hehe

#yes anyways uhm very cool book #in the blood #doctor who #tenth doctor #donna noble #there are more posts on this coming probably i have Thoughts

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safyresky · 4 months

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🆕 Crystal Springs Chapter 29: Mind Goop now up on ao3/ff dot net!

Chapter 29: Mind Goop

After a good night's rest, Blaise sets to work tying up loose ends among the denizens of the North Pole, and charming his way through Santa's in-laws. Meanwhile, Santa crashes Jack's pity party and Elle checks in with Jacqueline, maybe a little too literally.

ao3 | ff dot net

In my heart of hearts, I call this chapter the "Blinter Gay Panic" chapter. Those mofos are out here charming the crap outta Carol, outta Santa, and Blaise does a NUMBER on the in-laws (not before they do a number on him!)

Have an excerpt ;)

Blaise looked down. Below him, baby Buddy had tottered over, sitting in the foam on the floor and smacking it with his hands. Carol rushed over, picking him up and pulling him out. He giggled, kicking his legs as foam went flying. “Looks like someone needs to be hosed down,” Santa joked, hoping to cut the tension. “No need,” Blaise said, snapping his fingers again. In a flash, Buddy was clean; foam gone, his clothes nicely pressed, and his bib clear of food stains new and old. “There we go! All tidy,” Blaise said, making a silly face at the toddler. Buddy giggled, kicking his legs happily as Carol sat him on her side. Clearing his throat, Blaise looked up at the Claus’s extended family and flashed them a prize-winning smile. “Hi. Frost, Blaise Frost. Governor of the Capitol of Crystal Springs and baby cleaner extraordinaire.” He winked, his hair fwooshing to life, briefly bending like a flickering candle before once more burning brightly at an acceptable height. “Oh, wow,” Sylvia said, sultry. “Wow!” Bud agreed, impressed. “Bud Newman! Father-in-Law of Christmas!” Placing down the fire extinguisher, he stuck out his hand. Blaise shook it enthusiastically. “Some grip you got there, Governor.” “Playing with fire works wonders on the old grippers,” he teased, letting go of Bud’s hand and turning to look at Sylvia. “And this is the lovely Mrs. Newman?” “Just Sylvia is fine,” she said, patting her hair and giving him her hand. Blaise took it, very briefly kissing her knuckles. She flushed. “He’s got ‘em,” Santa whispered to Carol. “Hook, line, and sinker baby,” Carol replied, the pair of them bumping fists.

YOU'LL NEVER GUESS WHAT HAPPENED BEFORE THIS! OR AFTER THIS! Or maybe you will! With a chapter title like MIND GOOP? I ain't SLICK. Or maybe I am! Who's to say? YOUS to say!

That's RIGHT! You can check Chapter 29: Mind Goop out HERE on ao3 and HERE on fanfiction dot net and be the judge of how slick tumblr user safyresky really is!

Want to start from the top? Check out the Prologue: An Encounter HERE on ao3 and HERE on ff dot net!

Story summary and SafyreSky Industries Ramblings below the cut!

It's been almost a year since Jack Frost thawed and things are looking...well, not so great. Jack's powers are seemingly gone. Without them, the Dome that keeps the North Pole safe from the cold and its magic controlled is melting, putting everything and everyone magical at risk. Unable to hide his power shortage any longer, Jack is forced to admit the truth. Thankfully, there is a solution: enacting the Legate Law, bringing Jack and the sister that he hurt so many centuries ago back together again. But when Jacqueline starts experiencing destructive blackouts, the pair are forced to head back home to Crystal Springs, bringing Jack face to face with the rest of the family. Needless to say, between getting his powers back, helping his sister figure out what in the FROST those blackouts even were, reconciling with his parents, meeting the two even younger siblings he didn't even KNOW he had, NOT TO MENTION the ancient threat that's had it out for the ENTIRE Frost family finally making a move? Saving Christmas (regrettably) is looking to be a little bit...complicated.

SO sorry for the SLIGHT delay!! I think I spent like 75% of December taking care of sick husband/being a little low energy/feeling unwell, and then holidays came around and were BUSY. AND FULL OF MORE SICKNESS. This time the hubbers and I got hit with a stomach bug like no other AFTER CHRISTMAS DAY. I've never had to put so much effort into tossing my cookies in my LIFE. GAH.

The other problem I ran into was, funnily enough, Jacqueline and Elle. Their mind goop scene wasn't hitting right, so I let the chapter sit for a bit while rereading older Jacquie/Elle bits and rereading Rules of Engagement and when I finally looked back at it I realized the PROBLEM was that THESE TWO GOOBERS. HAD M O R E TO SAY TO ONE ANOTHER!!!!!!

WHAT DO YOU TWO HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELVES?

UNBELIEVABLE.

Goobers aside, here it FINALLY is :3.

🆕 this chapter:

Blaise decided he was going to be present for the rescue Polly mission, too

(that was a whole OTHER writing problem, oy vey)

(the cast has taken control. i don't even think i'm in the CAR anymore! I think I fell out!)

Both he and I continue to be plagued by CS Lore (magical incidents and how they are taken care of, the CS equivalent of "Police" and how they work, Mother Nature apparently having absolute power in extreme circumstances--though that checks out, AND some Call/Fae War Lore Drops)

This, of course, means you all get fresh CS Lore!

Next time I rework CS it's gonna be to separate it from Fandom and make it a publishable original work

WORD COUNT: CS 2014 (OG)->6,055k CS 202X-> 15,444k

Yet another MASSIVE change lmao

And I think that about covers it! MUCHAS thanks to mr alex hirsch for unleashing gravity falls onto the world and making me aware of GRUNKLE as a title, which Lucy 100% would use and WILL USE. I think Sylvia is like "just Sylvia is fine dear" and Lucy's like "Consider: GRAUNTIE SYLVIA!" (bc you can't convince me that Bud and Sylvia wouldn't be brought into the blended family the way the Millers and Scott did it, lmao)

Goal for Chapter 30: write it, first off, lmao. I'm two scenes in?? But I'm HOPING to have it ready for Crystal Spring's TENTH Birthday on the 20th of this month. TEN YEARS. MAHOOSIVE. AH.

Anyway, enjoy the chapter and enjoy your weekends! I will be cleaning at my folk's house so ANY AND ALL NICE WORDS AND COMMENTS AND DISTRACTIONS ARE APPRECIATED AS I AM TIRED AND FAMILY'D OUT AND WILL NEED THE SEROTONIN, LOL.

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pacifymebby · 10 months

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t r o u b l e / chapter thirteen

Chapter list

Sonya

I started regretting my decision to go with Bonnie almost immediately, my stomach twisting with a growing discomfort as I followed him through the meadow towards the very edge of my brothers land.

I could see a small collection of caravans parked at the edge of the field next to a dirty track country lane. One of those thin winding lanes which snaked through the midlands and sewed all the little towns and villages together, made us look like a patchwork quilt from above.

"Why are you so close to the road?" I asked, my voice betraying my nerves, my uncertainty. My conviction that perhaps this had all been a mistake, that I'd been naive again, too trusting. That my brother had made a mistake in trusting the Golds...

"Cause," he shrugged, "it's good if the Italians know the house is watched, might make em think twice about any..." he trailed off, a look of uncertainty flickering in his own eyes as he shoved his hands back in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders.

"Any what?" I asked but he just flashed me a smile and shrugged his shoulders again.

"Cmon lass get a shift on eh I can smell me dads cookin," he said reaching for my arm, his hand resting on my lower back as he fell into step beside me.

But there were more men that just his dad hanging around that field and the closer we got the more uncomfortable I began to feel. It wasn't just that I looked like I'd been bawling my eyes out that had me feeling self concious, it was that I knew I would stick out like a sore thumb amid the gang of travellers Bonnie was walking me towards.

"Ah," said a man, his voice husky and melodic, all wind through the willows sort of hush. When he stood he smiled, at me and then, only when his gaze had held mine with a knowing kind of glow, did he look to Bonnie. "So this is the little lass my Bonnie's risking his life to keep safe eh?"

"Da!" groaned Bonnie then, his cheeks flushing a pale shade of pink, "ignore him lass am glad to do it... Really..." he said looking back at me trying to smile through his embarrassment, but his dad only laughed.

"Come on Bonnie boy, it was just a joke, I'm sure they still have those in London... Don't you lass, still have time for a wee laugh down south eh?" he asked me, my own humiliation catching me off guard as my cheeks warmed through and my mouth opened with nothing to say.

There was a second of silence before he carried on as if I had said something, smile relentless just like his son's.

"See," he grinned pushing his long whispy hair from his face, taking a hairband to scrunch it into a little bun at the nape of his neck. "Now, which ones this? The wannabe drug dealer or..."

"Da!" hissed Bonnie but it was me who really cut him off.

"You know about Sylvie?" I asked without thinking, giving my twin away in my sudden panic, but Bonnie's dad saw my concern and shook his head.

"I know about that miss, your brother Thomas does not..." he said, winking at me in a way that did little sooth my nerves. "Sylvia's secrets are safe with me... Though you might tell her to be a little more careful if she intends to carry on shifting gear on Solomons streets eh?"

"Gonna leave her be now da?" cut in Bonnie, his teeth gritted though he was trying his best to keep his soft smile for me. He hadn't forgotten the tears I'd been crying only fifteen minutes earlier and he wasn't sure how fragile I still was. He kept glancing at me, checking me over, like he thought this polite smile was an act, like he thought that any second now I would crumble all over again. That one wrong word from his wind up merchant father would see me inconsolable once again.

"A little joke," smiled his dad raising his hands in innocence, "the little Shelby knows I don't mean any harm by it..."

"Aye well," grumbled Bonnie, "she's only away here because she needed a little bit of peace... Hows she gonna get that with you teasin her all the time eh?"

"Alright," chuckled his dad, "Alright, no more teasin, alright... Its lovely to meet you young lady, the names Aberama... You make sure you don't go putting yourself in harms way eh? My boys got a big fight comin up the week, wouldn't want to see him battered and bruised before he's set foot in the... "

"Da!" groaned Bonnie again, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed as he muttered something blasphemous under his breath.

Still, his fathers smile didnt falter and neither did Bonnie's, his still lingering when he'd nodded for me to follow him and he'd hidden his face in his hands, rubbed his palms over his red cheeks and turned to me with another apology.

"Am sorry lass he doesn't mean any harm by it..." he said shaking his head, "just doesn't know when to stop..."

"Its fine," I said softly, hugging my arms around myself as I walked in step with him towards the vardo I presumed belonged to him and his father. "You're a boxer?" I asked a little awkwardly, turning back over my shoulder to watch Aberama crouched over the open campfire. He was cooking something and Bonnie had been right about the smell. It did smell lovely.

"Oh yeah..." he said, his smile growing then, any kind of self consciousness from before dissipating as he made two fists and boxed the air in front of me with a cheeky little grin, "but don't worry about what me da said," he added, "I could go into that ring battered and blue an still knock out a horse," he said before adding quickly, smile a little sheepish, "not that I'd want to knock out a horse..."

I couldn't help but smile at that, at the sweet way he winced at his own thoughtless remark.

"That why my brothers got you lookin after me?" I asked my own smile self concious because I knew I must have looked a sorry state. There were still tears in my eyes and my voice still carried that sad thickness to it having been wasted crying for so long.

He sucked in his cheek for a moment looking up at the trees the other side of the dirt track road, and then he shrugged.

"Maybe aye," he said brushing the comment off too easily. As if for a moment he'd considered where he could or should tell me something else.

I had heard a little about the Golds over the years. And from what I'd heard I certainly hadn't been able to match the rumours up to the cheeky but seemingly harmless lad stood in front of me. So it was the rumours which made me wary.

"So.." he said distracting himself from the trees by turning back to me, "you wanna come in? It's not as big as your brothers place mind... I hope you're not claustrophobic," he said jumping up onto the step and reaching his hand down to me. He waited for me to take it and though for a second I hesitated, when I felt his fingers close around mine I settled a little. One final glance back over my shoulder at his father before I let him help me step up onto the 'porch' and inside.

"Oh," I breathed when I stopped just behind him, just over the threshold of the little caravan, "its gorgeous..." it wasn't that I hadn't expected such a pretty wagon to be beautiful outside and in, if was that I'd not set foot in a romani vardo as quaint or traditional as this one since I was a very small girl.

My mam and dad had given up on tradition when they'd found themselves with more wains than they could count on one hand and nowhere to put us all.

No, the first three years of my life had been spent crammed into a four berth bessacarr cameo that was only really big enough for mam, dad, finn, Sylvie and me, and only because the three of us bairns were so tiny. Once we'd started to grow a little mam had been forced to accept the reality of our situation. With no money for anymore beds, we had had to settle in Birmingham where dad and our older brothers could find work.

The only time I'd seen a vardo as pretty as this one was when we'd joined other travelling families or stopped for the fairs.

"Its small," he said taking two cups from hooks above a little sink, "sit down though lass, wherever you like, make yourself at home petal," he said only realising the affection in his words when it was already too late, saying nothing just glaring at his hands fumbling with two china cups as I stood just behind him blushing.

So Bonnie's little home took my breath away.

"Thanks," I said settling on the edge of a cushioned pew which ran along the opposite wall and was draped with green blankets.

"You want tea?" he asked flicking a kettle on, the buzz as it began to boil surprising me.

"Uh, um... Yes... Please," I managed though I couldn't hide my shock and he couldn't help but grin and shake his head.

"We're not living in the dark ages sweetheart, just think theres some traditions pretty enough to hold onto eh..."

"It is really pretty," I admitted flinching again when the door opened and someone poked there head in to say hello.

"Bon your da's askin if you're eatin with us or if you're... Oh," the girl who'd poked her head around the corner like a little sprite met my curious eyes with curious sparkling eyes of her own. "You're the ballerina! The famous girl our Bonnie..."

"Ahh geez peace Floss," Bonnie groaned turning on her with a broad smile, stopping her in the doorway before she could come in and get a closer look as if I was some museum exhibit, some curiosity on display.

She was watching me with one of those clever smiles and I was sure she was making her judgements of me as her eyes trailed over my strange little outfit and my red rimmed eyes, but she didn't say a word, giggling at Bonnie's rosy cheeks.

"When did you get here anyway thought you were meant to be stayin with our Esme?" said Bonnie leaning against the door one hand above his head, the sleeve of his tshirt falling up to his shoulder to reveal those lean but muscular arms. I wasn't sure why I hadn't worked it out before, but of course he was a boxer. With a light but toned frame like that he couldn't possibly have been anything else.

"Da said I could stay here 's'long as I stay outa trouble like..."

"Aye well titch, stay outa it then," he grinned ruffling her hair and closing the door on her, returning his attention to the two cups of tea he'd been making before she'd arrived.

"Me cousin," he said, "have to watch out for her, shes a wee rotter... Thinks she's one of the lads all the trouble she causes," he said shaking his head though his smile remained fond as he sat down at the opposite end of the pew and pulled his knees up to his chest.

I didn't know what to say to him. The longer I'd been sitting there, knowing that the girl had tried to get in to steal a peak at me, the more aware of my differences I was becoming. The more aware that despite my roots, I didn't really belong on that little vardo, or at their camp at all.

"Sorry though," he said holding his mug in both hands, leaning over so that the steam from his drink tickled his nose and made it scrunch like a rabbits, "brought you here so as y'could do your cryin in peace but all I've given yous an audience..."

"No really," I said with a small smile, blushing because it wasn't his fault his day was being disturbed like this, it was mine, "thanks for havin me, its cosy in here, I like it..."

"Aye," he said with a small smile, his eyes a little distant then as he blew on the steam from his tea, "its pretty for a little while ain't it.."

"What's that sposed to mean?" I asked looking around at the confined but homely space, it had such a natural feel to it, the wy the bed and the seats were all built into the frame, that it felt like the vardo was holding you. You weren't just sitting inside it, it had been built just for you. It felt like more of a sanctuary than anywhere I'd ever been before. It was hard to believe you could ever get fed up with it.

"Nothin lass," he said with a half hearted chuckle that didnt meet his eyes and told me he really was tiring of the place, "i just mean its hardly what you're used to is it..."

"No," I said, looking up at him from under my lashes, "do you think thats why I like it so much?"

"Actually I reckon you're just bein polite, hardly your brothers country estate is it, an a reckon that flat in London you've gots pretty posh too eh?"

"Yeah," I said, a whistful glimmer of a smile on my lips as my heart fell at the mention of london and all that I'd left behind, "but I'm not just being polite," I added quickly, "this really is lovely..."

"Well," he said, "I know which I'd choose every time..." he said and from the distantce in his eyes I realised he meant my brothers estate. It didn't sit right with me, dissapointed me a little though I shouldn't have been surprised.

If Bonnie was a blinder then of course he had to share the same driving force that all my brother's lads shared. That desire to have more, to be more. To be something bigger and better than everyone else. Of course I couldn't criticise them, I shared it too.

"If you're really as close to Tommy as I assume you must be for him to trust you with his 'baby' sister..." i said rolling my eyes at the words, "then you know as well as I do that house isn't worth any of it..."

"You think?" he asked shooting me a cheeky little smile so that I couldn't tell whether I was being teased or not.

"I know." I said a little more certainly than before, a flash of anger in my eyes which must have taken him by surprise because when he caught it his grin faltered and his eyes darted away so as to avoid wounding.

He looked down into his tea, fingers tapping the sides of the mug as he raised it to his lips. I had the feeling he was drinking to bide his time, to let him think of something clever to say. But when he swallowed and looked at me again he was earnest and his brown eyes had an essence of muddy water, all rain soaked into soil. So i knew when he spoke that he was being honest. That he wasn't teasing me at all, that he hadn't meant to upset me either.

"Nah," he shook his head, "ain't gonna make my money like that," he said, "gonna earn it aren't I, in the ring like..."

"Yeah?" I asked my smile widening at his apparent sweetness, something almost naive about his belief that you could earn my brother's life honestly, "that why you're working for Tommy eh? Or is this just a hobbie for you? Like killin people in your free time?" he saw the teasing flash of light in my eyes and though he smiled too, a little caught out, scratching the back of his neck as he chuckled and then shook his head slowly, I could tell I'd wounded him and I felt guilty. I wasn't sure I'd really meant to do that. I hadn't wanted to wipe the smile off his lips the way that I had.

"Aye, well..." he said shrugging his shoulders, taking another sip of his tea, "you know what they say... If you want somethin enough..."

"You'll slit some poor lads throat for it?"

I'd shocked myself, my cheeks flushing scarlet the second I heard the words leaving my lips. Now I knew for certain I hadn't meant to say that. Hadn't meant to be so cutting and unforgiving when actually I knew better than most exactly how Bonnie felt. I'd have done anything to put myself on that opera house stage and it was the only reason I'd almost made it.

But Bonnie didn't look hurt this time, he didn't look annoyed either. Instead he laughed, a louder laugh than before, one which came from the chest and really lingered. His grin remained even after he'd stopped shaking with amusement. I almost felt proud of myself for amusing him so much.

"You make me sound like some psycho," he chuckled standing up and returning his mug to the sink.

"Think thats my brother."

I looked down into my own cup, I'd barely taken a sip and suddenly I felt a little self concious. He turned around leaning with his palms on the counter, his soft eyes watching me. He looked like he was waiting for something but I wasn't sure what.

"So," he said, the smile on his lips still tugging at his dimple making me question whether he was really about to ask something serious of me or not. "You think you might like to apologise to me now eh Miss Gray?"

His use of my aunt Pollys name startled me and when he saw my eyes widen he grinned a little wider.

"Us 'pikeys' do have phones y'know lass, I'm not completely disconnected from the rest of the world..." he said mocking me, making me blush, making me stutter when I opened my mouth to speak so that my lips remained parted on the edge of saying absolutely nothing at all. And the sight of me looking up at him like that almost made him forget the joke he was playing on me.

He faltered, licking his lips, eyes fixed on mine but only for a second. In the next he was grinning again.

"Nah am only teasin you lass," he said with a small smile, leaning back against the counter, crossing one leg over the other.

"I wouldn't call you that," I said sucking my cheek in, "not even to piss Tommy off," now I was being earnest and Bonnie was smirking softly, his dimple still a ripple in his taciturn expression.

"Like I said," he said locking his hands together only to release them, scratch one through his dark curls, "only teasin ye," he said his eyes lingering on me for a moment before he got sidetracked again, turning back to the sink. He leant there for a moment and I got the sense that he was restless, either just that afternoon or perhaps all the time. The way he drummed his fingers on the wood worktop in a slow wave. The way his eyes seemed to wander the room almost in a daydream before he turned back around and looked to me once again.

"Whyd you do that?" he asked then, "go by gray?"

"Because nobody wants to hire a girl whose brothers are known for turning perfectly polite parties into bloodbaths and pub brawls.." I said, "and," I said swallowing my tea slowly, concentrating on not embarassing myself with more tears, "me own mam died when I was so little, Pols the mam I really remember... Which is evil to say I know..."

"Nah," Bonnie shook his head, "Don't reckon you've an evil bone in your body lass..." he said pushing away from the counter and returning to sit just opposite me on the little length of sofa cushion. He sat close enough that when he hugged his knees up to his chest and mirrored the way I sat, my toes were touching his toes and I felt as if we were both just children sitting together. Like the first day of school when you're young and just trying to make one friend.

"Only asked cause I can see the Gray in you..." he said, his voice so much quieter then, his eyes flickering over my features before locking with mine. I didn't know what to say, if I had known what to say I'm not sure I'd have had the voice to say a word.

And he didn't elaborate, in fact he almost appeared to change his mind. Rubbing one eye with the ball of his palm, looking away and then back to me, tone changed again, "I didn't mean to upset you either lass, not doin very good at this cheerin you up business eh?" he looked like he was waiting for my permission to laugh, a faint blush of genuine shame on his cheeks as if he really believed what he was saying.

"Well I'm not crying anymore am I so I'd say you're better at it than you think," I admitted quietly, remembering the frantic despair I'd felt when I'd fled from my brother earlier that day. Comparing it to how I felt now in the quiet of Bonnie's little home, it was difficult to believe it was still the same day. Difficult to believe I was the same girl. Even if I was still tinged with sorrow, I didn't feel so scared, so tragic. I didn't feel like my life was burning all around me and all I could do was watch.

Bonnie bit his lip, sucking his cheek in as he drummed his fingers on the cushion beside him, he spider walked them over the dip in the fabric towards me, up the wall and to the window where he began to fiddle with the latch. He seemed as if he were trying to think of something to say, a way of making conversation he hadn't already tried. He wasn't looking at me now, he was concentrating on the window latch, but every now and then he'd glance back at me, almost as if checking I was still there, almost as if checking whether or not I was looking at him.

And every time he caught my gaze I tore mine away from him, not even really sure why I was so shy to meet his eyes. I could feel the blush on my cheeks, soft and warm. I couldn't understand why it persisted.

And when he finally said something else I found myself feeling a little dissapointed by him. When he pushed himself up and left our nook.

"I'll get you a cloth for those eyes eh," and he did, disapearing and returning with a rag soaked in cold water, handing it to me. Fingers not even skimming mine.

He sat himself down angled away from me, his eyes firmly fixed on the opposite wall, watching the shadows of a tree bowing and shimmering on the wood.

"Thanks," I said pressing the cloth to my face, feeling the cool on my skin, hoping it would be enough to take the stain from my cheeks and my eyes. Deep down I knew that it wouldn't be. That I was the kind of girl who wore her emotions on her sleeve no matter how hard she tried not to. That the remnants of my sorrow could linger for days in my lashes. That if I was really feeling sorry enough for myself I'd remain heartbroken and forlorn for a week or more.

But when I stood to put the rag down by the sink saying thank you again, Bonnie looked back at me and cracked a contagious kind of grin that left me feeling brighter before he'd even said a word.

"Thats better," he smiled, catching himself out again, a little blush tinging his pale skin pink, "not that there was anythin to improve really..." he said a little quieter only meeting my gaze for a second before he'd sprung up again and headed for the door, "dya fancy a wee walk?" he didn't really give me the chance to say yes.

#peaky blinders fanfiction #Trouble #bonnie gold x reader #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders imagine

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i-hope-youre-hopeful · 2 years

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Arent you tired of this by now?

So much has happened lately that I don’t feel like I even know where to begin. As far as purely chronicling events: I’ve started as the worship leader at Hopewell, Hannah Sydney and Rachel are all back in town this week and I’ve been trying to spend time with them, ive seen Hunter twice, Hannah told me she’s a Christian again, I’ve recovered from covid again, I talked about hanging out with Maddie Hicks but haven’t yet, I saw Gavin at the Brass Rail but she goes by Gabby now, my mom saw Ruth and I talked to Mammaw for like an hour the other day, and Michael and his friend were drunk enough the other night that I got beer snot and blood all over my new hoodie but it’s okay because we’ve started some positive dialogue about dying and what comes after. I start school in two weeks and I’m lying to everyone about what classes I’m taking because I’m ashamed to admite that I’m only taking like 1 and ½ classes.

What’s bothering me today (And increasingly so In the last many days) is Hunter. I feel better after talking to my mom about it though, actually. I decided that what is most wrong about this situation is trying to handle it alone. I am not doing that anymore. I am going to try to get up the courage to talk to my dad about it too. If I have time I’m going to ask Hannah what she thinks, and I’m going to mention it to Sylvia even though I don’t expect advice from her (though I’m sure she’ll give it anyway) I just want to be transparent with her. I haven’t been transparent with anyone lately. My hope is that later today I will tell Hunter that I am unsure what is right, and I can’t promise he won’t get hurt, but I’m willing to spend time together and risk it. I really, really want to desire Your will above everything else. I hope sincerely to do what is right by you. It feels so inappropriate to be in a leadership position and be acting this way. I feel sure I need to change some things about myself and my habits, and part of me feels that Hunter is one of those things. Still part of me feels like it might be okay somehow. Maybe I’m lying to myself. I’m so increasingly troubled these days. I put a lot of pressure on myself to live up to the standards of someone who is leading, even though it is temporary. I think that’s the right thing to do, but I wonder if I’m taking myself too seriously. I might be taking everything too seriously. It’s just life! For goodness sake, it’s just life. Who cares what the result is of today. I have so much more to say but I’m feeling tired now, so I will rest and write more later. Thank you for your patience and your guidance.

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todorosy · 3 years

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Dark Academia // Todoroki Shouto

Uhh what if UA was drenched in the dark academia aesthetic? Because I am a filthy whore for turtlenecks.

Todoroki Shouto

It was half past 1AM. You know you should be sleeping, but the old creaking of the house and the constant tapping on your windows from the wind hitting the trees were deafening.

You climb out of bed, barely flinching at the cold wooden floors under your feet. You weren’t quite as familiar with the layout of the house as you were when you were a child, but due to your parent’s busy lives with work, you didn’t want to be left home alone during your winter break. Graciously, Endeavor, a close family friend, had offered his home to you for the next month. Of course you took up the offer. The beautiful high ceiling library, the magnificent grand piano, delicious and expensive tea? How could you say no?

The only downside was Shouto.

You’ve known each other since you were children but you two had always had a “friendly” rivalry as your years in boarding school progressed. You would go head to head in class seminars, sports, the speech and debate team, exams, and etc. You despised him and his prestigious attitude, but yet you two had always remained in each other's circle. Rumors arose, but it was hard to say when others would see yourselves having a screaming match in the hallways and studying together in the library that same evening.

Though your parents were very close to each other and insisted on spending dinners, vacations, and outings together- the banters and childish arguments continued then too.

With the moonlight shearing through the curtains, you were able to make your way towards the library. Your favorite room in the house. You cracked the door just enough to slip in. It was pitch black. You feel around the walls for the light switch before you notice a single lit candle on the table.

You grab a candle holder before making your way in between the bookshelves. You run your fingers along the old leather spines of the books. What were you feeling for tonight? Some Samuel Beckett? Sylvia Plath? Maybe something comedic.

“Looking for something?” A voice breaks the silence from behind you.

You quickly gasp and turn around. The candle in your hand illuminates a familiar face that stood a few inches away from yours.

“Christ, Shouto. Don’t scare me like that.” You quickly compose yourself, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders.

“What are you doing up so late? Shouldn’t someone like you be tucked away to bed already?” He cocks an eyebrow.

You roll your eyes. “Oh don’t patronize me, shit head. I could ask you the same thing.” You brush past him to continue searching the shelves. "A princess like you needs their beauty sleep."

From behind you, you hear his footsteps following you.

“Ah, I missed that. You’ve been avoiding me like the plague since you’ve gotten here. Makes me miss our in-class discussions.”

“You missed me, huh? I wished the feelings were mutual.” You tease. “In fact, I think your presence is quite suffocating.” You say peering over your shoulder at him.

He trails behind you and slithers a hand around your waist and pulls you close with your back to him.

“Now you better watch your words. You are in my home after all, and we are lost in between these bookshelves. It would be a shame if...” He leans over your shoulder and blows out the candle providing the only source of light in the room.

“It would be a shame if I poured this hot candle wax all over you, peabrain. Now it's pitch black and I can't see anything.” You groan.

“You’re telling me you didn’t light anymore out in the main study room? Good job, stupid.” He scoffs and releases you from his grip.

“Well why did you blow out the candle in the first place? This isn’t an erotic scene in Twilight. Get real.” You roll your eyes and turn to face him. "And stop stalking me. I wanted to come down here and escape the overwhelming Todoroki presence.

“I couldn’t help myself, you're just too easy to annoy." His voice suddenly goes low "But anyways, I'm glad I caught you because I've been meaning to discuss some things with you.” His voice suddenly goes low.

“What is it? Can't it wait until the morning or is it that dire?” You cock an eyebrow.

"Well it could've if you weren't fleeting every room I step into." He rolls his eyes.

You were suddenly less than a feet from each other. You could barely make out his face in the darkness, but he held onto your wrist to make sure you weren’t a fog in the dark.

“But no, it's not as serious as it sounds. I’ve just been wondering a lot lately. We've known each other since we were pretty much born right?"

"Right...?"

"Well, how do you really feel about me? Drop the academic rivalry stuff. Can you actually not stand my presence?"

You almost snorted out a laugh.

“Are you serious? You created this dramatic build up just to ask me that?” You try to suppress your laughter. "How old are you again?

Your eyes adjusted to the darkness and you met his gaze. He looked much more innocent than he did earlier. His hair was disheveled. His eyes were tired. I took you a second to calculate an answer.

“Okay, okay. I won’t tease you." You let out a sigh. "But... I think you’re infuriating at times. Annoying. Prideful.” You begin. “But you’re a good rival. You keep me on my toes. So I don't hate you as much as everyone thinks I do. Only a smidgen I guess." You playfully say.

“Ah okay. Ditto to you. Princess complex. Always have to be so pristine and proper around everyone.” He chuckles under his breath “But you know I don’t hate you either. You keep things interesting over at UA. I like having you around.”

A blush dusted over your cheeks. You’ve never seen Shouto get so into his emotions. He’s usually as serious as ever and keeps conversation casual at most. You had to admit to yourself that you did have an infatuation with him when you were at the ripe age of 13, but that was quickly repressed when you were competing for the entrance to UA.

“Yeah...I’m glad we were both accepted into UA." You awkwardly look down at your feet. "But why'd you ask anyways?”

"I'm not sure. I guess I was just trying to predict how our dynamic would play out after we grow up and part ways onto our own careers."

"I see. I mean if I'm being blunt, we're not exactly bffs. Kinda."

You’ve always seen him in a different light than your peers. They always complimented him and boasted about him and were envious of his intelligence, but you knew him better than that, which is why your relationship was so confusing.

"How has.." You begin "...your father been?"

His breath hitches before he sighs. He then lets out a scoff. You feel his hands fall from your wrist.

"He's been the same guy he's always been. You know how it is." You could hear the sad smile in his voice.

"I do." You reply sadly.

"I want to be a writer. A journalist even. He wants me to take over his company. It's pathetic. There's no chance that I'd be able to run a business and write on the side."

"Hey, don't talk like that." You cut him off. "Who says you can't just drop the business all together and pursue writing? You've got brains in your head and the heart of a lion."

"Now watch yourself. if you keep talking like that, I might risk it all right now." He chuckles.

"I'm serious." You firmly put both your hands on his shoulder now, giving them a hard squeeze. "You don't have to be who your father wants you to be. I support you. Even if I want to rip your face off sometimes, you know I'll always be rooting for you."

There was a moment of silence between you two. He stood there, eyes gazing into your own like a lost child searching for something. You didn't know, but he appreciated your words more than you may think. He's been waiting his whole life for some reassurance and some escape from the path he's been forced upon.

"Thank you Y/N. Really." He pulls you in for a hug and it feels like all of the air from your lungs and is replaced with the soft scent of sweet mint and lemons. You hug him back tighter, smothering your face in his chest.

"No problem. You know, all these years of insults aren't for nothing." You mutter. "I want you to be the best version of yourself."

He moves his hands from your back to cup your face and head. He pulls away just enough to plant a gentle peck on the top of your head. You stayed intertwined like that for a few moments longer. You felt your body overheat under the thick blanket draped over your shoulders, but you didn't move.

"Y/N."

"Uh..yeah?" You muffle out. Your heart was racing.

"I think this is the first time we've hugged. Ever." He chuckles. "A lot of people would be jealous, you know."

"Aaanndddd... you've officially ruined it." You roll your eyes and push him away. "Get a lot of bitches, Shouto? Huh? You're such a hot shot, right?"

"Of course. I am a Todoroki after all." He teases.

"Ah yes. Nothing else to admire other than your family name." You began making your way down the aisle of books back to where you came from, he follows right behind you. "I thought you never cared about romance and all that bullshit."

He ponders the idea for a second.

"I've been around. Relationships are distracting and not many people catch my attention anyways."

You and Shouto make it to the main study where you light more candles around, dimly lighting the room just enough to see each other's faces.

"Oh? You've been around?" You ask with amusement, browsing through many of the books stacked on the table. "I've always thought you were too good for anyone. Might I say, a pure virgin boy?"

"Shut up." He rolls his eyes. "I've had my fair share of flings and dates. Bet you can't say the same can you, prude? Not even a first kiss?"

"As if I have the choice. My father wouldn't let me waste any time with a significant other, and I know for a fact that yours wouldn't either." You scoff. "And I've actually kissed lots of people! And I bet all of them would say I'm decently good too!"

You start to feel your stomach twist. You lied. You've never had your first kiss. You've always ran away from confessions and confrontations. You have your back turned to Shouto, mindlessly flipping through the books to mask your nervousness but your clammy hands could instantly give you away.

You feel a hot breath exhale onto your bare neck, making you instantly turn around to face the tall figure blocking your view. You look up to lock eyes with the boy you grew up learning to despise.

He picks up a strand of your hair and twirls it between his fingers. "You know, after spending so much time with you for all these years, I think I have a pretty good idea of your mannerisms. Especially when you're telling the truth or not."

"You don't know anything about me, Todoroki." You stand your ground and glare up at him.

"You've never had your first kiss. You've never felt someone else's skin on yours." He states, running his fingers down your strand of hair. "Don't lie about it. I know you."

"And if I haven't then why is it any of your business?" You spit back.

"It's not, but just wanted you to admit it. You're not the winner you think you are, Y/N."

Your face erupts in fire, but you keep your composure calm.

"The winner? Sweetheart, I'm the prize" You snarl.

You step forward, making him stumble back.

"You think you're so desired. You think you have everybody wrapped around your finger, but listen here, babe." He eventually hits the wall on the other side of the room. His eyes are wide.

"You can have anyone you want. You can swoon as many as you would like, but you can't have me."

You grab the back of his neck and pull his face close to yours. You're damn near on your tippy toes just to reach him, but you make the effort flawless. His breath hitches as you're just a few inches away from each other. You squeeze your eyes shut and connect your lips together like a hard punch.

He felt frozen, but slowly matched your lips. His hand harshly grips the side of your neck as if he's slipping away.

You were on fire. Your feet were ready to cramp up from holding the position for so long, your eyes were begging to open to see whether or not his were, your hand on the back of his neck was getting even more clammy, and you honestly felt like you could throw up for the bold move you just made.

You ripped away and stumbled a few steps back.

"But I can have you. And that's what makes me the winner."

You turn around and quickly escape, leaving him and your dignity in the study.

At least you left with your pride.

#shouto todoroki #bnha todoroki #todoroki x y/n #todoroki x reader #todorokixreader #todoroki fanfic #boku no academia #bnha #mha #my hero academia

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amusedyan · 3 years

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Monthly Meetings

A Peaky Blinders commission!

Words: 2k

Once a month there was a meeting. It was something dreaded by both parties, but one that was necessary- it was neutral territory, where mutual suggestions were discussed, grievances were gone over and business settled. No one officially came armed- but that was never written into the deal. Just like it wasn’t discussed that both parties came with a small coterie of their most trusted, each eyeing the other and waiting for a twitchy trigger finger.

Tommy Shelby was never on time to any meeting.

He came early when he was the one to suggest it- to get the drop on the other person, to make an impression. You waste my time, and you have no right to ask anything of me, was the goal there. When told to meet someone, he always made it a point to arrive 5 minutes late, because you aren’t worth my time.

This meant that meeting Alfie Solomons put him in an uncomfortable position- he had to come on time. And sometimes Alfie was there already, smug, or sometimes Alfie was late and dismissive about it, but with a stack of papers and grievances to make up the difference.

Tommy was continually unimpressed with the Jewish mobster, though you could color him surprised when word got out through the grapevine that Alfie Solomon had started going steady with some bird from the local flower shop.

He’d never figure him to be one to settle down, but those same rumors claimed that he ws continually trailing after her. Considering how…temperamental his associate could be, Tommy could believe it.

When Alfie actually entered the restaurant, Tommy reflected that the rumors must be true because the man was practically glowing. More importantly though, his usual stack of gripes was noticeably absent.

“Tommy-boy!” The man grunted, taking his seat at the table. There was already whiskey poured- courtesy of Tommy, of course.

“Alfie,” Tommy greeted, watching the man settle.

It was such a waste of his time to come here, and it took active work not to lose his temper about it. He could be home now

“So, to business. Would you like to begin?” Tommy offered magnanimously.

Alfie drank from his glass and winced at the taste. “Shit, that is,” he mused, shaking his head. “How’ve you been, Tommy? How’s life treated you?”

Suspicion colored Tommy’s thoughts. What was Solomons up to? Small talk wasn’t part of the meeting, ever. As if reading his thoughts, Alfie chuckled. “Don’t be like that, Shelby. I’ve been advised to try diplomacy.”

“By your new conquest?” Tommy countered. The expression on Alfie’s face closed off, and no longer was he looking at a man blatantly in love and feeling charitable to the whole world for it. It made things much easier to deal with. But a moment later, a sly smile crept across Alfie Solomon’s face, and Tommy wasn’t much fond of that expression.

“You’d know all about conquests, wouldn’t you, Tom?” Alfie folded his hands across his midsection and leaned back against his seat, leveling Tommy with a look just as cold.

Fury unfolded, and beside that, fear. What did that mean? Who had talked?

Chuckling, Alfie waved it off. “Now, there’s no need for that look, my good man. There’s been whispers, same as there have been for me. About a pretty girl. What’s her name?”

“We aren’t here to discuss women, Alfie.” Tommy said flatly, trying not to growl. From the corner of his eye, he could see Finn watching intently. He was waiting for a signal. No, he needed to reign it in.

Alfie was just intent on pushing his buttons though, grinning broadly, damn near leering at Tommy. “Well, her name’s Margaret.” His finger drummed against the glass, the ring he was wearing clinking methodically. “I doubt her name’s in your network, yeah? Every fucking thing else, but not that.” He shook his head. “Beautiful name.” And there was that lovesick look again.

“Is that all?” Tommy asked. What would it take to get the meeting back on track? Alfie eyed him, and reached into his coat-

Finn and Isaiah were drawing their guns, Alfie’s men were responding-

“SIT THE FUCK DOWN!” Alfie boomed, stilling the room. Tommy saw that what he’d withdrawn was his wallet.

“What are you planning, Solomons?” He asked, withdrawing a cigarette from his case.

The Camden bastard rolled his eyes and withdrew a photo. “Here,” he grunted, “have a look at this.” He handed it over to Tommy.

And honestly the last thing that Tommy expected to see was the image of a young woman posing for the camera. Rather lewdly, to put it mildly. Like a whore if you wanted to be blunt.

“My Margaret,” pride dripped from Solomons’ voice, like he hadn’t just shown off the parts of a woman that only her husband would see.

Tommy weighed his answers- would Solomons light up with fury if he complimented the woman? Or would he be offended if he didn’t? The trouble was that you never knew with him. He took a contemplative drag of his cigarette.

“Lovely,” he settled on.

Alfie scowled. “Oh like yours is any better,” he taunted. “C’mon, let’s see ‘er then.”

“I don’t have pictures of my woman on me, Alfie.” Tommy said, unable to stop the slight condescension from creeping into his tone, like he was talking to a child, or else someone very simpleminded.

“Well why the fuck not? How’m I s’posed to know if this woman exists, eh?” Alfie accused, smacking the table.

This was all very confusing honestly. What the hell was he playing at? “I didn’t claim she was real.”

“What man doesn’t have a picture of the woman he loves?”

“What man carries filthy pictures of his?”

“Oi mate, those are fuckin art!” Alfie argued with surprising vehemence. It was a strange hill to make a stand on, but hey, he could relate.

“Whatever you say, Alfie,” Tommy sighed and blew out another cloud of smoke.

It was raining now. Storm clouds had been gathering all of yesterday, and he’d been able to taste the moisture, along with the filth in the city air. Rain was ugly here, didn’t clean a fuckin’ thing. He found himself thinking, longingly of the estate. The Shelby Estate, a grander name than something like Arrow House. But little things like a name change kept your feet on the ground. Sylvia would be there, reading. It was raining, so she couldn’t ride today.

At first she’d hated being in the house. She’d wanted to be back in Birmingham. Always liked the action, wanted to support him. It had been charming before, but now that they were together, it couldn’t be tolerated. Too many risks.

“Are you fucking ignoring me, Tommy-boy?” Alfie’s voice was dangerous now, angry and short. Shit. He stubbed out the remains of his smoke in the ashtray.

“No, Alfie, I’m not ignoring you,” he said on the exhale. Clearly, he reflected, nothing was going to get done with this meeting. It was a shame, but at least that meant things were secure where they stood.

Either Solomons was happy or about to betray him again.

“So, I’ve told you about my Margaret, tell me about your girl.” Alfie ordered, pouring another drink.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Tom said, but at the disbelieving look on Alfie’s face, he shrugged slightly.

“I just don’t understand how a man can have a woman and not want to talk about her. Obviously you’ve heard how proud I am, but you? Are you ashamed?” It sounded like it was amusing- the idea that Tommy Shelby would be ashamed of anything in his life.

But the idea of being ashamed of Sylvia? That struck a nerve and that pissed him off properly.

“I’m not ashamed of her.” He snapped.

Alfie’s grin was positively disgusting. “So she does exist? Well, come now, what’s her name?”

For a moment he didn’t answer. Then he spoke begrudgingly, “Sylvia.”

“Sylvia, aye.” He nodded, turning it over. “She a gypsy like you?”

“No. She is not a gypsy.” Eye contact was key. “It wouldn’t matter either way.”

“So why don’t you talk about her? I could talk all day about mine, as I’m sure that you’ve noticed,” of course he had. “You move her in yet?”

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” Tommy mocked, making Alfie roll his eyes.

“Neither of us are gentlemen, Tom, no matter how you fuckin’ pretend. I moved Margaret in almost right away, you know? We just, we just had this connection- I saw her and I wanted her. Sent her gifts every day, came into the store when I could- her smiles, they lit up my fuckin’ life.”

“I’ve never known you to be so open about your business, Alfie. Aren’t you worried that someone might overhear?” It wasn’t a threat, not at all, not for once. This hit a little too close to home for it to be anything more than idle curiosity, and luckily Solomons knew it.

“No, mate. I need her to know how much I love her. And I need other people to know. Because if someone thinks that they can hurt her? I will…” he laughed, and it didn’t sound sane at all, but it didn’t bother Tommy, “well fuck, I think I’d burn the fuckin’ city down. But,” and he looked at Tommy, and that affable, unstable mask came off for a moment, and Tommy was looking at the emptiness that came from the war, the same emptiness in every soldier who’d been in the field, “but I think you know that, don’t you Tom?” He sighed and shook his head. “I figured, hell, if anyone on this Earth knew what I felt- how far I’d go- it’d be you.. And you do, don’t you?”

Tommy thought about Sylvia. He always thought about Sylvia.

He did horrible things on a daily basis. What would he do if something happened to her?

And the thing was, Tommy didn’t even need to ask himself that question. He’d known the moment that he’d seen her what he’d do for her, what he’d already done. She was safe, that was what he told himself, she was under constant watch, by men he trusted, where he didn’t need to worry about someone running off with her, or an accident, or any of the things that could take her away.

“And you just keep her in an apartment?” He muttered.

“How else would I see her?” Alfie countered evenly. “I take it you don’t?”

Tommy didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to, not in the context of the question.

“No, no, the way I see it, it’s better that I can keep an eye on ‘er. I get to come home to a nice meal, lovely company, and everyone knows what’ll happen if they fuck with her. You keep yours,” and he pointed at his business associate, “in some isolated fuckin’ kingdom and what happens? People get curious. You can’t see her as often. She goes missing. There’s no fuckin’ neighbors to pay to keep watch.” And hell, that was actually a very good point, but he didn’t want to hear that from Solomons.

“Let’s just agree to disagree.”

“Oh I fuckin’ disagree, mate. You don’t get that shit in hand-“

“And what might happen, Solomons?” Tommy asked calmly. He knew what this was- this was Solomons trying to knock him off his game, disturb him. And why? What the hell did Solomons have up his sleeve? “What are you planning?”

“Well I dunno mate.” The glass in Solomons’ hand was empty now, “what do you think I’m planning?”

“I think you’re just being a prick.” The other man barked out a laugh.

“Fair enough, so- grievances.”

And there it was.

When it was over, Tommy went over the meeting- all of it, bullshit included- in his head, thinking it over.

Alfie Solomons was a two faced bastard.

But Tommy found himself making plans to go visit Sylvia as a surprise, nonetheless.

#yandere peaky blinders #yandere alfie solomons #yandere tommy shelby

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sonnetthebard · 3 years

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can you do a oneshot with peip spy paul and secret ccrp boss melissa? (yeah this is cause of the stuff sent to hatchetfieldtheories so what lmfao)

Um hell yeah I will! I have read the original theory, but you're also going to get my take on it because I got ideas just by reading the prompt lol. Apparently @hatchetfieldtheories and I are now getting lumped together and I am perfectly okay with that.

Genre: Action/ Thriller kinda?

Words: 2727 (once again... perfect)

TL;DR: Paul's cover as a PEIP agent is blown, and he finally gets to meet exactly who he's fighting against.

TW: Swearing, Guns, Violence, Murder, Blood.

______________________________________________________

Paul sighed, reading over his report before he sent it in. Was the report work related? No. Well... yes and no. Not for his job at CCRP technical. But as an agent of PEIP? It held information that could be absolutely crucial to the work they were doing. So it kind of had to be perfect. One mistype, a spelling mistake, could change the entire context of how it was read and how his superiors reacted. Perfection was key. Especially with what he had found. God, had he found out a lot.

Paul hadn't originally worked for PEIP. No. No, it was a bit of a long story. But... to sum it up, Paul had been caught dead in the centre of a world-ending event. An attack from what had looked like aliens at first but was actually an entity named Pokotho- or Pokey. Paul had very nearly died. He'd almost caused the end of the world. He had almost thrown a grenade dead into the centre of the meteor that was playing host to Pokey and his hivemind formula- which would have simply spread the spores. Luckily, one PEIP field agent- a Xander Lee- had managed to keep himself safe while his unit was infected, and he was able to stop Paul before he made a world-ending mistake.

Xander, through a lot of science Paul did *not* understand, was able to send Pokey back into his own dimension. The world was saved. It still kind of felt like a sci-fi fever dream. Most days, it still didn't feel real. The Hive had healed those it had destroyed, so... most people came back. Not Charlotte or Sam, because they weren't technically killed by the Hive. But Ted, Bill, Alice, Deb, Emma, and even Hidgens were back completely unscathed. Paul and Emma had actually gotten a chance to go to that movie. They were dating now. For three months, to the day. Paul had a bouquet of roses ready to surprise her with after work. He knew she wasn't usually big on the sappy romance stuff, but... he kinda was.

It was about a week after what was now widely known as the 'apotheosis' had passed when Paul got an email from Xander asking a favour. A very classified favour. Since Paul knew about PEIP and what it stood for. Apparently, they'd been picking up suspicious activity from CCRP for months, and they'd been trying to figure out which of their agents to send undercover. But every alias they'd made up had been rejected for an interview. So Xander got the idea that since Paul worked there, maybe he could keep an eye out for them. And as dangerous as it seemed... Paul said yes. The work PEIP did was too important to risk delaying. He was briefed through text, and he learned his job online in a matter of days. Ever since, he had been PEIP's agent in CCRP. And PEIP was more than right to be concerned.

Paul hummed, satisfied with his report. It was concise, precise, and detailed everything he'd seen. Which was a lot. This week... this week, he'd finally made his breakthrough. He was able to sneak to a higher level. Sylvia's level. She was talking on the phone about temporal breaches, trans-dimensional fluctuations, and lots of other jargon he didn't even come close to understanding. He'd bugged her office with a microphone PEIP had sent him so that they would understand more clearly. And when he'd snuck to the lower level, he was finally able to get past that second level of security. And what he'd found there was... eerie. He hadn't gone in. He just looked through the window. But it appeared there were hundreds, if not thousands, of... himself. Just standing there. He'd left a camera. Needless to say the report was more than full of information.

Paul heard the click of heels behind him and he quickly pressed send, closing the tab. He faked looking through his analytics before the clicking stopped. Paul could practically feel the presence looming behind him. At first, he just kept working as if he didn't notice. But... then it started to bug him. Because whoever the heeled coworker was who had stopped behind him was, they hadn't moved yet. He slowly turned, trying not to show any nerves. But he was a terrible liar, so he had a feeling that wasn't working. In front of him stood... oh good, Melissa. He sighed in relief.

"Hey Melissa. How's it going?" Paul asked.

"I need to see you for a moment... in Mr. Davidson's office." Melissa told him shyly.

"You need to see me?" Paul asked, still getting up nonetheless. This was Melissa. She was a sweetheart. She probably had a computer problem.

"Yeah... don't worry, it won't take of your much time." Melissa bit her lip, walking away. Paul followed.

"Did Davidson's computer crash because of that solitaire again?" Paul guessed.

"Um... no. No, this isn't about Mr. Davidson's computer." Melissa chuckled nervously.

"Uh oh... Paul's getting called to the principal's office!" Ted taunted teasingly.

"Shut up, Ted!" Bill groaned. "I'm trying to finish my report! Can I not have peace for five minutes?"

"You can... if you move to another department." Ted smirked. Paul only knew he was smirking because Ted had popped his head over the cubicle to watch him go by.

"I'm not in any trouble." Paul rolled his eyes. "Go back to what you were doing."

"Alright, alright!" Ted snickered, raising his hands defensively and lowering back into the cubicle.

"Sorry about him." Paul sighed, seeing the way Melissa blushed. "I swear he's not as much of an asshole as he seems most of the time."

"Oh, it's fine." Melissa shrugged. She walked into Davidson's office. Suddenly, her demeanor completely switched. "Ken, I'm going to need this office for a minute."

"What?" Paul blinked, his heart immediately sinking to his stomach. There was a pit in his stomach, and it was growing by the minute.

"Sure thing, Mel." Mr. Davidson nodded, getting up and walking out of the office.

"What's going on?" Paul asked, though there was no one specifically he was speaking to. He was just very confused.

"Why don't we sit?" Melissa offered, confidence oozing off of her as she took Davidson's seat behind the desk.

"Um... okay." Paul nodded warily, taking a seat. "Melissa..."

"Let me do the talking for now, Paul." Melissa sighed, leaning forward on the desk.

"Alright." Paul blushed, already intimidated. Yeah, he was totally agent material.

"You probably think you've been pretty slick, don't you?" Melissa chuckled lowly, looking at the cowering bundle of nerves before her. "Slipping bugs all over the facilities, sending your little reports while you're supposed to be writing reports for us... quite the secret agent, aren't you?"

"I... don't know what you're talking about." Paul lied.

"Paul, you're not that bright." Melissa scoffed. "In all your stealth and espionage, you seem to have forgotten that we have security cameras."

"On those floors?" Paul blinked. "I... didn't see any feed from them when I checked."

"Well we're not going to stream it to where anyone can see it!" Melissa rolled her eyes. "And you know exactly why."

"Yeah... yeah, I probably shouldn't have just assumed..." Paul sighed.

"So you admit it then? You're a spy?" Melissa checked.

"Well... yeah. Yeah I am." Paul sighed.

"For PEIP?" Melissa clarified.

"Who?" Paul tried to lie again.

"Paul, you used our network to send your files." Melissa rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, but I followed their..." Paul muttered.

"Which we're well aware of here, and well aware of how to overrule." Melissa sighed. "Really, Paul... you're sloppy."

"I'm not trained." Paul blushed.

"I figured as much." Melissa scoffed. "So they pulled you over to the dark side?"

"They saved my life during the apotheosis..." Paul shrugged. "When they told me something might be up here, I knew I had to help. And they were right, Melissa. Stuff is going on here."

"I know." Melissa smirked. "I oversee it all."

"You?" Paul raised his brows, a bit taken aback.

"Me." Melissa smirked. "You're probably thinking it's a bit weird... me, being in charge, choosing to take on the role of a secretary."

"I'm honestly just trying to wrap my head around you being in charge in general." Paul muttered.

"You want to know why?" Melissa asked. It was, of course, rhetorical. "It's actually pretty simple. The CCRP Technical department had some good cloning candidates. I wanted to be close to the action. Hand-pick who we used. And who would ever suspect anything of the shy, sweet secretary? You certainly didn't."

"So you hand-picked me?" Paul blinked in shock. He was doing a lot of that.

"You're a good size, amiable personality... smart enough, though evidently no genius." Melissa reasoned. "You, in mass, would make a great crew of workers for the Moon Project."

"Moon Project?" Paul asked.

"Oh, you've barely scratched the surface on what we're doing here, Paul." Melissa chuckled darkly. "But you won't be getting any further."

"What are you going to do to me?" Paul shrugged, a faux confidence in his tone. "There are people out there who know me. If I just go missing, they're going to get suspicious."

"Oh... Paul, you think I would tell you?" Melissa started to laugh. "You're so sweet! No. No, we won't be doing anything to you right now. But... let's just say PEIP won't be getting any reports from you in the near future."

"You brought me here just to tell me that?" Paul asked apprehensively. "To gloat?"

"Just to let you know that we knew, yes." Melissa sighed, she pulled out a cellphone, diverting most of her attention to it. "I like to deal with things myself. Handle things face-to-face."

"What are you doing?" Paul asked, a pit growing in his stomach as he watched the way she tapped at the screen.

"Wouldn't you like to know..." Melissa mumbled. "Go home, Paul. Take the rest of the night off. Go to your girlfriend's coffee shop. Bring her the flowers. Happy three months, by the way."

"I want to know what you're doing." Paul stated firmly. Melissa looked up at him before starting to laugh.

"Well isn't that just too fucking bad!" Melissa snickered. "Go. Before I call Ken back in and make you go."

"Okay..." Paul relented, getting up. He looked her dead in the eyes. "If PEIP is concerned about the work here, so am I. This isn't over."

"Yes it is, Paul." Melissa sighed. "Have a nice life."

"Life?" Paul blinked, freezing in the doorway.

"Sorry, did I say life?" Melissa chuckled. "I meant night."

"Right..." Paul bit his lip, admittedly uneasy. He tried to walk silently back to his cubicle... but with Ted Spankoffski around, there was no way he was getting out of this unscathed.

"So, did you get fired?" Ted popped up.

"Nope. Everything is fine. Davidson just needed a bit of help with his computer." Paul lied.

"Shit, he told me I'd be able to fix it next time!" Ted grumbled. "Is he giving you a bonus for it?"

"Nope. It was just a favour." Paul sighed.

"Damn... you fucking pushover." Ted snickered.

"Yeah, I get it, I let people walk all over me." Paul rolled his eyes. He picked up the bouquet of flowers from his cubicle, continuing to walk for the door.

"Hey, where are you going?" Ted furrowed his brows.

"As a thank you, he's letting me off early. So I can surprise Emma." Paul smirked. "We've been dating for three months to the day."

"Yeah you have... give her butt an extra squeeze for me, horndog." Ted teased. Paul blushed.

"Fuck you!" He called back, making his way out the door.

Paul felt something off the minute he stepped outside the CCRP building. Something deep in his bones. He physically shuddered under the weight of it, but... what could he do but keep walking. Yeah... yeah, it was probably just him feeling uneasy after the conversation he'd just had, right? Right... he was okay. Everything was okay. They were probably just gonna put a block on his communications with PEIP. No biggie. He'd survive it. He'd figure out another way to spy, and to get his findings to Xander. Everything was going to be just fine. He was going to be just fine.

He rounded a corner, walking across the street to Beanies. Just as he was about to reach for the door handle he felt a hand cover his mouth and another wrap around his waist, pulling him back. He tried shouting and screaming, but it was muffled. He resisted as much as he possibly could, but this person was stronger than him. Finally, they stopped in an alley, and the hand was removed from his mouth. Paul took a few deep breaths, setting the flowers down and raising his hands in surrender. At about the same time, he felt cool metal pressed to his temple. What a time to be mugged.

"I don't have anything on me to give to you. I used all my cash at lunch. All that's in my wallet is my driver's license." Paul stated levelly. "Believe me. You've got the wrong guy."

"No, Paul... I haven't." An almost identical voice sighed behind him. Paul blinked in confusion. He made a very, very stupid move and turned in the man's arms while his grip was a bit looser. He found himself staring dead in the eyes at... himself. His eyes widened. "You have everything I've ever wanted."

"You..." Paul breathed, before becoming suddenly very aware of the metal on his head. He took a sideways glance, seeing that it was a gun. He had thought it was, just... best to be sure. "Please. Please, you don't have to do this."

"Yes I do. It's either this or the moon, and... I don't want to go to the moon." The other Paul told him, voice shaky. He moved his finger to the trigger, hesitating. "Thank you. For the memories. For giving me the life I'm about to live."

Bang! There was smoke, and then a thud. Paul- the original one- fell to the ground, limp and lifeless. The death was almost instant, just as Paul 23 had predicted that it would be. He'd let go at the right time... and he hadn't gotten any blood on himself. It really had been his day! His cell malfunctioned and opened for him. Then he found the gun just... hanging there on the rack. He was free and armed, and ready to carry out everything he had fantasized about since he was made! It was like the stars had aligned for him! And as a cherry on top... Paul had even brought flowers. If the memories planted in his head were any indication, it was his and Emma's three-month-iversary. These would be absolutely perfect!

He stepped over his lifeless counterpart, rushing to get to the flowers before the puddle of blood forming by Paul's head got to them. he picked up the flowers tenderly, grinning. He took a look one final time at the original Paul, the the flowers. He set the flowers down, picking up Paul and propping him on a dumpster. He pulled out a small chip, slipping it in the appropriate place under his tongue. The finishing touch to his plan. Now... they would think this Paul was him. That he'd managed to erase his tattoo. He tossed the Paul in a CCRP marked dumpster, sighing.

He picked the flowers back up, walking out of the alley. God, this was great! He was about to finally step into the life that was rightly his. His brothers, the other clones, would kill to be him. But of course he wasn't actually going to let them kill him. No, unlike the real Paul, he knew to always be on the lookout. He knew he would never be safe. But for now... was it ever going to be worth it. He walked up to the door at Beanies, walking in. He saw Emma at the counter, and... he couldn't hide his excitement. He beamed, grinning widely. Like a small child. He walked up to her, holding the flowers out for the love of his life.

"Hey, Emma... Happy Three Months!"

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dinaxoxo · 4 years

Quote

I love you early in the morning and it’s difficult to love you. I love the January sky and knowing it will change although unlike us. I love watching people read. I love photo booths. I love midnight. I love writing letters and this is my letter. To the world that never wrote to me. I love snow and briefly. I love the first minutes in a warm room after stepping out of the cold. I love my twenties and want them back every day. I love time. I love people. I love people and my time away from them the most. I love the part of my desk that’s darkened by my elbows. I love feeling nothing but relief during the chorus of a song. I love space. I love every planet. I love the big unknowns but need to know who called or wrote, who’s coming—if they want the same things I do, if they want much less. I love not loving Valentine’s Day. I love how February is the shortest month. I love that Barack Obama was president. I love the quick, charged time between two people smoking a cigarette outside a bar. I love everyone on Friday night. I love New York City. I love New York City a lot. I love that day in childhood when I thought I was someone else. I love wondering how animals perceive our daily failures. I love the lines in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof when Brick’s father says “Life is important. There’s nothing else to hold onto.” I love Brick. I love that we can fail at love and continue to live. I love writing this and not knowing what I’ll love next. I love looking at paintings and being reminded I am alive. I love Turner’s paintings and the sublime. I love the coming of spring even in the most withholding March. I love skipping anything casual—“hi, how are you, it’s been forever”—and getting straight to the center of pain. Or happiness. I love opening a window in a room. I love the feeling of possibility by the end of the first cup of coffee. I love hearing anyone listen to Nina Simone. I love Nina Simone. I love how we can choose our own families. I love when no one knows where I am but feel terrified to be forgotten. I love Saturdays. I love that despite our mistakes this will end. I love how people get on planes to New York and California. I love the hour after rain and the beginning of the cruelest month. I love imagining Weldon Kees on a secret island. I love the beach on a cloudy day. I love never being disappointed by chocolate. I love that morning when I was twenty and had just met someone very important (though I didn’t know it) and I walked down an almost empty State Street because it was still early and not at all late—and of course I could change everything (though I also didn’t know it)—I could find anyone, go anywhere, I wasn’t sorry for who I was. I love the impulse to change. I love seeing what we do with what we can’t change. I love the moon’s independent indifference. I love walking the same streets as Warhol. I love what losing something does but I don’t love losing it. I love how the past shifts when there’s more. I love kissing. I love hailing a cab and going home alone. I love being surprised by May although it happens every year. I love closing down anything—a bar, restaurant, party—and that time between late night and dawn when one lamp goes on wherever you are and you know. You know what you know even if it’s hard to know it. I love being a poet. I love all poets. I love Jim Morrison for saying, “I’d like to do a song or a piece of music that’s just a pure expression of joy, like a celebration of existence, like the coming of spring or the sun rising, just pure unbounded joy. I don’t think we’ve really done that yet.” I love everything I haven’t done. I love looking at someone without need or panic. I love the quiet of the trees in a new city. I love how the sky is connected to a part of us that understands something big and knows nothing about it too. I love the minutes before you’re about to see someone you love. I love any film that delays resolution. I love being in a cemetery because judgment can’t live there. I love being on a highway in June or anytime at all. I love magic. I love the zodiac. I love all of my past lives. I love that hour of the party when everyone’s settled into their discomfort and someone tells you something really important—in passing—because it’s too painful any other way. I love the last moments before sleep. I love the promise of summer. I love going to the theater and seeing who we are. I love glamour—shamelessly—and all glamour. Which is not needed to live but shows people love life. What else is it there for? Why not ask for more? I love red shoes. I love black leather. I love the grotesque ways in which people eat ice cream—on sidewalks, alone—however they need it, whenever they feel free enough. I love being in the middle of a novel. I love how mostly everyone in Jane Austen is looking for love. I love July and its slowness. I love the idea of liberation and think about it all the time. I love imagining a world without money. I love imagining a life with enough money to write when I want. I love standing in front of the ocean. I love that sooner or later we forget even “the important things.” I love how people write in the sand, on buildings, on paper. Their own bodies. Fogged mirrors. Texts they’ll draft but never send. I love silence. I love owning a velvet cape and not knowing how to cook. I love that instant when an arc of light passes through a room and I’m reminded that everything really is moving. I love August and its sadness. I love Sunday for that too. I love jumping in a pool and how somewhere on the way up your body relaxes and accepts the shock of the water. I love Paris for being Paris. I love Godard’s films. I love anyplace that makes room for loneliness. I love how the Universe is 95% dark matter and energy and somewhere in the rest of it there is us. I love bookstores and the autonomy when I’m in one. I love that despite my distrust in politics I am able to vote. I love wherever my friends are. I love voting though know art and not power is what changes human character. I love what seems to me the discerning indifference of cats. I love the often uncomplicated joy of dogs. I love Robert Lax for living alone. I love the extra glass of wine happening somewhere, right now. I love schools and teachers. I love September and how we see it as a way to begin. I love knowledge. Even the fatal kind. Even the one without “use value.” I love getting dressed more than getting undressed. I love mystery. I love lighting candles. I love religious spaces though I’m sometimes lost there. I love the sun for worshipping no one. I love the sun for showing up every day. I love the felt order after a morning of errands. I love walking toward nowhere in particular and the short-lived chance of finding something new. I love people who smile only when moved to. I love that a day on Venus lasts longer than a year. I love Whitman for writing, “the fever of doubtful news, the fitful events; / These come to me days and nights and go from me again, / But they are not the Me myself.” I love October when the veil between worlds is thinnest. I love how at any moment I could forgive someone from the past. I love the wind and how we never see it. I love the performed sincerity in pornography and wonder if its embarrassing transparency is worth adopting in other parts of life. I love how magnified emotions are at airports. I love dreams. Conscious and unconscious. Lived and not yet. I love anyone who risks their life for their ideal one. I love Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera. I love how people make art even in times of impossible pain. I love all animals. I love ghosts. I love that we continue to invent meaning. I love the blue hours between three and five when Plath wrote Ariel. I love that despite having one body there are many ways to live. I love November because I was born there. I love people who teach children that most holidays are a product of capitalism and have little to do with love—which would never celebrate massacre—which would never care about money or greed. I love people who’ve quit their jobs to be artists. I love you for reading this as opposed to anything else. I love the nostalgia of the future. I love that the tallest mountain in our solar system is safe and on Mars. I love dancing. I love being in love with the wrong people. I love that on November 23, 1920, Virginia Woolf wrote, “We have bitten off a large piece of life—but why not? Did I not make out a philosophy some time ago which comes to this—that one must always be on the move?” I love how athletes believe in the body and know it will fail them. I love dessert for breakfast. I love all of the dead. I love gardens. I love holding my breath under water. I love whoever it is untying our shoes. I love that December is summer in Australia. I love statues in a downpour. I love how no matter where on the island, at any hour, there’s at least one lit square at the top or bottom of a building in Manhattan. I love diners. I love that the stars can’t be touched. I love getting in a car and turning the keys just to hear music. I love ritual. I love chance too. I love people who have quietly survived being misunderstood yet remain kids. And yes, I love that Marilyn Monroe requested Judy Garland’s “Over the Rainbow” to be played at her funeral. And her casket was lined in champagne satin. And Lee Strasberg ended his eulogy by saying, “I cannot say goodbye. Marilyn never liked goodbyes, but in the peculiar way she had of turning things around so that they faced reality, I will say au revoir.” I love the different ways we have of saying the same thing. I love anyone who cannot say goodbye

Alex Dimitrov “Love”

#alex dimitrov #love #personal #poetry

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adgiggles · 4 years

Text

It's not just other people we need to forgive. We also need to forgive ourselves. For all the things we didn't do. All the things we should have done.

- Mitch Albom

Getting over a painful experience is much like crossing monkey bars. You have to let go at some point in order to move forward. - C.S. Lewis

Behind every beautiful thing, there's some kind of pain. - Bob Dylan

Being brave enough to be alone frees you up to invite people into your life because you want them and not because you need them. - Mandy Hale

Every time the heart breaks it is shaping into the heart it’s going to become. It’s up to you if it is going to be art or just a stone, sculptor. - Lidia Longorio

You keep storing up all that anger and grief. Eventually it spills over. Or you drown in it. - Leigh Bardugo

To whom do I owe the biggest apology? No one's been crueller than I've been to me. - Alanis Morissette

I forgot that you existed and I thought that it would kill me, but it didn't. And it was so nice, so peaceful and quiet, I forgot that you existed. It isn't love, it isn't hate, it's just indifference. - Taylor Swift

Getting over a painful expereince is much like crossing the monkey bars.

You have to let go at some point in order to move forward. - C.C. Lewis

The hardest thing in this world is to live in it. Be brave. Live. - Joss Whedon

Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts. I was better after I had cried, than before - more sorry, more aware of my own ingratitude, more gentle. - Charles Dickens

If we will be quiet and ready enough, we shall find compensation in every disappointment. - Henry David Thoreau

If pain must come, may it come quickly. Because I have a life to live, and I need to live it in the best way possible. - Paulo Coelho

Well, I've been afraid of changing cause I've built my life around you. But time makes you bolder even children get older. And I'm getting older, too. - Stevie Nicks

It is during our darkest moments that we must focus to see the light.

- Aristotle

I still remember the person I once was and I really miss me. - Michael Faudet

My mission in life is not merely to survive, but to thrive; and to do so with some passion, some compassion, some humor, and some style. - Maya Angelou

God whispered, "You endured a lot. For that I am truly sorry, but grateful. I needed you to struggle to help so many. Through that process you would grow into who you have now become. Didn't you know that I gave all my struggles to my favorite children? One only needs to look at the struggles given to your older brother Jesus to know how important you have been to me. - Shannon L. Alder

My scars remind me that I did indeed survive my deepest wounds. That in itself is an accomplishment. And they bring to mind something else, too. They remind me that the damage life has inflicted on me has, in many places, left me stronger and more resilient. What hurt me in the past has actually made me better equipped to face the present. - Steve Goodier

And here you are living despite it all. - Rupi Kaur

And gradually his memory slipped a little, as memories do, even those with so much love attached to them; as if there is an unconscious healing process within the mind which mends up in spite of our desperate determination never to forget. - Colleen McCullough

Closure happens right after you accept that letting go and moving on is more important than projecting a fantasy of how the relationship could have been. - Sylvester McHutt

Perhaps someday I’ll crawl back home, beaten, defeated. But not as long as I can make stories out of my heartbreak, beauty out of sorrow. - Sylvia Plath

It took many years of vomiting up all the filth I’d been taught about myself, and half-believed, before I was able to walk on the earth as though I had a right to be here. - James Baldwin

It won't be like this forever.

One day, someone's going to want your voice as the soundtrack to the rest of their life.

- Maxwell Diawuoh

…at some point in a woman’s life, she just gets tired of being ashamed all the time. After that, she is free to become whoever she truly is. - Elizabeth Gilbert

At the end of the day, we can endure much more than we think we can. - Frida Kahlo

I was infatuated once with a foolish, besotted affection, that clung to him in spite of his unworthiness, but it is fairly gone now - wholly crushed and withered away; and he has none but himself and his vices to thank for it.

- Anne Brontë

Sometimes you have to lose all you have to find out who you truly are. - Roy T. Bennett

And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter - they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long. - Sylvia Plath

What brings us to tears, will lead us to grace. Our pain is never wasted. - Bob Goff

And so I wait. I wait for time to heal the pain and raise me to me feet once again - so that I can start a new path, my own path, the one that will make me whole again. - Jack Canfield

You don't need another human being to make your life complete. But let's be honest, having your wounds kissed by someone who doesn't see them as disasters in your soul, but cracks to put their love into, is the most calming thing in this world. - Emery Allen

Life is too short to wake up with regrets. So love the people who treat you right. Forget about those who don't. Believe everything happens for a reason. If you get a chance, take it. If it changes your life, let it. Nobody said life would be easy, they just promised it would most likely be worth it. - Paulo Coelho

The real difficulty is to overcome how you think about yourself. - Maya Angelou

But pain's like water. It finds a way to push through any seal. There's no way to stop it. Sometimes you have to let yourself sink inside of it before you can learn how to swim to the surface. - Katie Kacvinsky

Even when muddy your wings sparkle bright wonders that heal broken worlds. - Aberjhani

It took many years of vomiting up all the filth I’d been taught about myself, and half-believed, before I was able to walk on the earth as though I had a right to be here. - James Baldwin

Listen to God with a broken heart. He is not only the doctor who mends it, but also the father who wipes away the tears. ― Criss Jami

I think that little by little I'll be able to solve my problems and survive. - Frida Kahlo

We are healed of a suffering only by experiencing it to the full. - Marcel Proust

The human heart has a way of making itself large again even after it's been broken into a million pieces. - Robert James Waller

Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won't either,

for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could.

- Louise Erdrich

'Tragedy should be utilized as a source of strength.' No matter what sort of difficulties, how painful experience is, if we lose our hope, that's our real disaster. - Dalai Lama XIV

No one around me knows who I am, what I'm on, who I've hurt and where they've gone. I know that I've done some wrong but I'm trying to make it right. - Halsey

The most painful thing is losing yourself in the process of loving someone too much, and forgetting that you are special too. - Ernest Hemingway

It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone. - Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy

The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.

- Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

Change is hard at first, messy in the middle and gorgeous at the end. - Robin Sharma

The secret of change is to focus all of your energy not on fighting the old, but on building the new. - Socrates

We have to be whole people to find whole love. - Cheryl Strayed

Everybody’s damaged. It’s just a question of how badly, and whether you’re healing or still bleeding. - Angela N. Blount

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justaghostingon · 4 years

Text

The Trial of the Lost Girdle

Part four: The Witness

Gyrus stepped to the podium, standing back straight, arms casually gripping the sides of the stand, as if he were giving a presentation instead of standing as a witness and potential suspect. His eyes were forward, staring down the crowd, not glancing right or left. Kodya had his head buried in his hands at the witness stand, but Gyrus didn’t even glance at him. Out of the corner of her eye, Queen Mary saw King Don shift slightly, expression intense and focused.

Gyrus began to speak. “I, Gyrus Axelei, am here to present my part in the case of the misplaced girdle of Queen Mary, in the hopes of absolving Kodya against all accusations. May I begin?” he directed the last part to Knox with a polite smile.

Knox looked over him, assessing. “Your strong posture, tightened jaw, and steady eye contract show you are very determined. Proceed.”

“Thank you Knox,” Gyrus gave an absent nod in his direction, but his full attention was turned to the audience. Queen Mary could see a gleam in his eye she knew far to well, one that told her he was not going to back down. “As you all know, I was not feeling well these last few days.” Queen Mary raised an eyebrow, as Knox did not flag a lie. So he had been sick like King Don had said. How odd. She’d never known him to be sick before.

“It was recommended to me...” a muscle in Gyrus’s jaw twitched, the only sign of his frustration at what Queen Mary could only assume was a most unwanted request, “...that I not attend any of the main events for my health, even the Treaty Ball. Therefore, I retired to my quarters to spend my time on one of my projects in an effort to distract myself. It was then, on the night of the Treaty Ball, that I decided to experiment with dissolving acid and the story really began.”

“Dissolving acid?” Queen Mary interrupted. “Why on earth would you be making something so dangerous in the middle of a peace treaty?”

Gyrus’s lips twisted briefly downward, as if frustrated at the interruption. But Queen Mary did not care. To make something so dangerous deserved an explanation, in her humble opinion. And from the way King Don frowned at Gyrus, he agreed.

“It’s not nearly as dangerous as it sounds,” Gyrus sighed.

“Lie,” Knox said.

“Ok, it is as dangerous as it sounds,” Gyrus amended. “But it has a lot of practical uses too. Like dissolving rocks in soil, or removing trash, plus a lot of chemical uses that would take far too long to explain. The point is, I wasn’t making it for any purposes that would interfere with the Treaty. Right Knox?”

“This is true,” Knox said. “But from the increased heart rate of the audience, I can conclude that you have convinced no one.”

“So I was making the acid,” Gyrus plowed on, regardless of the concerned looks from the crowd. “And Kodya came in to my chambers.” Gyrus’s face softened to a faint smile. “I wasn’t expecting that, I thought he and Neph were going to the ball. But he said he wanted to keep me company, so I decided that an extra set of hands would be a great help.”

“Lie,” Knox interrupted. “Furthermore, your increased internal heat, sweat, and muscle tension all agree that you are nervous. Conclusion: you do not want to explain.”

“Oh?” Gyrus let out a high pitched laugh as he ran a hand through his hair, cheeks tinged with red.

Oh Lord, Queen Mary thought. Was Gyrus, ever oblivious, never interested Gyrus, blushing? Had the end of times come upon them?

“I may have been...” Gyrus gave a small cough into his fist, “...showing off. Not taking the proper precautions and the like as I performed some showy tricks.” He was definitely blushing. “In my arrogance I assumed my power could protect us both should an error occur, so there was no need to worry about the risks.”

“I was wrong.” Gyrus stared down at the podium, hands clenching into fists. The audience stared, and even Kodya peaked out of his arms to look up at Gyrus in confusion. Queen Mary couldn’t blame them. It wasn’t every day you heard Gyrus admit fault.

Gyrus continued, voice heavy with regret. “I let Kodya pick up one of the vials of acid, carefully of course, and under my own razor-sharp focus. He was only supposed to hand it to me, but as he was carrying it over...” Gyrus swallowed, “...a loud crash echoed through my chambers. Kodya startled, and the acid in the vial flew out in a perfect arc and landed on his clothes.”

A gasp escaped the audience, and Mary felt one bubbling up inside her to. Only years of practice stopped her from making a sound. Gyrus had stated that acid could burn through rocks, what could it do to human flesh? She cast a glance at Kodya, but she couldn’t see any signs of burns on his arms or face. Not that she had a very good view. Quite a few other gazes were drawn to Kodya too, and he hid his head back in his arms.

“I reacted with my powers, just in time, removing the contaminated material and shoving Kodya into a decontaminate shower. I was fortunate that he was unharmed.” There was a beat of silence.

“Ye stripped him?!” Tori shrieked in shock. Queen Mary allowed herself the slightest of winces at her Champion’s rather...blunt phrasing. From his place beside Tori, Kodya groaned, ears burning red as he attempted to bury his face deeper in his hands.

“It’s standard procedure!” Gyrus snapped. “If I hadn’t acted the acid would have cut through far more than clothing.”

“This is true,” Knox said. “But your increased heart, sweaty palms, higher pitch and aggressive movements suggest you are very embarrassed.”

“Yes well...” Gyrus tugged on his sleeve, “...the point is, Kodya was out the way, and I turned to the culprits.” Gyrus’s face darkened. He raised his face, eyes burning, to look directly into the audience. “It was Oli and Anan.”

A gasp went up from the audience, as every head turned to gaze at two figures in the crowd. Queen Mary followed there gaze to see Anan and another man standing beside Sylvia, Anan’s hands were raised as if in surrender, and the other rounder man was half behind him, shaking. Both looked very nervous.

“Yes,” Gyrus said, with a thunderous frown on his lips. “Oli and Anan had barged into my lab without knocking, and startled Kodya into dropping the acid. But don’t worry,” Gyrus’s lips twisted into a smirk. “I made certain the were properly informed of the gravity of their actions.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Queen Mary saw both Anan and the man who must be Oli wince.

“My wardrobe had been knocked over in the chaos,” Gyrus shrugged, “I don’t know if it was my power, or Oli and Anan hit it by accident. But the clothes had spilled all over the floor. Kodya...interrupted my lecture to request a towel. I collected a few items from the floor, and pushed them through the curtain for him to use. When he emerged, I made Oli and Anan apologize, and sent them all on their way.”

Gyrus hesitated half a second before adding. “As he left, I remember Kodya had a blue cloth belt around his waste. I didn’t think much of it, but that was very likely how he got it.”

“You are not lying.” Knox said. “But if you are able to remember the color of a cloth around Kodya’s waist after seeing it once, how did you not recognize the girdle of the queen after having an entire conversation with Kodya later?”

That, Queen Mary thought, was an excellent point. Gyrus was known for his almost perfect memory. It was rumored he’d never forgotten a moment in his life. So how hadn’t he recognized her girdle?”

“Oh I hadn’t seen it before.” Gyrus pointed out. “When I...” his eyes flickered briefly to Queen Mary and she sat up straighter, “...lived in Amethyst, the champion’s sash was purple, not blue. I was sick for most of this, remember? I didn’t see Tori until after she lost the girdle.”

That certainly made sense, Queen Mary begrudgingly admitted to herself, but there was one question that was still on her mind. “If you knew what the girdle looked like when Kodya wore it out of your rooms, why did you claim not to recognize it when you saw Kodya wearing it with the other knights?”

“I, uh...” Gyrus scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, “Kinda did?”

“What?!” Kodya’s head snapped up from his arms.

“Only 60%!” Gyrus hastily added, arms spread wide in defense.

“Lie.” Knox’s voice was flat. Kodya glared at Gyrus, who shot him a panicked glance.

“75%! no, 76.458% certain it was the one he’d taken from my room!” Gyrus’s voice was high pitched. “I wasn’t absolutely certain, I’d only really seen it from the back, but it was blue and had the symbol of Amethyst Eye...,” Gyrus began to fiddle with his fingers, “...and my wardrobe had been knocked over...I kinda just assumed it was probably something from way back then that I’d forgotten about?” He peaked through his bangs. “I wasn’t certain though, and I didn’t want to be wrong...And he seemed so uncaring about it.” Gyrus’s lips twisted downward, “...like he was embarrassed or didn’t care.”

Gyrus hugged himself as he looked down. “It hurt a bit, and I decided if he was going to have a token, he might as well understand its importance. Besides, there was still a fourth of a chance it was someone else’s and I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt...So I just kinda...pulled him aside, and let him know that if it was someone else’s he should treat it with respect, and heavily implied that if it was mine I didn’t mind if he kept it?” Gyrus ended in a rush, avoiding all eye contact and blushing like mad.

Queen Mary stared at the blushing mess before her and wondered who he was and what he’d done with the Gyrus she remembered, who was so clever and aloof. Because really, in what universe did talking about tokens as symbols of the affections of others mean that someone was interested? Maybe its a good thing Gyrus never showed an interest before, he would have caused all kinds of chaos in her court.

Kodya’s eyes were wide, and it looked as if he was about to say something, but Gyrus interrupted, “I can safely say it wasn’t in my room before that incident, as I did not receive any other visitors to my chambers that night. As anything with Kodya was likely marred by the acid, I can safely assume that it must have come from Oli or Anan. I suggest you ask them.”

Anan spoke up from the crowd, braking the tension in the room. “Gee, Thanks Gyrus! Nice to know you’ve got a guys back!” Gyrus did not look at him, instead taking great interest in the stone of the floor. Kodya was still staring mouth opening and closing like he wanted to speak.

King Don sighed. “If you have nothing more to say, you may go back to the witness stand Gyrus,” he said as he rubbed his forehead as if to stop a migraine. “Oli and Anan, I believe its time for the both of you to come forward.”

Queen Mary watched as the two men stepped forward, Oli wide-eyed and shaking, while Anan hid his worry with a glare at Gyrus. Perhaps now, they would finally get some answers.

#room of swords #medieval au #room of swords fanfic #room of swords kodya #room of swords gyrus #room of swords tori #ros don #ros tori’s queen

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samsylviasmoustache · 5 years

Text

GLOW #Fictober19 Entry

Prompt 30: “I’m with you, you know that.”

[Warning - pregnancy/childbirth complications]

The waiting room of hell has old fashioned floor tiles, the colour of faded limes, and hard-backed plastic chairs. He sits in one of them, head down, folded hands dangling between his knees. He was watching the clock, but the hands have slowed to an unbearable crawl. When he glances back up, what feels like an ice age later, he finds it’s still only twenty-three minutes past midnight.

Twenty-three minutes since they’ve left him in here. Alone.

“Stay with me?”

She reaches for him, fingers bloody, and he takes her hand as they scream through the Hollywood night. Berry red is smudged over bone white. He could tell himself it’s the hard light in the back of the ambulance that’s turned her so pale, but what’s the point in the lie?

He squeezes her hand instead. “Yeah,” he says, softly. Trying to keep it together for her sake. “I’m with you. You know that.”

Except he isn’t.

“I’m sorry, sir, you can’t come inside the OR.”

“C’mon, please, that’s my wife—!”

“I know, sir, but it’s not safe for you to be in there. If you can just come with me? I promise we’ll let you know as soon as anything changes…”

Maybe he should have fought harder. Laid out the goddamn orderly and just run on through. But there’s a part of him that knows now there’s fuck all he can do. Everything is in the hands of the surgeons. All that’s left for him to do is sit here; skull filled with static. Not a thought in his brain beyond please, please, please, and the weight of his terror pressing down on his chest…

There is a spatter of blood on the sleeve of his shirt. They’ve left rather more of it behind. On the bed sheets, the bedroom carpet. Fuck, for a moment, bleary on waking, he’d thought he was back on set. But there’s that iron tang to the real stuff, and an eerie calm about her when she spoke, that set his limbs shaking.

“Sam, you need to call an ambulance.”

“Yeah, I—”

“Now.”

Bile, in the back of his throat; shame sick. Because he should have reacted quicker. They were warned, weren’t they? Words he didn’t want to understand, photocopied to fuck. They headlined a folded leaflet heralding the first chill wind of uncertainty in what had been, up until then, a miraculously easy pregnancy.

Placenta previa. Risk factors include: mother is over thirty five, previous caesarean sections or terminations, cocaine use, smoking.

“I guess between us we’ve got almost the whole fucking list, right?” he jokes, when they’re left alone in the doctor’s office for a moment.

“Yeah,” she says, swallowing. Face a mask. Fuck.

“Hey, hey. Look at me. It’ll be okay, Ruth. I promise.” He puts his arm around her, presses a kiss to her cheek. “You’re just going to have to do what they say about taking it easy, you know?”

A bubbling laugh, half a sob. “Yeah, that’s – that’s the tricky part.”

“I know, I know.”

She hates feeling useless; has struggled with the fussing kindness of friends and strangers ever since the swell of stomach has grown beyond what she can hide in a baggy sweater.

“I mean, there’s still a tonne of script editing that needs—”

“Sam! I—” On the edge of hysteria, she gropes for the words. “Did I do this? Is this my fault for—?“

“No! Christ, Ruth. It’s just… bad fucking luck, alright?”

Luck he’d thought was holding, as they crept up and over that thirty-six week boundary line. Reassured by the sonographer that in ninety percent of cases like theirs, the situation works itself out for the best…

And now here they are, the unlucky ten percent.

He looks up at the click of shoes in the corridor. Not the soft tread of a nurse in plimsolls, but maybe a doctor’s brogue. His stomach clenches as the door opens—

And he blinks to find it’s Justine. “Hi,” she says. “I got your message when I got back to my dorm. Thought I should probably bring this to you.” She indicates the neatly packed holdall in her hand, a hospital bag that Ruth has had ready for a month.

“Thanks,” he manages. There are things in there he can’t think about right now, soft and small—

“I…cleaned up, too.”

“What?”

“The bedsheets?” she winces. “And the carpet… I just didn’t think you’d want to come home to all of that.”

“Jesus. You didn’t have to—” he starts, and stops himself. “Thanks.”

She shrugs, taking a seat next to him. “It’s fine. Do you want company or…?”

“Stay,” he says, finding her hand. “I’d appreciate it.”

She returns the pressure, white knuckled for a moment, and then lets him go. Correctly calling he’d like a distraction from his current misery rather than further questioning. “So, I got an A on that paper for Dr Hilderstrom…”

He frowns, thinking difficult through the panicky static. But it’s almost a relief to turn his brain to her college professors and student life. “She’s… uh, Italian Noir cinema, right?”

“Yup.”

“Well, no shit.”

“I mean, she still hates me—”

“—because you’ve sold more fucking scripts than she has.”

“I don’t know…”

“Trust me.”

Two am finds Justine asleep across several of the plastic chair, his jacket a pillow under her head. It’s a feat he would have thought impossible, given what the hard plastic has done to his back, but there you fucking go…

He is watching the moon through the window; a thin crescent high and cold in the sky. It can’t be good, he thinks, at this point. He’s offered himself up in silent trade to whatever deity might happen to be listening; raged at the unfairness of it all—

(but is it, really? He’s been so fucking lucky to have her in his life at all. This fairytale ending was never something a man like him deserved—)

Now he thinks he’s reaching the acceptance part of his accelerated course of the five stages of grief. If she is gone, what half-life is left for him to live? He’ll have to hold it together long enough for Justine to finish college, he thinks. Six months then, and what? Break sobriety and mainline an eight-ball until his heart goes pop?

“Mr Sylvia?”

His aforementioned heart leaps into his throat as he turns to the speaker. A nurse in the doorframe, smiling at him, of all things. Justine stirs, rubbing sleepy eyes, as she continues. “They’re ready to see you now.”

“Right,” he hears himself say, his head a balloon barely tethered to the ground by his heavy feet. “Do you want to—?” he starts.

His daughter shakes her head. “I’ll come in a few minutes,” she says. “Go.”

He shuffles across the tiles after the nurse and down a corridor. Knowing he’s on the edge of something immeasurable; that this is the last few seconds of his life before. Of course, he’s known what’s coming logically, but it’s different to confronting the visceral reality of an actual fucking baby. He’s felt a glimmer of it when he painted the nursery; a stronger sense whenever Ruth took his hand to feel the kicks inside her. Now it’s here and—

And she’s sitting up in bed, dark circles under her eyes, but smiling.

“Hi,” he says, stupidly. “How are you doing?”

“We’re both going to be fine,” she says. Voice a little ragged with tired and pain, but face shining with joy. “Do you want to say hello?”

He comes to join her and the little bundle in her arms. Pressing a kiss into her hair as he leans in to see for the first time this… life they’ve somehow made together.

“Oh,” he says, involuntary, as she passes him the baby. His baby. Their baby. Because somehow, he was expecting it to look like… well, every other fucking baby. Sort of pink and old-mannish. He’s not met that many to attempt much description beyond that. But in his arms instead is him and her together; the jawline he regretfully shaves in the mirror; a version in miniature of her elfin ears…

He is lost for a minute in the little composite face. When he looks up, Ruth is smiling at them both, stupid happy. Mirroring a grin he knows is pasted across his own face. “Is it, uh, a girl or—?”

“He’s a boy, Sam,” she says. “He’s… he’s our son.”

“Fuck,” he breathes. Laughing, crying, as she does the same. “I, um, I don’t think he looks much like an August,” he manages eventually, handing him back and squeezing next to them on the bed. They’ve not settled on a name before now.

“No,” she agrees. “I’ve been thinking he’s maybe more of an… Antonio?”

“Antonio.” It’s a good Italian name, after all. “Yeah,” he agrees, threading his arm around them both. “I think you could be right.”

#fictober19 #Sam x Ruth #baby fic #warning: pregnancy/childbirth complications #ruth x sam

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monkey-network · 5 years

Text

Good Stuff ~ Seven of the Season: Amphibia

WARNING: Still ain’t new to making countdown lists, but I keep trying. Thank you, take care out there, and enjoy.

Amphibia is quite a fresh series, and I’m not just saying that cuz 2016 Me had frog legs that one time. While I’ve reviewed it before, it puzzles me sometimes as to why I gush and admire this series so much. Maybe it’s the main cast, the great looking environments, the nice stories, the originality of it all, it takes my mind in quite a few directions on good days. So with the season over, I say let’s bring things back to center and look into the TOP 7 BEST Episodes of Amphibia’s debut. Seven, because it’s lucky, babey. Here we go...

7. Family Shrub

I was hoping for a good hangout with Anne and the kids and this episode stood upon the rest spectacularly. Unfortunately it’s far down the list for subjecting me to the most horrifying image in the entire show and that is a fact. But seeing Anne, Sprig, and Polly go through the home’s catacombs and discover something new about themselves, topping off with the most badass moments from Sprig and Polly, was flexing to say the least. It got me intrigued in how Sprig will pursue the arts and sciences, who will Polly be grown up, how will Anne think of herself later down the line after being with the family for so long. I honestly hoping for more episodes like this, without the scaring horror please.

6. Fiddle Me This

Am I re~~ally gonna put an episode on this list solely because of Sprig’s incredible fiddle playing? Yes.............................

5. Civil Wart

Man, there’s just something about cartoon episodes about fandoms that can really strike a chord with ya. Or keystroke, you know, interests. This was a surprising fit for a sibling rivalry episode between Sprig and Polly, with the two sides being completely in line with their built character. You probably could have a field day trying to figure out what inspired all of this. With a lovely ending to top off the great jokes that came within a huge, wonderful joke itself, this just added to the streak of fandom episodes that never cease to be entertaining.

4. Anne Theft Auto

I’ll say Bessie is an underrated character, and getting to know her history along with Anne was a poignant moment that made me more invested in this series as a whole. I love learning is the key to experience and getting out of a jam. The scene where Anne goes to finish that book when the adventure was over especially tied things up so well, following that up with one of the most memorably hilarious moments of the show so far. Even the B plot with Sprig and Mrs. Croaker kept this episode afloat with its amazing punchline. But above all, this made me respect Bessie a lot more, and the couple of callbacks to this episode further solidify this thought with of how much she contributes to the Plantar family.

3. Wally and Anne/Cursed!

(& Monkey’s next line will be “perception is quite a key theme for the series”)

Perception is quite a key theme for the series... *gasp* NANI?! Amphibia shares that surface-level assumption isn’t a good sociable trait to have and these episodes are very complimentary to each other in that aspect. What’s great about these and episodes like these is that, like previously, you’re generally with Anne and/or Sprig to see and appreciate a dimension of Wally and Maddie that you haven’t seen before up ‘til now (that’s why I’ve come to like Pacifica more than Mabel). And as @jennydyn cleverly pointed out, Wally and Maddie have only visible eye each, which makes “more than meets the eye” a lot poignant than a clever pun I just figured out writing this. Again, the message can be on-the-nose, but the wholesomeness of it all is strong.

2. Hop Pop and Lock

I adored this episode. Nobody was in or got into any danger, nothing was really at risk, and the only bit of chaos was that off-beat dancing like woof. While Anne does try to make Hopadiah dance a certain way, she and the siblings had his back regardless. In the end they didn’t so much win the crowd but Hop Pop got Sylvia’s heart, and that was what mattered. It was especially fun to see Syl and Hop Pop get nuts together to then have a nice slow dance with Sprig dishing well on fiddle. What else to say? The episode was fun from start to finish.

Honorable mentions: Night at the Inn, Toad Tax, Plantar’s Last Stand, Taking Charge

1. Best Fronds/Reunion

It is reasonable to call these episodes dusk and dawn? Can’t say night and day cause that would mean they’re utter opposites, nah these episodes both work the tightrope together between giving Anne a realization and a revelation. The crew says ‘Best Fronds’ was the original first episode and I believe them in that it plants the seed in Anne’s mind that her original friendships weren’t what they seemed. Sprig was notably the first to make Anne think differently, about herself and her sense of bonding with others. And after literally and figuratively getting her hands dirty to protect and be with those she’s grown to love, the seed has grown strong to confront somebody that she feels has pushed her one too many times. While it’s reasonable to say she hasn’t fully understood, Anne at least grasped that what Sasha was pulling, regardless of intent, wasn’t gonna cut it anymore. And what makes the finale work, out of everything, is that even when you know Anne has grown up and is willing to fight Sash for the fate of those that have treated her better thus far, you know that Sasha isn’t a full on bad guy. They’ve given her some well needed dimension early on and with her sacrifice, she knows that even when Anne was willing to risk her life for her, willing to bet she doubted that she’d be able to return that favor well enough. So they split. Until another time. In the least, they have those who care about them, for better or for worse.

Not only are these episodes just well constructed and paced in their own right, they build off each other well. Both offering us how Anne’s growth started and gradually risen without making it all feel cut and dry. In addition to culminating quite a bit from previous episodes into a solid climax of sorts. Certainly sandwiched Part 1 to be a wonderful start to this series all together.

As such, it’ll certainly be a wait or so until we return to this world. And really, I’m up to the wait. I enjoyed this series 100% and I recommend wholeheartedly if you’re up for another world adventures. The series has certainly proved itself. All that said, I’m Monkey Makaveli, and that’s all I got.

#amphibia #disney's amphibia #anne boonchuy #disney #cartoons #animation #reviews #Good Stuff #long post #analysis

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padfootagain · 6 years

Text

Pirates! (III)

Part 3 : The Bargain Between Peter And Blue Feather

Here I am, back with a new chapter for this Caspian fic!

I hope you all like it :D

Gif not mine

Word Count: 2672

You straightened the tricorne upon your head, your fingers tickled by the soft blue feather that you had put on the hat years before, the day you had bought your boat and chosen her name.

It felt like a lifetime ago…

You tightened your hold on your coat around you. Despite the fire in the room filled with people, nights were always cold on the island. It seemed that the second the sun disappeared, the cold crept back through the streets to freeze all the inhabitants of the island to the bones.

"Are you certain that this is a good idea?" Sylvia asked for what seemed to be the hundredth time.

"No, I'm still not certain," you shook your head with a smile. "But I trust Charlotte's judgment, and if she thinks that this captain is worthy of our trust, then so be it. And anyways… we are probably more skilled with a blade than they are, so what are you so scared of?"

"A trap."

"We are prepared for that. Stop worrying so much."

"My constant worry saved our lives several times!"

You let out a chuckle and drank a gulp of liquor.

"I can't deny that."

When Charlotte sat down next to you and nodded towards the bar, you followed her gaze.

"My man is here. But he's not alone," she told you with a gloomy tone.

"Have you seen the men he's with before?" you asked your friend, but she shook her head.

"No, never."

"I told you it would be a trap," Sylvia warned you in a low voice, her paw already resting on her sword.

"They don't seem to be from the island," you noticed with a frown as you inspected the men leaning against the bar.

Several signs were giving them away easily. Despite their worn-out clothes, their skin and hair were perfectly clean. There was no clear sign of intense drinking, their clothes themselves had been washed not long ago. And if their cloaks seemed quite old, their boots looked almost new…

There was also something in their way of standing. Tall, straight, not in a more twisted manner like most men did over the island. After all, the body tended to mimic the mind. You noticed right away that the man in the middle, most of all, wore this proud stature. He had tied up his dark hair in a bun, a single strand escaping from the leather ribbon and falling before his left eye, but it didn't seem to bother him. You studied his brown cloak and trousers, along with his leather boots, before your eyes fell on the hilt of his sword… The pommel had the shape of a lion head.

You felt a stare upon you, and when you looked up again, it was to meet this man’s eyes: dark brown eyes that you fell into. He wore a small frown, and he passed his hand through his short beard while he seemed to be thinking hard.

You guessed he was doing the same with you, as you were doing with him now : judging characters…

And you could only think about two possibilities, that were both as dangerous.

There were only two reasons for a man to carry this kind of sword. After all, there was no doubt in your mind that the weapon was Narnian. Either these men were from Narnia, or they had killed Narnians and stolen their weapons. And the hilt was so richly decorated, you guessed that the sword had once belonged to an important Narnian warrior…

Were you ready to take the risk to be killed? Either way, these men were dangerous. If they were Narnians, they would consider you their enemy, and would probably not hesitate to betray you. If they were pirates, possessing such a weapon demonstrated their skills in combat.

This whole idea now seemed to you much more dangerous than a moment before…

"Captain? What do we do? Do we back down?" asked Charlotte.

You kept on staring back at this tall man on the other side of the room, hesitation clinging onto your mind.

Had you be willing to be careful, you would have walked away. But you had chosen this life filled with dangers long ago. And your freedom was worth the risk to die…

You shook your head, finally breaking eye-contact with the stranger.

"No, let's see what they have to say."

"Captain, this man has a Narnian sword!" Sylvia warned you.

"I know, I saw it."

"But…"

"We can have a word with them. It won't hurt. If we find out that they are so terrible, then we'll walk away and make no deal."

Sylvia seemed frustrated, but nodded anyway. She trusted you too much to refuse an order after all. She tightened the bandana that hid her scarred ear, heaving a sigh.

"Alright. But if they try anything, I'll cut off their throat. And the one with the lion head on his pommel will go first. I've never trusted anyone owning such pretty things, they only bring you trouble."

"I won’t stop your blade if something feels amiss. But let's give them a chance, okay?"

Sylvia nodded again, and you looked at the man once more, before inviting him to join you with a small gesture of your hand.

You noticed that Charlotte had her hand on her knife as well now, but you remained relaxed anyway. There was no need to be so fearful, after all that you had been through.

The three men, along with a mouse, walked towards your table with suspicious expressions painted all over their faces. You chose to answer to their obvious doubt with a welcoming smile.

"Gentlemen," you nodded to them and invited them to sit down.

"Are you Miss Y/L/N?" the man with the bun asked.

"It's Captain Y/L/N," you corrected him.

The three men exchanged a glance, but sat down anyway.

"Thank you for accepting to meet us," the man on his right nodded to you gratefully.

"Which one is Lacusa?" you asked loudly enough for all to hear, although your question was directed to Charlotte, who pointed at the man who had just spoken.

"I am," Lacusa nodded.

"And who are you?" you asked the other men.

But before any of them could answer, the mouse spoke in their stead.

"Why should we tell you our names when we do not know your friends in return?" he asked back, throwing a wary glance at Sylvia.

"Because I could cut off your head before you would have a chance to move," the rabbit replied with an acidic tone and threats burning in her eyes.

But you calmed her down with a single glance.

"You already know Charlotte," you pointed at your friend on your left. "I'm Captain Y/N Y/L/N, as you have guessed. And this is my second in command, Sylvia."

Caspian opened his mouth to answer, but closed it quickly again.

He couldn't afford to use his own name…

He casually rested a hand on the dirty table, staring at you straight in the eyes.

"My name is Peter," he smiled at you. "This is Drinian, and Reepicheep."

"I'm all ears," you smiled at the men before you. "What do you need our services for?"

"The ship of one of our friends is missing," Lacusa started, but you quickly interrupted him.

"I'd rather talk with the man in charge directly."

Your eyes were fixed on Caspian's brown stare, and despite your cold tone, he couldn't refrain a little smile. He was impressed by you, to be fairly honest. You were the kind of person that inspired him respect immediately. He was willing to trust you, for some reason he couldn't fully comprehend just yet.

"One of our friends' ship is missing," Caspian repeated. "We want to find him and his crew, but it seems that they have disappeared beyond the island, and we are unfamiliar with these waters."

You exchanged a glance with your friends. These parts were dangerous indeed, you were reluctant at the idea of going there. But you let Caspian go on with his speech.

"We would need someone to guide us through this part of the sea. We are willing to pay a fair prize for a guide."

You frowned a little.

"Do you mean that you wish to hire only a handful of us?" you asked.

"We already have a ship…"

"It's not how it works," Sylvia interrupted him. "You hire the whole crew, or you hire no one."

"If you wish to keep your own ship and to accompany us, I see no problem to that possibility."

Sylvia and you exchanged a nod. But your expression was worried now, and Caspian could see that something was preventing you from accepting his offer.

"What do you mean by a fair amount of gold?" Charlotte asked for clarifications while you were still frowning with worry.

"It will depend on the prize you ask from us."

Charlotte and Sylvia exchanged a glance, but you kept your gaze on Caspian's eyes; such a deep shade of brown that they seemed fully black...

You failed to listen to the next few questions, your mind drifting away, back to whispers you had heard across the island. Rumours that had forced you to remain out of the waters these men longed to cross for the past few months.

Charlotte finally nudged you, tearing you away from your thoughts.

"Captain? We need to give them an answer now," she urged you.

But you shook your head.

"May I have a word in private with my second?" you asked, and the men all stood up and walked back to the bar.

"Did you hear how much they're ready to pay us?" Charlotte asked with round eyes.

"I didn't listen, to be honest," you admitted.

"I've asked for the money we still miss to leave."

You looked at her intensely, but she merely grinned at you in response.

"They are ready to pay it fully. Everything we are still missing! We could leave this cursed island forever!"

"But you seem worried," Sylvia frowned at you.

"Rumours about these parts of the ocean are not good. Many ships seem to have disappeared…"

"Not only in these parts," Charlotte argued.

"I know, but mostly in these parts. What good could all this gold be if we're all dead?"

Charlotte couldn't find any argument to fire back, and you heaved a sigh.

"I agree that the gold is tempting. I want to get away from here as soon as we can, and I was the one ready to take a job to quicken the process."

"But?"

"But there's something off with this whole thing. They want to go through waters that are dangerous, and not because of the pirates that may be there. Something… something more is lurking in these parts. I don't know what, but it's getting stronger."

"You think that some sort of creature could be responsible for all these ships disappearing?" Sylvia asked with a scared frown.

"I don't know what it is, but I know that the phenomenon is not slowing down, but on the contrary, increasing in speed. There's something… that bothers me."

"Do you think that it's a trap?" Charlotte asked you, glimpsing over the men at the bar, who seemed lost in the same kind of heated discussion.

Indeed, at the bar, the four warriors were trying to decide whether or not they should follow you.

"I doubt that we will find anyone we can trust more than them," Lacusa shook his head.

"We cannot trust them. Their pirates. You heard them, they are only interested in gold," Drinian shook his head.

"The Captain did not seem very interested in the whole ordeal," Lacusa admitted. "She was not paying much attention to the end of the discussion."

But Caspian shook his head.

"There was something more to it. She seemed worried."

"Perhaps she wants more gold…" Lacusa shrugged.

"They already asked for more than what we had planned on spending," Drinian replied.

But again, Caspian didn't agree.

"She seemed afraid. I think… I think she does not want to go where we ask her to guide us."

"It will be hard to convince her, then."

"Should we really try to convince her?" Drinian replied.

But Caspian rested a soothing hand on his friend's shoulder.

"I see no evil in her," Caspian shook his head. "On the contrary. Under other circumstances, I could probably trust her."

"You cannot be serious!" Reepicheep argued, but Caspian turned to you again.

And as he watched you talk to your friends, he could not muster the will to see a foe in your proud figure. Quite the contrary…

"She is not evil, Reep. Of that I am certain. I have seen too much evil before to fail at recognizing it in someone's eyes now. Besides… she is quite impressive. She inspires respect, not fear. I agree with Philip. It shall be her, or no one."

But if Caspian had taken a decision concerning his guide, you were still arguing with your most trusted friends.

"We could get out of here with all this gold!" Charlotte repeated.

"If the Captain has a bad feeling about the whole thing, we shouldn't do it!" Sylvia replied.

But you forgot about the bickering of your friends, standing up without a warning, and striding to the bar. Charlotte and Sylvia quickly followed your lead.

"I have a few conditions," you told Caspian, ignoring his friends.

"I am all ears," he nodded.

"If I judge that the situation becomes too dangerous for my crew, I will withdraw and turn back, no matter if we have found your friend or not. The safety of my crew will come first to me. Not your safety, nor the safety of this disappeared friend of yours."

"Sounds fair enough," Caspian nodded.

"We will sail on our own ship. And will take only a handful of your men aboard."

Caspian and his friends exchanged a glance, but they all shook their heads, and Caspian didn't yield to your command.

"We cannot accept this. I see no problem with your own ship guiding ours through the sea…"

"I don't trust you enough to have no form of leverage whatsoever," you shook your head.

"Then, perhaps… one of our crewmembers could be left on the other's ship. Would that be enough to assure you that I have no intention to destroy your ship?"

You thought for a moment, but slowly nodded.

"I'll send my second on your ship. But I want you on mine."

"That is out of the question…" Drinian started to protest, but Caspian interrupted him.

"Alright. I shall travel on your ship. And your second will travel on mine."

"We are to be paid in full, and only in gold, once we’re back here."

"You will not be paid if we cannot find our friend."

"There is nothing that may make you certain that you will find your friend at all. Let's say that you won't have to pay us if we don't take you to your destination. But if your friend is already dead, it's not my problem."

Caspian nodded.

"If you back away, you will not receive any payment."

"Deal. But the sea is treacherous in these parts, you will need a strong ship to sail there. I will need to see your ship, to make sure that she will not go down at the first sign of storm."

"As we will travel together, you will see her anyway," Caspian shrugged.

"One final thing," you added. "No lies, from now on."

You offered him your open palm, and Caspian slowly shook your hand, his eyes narrowed.

"What do you mean 'from now on'?"

You let out a little laugh as you freed your hand from his.

You threw Caspian one last look before you would leave, answering his question while staring at his dark eyes.

"I don't know who you are. But I do know how to recognize a lie. And, to be fairly honest, your face doesn't fit your name, Peter."

**************************************

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#caspian x #caspian #caspian x reader #caspian imagine #caspian fanfic #caspian fic #narnia #narnia imagine #narnia fanfiction #fanfic #imagine #writing

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theamericangirlscout · 5 years

Text

#goldengirls: Bridging the Gender Gap

For her Gold Award project, Selina N. from Girl Scouts of Greater Atlanta, developed a GirlsFIRST Jr. program that creates and offers workshops on the scientific, engineering, and coding skills girls will need for success in STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics) fields. The program also provides a supportive community for them, including women in STEM role models.

Through her research, Selina found that according to the National Council for Women and Information Technology, there will be around 1.4 million computer specialist job openings expected in the U.S. by 2020. And according to the National Academy of Sciences, women could hold half of those jobs if girls get more confidence and education in the field early in life.

So she jumped into action, hosted 17 outreach events, distributed more than 400 STEM toolkits to 18 countries, and has spoken with more than 7,000 girls, parents, and educators locally and globally on her topic. Overall, Selina has dedicated over 800 service hours to champion girls in STEM, and enlisted more than 20 Walton Robotics team members and more than 10 sponsors to volunteer more than 1,000 hours to the effort. She has even hosted STEM seminars for girls in China and Brazil.

Selina is paving the way for girls to get excited about and thrive in STEM in the U.S. and abroad, and changing the world in the process in a big way!

Q: Why did you choose this topic for your Gold Award Project? A: Through community service in high school, I heard many middle school girls’ fears of being called a “tomboy,” and saw that many girls struggled in STEM classes and were up against the same challenges that I faced.

As a girl, I’ve battled an unwelcoming environment and endured stereotypes about my abilities in STEM that made me second-guess myself. It’s challenging to break with social norms, and whether the prejudices are spoken or unspoken, they sting. I realized that it can be too late to change a high school girl’s mind to pursue STEM and that we need to start earlier.

Girl Scout’s CEO Sylvia Acevedo encouraged our society by saying, “There’s no way that we’re going to close the gap in the U.S. without tapping into the great resources of girls and young women. STEM education isn't just doing for the girls, it's doing it for America.” Our society realizes we need to close the STEM gender gap. In order to get more women into STEM, we need to invest in girls in STEM, and foster diversity and innovation as early as possible.

Q: What challenges did you face in completing your Gold Award project, and how did you overcome them? A: The main challenge that I faced was becoming a persuasive public speaker in order to effectively network and fundraise for the GirlsFIRST Jr. program. I overcame my shyness with encouragement from the girls and women around me.

I used my summer to visit local businesses including Home Depot, grocery stores, nail spas, dental offices, restaurants, and gas stations. After more than six months of tireless efforts, my persistence was able to generate initial funds of $2,750 from corporations and local businesses to support more than 70 girls to participate in a free, one day STEM workshop.

Working on my Gold Award Project was challenging at times, but it taught me to appreciate the value of hard work.

Q: What has been the impact of your project, and how will it be sustainable? A: The most successful aspect was the feedback we received. One parent shared, “My daughter, Sofia, wants to be a robotics engineer, and it was good for her to see other girls with similar interests.” Women in Technology Executive Director Sandy Welfare also praised GirlsFIRST Jr. by saying, “Kudos and well done on delivering a program to truly get middle school girls rooted in STEM.”

The program conducted a survey before and after each event. It was amazing to see a 70 percent rise in the participating girls’ confidence to pursue STEM careers. Additionally, 80 percent were more comfortable participating in the programming, engineering and design process, and 85 percent were more effective in teamwork after the workshop.

I realized STEM is a tool for girls to succeed, a lab to create the next generation of G.I.R.L.s, go-getters, innovators, risk-takers, and leaders. I’ll continue to champion for 50/50 representation for girls and women in STEM, and work with local partners to design and implement sustainable projects that will create transformative experiences and responsible leaders. Particularly, I am interested in bringing affordable STEM education to developing countries through the use of technology.

Q: How has your Gold Award project changed you, and what skills have you learned from it? A: This adventure transformed me from a shy girl into a STEM advocate. Working with diverse perspectives challenged me to embrace differences, enforce inclusion, and become more open minded toward people who are different from me. I gained confidence that all girls have the ability and potential to be successful, and this eased my own fear of failure.

The skills I developed in public speaking, time management, critical thinking, persuasion, money management, and team leadership have equipped me for any future challenge. The opportunity to promote STEM in China opened my eyes to the lasting impact I can make on the world.

#girl scouts #gsusa #gold award #goldengirls #stem #science #technology #engineering #mathematics #diversity #innovation #coding #feminism

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janeofcakes · 6 years

Text

Chapter 95

**Bonus chapter!!**

(All on eyes are on Sherlock.)

SD: What the hell?

SP: Be careful, Mr. Holmes. Be very careful.

(Her face is a mask of fury and danger. The look in her eyes would melt a normal human being, but Sherlock has never been normal. John steps closer to her and very slightly in between the woman and the detective. Sherlock stands before the accused.)

S: Your offices, Gorgio’s, and this building are each thirty minutes apart by cab, but only ten walking.

SP: (with a sharp laugh) Ten minutes! For who? A sprinter?

S: Hardly. If you know the right routes, the right paths, and you looked into that very carefully. The walk from your offices to this building and from here to Gorgio’s each had to be ten minutes. You called your meeting off around 6:20 just to make sure you would have twenty to kill your husband. You knew his secretary would have certainly left by 6:30. She told us that Piper always made sure she stayed no later than six and, with nearly everyone else gone home, it was easy for you to walk in and get in the private elevator unobserved.

(Sylvia Piper curls her lip and looks ready to pounce on Sherlock, but she lets him continue without interruption. John’s senses are tingling.)

S: You either found Piper in the freezer or made him go in and shot him. No mess and plenty of time to get to Gorgio’s. Just close the door and leave. The freezer obscures the time of death and makes it look like he could have died nearly anytime last night instead of as soon as you left your offices.

(Feeling the tension rise, Sally shifts closer to Piper and casts warning eyes at the two men.)

SD: Sherlock.

(Piper is smiling now. She looks at Sherlock with confidence, like she owns the world.)

SP: (loudly and with relish) Mr. Holmes. Why. In the hell. Would I kill my husband?

(He fixes her with his intense silver eyes.)

S: Simple, Mrs. Piper. Your children. (John’s heart skips a beat when Piper’s eyes flash red.) You vividly demonstrated your protective nature when I accused your son and clearly intend to participate in your daughter’s wedding. When is it again? Later this month? You were going to disappear with your husband in mere days and yet, you went to a dress fitting this morning before the police informed you that your husband was dead. You knew your husband was going to die before the wedding so, despite your departure having been planned for weeks, you never bothered to cancel the fitting. Or any other fitting.

(Sylvia Piper has stopped smiling and Sally is beginning to agree with the detective.)

S: And then there’s the burn on your wrist. The burn that our good doctor noticed.

(John’s eyes widen as what he noticed right off, and more or less ignored, suddenly clicks into place. His gaze goes to Piper’s wrist and then up to her face.)

J: It’s a freezer burn.

(The large room fills with an uneasy silence.)

S: A freezer burn. You bumped into something in the freezer. I’m guessing a shelf, based upon its shape and size. In any case, it seals your fate.

(Piper stares at Sherlock with furious daggers. She looks as though she wants to lash out and wrap her fingers around his neck, but also seems to know there is no point in doing so.)

SP: I have never been involved in Alan’s illegal business. For years, I ignored it and continued to as he built his mafia empire when we came to London. I finally chose to rail against it as the risks became undoubtedly more dangerous. He ignored me. And then he tells me that WE have to leave forever. He didn’t care about Julia’s wedding. She is the child of my first marriage. Alan was just happy to have Joel take over his legacy and didn’t care if he never saw his own son again. But my children are everything to me and they were to disappear from my life because communicating with us would give away Alan’s location. (She shakes her head.) No. I won’t give them up. Not for anything. Yes, I killed my husband, Mr. Holmes, and I’m not sorry.

(After a moment, Sally lightly touches the woman’s arm.)

SD: If you’ll come with me, Mrs. Piper. I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of Alan Piper.

SP: Of course.

(Sally cuffs Piper and reads her rights as she leads her away. Sherlock and John watch until the two women are out the door. John lets out a long breath and scrubs his hands through his hair.)

J: God, that was refreshing. Seems like forever since we could just work a case. No danger, no risks, no hospital. Just an honest case.

S: Donovan shouldn’t need us for the report. She was right here the whole time.

J: (brows raised) I wouldn’t say that, but I’m sure she won’t really expect us at the Yard until tomorrow. Do you have something in mind?

S: I have some things to do this afternoon, but I thought dinner at Angelo’s around seven?

J: (a corner of his mouth quirking upward) Sounds wonderful.

* * * *

(Among other things, Sherlock pays a visit to Mycroft before going to dinner with John. He strides into his brother’s office and sits. Mycroft looks up from a file he is reading and raises a sarcastic eyebrow.)

S: New carpet.

M: Well, after getting so much blood on the last one…

S: Indeed. Unfortunate business.

M: (with an impatient smile) To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, brother mine?

A: How is Molly? (Mycroft looks at him blankly.) I haven’t been to Bart’s in some time.

M: Ah. (a long puase while he lays the file on the desk) She’s good. Perfect, in fact.

S: Good, good. (He shifts in his chair, clearly uncomfortable with the line of conversation. Mycroft sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.)

M: Sherlock, what do you want?

S: Are you happy? The two of you?

(Mycroft’s eyes widen as he hears his younger brother’s questions. He knows the curiosity is not so much about his and Molly’s happiness as it is how he feels about what Sherlock has identified as diminished mental capacity.)

M: I am the same as I ever was, Sherlock. My sharpness has not changed. (He pauses as his brother frowns.) I make different decisions now and someday when Molly and I are parents, (Sherlock’s jaw drops) my decisions will change again. I don’t regret loving Molly and I never will. Do you honestly believe you will ever regret your feelings for John?

S: (without hesitation) No.

(A moment of silence follows. Mycroft straightens his spine and leans forward to meet Sherlock’s eyes with an almost dangerous sincerity.)

M: If you repeat this, I will deny it and make your life a living hell.

S: And that is different from now in what way?

M: (sighing) I was…wrong about sentiment. (Sherlock blinks very slowly and briefly wonders if he hit his head on something.) It certainly cannot rule over logic, but…there is a place for it. It will make you stronger, Sherlock. John has made you stronger. (He sighs again.) He always will.

(The two men study one another. A sense of ease passes between them and a truce is struck without words. Sherlock’s mouth quirks into a small smile. He rises from his chair and turns to leave.)

S: I know.

* * * *

(Sherlock and John share a spectacular meal at Angelo’s. John tucks into his favorite of prawn linguine and Sherlock actually eats all of his veal parmigiana. Angelo insists on a candle for added romance, as usual, and brings them a bottle of John’s favorite wine.

The two men laugh and talk and remember past cases. Neither one wants the evening to end, so John concedes quickly when Sherlock suggests they share dessert. However, the atmosphere changes as they eat a tiramisu. John grows thoughtful and quiet, not laughing as easily when Sherlock makes jokes or tells amusing stories. When only a portion of John’s half of the dessert remains, Sherlock places his fork next to the dessert plate and leans forward with his elbows on the table.)

S: What’s troubling you, John?

J: Hm? Oh, I was just thinking about the case. Sylvia Piper and her children. They really were the center of her world.

S: Indeed. Worth killing for.

J: Right. (putting down his own fork and looking at his flatmate with a hesitant expression) Do you think you’ll ever feel that way? I mean, not… I mean, do you have any interest in being a father? (Sherlock opens his mouth, but John quickly cuts him off.) Not right now, obviously. There’s so much…but one day.

(Sherlock covers John’s hand where it lays on the table and gives it an affectionate squeeze.)

S: Of course. I would love to raise a child with you. (John’s eyes widen.) One day.

J: Me? (He jerks his hand away and straightens his spine, jaw clenching.)

S: (hesitantly) I thought such a plan would be to your liking. Am I wrong?

J: (angrily) It’s just an odd statement coming from a man who doesn’t want his relationship to evolve.

(Sherlock presses his lips together in a straight line. His mind quickly processes in search of the best way to express himself. This dinner is so much more than his proposal. He must undo the damage he has done with his foolishness before he can get to that. He knew he had hurt John terribly. His perpetual sadness attests to that, but Sherlock hadn’t a taste of John’s anger until now.)

S: I’m sorry I have hurt you.

J: (quickly) I know that, Sherlock. I just…I can’t…

(His eyes clamp shut as if in physical pain. He curls his lips inward.)

S: John…

(Sherlock begins, but is silenced when John’s hands are suddenly on the table, his eyes open. John begins to stand. Sherlock doesn’t know what he should say, but he knows what he wants to say and he must say it now before John turns and walks out of the restaurant.

He leaps to his feet and wraps his fingers around the smaller man’s arms. Both speak at the same time.)

J: I have to leave.

S: Don’t go.

(John’s furious and hurt eyes raise up to Sherlock’s face and see that he is pleading like never before.)

S: Please, John, just let me explain.

(Fuming and heartbroken, but unable to deny this man anything, John gets his arms free and sits again. He stares down at the table, his forearms folded on it in front of his body. Sherlock licks his lips and seats himself. He is leaning forward, elbows on the table so he can gesture with his hands. He takes in a deep breath and swallows. Sherlock cannot lose this man. This beautiful, kind, perfect man must be his forever. His eyes widen as that concept suddenly becomes a very real possibility. White, hot panic spreads through his mind. Oh, god. I can’t lose John. He exhales slowly to calm himself.)

S: I thought you were a weakness. That you would make me less objective, dull my senses. And I accepted that. Then Magnussen nearly killed you. (His eyes have a far away look.) I was so angry and scared. I lashed out at the easiest target and convinced myself that Mycroft was to blame, and that his love for Molly weakened him. (Focusing on John again, whose eyes are still on the table. His left hand clenching and flexing.) I was wrong. God, John, I was such a fool.

(John’s head snaps up. When their eyes meet, Sherlock uses his to give John all the love in his heart. Wishing, wanting to sweep his doctor up into his arms. Sherlock wets his own lips and continues.)

S: You have never been my weakness. You make me stronger, better. A better man, a better detective, a better… You make my mind clear and sharp. Just having you at a crime scene helps to center me and your expertise is invaluable.

J: (jaw still tight) And what about my sentiment? (his eyes bore into Sherlock) What about yours?

(An unexpected tear trickles from Sherlock’s eye. He had not realized his eyes were even filling, and now that he knows, he is not embarrassed.)

S: (without missing a beat) Priceless. (He swallows. His expression is completely open. He has nothing to hide.) I used to think being human made me weak. I tried to be as much like a machine as possible. As much like Mycroft as I could because he was efficient and intelligent, and he convinced me the lack of sentiment was the best sentiment.

(John keeps his eyes locked on Sherlock’s, waiting for the moment when the detective back-pedals and takes his place behind a curtain of apathy. John’s fury boils over as he just waits for the expected and yet, a part of him understands. How many times did he have to guard his emotions and keep his distance in the army? He would’ve been destroyed otherwise.

But he let some people in. And that’s what infuriates John. Sherlock resisted for years. They both did. But then he let John in, only to push him away after the ordeal with Magnussen. When Sherlock made it clear that he didn’t want to marry John now or ever, John had quickly made the decision to accept it. He knew he could never give up Sherlock, but found that living it was something else entirely. The pain, the sadness, the anger was almost unbearable. If Sherlock starts this, he has to finish it. Or John will have to. He will have to leave Baker Street and Sherlock. His life.

Suddenly John can’t listen anymore. He can’t hear those words. He can’t make that decision. Not now.)

J: Sherlock. Sherlock, I can’t. I can’t do this. I can’t… (With tears in his eyes, John makes to stand, but his desperate flatmate grasps his wrists and crushes them on the table between them. John opens his mouth to protest.) Let go of me.

S: (intensely quiet, his eyes like silver flames) I love you. I am yours forever. With you, I am happy. I am complete. You make me human, John, and my humanity is the key I have always been missing. The one I have always searched for. Emotion, sentiment, caring. They are not defects found on the losing side. They are not disadvantages. They are… You are everything. You have given me everything.

(John is speechless. He stares at the man, wide-eyed as Sherlock gently releases his wrists. His hands glide to his suit coat and he pulls the ring box from his breast pocket. He delicately opens it and places it on the table before John.

John’s eyes are wider than they have ever been, his jaw slack with shock. Sherlock cups John’s hands in his own and looks deeply into his glorious, shining blue eyes.)

S: John, will you marry me?

(Air catches in John’s throat in a breathless gasp and tears fall down his cheeks. His voice is barely a whisper.)

J: Yes. Oh god, yes.

(Sherlock’s heart skips a beat. He quickly pulls the ring from the box and gets to his feet beside the table. John follows suit and stands up in front of him. They gaze at one another with wide eyes, unable to believe they are here and this is really happening. Eye contact is only broken when the tall man looks down at John’s hands and takes his left in his own, palm down. Sherlock slowly, gently slides the ring on John’s ring finger. It looks perfect on the tanned finger, glistening in the dim light of the restaurant.)

(John’s eyes move away from the ring and slowly climb Sherlock’s torso until he meets his lover’s eyes once more. No, not lover. Fiance. Sherlock’s silver eyes sparkle down at John and he smiles brightly. Unable to contain it, John grins like an idiot. He touches Sherlock’s button-down, feeling the firm body beneath his fingertips. As if of their own volition, John’s hands slide up Sherlock’s body until the detective’s face is cupped in them. Sherlock’s arms are around John, his long fingers resting on the small of his back. Their lips come together quietly and move in a way that tells the two men they were always meant to touch and caress one another. John opens his just a little and nibbles Sherlock’s luscious lower lip. Sherlock smiles against the doctor’s mouth as the tip of a tongue deftly glides over said lip.)

S: (his eyes still closed, his deep voice a delicate whisper) I love you, John.

(Before John can answer, they hear a throat clearing that is unmistakably Angelo. They separate enough to put an inch or two between their bodies. John drops his hands and Sherlock releases the smaller man’s waist in favor of holding a hand. The two men turn toward Angelo.

With an apology for their display already forming on his lips, Sherlock begins to speak only to stop when he sees Angelo’s face. It is not one of irritation or embarrassment, but one of excited anticipation. Glancing at John and then back to the proprietor, Sherlock smiles genuinely.)

S: My dear friend, you are the first to know that John and I are engaged.

Angelo: (throwing his hands up) Oh! Oh, Sherlock, I am so happy! (He throws his arms around the slender man and squeezes tightly.) You, who have been my friend all these years. (Releasing him and putting a hand on John’s shoulder.) And you… (enveloping him in a bear hug, John lets out a little gasp) You make him so happy. I have always wanted that for Sherlock. Ever since he cleared me of going to prison.

(Angelo mercifully releases John, who can finally breath normally, and takes a step back to look at them. Sherlock looks mater-of-fact, but friendly.)

S: You still went to prison.

Angelo: Eh. (shrugging, his smile broadening) But not for as long.

(Angelo insists they share a toast and they talk at length. The jolly man manages to tell some embarrassing stories about the world’s only consulting detective that John hasn’t heard before. When the duo finally leaves the restaurant and gets into a cab for home, it is after midnight.

John’s eyes fall to where he holds hands with his fiance and he lets out a contented sigh. Two of Sherlock’s fingers stroke John’s gently. John raises his gaze to see the detective smiling at him. When their eyes meet, the smile slowly fades. Sherlock’s eyes grow increasingly intense and heated. His expression is quickly that of a man who has stripped John bare, hungry and inflamed. John swallows and suddenly the cab can’t get to Baker Street fast enough.)

#Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock #sherlockholmes #sherlock loves john #johnwatson #johnlock #John loves Sherlock #sherlock fanfic #proposal

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