having lunch in town with Shawn, you head back to your apartment where you have
to attend one more class at your University before it is officially the
weekend. Shawn had some time off so that is why he came out to visit you. He’s
staying and spending the weekend with you. He booked a hotel for you two to
stay in, because you share your apartment with two other girls and you wanted
to be able to spend some alone time with Shawn.
I keep seeing certain comparisons, and people worrying they’re going to become a faschist dictatorship now or something, and while I don’t really agree with them, I want to say this.
When Hitler came into power, my great-grandfather turned off
his radio because he didn’t want to his kids to hear the propaganda.
When the SS came for his Jewish landlord, he tried to intervene, almost
getting arrested himself, and he and the other people in the building
watched as the Jewish family was taken away. They couldn’t do anything,
except to stand there and silently say, “We are watching.” Other people
could, and did, do something. My great-grandfather’s landlord and his
family ended up escaping to England.
My grandfather and the landlord’s son were friends. Towards the end of the war, my grandfather was drafted, and became a Nazi soldier, against his will and everything he believed in. He was captured by the British. After the war ended, he went to London, to stay with his Jewish friend for a while. They’d both survived, and they stayed friends for the rest of their lives.
The point is: there’s always something you can do. Even if you do live under a faschist dictatorship. You always have choices, and they’re not constricted to “it has to go my way or I’ll give up and leave”. You can help people. You can choose your friends, and your values, and your causes. You can choose not to listen to people who preach hate and prejudice. You can choose not to be hateful and prejudiced in turn. And also: there will always be people who don’t hate you, who are willing to help you.
In which Casey makes a lot of bad decisions, buys more
groceries than he wants to, deals with his own mistakes, makes a bad drunk decision, almost dies more than once, falls in love,
and summons a demon.
Not in that order.
————————————————————————————- Chapter One.
Casey heard his alarm sound, and he rolled over to slap the
snooze. However, his had made contact with something… not plastic.
Casey grumbled, refusing to open his eyes yet. Too early, it
was way too early… too much hangover, not enough sleep…
He slapped the thing again, trying to find his alarm clock.
“Quit it before I bite your hand off,” Someone growled.
Casey’s eyes snapped open, and he yanked his hand away so
fast it smacked the wall behind him. Tangling his legs in his sheets as he did,
he scrambled into sitting position.
There was someone in his room. Sitting by his bed. A pair of
acidic green eyes glared back at him, standing out against the man’s darker
“Wha- what the hell’re
you doing in my house?!” Casey yelped.
The man glared harder, sneering at Casey. “You’re the one who brought me here!”
Casey frantically tried to recall if he’d brought a dude
home with him last night, and failed.
“Shit- did I really?” He said, wincing apologetically. “God,
I was so smashed last night, I can’t remember anything.”
The man gave him a look of disbelief. “Wha- seriously?! You
can’t remember anything?”
Sherlock’s voice is faint, hesitant, the single word more
question than command.
John had only come in to make sure Sherlock was okay. After
a case he’s normally all restless limbs and manic energy, the adrenaline
rolling through him in crashing waves, but something about this one had seemed
to unsettle him, to pull him into himself, to turn him introspective and
taciturn. He had been worryingly still in the cab, staring out the window in
silence, lost in thought, and after absently removing his coat and scarf and
gloves when they got home, he’d gone straight to his room without a word. John
had left him to it for a while, but curiosity and concern had gotten the better
of him, and he had shuffled into Sherlock’s room to find him sitting on the
edge of his bed staring at the floor in the growing darkness.
“Sherlock, you okay?”
The only response was a nod so slight it might have been a
Another nod, barely stronger than the first.
Not knowing what else to do, John had turned to leave,
making it as far as the doorway before Sherlock had spoken. Stay?
He turns back to find Sherlock now turned toward him, the
same question writ large across his face, twisting in the hopeful arch of his
brow, pulling at the corner of his lips. But his eyes, his eyes are unguarded
in a way John has never seen, and when he looks into them, he knows. He knows
what Sherlock’s thinking, what he’s saying, what he’s asking. This isn’t stay
with me for a moment. This is stay with me tonight, stay with me tomorrow, stay
all week, all month, all year. Stay for a lifetime. Stay always. Stay.
And there’s only one answer John could possibly give.
His feet carry him back to Sherlock’s side, closing the
distance between them as if crossing an ocean. As if choosing his fate. As if
coming home. His hands find Sherlock’s face, the first hint of stubble rasping
against the smooth skin of John’s palms as they cradle those familiar, delicate
angles, while Sherlock’s hands settle light but steady into the gentle dip of
John’s waist. His chin tips down, as Sherlock’s tips up, their breath warm,
lips trembling, as they meet in the middle. Their mouths slot together the same
way their lives have, fitting around one another as if they were moulded that
way. Sherlock’s lips are plush and full, as soft as John had imagined, and when
he traces them with the tip of his tongue, Sherlock’s tiny gasp sends a shiver
down John’s spine. A clever tongue slips out to meet his, and they learn each
other in teases, in flicks, in tiny little sipping breaths. Sherlock tastes of
silver smoke and strong coffee, of moonlight and music and memory. Little licks
turn to long curls of their tongues, timidity giving way to temptation as they
lose themselves in the kiss, John’s fingers sliding back to trail along
Sherlock’s scalp and twist into silky curls, not pulling, just anchoring
himself, the hairs held taut between his fingers reminding him that this is
John breaks away with a series of smaller, lingering kisses
whispered against Sherlock’s lips, and the corners of his mouth quirk into a
smile as he takes in the rapid rise and fall of Sherlock’s chest, the fingers
that come up to trace his lips as if comparing the sensations, the flutter of
his lashes as his eyes flit back and forth beneath their lids replaying the
moment, analysing it, committing it to memory. He watches and waits, and Sherlock
finally opens his eyes, bright in the deepening twilight, shining with joy and
relief and a hundred nameless emotions that all together add up to love.
“John,” he breathes, full of wonder, and John kisses him again.
Augh, so I thought I must’ve just slept funny on my arm two nights ago, but I guess all the skidding around my bike was doing day before yesterday (lots of loose gravel on the trails) meant I was yanking the handlebars around to try and correct, and I guess this is an old injury flaring up, which is apparently a thing that happens now. At least it’s just the one arm.
Don’t break both arms at the elbows, kids. It’s still annoying years later.
Wanna read some Valentine’s Day themed scenarios? Well you’ve come to the right place. Just click here and for the price $19.99 you can read some amazing Valentine’s Day themed scenarios based on these interesting date ideas.
Today I’ll be working on adding some more scenarios to the series, so stay tuned!
I have anxiety about school,
And going out with friends.
I have anxiety over people
Who notice my anxiety,
And I have anxiety over
Those who don’t.
I press too much on me
And my friends, too,
But still never enough,
the right people.
I have anxiety over
Huge things, and
Things that do not matter.
I have anxiety about my anxiety, and
About worrying too much
About my anxiety.
@thebibliosphere taught us all not to use the tab button to indent paragraphs a few weeks ago… after half an hour of playing with settings, buttons, and Google, I gave up on my Google Doc ever doing what I want it to do and just used the tab button while hating myself.
Jimin furrows his eye brows and pulls his phone away from his face just to check–yep, Jungkook is calling him at four in the morning, asking him what he’s doing. “I’m sleeping. What do you think I’m doing? What are you doing?”
“I,” Jungkook pauses, “I’m calling you.”
“Yeah, I know,” Jimin says. “At four a.m.? Are you still in the studio with Yoongi-hyung? Are you guys okay?” He’s tired and kind of annoyed, but if Jungkook is calling him and being weird this late, Jimin doesn’t want to hang up on him in case something’s wrong.
“Yes! I’m great!” Jungkook says. “Super. What are you doing, Jiminnie?”
“You already asked me that,” Jimin grumbles, looking suspiciously at his phone. “Kookie, are you drunk?”