I do believe in the potential of like-minded people coming together. As individuals in our respective fields, we have to draw on the energy of the culture and take the pulse of the world. And, in taking the pulse, we can make some of the best work of our time. In turn, I hope that can inspire people to be their best.
(this is a sequel to THIS ‘I think there’s someone in the house’ fic!)
The paramedics hammer on the door, and Neil looks up, teary-eyed, from where his face is pressed into Andrew’s damp hair. He’s feeling for his breath with the back of his hand, waiting moment to moment for Andrew to die in his arms, silently like he does everything else. Urgency keeps stunning Neil all over again, hysterical defibrillators. The EMT’s are calling out through the wall, muffled but calm.
It feels unthinkably wrong, their absolute evenness and ease outside his door when his life is an exposed neck and Andrew’s death is the whirring blade of a saw.
He realizes that he has to get up to let them in, and it seems as impossible as it would be for Andrew to spring up and answer the door himself. He feverishly wants them to crumple the door to splinters and be inside already.
It’s a herculean effort to ease Andrew to the ground, like he’s gritting his teeth and cutting off his own leg. He touches Andrew’s clammy face briefly but he can’t bring himself to try and slap him awake. He props Andrew’s bare feet up on the rim of the bath so the blood will flood towards his head, at least.
He feels untethered to his body when he stands, a helium balloon with its usual weight passed out on the bathroom floor. He falls into the wall immediately, adrenaline neck and neck with exhaustion.
He finds his way to the front door without his mind’s help. His head is in the bathroom with Andrew, and he knows that no matter what happens it’ll be there for a long, long time.
The next time he blinks, a man in uniform is holding his biceps and peering down at him seriously.
“—sir? Sir, are you hurt at all?”
“No,” Neil says, lips numb. “Bathroom. He’s in the bathroom. He’s bleeding to death.”
He turns, easily slipping the paramedic’s grip. There’s a procession of them, hefting a gurney and a couple of kits, and they’ve brought all the cold from outside in on their heels. They’re such a foreign object in their warm, messy apartment — uniformed, official, and precise.
It’s deadly, walking in and seeing Andrew spread out in his boxers, blood oozing through his t-shirt from his loose stitches, pale enough to match the porcelain. Neil’s seen enough corpses to recognize what they look like.
He falls heavily to his knees and puts his head directly to his chest, listening, tears slipping hotly over the bridge of his nose.
“Please,” he slurs. His heartbeat is a tentative thud, a knock from an unexpected guest. “Help him. Now, help him now.”
“We’re going to try our best Sir, but you’ve got to get out of the way,” someone says gently.
He topples backwards onto his hands. It’s a cramped space, and he knows it would be easier if he waited outside, but he also knows he’d rather die than leave them alone with him.
The first guy kneels down and takes Andrew’s pulse, and Neil shakes his head. They’re too slow, time is feeding directly into a wide open drain.
“He needs an IV. He’s two litres down, at least. You’ve got to—“ A petite woman puts a hand on his shoulder and he shrugs her off violently. “No! You have to listen to me.”
“We know what we’re doing,” she says. “Are you an MD?” She eyes him doubtfully, gaze flitting from his scars to where her colleagues are taking vitals and cutting through Andrew’s clothes.
“Yes,” Neil says wildly. “And he needs an IV. Possibly two. Large-bore, normal saline. He’s not getting any oxygen, and he’s been like this for as long as it took you to gather your meager response team.”
She purses her lips, but she’s a professional. He can see her repressing her anger and it infuriates him. He feels like he’s crashing, over and over again, and he’s watching someone daintily pump the breaks.
“He’s right,” one of the EMT’s says distractedly. “We’re gonna need to get some fluids started, he’s in hypovolemic shock, sats below 50.”
“You want to tell me what happened?” one of the men asks.
“No,” Neil says as evenly as he can manage, reaching out to graze Andrew’s cold fingers.
“Did you do these stitches?” the woman asks, pulling at Andrew’s skin to get a better look at them. He suddenly sees how they must look to them, sloppy and angry red. Neil bends her arm away without thinking about it.
“Don’t touch him,” he snaps. He could break her arm and it would make him feel better. He drops her, disoriented by his own violence.
“There’s no need to be antagonistic,” the first man says. “We don’t want to have to remove you.”
“You really don’t,” Neil agrees. “You won’t succeed.”
“Why would Mikael go from being barely visible, teasingly so almost, to so ‘in your face’ in the space of one episode?”
It’s not just because Julie is trying to remind us we’ve seen him before: she knows we spend our time on the internet analysing every frame of her show, she’s knows we’re tech-savvy, she knew the minute NRK would update their profiler page we would start looking up the characters and making the connection with Mikael (if we hadn’t already, I’m guessing she knew most of the core fandom would know about Mikael coming back already, the sudden influx of followers on Yousef Hjelde El Mofty’s instagram was indication enough, we also know Mari and Julie regularly look up the SKAM tags to take the pulse of the skamily). But even if for the non-internet fans, the casual viewers, keeping Mikael gently in the background would have been more than enough to later pull the rug and go
“Tadaaaa! Even’s best buddy, Mikael! You should have known! He was there all along but you didn’t notice!”
So, to me, it’s not just Julie teasing us about Mikael and his connection to Even.
And that’s when I realised that every season is from the main’s POV, this season is no exception. And who is becoming more and more prominent in Sana’s POV, while Yousef is progressively seemingly falling from grace? Mikael.
@darker-sooner pointed out the frame above to me and how there are two main characters in it: Sana and Mikael (also, in terms of the position of the characters, Sana and Mikael are turned towards each other in this picture…they’re still not really looking at each other though, that will come later)
My reasoning is that, from a directing standpoint, having Mikael progressively take more and more space in the frame equates having him take more and more space in Sana’s life. For now, she’s not really looking at him. She’s interested in Yousef. Mikael is still background. But even in the background, she’s starting to notice him more.
My theory is that we will start seeing them interact and be in each other’s “backgrounds” more and more. Maybe next time it will be a “hi” exchanged on camera. Maybe after that a sentence or two. I’m not yet certain Mikael will definitely be a love interest for her. But I really feel like he’s going to be an important person in her life in this season.
Picture the moment: You are a photographer working in Syria when a bomb rips through a convoy of busses carrying refugees to safety from towns besieged by civil war.
The blast renders you temporarily unconscious, and when you wake up, the scene is carnage. Your decision is immediate, and instead of reaching for your camera, you reach over to take the pulse of a child lying nearby.
The child is dead. You find another child, barely breathing, and you pick him up. You run.
This was the moment captured by Muhammad Alrageb, another photographer who was on the scene last Saturday during the bomb blast that killed at least 126 Syrian evacuees, most of who were fleeing the al-Foua and Kefraya villages in the Idlib province, Reutersreported.
Alrageb’s photo shows his fellow photographer Abd Alkader Habak rushing a wounded child to safety. In an interview with CNN, Habak said that he left the young victim with medics, but wasn’t sure whether or not the boy survived. Read more (4/18/17)
Summary: It’s date night for Bruce and Batmom, but when they come home chaos is unfolding within the mansion.
The marina was calm and quite desolate tonight, which made for the perfect location for a date. No one was going to bother you and it just so happened to be one of the main hotspots of activity lately, though the lack of people begged to differ. Nonetheless, it meant that Bruce was able to keep a watchful eye on the area while also showing you off as his arm candy to the stars and moon that shined down on you.
Neither of you barely said anything, enjoying the comfortable silence that fell over you both as you walked. The chill of the air coming off the water only gave you an excuse to walk closer to your beau. He always managed to make dates perfect somehow, even if they were interrupted by maniacs or calls from the principals office - though thankfully tonight he didn’t have to answer to either. It was just you and him, with each other’s undivided attention.
But alas, all good things must end and after hours of aimlessly walking around and talking about anything and everything, you decided to head home. As the car pulled up the long driveway you both could tell something was going on within the house from nearly a mile away. All the lights seemed to be on and music could be heard bumping through the walls like a heartbeat.
“I guess this is what we get for letting Alfred have the night off,” Bruce commented sarcastically, earning a snicker from you.
“I think it’s about time we show them how to really party. Don’t you, dear?” You suggested with a devious look on your face, one which Bruce returned just as deviously.
Hand in hand, you both walked into the house through the garage door, the music thumping into your core. As you progressed towards the epicenter of music and strobe lights, the house became steadily messier and showed signs of empty alcohol bottles and confetti just simply everywhere. The first child you found was Duke, completely passed out sideways in a rocker.
“Is he dead?” You questioned, half serious and Bruce shook his head after taking a pulse and let the sense of relieve wash over you both momentarily.
With a sigh from both of you, you continued your pursuit and not before long, you had slipped into the mass of people gathered in the main ballroom. The sight before you made you both stop and just stare.
Dick was showing off his acrobat moves, currently swinging from the chandelier as Barbara cheered him on from the staircase. Jason was screaming demands at the DJ from the “dance floor.” Tim and Cass were dancing next to each other while Steph had to prop herself up with help from the drink table. And Damian… Damian was no where to be seen which worried you more than seeing him involved in this mess.
The twitch in your eye made you want to go ape shit mother-hen on all of them, dragging each of their most likely intoxicated bodies to their beds. But, no, you had a much better idea. Bruce was thinking the exact same thing and wrapped a hand around your waist before pulling you close to him. A devilish smirk crossed your faces and you emerged yourselves into the crowd, locked together so you wouldn’t lose the other.
In your travels you both acquired a drink and held them tightly in hand as you started dancing with each other. Purposely sloppy, you made sure the two of you were making a scene, grinding, and yelling, and kissing until the people around you started to notice. Just as you had hoped, they began moving away from you, no one wanting to dance next to the old grinding couple, a few of them even realizing who you were.
After about a half hour, the room cleared out enough that a few of the kids spotted you, freezing in place. Bruce notice and motioned in their direction, making you turn your head to spot Tim, Cass, and Steph. The shock on their faces made you laugh and even Steph, who was clearly the most inebriated, widened her eyes and furrowed her eyebrows as if you were figments of her imagination.
“Hey guys! Nice party!” You yelled over the music to them as if you were just another couple of random partygoers.
The lack of anger on yours and Bruce’s faces terrified them all to the core before your face immediately dropped into your trademark serious ‘you’re in deep shit’ look. “It’s time to end it.”
Steph nodded slowly, seeming to take a different meaning to your words as she slurred a goodnight and shuffled along the walls up to her bed. With a shrug you watched her, at least one of them was making this easy though the other two just stood and stared.
“Now,” Bruce chimed in with his own stern look and Tim and Cass bolted, no doubt to find the others and tell of their situation.
Arms folded over your chests, you and Bruce stood side by side in the middle of the ballroom, watching as the people filed out and the music stopped. Jason let a string of expletives out as he started cleaning up bottles before even acknowledging your presence. Tim and Cass kept ushering people out, stumbling slightly in the process.
Dick still hung upside down from the chandelier and he waved with a smile when he saw you, though his words were slow and slightly slurred, “Heyy Mom! Heyy Bruce! You’re home early!”
With a sigh and a hand on your forehead, you offered a small wave with your other hand and rather unenthusiastically replied, “It’s three AM, Dick. Now get down from there.”
When all of the kids stood in front of you, excluding the ones already passed out or the one that was MIA, you looked them over with a disappointed frown before Bruce spoke up, “Tomorrow you’re cleaning this place up. And then we’re going to have a looong talk.”
“But for now, get to bed.” You chimed in, most of the glares being sent towards Cass and Tim, especially considering they were underage.
The two nodded and headed off to pass out, Tim actually glad for once when his head hit the pillow. After they left the room your attention turned back to the three left in front of you. Babs’ cheeks were flushed, her body telling you she obviously participated in the evening’s events. It was clear the second you walked into the room that Dick was far gone and you had to admit, you had some respect for anyone who could do acrobatics while drunk.
But when you looked Jason over, your eyes squinted. “Jason? Are you sober?”
Dick wrapped an arm around Jason’s shoulder and piped up for him, “Jay was our party mom tonight!”
“Dick, honey, go to bed. You too Barbara.” You softly told them and they nodded, slowly and hesitantly heading off in that direction.
“Just wanted to make sure no one died. Cause y’know, I know how that feels and it’s not very pleasant,” Jason explained sarcastically, brushing off the silent allegations that he did it because he was worried and turned to continue picking up a bit.
With a sigh, Bruce put a hand on your shoulder, “I’m going to make sure Duke’s still alive, and make sure he gets to bed.” You nodded up at him and gave a small smile and swiveled to take in the whole image of the trashed ballroom.
Today started off like any other day really, you were at school and just working through a work sheet when you felt a hand on your inner thigh.
You knew it was Theo, your boyfriend of a few months. He teased you throughout the whole class and you had warned him you’d get him back.
So now you were at home, in your most sexual underwear, ready for Theo to come round.
A prompt from @optomisticgirl and for @ive-always-been-a-pirate, on the anniversary of her birth (a day early). If you’ve seen Carrie Pilby or read the book, you’ll get what inspired this scene. A slight twist, though, cause there’s no way it would’ve gone that way with Killian and Emma.
Pairing: Gabriel x Reader Word count: 3863 Warnings/Tags: angry/possessive sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up, folks), grace kink, wings Special thanks to@sumara62 for the beta. Your little touches make this so much better and you never fail to help me find a title when I get stuck.
Requested by: @girl-next-door-writes Quote: “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?” Kink: Calming the others anger (with sex)
“You’re pretty, you know that?” Sam slurs his words from the passenger side of your car and you resist the urge to roll your eyes as you try to half-drag, half-help him out of the vehicle. You know it’s the alcohol talking. He isn’t too unlike his brother in that he lights up at anything with a pair of breasts and a decent face. He just needs to hit a certain level of intoxication first.
He has to be caught in one hell of a dry spell to be flirting with you, however.
“You’re heavy, you know that?” you say dryly, finally getting him to his feet, though most of his weight lands on you as he lurches forward. You manage to maneuver him to your side, his arm draped across your shoulders as you begin the slow and thankfully short walk to the motel room.
“I’m being sherioush,” he insists, sounding almost miffed you aren’t.
The man is sherioushly going to feel it come morning after the ridiculous amount of whiskey, tequila, and rum he downed tonight.
The nurse glances down at the clipboard, then at you, then back at the clipboard and smirks.
“Wow, so yeah, we definitely need to do a weigh in, you CERTAINLY aren’t 158 anymore.”
face gets hot. In your rush to make the appointment you grabbed a
too-small shirt and now suffer the stares of waiting patients. Your
muffin top balloons over the top of your tight pants. You squeeze your
wide bottom into the chair and feel the wooden arm rests press your fat
love handles. You must look a sight with your soft hog belly filling
your lap, laced beautifully with light stretch marks, and your deep,
obvious belly button. An older woman sitting next to you pats your plump
“It’s good to see you’re doing something about it, dearie, it doesn’t look like those pants could hold you in much longer.”
flush red, she continues, “I just don’t know about your generation,
you’re all getting so FAT. Believe me, I know, I’ve got a big fat pig
for a granddaughter and she just won’t lose weight no matter how I
remind her boys don’t like fatties. Now mind you, she’s not as big as
you, thank god, but she will be if−”
The nurse interrupts and calls
your name. You wriggle your fat-packed hips out of the chair and make
your way across the silent waiting room. Your blubbery thighs rub
loudly. She leads you down a long hallway.
“Ok, miss, here you are,
we’ve got you scheduled for a weigh in, and an appointment with the
dietician. Do yourself a favor and listen to her before Barnum and
Bailey put you on speed dial,” She pokes your soft, dimpled tummy and
The room is cool and white, an examination table sits in the
center. There is a treadmill, a scale and a full length mirror. Good
god, you think, getting even more aroused. A cute, energetic nurse comes
in moments later and picks up your chart.
“Hi, I’m Clara, I’m going
to take your weight and pulse, the doctor will be in shortly. Please
strip down to your underwear and bra.”
You struggle out of your
tight jeans, face reddening. You begin to sweat lightly. Your love
handles and belly wobble and bounce and jiggle embarassingly as you tug
your meaty hips free. The nurse smiles as you struggle and puff and
puff. She checks your chart again and raises her eyebrows.
no wonder those pants are so tight,” she moves closer as you stand in
your tight panties and bra, your uncooperative jeans stuck halfway down
your hips, your overfed gut bulging and jutting well past your bloated
tits. Your excess fat squeezes out around your too-small bra straps. She
presses her palm into your soft piggy pot and gives it a hard jiggle.
Your hips and back fat wiggle wildly. Your nipples stiffen. Your thighs
begin to get hot.
“Look at all this blubber, you naughty little
piggy,” she laughs loud, “Look at how you jiggle!” You feel your chest
and throat constrict, your double chin wobbles slightly. She slides her
thumb deep into your belly button and clutchs your soft underbelly
with her fingers. She lifts, tugs, bounces your fat-bloated pot. She
slaps it and watches it wobble. "Look at all this pork ,you overstuffed
hog, you’ve been a VERY greedy piggy since we last saw you, haven’t
You feel yourself about to come.
"I bet it feels good to admit that, fatty. Now lets get that wideload of yours on the scale.”
waddle onto the scale, your distended gut leading the way. She takes
your weight and notes it on the chart then directs you to sit on the
examination table. The door opens and a young man pokes his head in, “
Hi Clara, sorry to interrupt, but the doc is delayed, I’m going to send
Denise in when she finishes up next door. Should be in a minute or two.”
She turns to you as the man leaves, “Denise is the dietician, you’ll like her.”
A few minutes later the door opens. As Clara leaves, a fit, lovely
woman with a pile of black hair enters. She smiles and
extends her hand, “Hi, I’m Denise.” Her hand is warm and dry and
“Let’s have a look at your chart…Oh my,my, my, it looks
like you’ve gained quite a bit of weight this year…hmmm… well, no
matter, it happens sometimes. Please stand and turn around, we’re going
to measure your body fat.” You heft yourself off the table and turn
your back to her. Papers ruffle, metal scrapes. She grabs
a generous roll of fat under you armpit and tugs firmly, your nipples
pucker, your clit hardens. The cold, steel calipers pinch and release.
You hear the pen scratch across your chart. “Hmm that was a thick one,”
Denise says, “I bet it represents quite a few midnight snacks, eh fat girl?” She laughs. Your breath catches in your throat,
goosebumps run up your inner thighs and arms. You feel so exposed. She grabs a
huge handful of love-handle meat and leans near your ear, “I don’t
know if the calipers can measure this one, you greedy blimp.” She lifts
and squeezes and tugs and shakes your blubber-packed flank. She
rolls the fat in her hand, then wobbles it. The caliper spring creaks as
Denise tries to open it wide enough. A sharp pain shoots up your side
as she forces your bulging fat into the calipers.
“Ouch,” you say.
I’ve never seen such fat love handles, I guess I’ll just write ‘huge,
fat PIG’ in the space they have here for the measurement.” She laughs.
begin to pant. She comes close again and grabs both bloated handles.
The calipers clatter to the floor. She begins to knead and mush the
soft fat. She slides her hands around to the front of your belly and
begins grabbing handful after handful. She slides a finger in your deep
navel and lifts and teases your fat. Her manicured hand slides down the
front of your panties, she pinches your fattened pubic mound. She
squeezes the fattened area around your clit and starts to get you off
with the extra pudge. You moan deeply. She whispers in your ear, “
Reach under my skirt, you fat f*cking HOG, I’ve got a beautiful, hard
cock strapped on that’s perfect for a soft, lazy tub like you.”
You reach under her skirt and grab the hard cock. You clit tightens almost painfully, swelling, swelling.
it,” she says, “stroke it, lard ass, nice and slow,” she slaps the side
of your belly. You wince, and grunt at the delicious heavy joggle of
Your panties are soaked, you rub the hard cock, Denise
moans, you oink. She grabs your blubbery inner thighs and pinches and
drags her nails lightly. You keep your rhythm. Stroke, stroke, stroke.
She leans over, panting, to an intercom and depresses the 'talk’ lever.
“Gretchen darling, would you run next door and grab two dozen
jelly-filled and a gallon of heavy cream.” The intercom buzzes back
garbled static. Denise smiles, “She’ll be here in about five minutes.
Get on your knees, you overfed porker, and show me how good you are
with those plump piggy lips.”
You kneel down, flushed and puffing
with excitement. She pulls up her leather skirt and shoves the cock in
your mouth. She tugs lightly at one swollen nipple as you begin to suck
and oink greedily. “That’s it you big overfed fat hog, suck it. Suck it
and oink like a good fat piggy,” you suck nosily, slurping and oinking
and burying the cock in your mouth.
She leans sideways while you
suck and grabs a huge handful of your belly fat and lifts and shakes it, "We’re going to test this gut for capacity when
Gretchen gets here to see just how much this overfilled bag of pig fat
can hold.“ Her teasing makes you greedier. You slurp loudly, your clit
tingles, hard and hot,the quick bobbing of your head causes your back
fat and upper arms to quiver noticeably. Denise gasps loudly and starts
to come. You come moments later.
You struggle to your feet, hot and
sweating. The examination room door opens and a wide, fat blonde woman
waddles in . Her belly is massive, you can see the deep outline of her
belly button through straining pants as her belly fat shifts around
under the tight fabric. She is carrying two large pink cake boxes and a
tankard of heavy cream. You can hear the cold cream slosh and see grease
soaking through the boxes. Denise jerks you to your feet and bends you
over the examination table. Gretchen smiles at you and sets the boxes
near your face, "Oh she looks like a greedy one,” she says to Denise, “ I
should have got three boxes of jelly-filled.”
Denise laughs, “Feel that huge gut she’s put on, Gretch.” Gretchen reaches forward and hefts your soft, hanging belly.
she says lightly squeezing and tugging, " she
really stores in around the hips and waist, don’t she.“
laughs again. Gretchen pops the top of the first box and picks up a
glazed donut. Dark jelly oozes and drips onto the table. She holds the
donut just out of reach and makes you smell it.
Denise pulls up her skirt and yanks down your panties. Your swollen lips stretch apart as she pushes inside you.
"Beg for the donut, you greedy fat ass,” Gretchen says.
“Mmph, please, feed me, feed me like a fat f*cking pig. I’m such a fatty…shove it in my piggy snout.” Gretchen presses the donut into your mouth, jelly squirts into
the back of your throat, glazed sugar fills one nostril and smears your
cheek. Denise clutches your wide hips in bulging handfuls and thrusts as
deep as your fattened ass will allow. You moan through mouthfuls and
mouthfuls, through packed cheeks and a craning neck. Gretchen stuffs you
like a Christmas goose. Jelly squirts onto the table, your throat packs with more
sugar and dough. Your eyes rolls back in your head, your heart pounds.
Denise moans as she f*cks you
“Eat you ***ing blubber pig, that’s it you overfed ***ing HOG, fill that fat gut.”
head swims; your heavy swelling gut slaps against your thighs,
Gretchen forces you to chug heavy sweet cream, you gut swells, then
sags, under the weight of your feeding. She continues to feed you,
Denise reaches around your filling bulk and plays with your clits as she fingers you. You feel your ribcage and belly stretch to accommodate your
stuffing. You inch closer to orgasm, so full, oh god, so
stuffed. Gretchen shoves more in.
“That’s it wideload, pack that gut, you think you’re the first one, how do you think I
got this?” she yanks down her tight pants and plops her massive
white belly on the table, she shoves a donut into her navel then
pushes your face in after it.
“That’s it hog,”
Denise yells, “eat right out of her fat belly, we’re going to grow you
one like that you lazy porker.” You start to come: the sweet
jelly, the warm softness of Gretchen’s belly, your secret desire to be
fattened like an absolute PIG, orgasms explode through you: you come,
Denise comes, Gretchen comes.
Denise and Gretchen help you back into
your tight clothes, it’s hard not to giggle. They only get the lowest
button of your jeans fastened; you’re just too bloated. They laugh.
They help you into your shirt which won’t stay down past your ribs.
Denise tugs it down, you breathe, it rides back up. More laughter. You
waddle into the hall feeling like a parade float,too satisfied to care the state
they’ve left you in. Your top rides up showing your alarmingly bloated belly which stretches out before you round and tight; your pants are
unbuttoned down to the last button and still the thick fat of your
waist squeezes well over the belt line. You lean slightly back as you
pilot your tubby piggy pot towards the exit. You’re red-faced and
sweating, your eyes glassy from orgasms and sugar and cream. Your belly sloshes painfully from side to side.
receptionist and the people in the waiting room gasp collectively as you
puff, puffing just before you waddle your soft, overfed bulk into view. You’ve never felt
so full (or so satisfied.) You cradle your belly with one hand, balance
yourself against a wall with the other, and, with shallow breaths, move
slowly towards the door. You turn to the receptionist intending to say
'I’ll call to schedule my next appointment,’ but what comes out is
“BUUURRRRRAAAWWWPPPP!!!!” The receptionist turns pale, waiting
patients inhale sharply, you open the exit door and ease slowly into the
They leave the car in town, rent bikes to explore the landscape, their bags fastened on the bicycle racks.They’re in awe of the vastness of the wonderful countryside all around them as they cycle along an earthy but even path, green meadows, trees of all shapes and sizes, fields of crops and flowers and a lake in viewing distance. Magnus reaches out a hand towards Alec who’s next to him and a moment later their hands are entwined and they’re smiling, their chests filled with overwhelming content.They arrive at a farm, are offered the nicest, fresh food they ever tasted and a room so quaint and lovely it didn’t take them a minute to decide to stay here. The bed is kingsized and Magnus bounces as Alec pushes him onto it, the look of surprise on Magnus’ face making Alec laugh before he covers his boyfriend’s body with his own, their giggles lighting up the house, until nothing but the sound of kisses can be heard - if one eavesdrop at their door.
Perhaps there was another reason that Sherlock was so upset on the plane.
I’ve been thinking about the tarmac scene recently since I re-watched ASIB last night and I couldn’t help but get stuck on these two particular scenes:
Which made me think about this scene…
During the tarmac handshake scene, Sherlock takes off his glove to properly shake johns hand and to say goodbye to his best friend, but could it be something more?
After the first initial handshake, there is a rather large pause before one final shake and Sherlock walks away to board the plane.
Assuming that Sherlock did take his pulse during this scene, there is a chance Johns heart was beating faster than average. Sherlock, think he was going to certain death at this point, would be thinking that he had missed a very large opportunity with John.
No…He wasn’t just upset about leaving his best ‘friend’.