this is what i do on my sunday nights

dreadthedeadd  asked:

I wonder what Richonne's junk-yard victory sex was like that night? oh wait yes I do, it was mind-blowing I'm sure. I'm feeling so dirty lately I think it must be because 7x12 is on the horizon.

I keep thinking about that ever since I saw Michonne giving Rick ~that look~ while rubbing the tip of her katana’s handle. You know they were burning up for some passionate release. 

Caryl Spec. for 7x10/7x16

These spoilers have only confirmed my suspicions… I will die of a heart attack on Sunday night and I will do so happily and willingly.

But it makes me wonder too, that these spoilers are not even every single detail of 7x10, only a snippet of it. Not to mention it doesn’t specify how they look at each other while they say this dialogue. So it begs the question, what will happen in the moments that we DON’T know about? If the spoilers that we got are this good, then there’s even more potential for even more amazing Carylness!

Yes we know now that (SPOILERS) Carol initiates the first hug, and Daryl does the second, which is supposed to be a very sweet hug. But what about in between? Because with what they talk about and the hard angsty snippets of dialogue we’ve been blessed with, I can’t help but assume that they at least cuddle with each other, since hugging and cuddling are one of the best ways at comforting your boo. What about the looks they give each other, for I could only assume they would look at each other lovingly. What about if they cry, because if they’re not crying during the hugs then I’ll do it for them!! What about during the hugs themselves? We don’t know the details, so as far as we know, there could be lifts, head nuzzling, forehead/cheek kisses, hand holding after they part… *swoons*

But for me, there’s an even bigger question mark on what will happen during 7x16. The new spoilers have shown us that Carol does indeed love him but is still troubled by what she’s done. She even (SPOILERS AGAIN) wants to go with him when he leaves, and he hesitates on leaving, but neither listen to their urges. So it makes me wonder, how will their reunion play out during 7x16?

Carol will obviously leave the house once she finds out about Glenn and Abe, but of course she herself had said that she knew she’d kill people if she found out about who the victims were so she didn’t want to know (or so I’ve read). Something else needs to trigger her back from this torture arc, not just coming back in the fight, but to help her understand what she needs to do. 

What if it’s the fact that Daryl was captured and tortured that kind of brings her out of her funk? Hell yeah it’s bad that she lost two friends, one in particular a very close friend. But Carol is by no means stupid, and finding out about Daryl’s capture and torture will make her realize that he’s got a target on his back. And that if he gets caught again, he will die. So maybe, that’s what makes her realize that killing is necessary, because she would never forgive herself if she could’ve saved the man she loves most from death if all she had to do was kill a few saviors to do so.

Fast forwarding to 7x16, after all of the amazing fluffyness that was 7x10. The only reason it didn’t push forward in 7x10 was b/c of her emotional trauma, so to me they should do something more during 7x16. I used to think that 8x01 is when we’d get their first kiss, but I’m not so sure about that anymore (I flip back and forth on it all the time really).

To me, Carol will be so grateful to see him again that she runs and embraces him, and she’ll kiss him right then and there because she’s so relieved to see him okay, and he, although shocked at first, will happily oblige. Then comes 8x01 in the next season (again, the 100th episode), and maybe the big moment would be them to consummate their relationship. Yeah it does seem rather quick for Caryl, but they could start off the season with a small time jump of a few months. Or they’ll use the illusion that the 6 month hiatus brings, where it feels like to us that their first kiss happened so long ago, so it’s not as much of a jump to see them do the dirty 6 months later.

This is just pure speculation right here, but more than anything I am SO DAMN EXCITED TO SEE WHAT HAPPENS IN 7X10. SUNDAY CANNOT GET HERE FAST ENOUGH!!

Caryl on loves!

Sick Days


Pair: Yoongi x Reader

Word Count: 1586

Summary: In which Yoongi is sick 

Originally posted by sugastoungetechonawlogy

Saturday afternoons were nothing special in my book. They were mostly filled with chores, work that was mildly overdue, and lesson plans that needed attention but often didn’t get done until late Sunday night. Occasionally, if it was the right kind of day, my boyfriend and I would go out to the movies or something just to say that we didn’t spend the entire weekend locked away in our apartment doing nothing. Of course, that also only happened if my boyfriend had the time to spend with me, what with his busy schedules and hectic lifestyle. This Saturday, however, was different than the others and the quiet moan coming from the bedroom was a gentle reminder that my boyfriend, the famous Min Yoongi, was sick with the cold.

“You ok?” I called into the mostly quiet apartment from the living room as I folded what little clothes we produced during the week.

A low moan was my only answer, followed by the shuffling of blankets and a few sniffles. I smiled to myself, the image of my sick boyfriend miserably shifting in the blankets to try and get comfortable just too endearing for me to stand.

I finished up the last of the laundry and piled the clothes neatly into the basket at my feet and pushed myself to stand. The basket wasn’t heavy as I carried it into the bedroom, but I dropped it loudly on the carpeted floor just to get Yoongi’s attention. He turned sullenly in the bed and pouted up at me, his eyes blinking slowly.

“Are you done?” his voice was hoarse and I smiled to myself.

I placed my hands on my hips and stared down at the clothes. “Almost. I just need to put all these away.”

He groaned and stretched his arms out, “Come to bed.”

“But look at all this,” I said waving a hand over the basket. It wasn’t all that much but I could never get enough of making Yoongi’s life hell, even if he was sick.

He sniffled again. “Your boyfriend, the love of your life, feels like shit. Humor me.”

It was hard to say no when my angel faced boyfriend stared at me with pleading eyes; the desire of having me wrapped in his arms visible in his pouting lips. How wonderful it would be to kiss those lips. I frowned and looked down at the clothes again, well aware that they weren’t going to be put away any time soon. With a final sigh, I pushed the basket into the corner and made my way over to bed.

Yoongi let out a pleased sigh as I wrapped my arms around his slender shoulders. His head instinctively found the crook of my neck where he always enjoyed spending most of his time. He sniffled again, a pathetic little sound coming from his lips as he tried to get comfortable but was failing. Yoongi hated being sick, but I had to admit that seeing him this vulnerable was kind of a fun sight.

Gently, I brushed my fingers through his soft hair and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. “Does my boyfriend, the love of my life, feel better?” I teased.

He wiggled underneath me, his legs kicking around trying to shove the blankets off of him.

“It’s hot,” he grumbled.

“Well, the added body heat can’t be helping,” I said about to move from under his arms when he pulled me even closer, his head pressing harshly into my collarbone. I grinned.

He sniffled again. “Did I say you could move?”

“Sick and still bossy as hell,” I scolded him, “You know I’m doing you a favor?”

“You know you talk a lot?” he whined.

The giggle I tried to suppress still vibrated through my chest and made Yoongi’s head bounce. He whined again, his hand coming up to keep me from moving. I wiggled under his hand under the pretense of getting comfortable and the huff of breath that escaped him was filled with sass.

Yoongi was incredibly demanding when he was sick. Most of it was played up for effect, though, just a sneaky way to get me to do things for him because he didn’t want to move; like arranging his pillows under his head to make him more comfortable. I did humor him though, because I knew how hard Yoongi worked and knew that he needed rest, especially in this state. I loved the kid too much to call him out on his bullshit, so I let him whine and complain until he felt in control again. Which is why after his final huff, I remained still and let him relax against me.

A few minutes passed with Yoongi pressed into me before his light snores eventually filled the room as he managed to fall asleep. I was glad for it because I honestly didn’t know when he slept. Most nights I’d be asleep long before he was and wake up after him. Whenever I would confront him about it, he’d wave me off and talk about the things he needed to do. In a way I was glad for his sickness. It meant he was resting.

I kept running my fingers through his dark hair until I, too, fell asleep.

Hours later I was woken up by a growling stomach and incredibly dry mouth. The sun had set under the horizon leaving the room in near blackness save for the small light emitting from the clock on Yoongi’s side of the bed. It read 7:45. I wiggled under Yoongi’s hold but was met with a strangely strong resistance from my supposedly still sleeping boyfriend.

“Yoongi, I need to get up,” I huffed, trying to pry his arms off of me.

He latched his fingers together to prevent any movement. “Why?”

“I’m hungry,” I whined this time.

A small chuckle came from his lips before he turned up to look at me. Even in the darkness, I could make out his beautiful brown eyes as they stared at me with drowsy love. I bit my lip to keep from smiling but Yoongi knew me better than that. He lightly kissed the skin of my neck and buried his face there.

“But I’m so comfortable.”


“No,” he stretched out the syllable of the word like a child throwing a tantrum.  

I wiggled underneath him again. “Do you want me to starve!”

“You can survive on my kisses,” he grinned.

I grimaced pulling my head back to give him the most exasperated face I could muster. “Seriously? Did Rap God Min Yoongi just say that to me?”

“Whatever keeps you by my side,” he chuckled.

Glad to see he was feeling better enough to tease me.

“What if you come with me to the kitchen? You can sit there while I cook,” I offered.

He shook his head violently. “The chairs aren’t comfortable.”

“The living room, then?” I tried to compromise.

He waited a beat, his nose crinkling in the way he does when he’s dissatisfied with something. It was such a cute face that I couldn’t help but internally squeal at how adorable he looked.

“Fine,” he grumbled, finally removing his arms from around me, “But you have to help me get there.”

I frowned at my boyfriend as I stood up, glaring at his still form. “What? Do you want me to carry you?”

He grinned.

“Min Yoongi, you may be small but you are still heavy to me,” I rebuked, my arms instinctively jumping to cross over my chest to prove my point.

“Ok, ok. Fine,” he conceded, throwing the blankets off his body and standing. He must have done so too quickly because he wobbled a bit on his feet, a small groan escaping his closed lips. “But can you help me walk, at least?”

“Anything for the love of my life,” I cooed.

This time, it was his turn to grimace.

Going to his side, I wrapped my arm around his waist and threw his arm over my shoulder to help support his weight. He leaned heavily against me causing me to let out a light oof. He frowned and scrunched his face again. I had to resist the urge to boop his nose.

We walked side by side to the living room where my pile of papers lay messily on the coffee table. Yoongi stared down at them, a guilty expression crossing his face as he realized that he had kept me from my work. I didn’t say anything, instead just helped lower him onto the soft cushions of the couch. A small shiver ran across his body and I smiled again.

Quickly, I grabbed a few blankets from the chest in the corner of the living room and bundled them around Yoongi making sure he was snuggly wrapped. Three blankets later, only his head could be seen over the mess of fabrics and colors that covered his thin body. I actually allowed myself to laugh this time, his pouty expression just the icing on this cake. If his members could see him now, they’d never let him live this down.

“Why are you laughing?” he demanded, but it was as vicious as a kitten trying to breathe fire. I almost patted his head.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I spun on my heel and made my way into the kitchen to prepare a meal. His members would definitely be seeing a picture of him like that before the night was up.

anonymous asked:

lala is a terrible movie and you have terrible taste. it is so stereotypical and boring and i am honestly shocked someone who claims to know about film isnt insulted by it

[First Girl:]
Ba-ba-da-ba da-ba-da-ba
Ba-ba-ba ba-da-ba-da-ba
Ba-ba-ba ba

[First Girl:]
I think about that day
I left him at a Greyhound station
West of Santa Fe

We were seventeen, but he was sweet and it was true
Still I did what I had to do
‘Cause I just knew

Summer Sunday nights
We’d sink into our seats
Right as they dimmed out all the lights
A Technicolor world made out of music and machine
It called me to be on that screen
And live inside each scene

[First Girl & First Man:]
Without a nickel to my name
Hopped a bus, here I came
Could be brave or just insane

[First Girl, First Man & Second Man:]
We’ll have to see

[First Girl:]
‘Cause maybe in that sleepy town
He’ll sit one day, the lights are down
He’ll see my face and think of how he…

[First Girl, First Man, Second Man & Dancers:]
…used to know me

Climb these hills
I’m reaching for the heights
And chasing all the lights that shine
And when they let you down
You’ll get up off the ground
'Cause morning rolls around
And it’s another day of sun

[Young Man:]
I hear 'em every day
The rhythms in the canyons
That’ll never fade away
The ballads in the barrooms
Left by those who came before
They say “you gotta want it more”
So I bang on every door

[Second Girl:]
And even when the answer’s “no”
Or when my money’s running low
The dusty mic and neon glow
Are all I need

[Young Man:]
And someday as I sing my song
A small-town kid’ll come along

[Second Girl & Young Man:]
That’ll be the thing to push him on and go go

Climb these hills
I’m reaching for the heights
And chasing all the lights that shine
And when they let you down
You’ll get up off the ground
'Cause morning rolls around
And it’s another day of sun

[Instrumental Break]

[First Girl:]
And when they let you down
The morning rolls around

It’s another day of sun
It’s another day of sun
It’s another day of sun
It’s another day of sun
Just another day of sun
It’s another day of sun
Another day has just begun
It’s another day of sun

[Five car horn honks]

It’s another day of sun!

What Made Me Smile This Week:

Sunday: I went out for an adult beverage with my best friend Pat last night, and by the time we were headed home, my cheeks were sore from laughter. It made me smile.

Monday: Today, I started thinking about the Christmas shopping I want to do this year, and as I thought through the next month, I realized I have about zero time to actually accomplish any of the gift-buying. Online shopping (USING AMAZON SMILE TO BENEFIT LAUGHING AT MY NIGHTMARE COUGH COUGH COUGH) makes me smile. Woah, sorry about that. Little tickle in my throat.

Tuesday: I found out some really cool news about the selling performance of my first book today. I never expected my memoir to do as well as it’s doing, and it means a lot to me that so many people around the world have enjoyed my silly words. It made me smile.

Wednesday: I finished binge-watching Stranger Things this afternoon. Even though I’m a little late to the party, I’m thoroughly hooked. Eleven makes me smile.

Thursday: We gave a speech today at an elementary school near Scranton. Speaking to little kids is always scary, but the group of students we spoke to today were highly attentive and engaged. Thanks for laughing with us, Ross Elementary! You made us smile.

Friday: Erinn and I drank chocolate mint coffee and listened to *NSYNC Christmas during work today. It made me smile.

Saturday: My cousin got an American Bulldog puppy, so my day was spent playing with the cutest, cuddliest, smallest, babiest, baby booboo baby. Oh god, I was in heaven. Even when he peed on me. Puppies make me smile.

What made you smile this week?

“Which Sondheim Musical Are You?” quizzes be like

What’s your favorite thing to do?

  1. Read fairy tales
  2. Paint
  3. Waltz
  4. Whistle
  5. Search for love
  6. Reunite with old friends
  7. Alienate old friends
  8. Murder my customers
  9. Murder the President of the United States of America
  10. Invade Japan
sneak peak at a fic i’m posting tomorrow

it’s a request that i received from a lovely anon. this is a bucky x reader fic, i just chose to write it in first person (i’ve been having a really hard time writing in second person lately i am sorry). this fic is called “from the wreckage” and it will be posted at 1pm EST tomorrow (Sunday). 

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

 Steve glanced up at me, his blonde eyebrows drawing together in confusion. “What do you mean?”

 I shuffled further into the kitchen, almost tripping over my own feet as I did so. I managed to catch myself, and Steve put down his arm that must have come up to catch me had I not regained my balance. Then he turned off the stove top, sliding the frying pan over a cool burner before he returned his full attention to me.

 “Bucky sent me a text last night, saying you were all going to be away for a couple more days,” I said.

 Steve’s face crinkled even more, and then the look disappeared. His eyes widened, mouth dropping open a little bit. His expression now welcomed sheer panic across his facial features, which he was only mildly successful in getting control of. “Well, uh, he’s still gone,” he told me.

 I felt my heart slide into my stomach, settling like a rock in my gut. “He never even went on the mission, did he?”

 Steve seemed to be fascinated by his eggs, taking utmost care in scooping them out of the frying pan and onto the plate he set on the counter. “I think you should talk to Bucky, Y/N,” he said. He was deliberately not meeting my eyes, and I felt a prickle of annoyance fester. Steve was a bad liar and wore his heart on his sleeve. It was easy enough to tell when he was feeling guilty.

 “Is he cheating on me?” I asked, not even aware that thought had been circulating in the back of my mind until the question abruptly left my mouth.


I didn’t watch the leaked ep, but I did skim Tumblr. I want to thank everyone who posted and commented. Truly. Because now I know I’m not alone…..

I loved it
I hated it
Leaked by accident
Don’t watch it
It’s all fake
It’s partly fake
I’m laughing
Leaked on purpose
I’m crying
Watch it immediately
What the hell
Best everything
We can do better, start writing
Did you see (fill in ship of choice)
I don’t care anymore
It’s history
It’s a soap opera
So cute
I don’t understand


😈. Oh Moftiss, what did you do?

anonymous asked:

Hey! Just wondering why you needed to get out of horse work? :)

Primarily because one came too close to killing me.

But I wasn’t exactly in love with horse work to begin with. The horse owners around my first job had a few things going on that wore down my willingness to work with the species.

  • Profound elitism (Do you even know what dressage is? Yes, but even if I didn’t I do know your horse has pneumonia)
  • Needing to drive 2 hours at night each way for a colic, in the dark and rain, alone to a farm I’ve never been to, owned by someone I’ve never met.
  • Quibbling the fees (I know it’s late on a Sunday afternoon and the clinic was closed so it’s after hours, but don’t you think that fee we agreed to over the phone is a bit much? - After I’ve arrived and treated the pony)
  • Outright arguing that I never showed up on that day to treat the horse in question.
  • Showing up to the clinic and demanding presription drugs (Because the farrier said! Because the dentist said!) which are illegal for us to dispense without seeing the patient, but not wanting an exam, just wanting the law broken.
  • Expecting me to be able to tame/wrangle an untrained and barely handled adult horse, without sedation. (He wont let anybody touch him except me, so you’ll have to sneak up along his side beside me to give the very large injection in the neck quickly before he jumps back. - Yeah, that’s not going to work. )

So I prioritized my needs over frankly unrewarding work and stopped doing horses.

Besides, there are so many other vets and vet students out there that practically worship the hoof and the ground it stands on, who can do the job, probably better than I would now, and might actually enjoy it.

Out Of My Mind

Sequel to Psyche You Out

Summary: “I want you to not come.” Dan groaned, flexing his fingers uselessly. “That’s kind of what we’ve been doing for that past God-knows-how-long.” “No,” Phil said, and Dan instinctively froze at the word. “I want to you not come until I say so on Saturday night.” Dan’s eyes flew open, and his jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious.” “I am.” Phil kept his gaze steady on Dan. “Completely and totally serious.” “Phil, it’s fucking Sunday.”

Tags/warnings: Teacher x Student, daddy kink, smut, edging, just generally sin

Word count: 5954

A/N: Oh my god… Well, people wanted a sequel, here’s a sequel, featuring totally not self-indulgent porn and you know what I’m just going to go take a cold shower now my god was that frustrating to write (read on ao3)

Keep reading


what a nice saturday today, no school, no stress and finally i can have time for myself. on a saturday night, i could put up facemasks to take care of my skin and finally moisturize everything instead of just sleeping and doing school works. i can drink my favorite milktea without thinking i should hurry up!

on a sunday, i could bathe as long as i want without thinking i could be late for school. i could sleep all day knowing i don’t have to get up early!! thanks for saturday and sunday, it reminds me what rest is. Have a nice day everyone!! enjoy your weekends!!

I wrote so many love letters that you never got to read. They weren’t all the old fashion ones, written on notebook paper with black ink. Some are sticky notes with a few words and a smiley face, others are notes stored in my phone.
You always told me to get off my phone or asked me what I was doing on it when you weren’t looking. I was usually writing about you, absorbing the simple moment we were in and trying to hold on to it. The Thursday nights eating ramen for dinner and rubbing your back, the Sunday afternoons listening to our favorite songs with our noses in boring books, and the nights I’d wake up with you wrapped around me, how I’d lay in silence so in love with life, in love with you, listening to the innocent sound of you breahting next to me, never wanting to let you go. 
Now, they are unread by anyone but me, reminding me of all the love I had for you, but how it wasn’t enough because you didn’t want it anymore
—  I wish I could still give you all I have

anonymous asked:

Shatner is still referring to MM as Sam's girlfriend, so I guess their "relationship" isn't over. Do you think we should expect other bullshit during this break? Valentine's day will be full of innuendo from a certain person

I’ve been getting a lot of asks like this so, I’m answering this one.

Let it go…

Who cares what Shatner says. He’s as good at twisting facts to fit his narrative as anybody else.

A trivial example but it illustrates my point well - the Popsugaruk RT.

T2 premiere was Sunday night. Sam RTed the article Monday night after work (I know b/c Anons like you kept sending me “worried” messages all day Mon about how Sam hadn’t RTed any articles). So Sam did NOT tweet that during the premiere as Shatner claimed, not drunk as Ms. Giacomazzo claimed and he certainly read it….how insulting to suggest he hadn’t.

So….no….I don’t trust Shatner or Paul, or anything he says.

Whether Sam and Cait are dating, I suppose is open for discussion, but from everything I’ve seen, they are not in serious relationships with other people either.

Thanks for stopping by.

anonymous asked:

Thing is Louis would be back this weekend for the Grammy parties anyway given that he's now going solo with a hit -- he's hot in the industry right now so he definitely needs to be seen at those Grammy parties. Chances are he'll be out Sunday night and then tape Corden on Monday afternoon. My only question is when they're rehearsing for the show -- just before taping starts?

While I can’t say what he definitely will do, I think it certainly would make sense for Louis to be at Grammy parties. Maybe that Providence rumor will end up being true and he and Steve will head back to LA Sunday and hit the Grammy parties together. As I mentioned to the other anon, I think he could head back this weekend (if he is currently/is going to be in the UK) and then tape the show Monday. They could probably rehearse that morning. It seems like they did something similar for the Today Show if I’m not mistaken. We’ll see.

  • Rose: *Is doing prefect duties and comes across a broom cupboard with strange noises* This better not be what I think it is...*Opens Door* SCORPIUS?!
  • Scorpius: Wha...
  • Scorpius: Oh. Binge watching How I Met Your Mother.
  • Rose: But why here?!
  • Scorpius: Oh.The Wifi works really well here for some reason.
  • Rose: How long have you even been here?
  • Scorpius: Uh... I got in here on Friday night. I've only left to go to the bathroom.
  • Rose: It's Sunday night now.
  • Scorpius: Oh really? Shit. I need to do my homework.
  • Rose: You're lucky I'm not getting you in trouble.
  • Scorpius: Thanks. Want to join me?
  • Rose: I should be doing prefect shit... meh... fuck it. Yeah I'll join you, you piece of trash.
  • Scorpius: But I'm your lovable boyfriend piece of trash.
  • Rose: Yeah. I guess you are *smirks and gives him a peck on the cheek*.
The Coming Storm

I swear I started writing this last Sunday right after watching 6.05, fully intending it to be fluff about a quiet CS moment sharing hot buttered rum and Chinese food in front of a fire. This angst-fest is what came out of my brain instead. In my defense, Colin O'Donoghue is such a wonderful actor that it’s kind of hard to write fluff when he’s doing all sorts of glorious brooding on my TV screen. *shrug* Also in my defense, I haven’t slept more than 5.5 hours a night for the last 6 days (and I’m too old to get away with that), so I’m a bit addled right now. Thanks for indulging me. Comments are welcome as always.

Find it on AO3.

Summary: Killian contemplates Emma’s decision to give up the shears after he betrays her trust in order to try to save her from her ominous fate. (Captain Swan one-shot.  Angst & Romance.  Rated G.)

Thunder rolls ominously through the thick night air, the wind starting to stir his hair and send stray leaves swirling and skittering across pavement.  Killian’s steps are heavy as he trudges back to the house – back home, he reminds himself.  He gets to call it home now.  At any other time, the thought would have hastened his steps and lightened his tread, but not tonight.  The guilt of his deception hangs on his shoulders like a yoke.  It has since the moment he decided, two seconds after Emma entrusted him with the shears, that there was no way he could go along with her plan and sacrifice the only artifact that might save her life, the artifact that burns a hole in the pocket over his heart now.  

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I am literally counting down the days until you update (not that I know when you will do that but every day is a day closer, right) I think I live for the moment when I receive an email saying that the work 'Until My Feet Bleed And My Heart Aches' has been updated. I WILL BE DEPRESSED FOR DAYS IF IT'S JUST ANGST (like for real) PLS DON'T!!!! Okay, okay.. I'm calm. I try to guess what will happen before going to bed every night. I just love your story so much, thank you for sharing it with us!

Thank you for reading it! And I’m still aiming for Sunday so fingers crossed!

“You – yeah, you, what are you doing?” John elbowed his way through the press of people around him. There was no way they could hear him, the music and shouting and laughter was too loud, too insistent. He kept shouting, though, as he got closer. “Oi – what the fuck? What are you doing?” His last word was emphasised as he grabbed the arm of a brawny lad who was in the process of forcing another shot practically down the throat of a very young-looking fresher.

The brawny lad’s equally burly mate looked up, face immediately squalling to a frown. “What’s it to you, mate?” he asked lazily, drawing down his brows. John looked him from head to toe, eyebrow raised. Posh voice, bad attitude, muscly as hell – not the rugby team though. Lacrosse?

“Well, mate,” he returned, calmly, “I’m a volunteer Freshers’ leader for the week. And this lad looks like he’s had enough. I don’t think he needs any more help from you.”

“Well he’s eighteen and can drink what he likes,” drawled Brawny. “We’re just hanging out with our new mate Sherlock. He has some very useful skills.” He sniggered and his pal joined in, smirking.

“Yeah, well, I think it’s my turn to hang out with Sherlock,” said John, pleasantly. He gave them a bland smile, squaring his stance just a little. “See you later,” he added, pointedly.

There was a moment of indecision as the two lads looked at each other. Then, lip curling, Brawny led the way to the bar.

John turned his attention to Sherlock, really looking at him for the first time. Wow. That cupid’s bow. Those curls. He took a breath. “Alright, Sherlock?” he asked, sticking his hand out to shake. “I’m John.”

“You are both nosy and interfering,” slurred Sherlock, struggling to focus on John’s eyes.

John tipped his head, grinning. Fair. “Yeah, well, the Student Union’s paying me a pittance to be,” he smiled. “What were those lads up to?”

“They’re from the same accommodation as me,” said Sherlock, pronouncing his words deliberately. “They found out I can…tell things about people. They wanted to know…” He took a laboured glance at John, and for the first time he looked a little flustered. “Which girls would be…receptive. And who is dealing drugs,” he added, biting his bottom lip.

John raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, well, I might be interested in knowing about that in a bit too,” he said wryly. “For now though – how many shots did they feed you?”

“Oh I don’t know,” sighed Sherlock expansively, flapping his hand. “What does it matter?”

John looked at him again, sharply. “Listen, no offence,” he said, “but are you eighteen?”

“Yes,” replied Sherlock sulkily. He fished in the pocket of his tight black jeans and forced his driving license into John’s hand. “Here.”

Sherlock Holmes. He was indeed eighteen. John handed it back to him. “Well, Sherlock Holmes,” he smiled, “you’re pretty wankered. Might be time to head home, or drink some water.”

“I see your saviour complex extends to busybodying as well as medical training,” rapped out Sherlock, eyes narrowed. “I’d’ve thought you’d be drinking with your rugby teammates, rather than nannying freshers. You obviously need money. There are more financially rewarding jobs you could be doing, even part time.”

John almost might not have thought Sherlock was drunk anymore, were it not for the fact that the boy stood up – already inches taller than John, although four years younger – and swayed dangerously on the spot for a few moments. John stared up at him, eyes wide. “You can tell things about people,” he said, calmly. “So, what? Someone filled you in about my course, my sport and how strapped for cash I am?”

Sherlock Holmes just smirked annoyingly, then took an unsteady step to the side, a drunken attempt at evasive measures. John pivoted on the spot to watch him walk away.

At the door, Brawny and Burly intercepted the tall, slim boy again. Brawny slung one muscled, sweaty arm around his neck. They’d obviously been watching for the opportunity. Sherlock didn’t look happy to see them; he twisted angrily and in vain.

John made a decision and strolled closer. “Alright Sherlock, let’s go,” he said firmly. “Enough, lads,” he hissed to the other two boys. “Find your own dealers.” Sherlock snarled as he shook off Brawny, pushing his way angrily out of the Union.

The night air was cold and crisp. John jogged out behind Sherlock, and touched him lightly on the arm. “Hey – alright?”

Sherlock turned with wobbly grace and pulled his arm out of John’s grasp. “Yes, fine,” he snapped. He lisped a little on the ‘yes’. His cheeks heated and he stared at the floor.

John sighed. “Those two–”

“I knew one of them at school. For a while.” Sherlock tipped his gaze up to the stars. “One of my schools,” he muttered. “We were not…friends.” The word comes out bitterly.

“Bad luck being in halls with them,” said John. “I’d say they don’t have your best interests at heart.”

Sherlock raised one eyebrow wryly and they both laughed, just a little. Their gazes tangled and John felt suddenly, intensely awkward.

“So – that stuff – my course, money, rugby, dealers…”

“Easy,” said Sherlock, rather smugly. “People see, but they do not observe.”

John watched him for a moment. “So what did you observe?”

“The dealers are easy to spot. Anyone with half a brain could pick them out from the way they frequent certain areas, move often, meet for short periods of time with a varied selection of people – unlikely all to be friends, given that people tend to cluster together in small, relatively unchanging groups. Unfortunately Travers and Morton do not have anything approaching half a brain to share, let alone each. You, however, were more interesting. You are clearly in need of money, since your clothes and shoes – though not outdated or shabby – are certainly well-worn and well-mended. Your jeans have been patched and sewn up, very neatly, in two separate places. Your shoes are clean and polished – quite rare in our age group – but I can see that the soles and heel have been mended by a professional. You have chosen to work during Freshers’ week, which would otherwise be a week of holiday for you, given that you are obviously a third-year medical student. Clearly, as previously mentioned, there are much more lucrative jobs you could carry out during the summer holidays, and I suspect that you gave up the final week of some higher-paying employment so that you could act as a Freshers’ leader. Obviously you see yourself as having a duty to the university and to new students – you are morally driven and like to think you can help people. How do I know you are pursuing a course in medicine? Your university ID badge, which as a Freshers’ leader you are required to wear on that ugly orange lanyard around your neck, proclaims the fact loudly. And for the rugby – the distinctive muscle development in your shoulders and thighs is impossible to mistake.” Sherlock took a deep breath, looked John straight in the eyes with a flash of triumph, then turned pink.

Huh. Thighs. So. John’s brain was parsing through the torrent of words he’d just heard. “Wow,” he said. “That was amazing.”

“Oh,” said Sherlock, and wobbled dangerously on his feet. He transferred his gaze from John’s left shoulder to the pavement.

“I forgot I had my badge on,” said John, digging his hands into his jeans pockets.

“Mmm,” said Sherlock.

“So are you studying…biology?” asked John. He regretted the words as they came out of his mouth. Somehow, Sherlock Holmes’s cheeks got even pinker.

“Chemistry,” mumbled Sherlock.

“Oh,” said John.

There was a pause.

“So you’ll be using the labs?” asked John.

“Yes,” said Sherlock, long dark eyelashes sweeping onto his flushed cheeks.

“Ah. Me too,” returned John. “So I might…see you there. Then.”

“I – yes,” said Sherlock. “It’s possible.” He attempted a nonchalant shrug.

John examined his own shoes. “OK. Good,” he said.

The pause felt terribly long, this time.

“So I–” said Sherlock.

“You should–” said John.

They tangled gazes, and each huffed a laugh.

“–think I’ll get back,” finished Sherlock.

“–get home safely,” added John.

“Right,” they both said.

They looked at each other for another long moment, and then Sherlock took a step back, and John shuffled a turn towards the Union. A couple more steps.

“You know,” said John, heart hammering, “I should take your number. So I can check. And in case I don’t.”


“See you. At the lab. I mean – so I can.”

Sherlock Holmes’s eyes were wide and green in the moonlight. John thought he might be choking on his own heartbeat. And then the boy held out a pale, long-fingered hand. John stared at it stupidly. “Phone,” said Sherlock, impatiently. But John saw his hand shaking, just a bit.

Their fingers brushed as he handed over his phone. Sherlock called himself from John’s mobile and passed it back.

They smiled, a little awkwardly, a little conspiratorially.

“See you around, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Goodnight, John Watson.”

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