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neymarsangel · 9 months

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There's no place like home - Joao Felix x reader

Joao Felix x female!reader

Requested? Yes/No: Anon: lazy s3x w joao

Warnings: Smut, 18+++ (male oral receiving, unprotected sex, wrap it before you tap it!) swearing, fluff

Word Count: 1.5K

—

English summertime wasn’t like the rest of Europe. The rain outside suggested that it was more wintertime rather than the middle of July. Joao was on his break for the summer and considering the two of you couldn’t go out and enjoy London you opted for a lazy afternoon. The pair of you were laying on the sofa watching The Wizard of Oz. When you’d met Joao he’d told you he’d never seen the film. Making a mental note you were adamant you’d get him to watch it one day and what better time to watch a film with an ongoing thunderstorm outside?

You were laying on his bare chest, your eyes glued to the screen as the brunette ran his hands through your hair, glancing down at your figure, a small smile on his lips as he took in how attentive you were to the film. He glanced over at the screen before speaking.

“Why didn’t the munchkins just kill the witch if she was such a problem?”

You turned your head to look back up at him, your large doe eyes making Joao melt in a heartbeat. “Because you can only kill anyone by accident.” Your eyes looked over to the screen before looking back at him. “Dorothy didn’t mean to kill the witch, any death we see in the film is accidental. Glinda rules over Oz and she cast a spell which didn’t allow murder.”

“Then why didn’t they just plan to kill the witch and make it look like an accident?”

“Because that wouldn’t really be an accident, would it?” You smirked as you spoke, Joao mirrored your expression before he leaned down and planted a kiss on your forehead.

“You know sometimes I hate watching films with you.”

“Why?”

“Because you always know everything.” “Well, what else am I supposed to do whilst you’re at work?”

“Hmm… true…” His hands now went to your waist, his grip tightening on your body as you felt his hips buck. “God you’re so pretty.”

One hand left your waist to cup your jaw, forcing you to look at him he slowly leant down and planted a kiss on your lips. You kissed him back instantly, your mouths slowly moving on one another. Shifting you now straddled his waist, and your hands went to his jaw as you slowly started to grind down on his clothed cock.

He moaned at your actions, his hips bucking up into yours as he pulled away from the kiss. His hands now went to the hem of your shirt which ironically belonged to him. His cold hands on your stomach made you jump slightly which earnt you a low laugh from your boyfriend. His hands went higher and fell upon your boobs.

“Joao…”

“What baby?” As he spoke he swiftly pulled your shirt over your head. “Such a pretty girl…”

“You’re such a tease.” Your hands tugged on the waistband of his shorts.

“You’re one to talk.” He pinched your nipples as he spoke, the sudden sharp feeling making you grind harder into him. “Remember the end of the season awards? When all you did was tease me? Constantly begging for my cock until I bent you over the car and fucked you until you forgot your name…”

His words caused you to moan, only growing more impatient with him. “Please…”

“So needy…” He kissed you again before raising his hips up. He effortlessly pulled his shorts and boxers down before pulling your clothed hips onto his bare ones. His hand slowly started to pump himself as he watched your eyes light up. “I need your mouth meu anjo…”

You didn’t hesitate. Moving down his body you trailed light kisses down his body, the feeling giving him goosebumps. When you reached his cock you glanced up at him before kissing the tip, now it was your time to tease him. Your hand had replaced his, slowly moving up and down his large cock. You planted another kiss this time further down but still not enough for him to feel the slightest release.

“y/n… please dom’t tease…”

“Who’s the needy one now?” Your tongue slowly darted across the tip, collecting the precum that had spilt from your teasing.

“Good girl…” He moaned as you slowly started to take him into your mouth, your head bobbing around his cock, with every stroke you started to get deeper. Joao did his best not to grab your hair and force you down onto him but it was proving harder by the second. His hands moved through your hair, tugging at the strands with every movement.

You took the hint and changed your pace, moving faster he began to hit the back of your throat. The sound of you gagging around him was one he’d never grow tired of. His head fell back and his stomach muscles tightened at the pleasure growing inside of him. Your hand moved in sync with your mouth, at first you were gentle but the rough movements of his hips and the hand in your hair caused you to quicken.

You could feel he was getting close but he suddenly pulled your hair hard enough that your mouth left his cock and now you were looking up at him with pleading eyes. Joao's thumb went to your lips and swiped any mess from your lips before planting his thumb in your mouth. “Suck.” He commanded which you happily obliged. “Good girl.” His thumb left your mouth but continued to trace your bottom lip.

“I need you.” You moaned at his actions.

“Where do you need me, baby?”

“I need you to fuck me…”

Joao smacked your ass, a chuckle leaving his lips as you let out a light yelp at his sudden actions. “I want you to ride me.”

Nodding you shifted on the sofa, quickly slipping off your underwear you straddled him once again. Joao’s hands went to your hips, guiding you onto his cock. No matter how many times the two of fucked you would never get used to his size. Gripping on his skin your nails left marks on his shoulder as he entered you.

“Move when you want to.” He leaned up and kissed your lips, his thumb caressing your cheek as you slowly rose your hips before grinding back down onto him.

At first, your movements were slow, Joao guiding you gently as you rode him. His hands started to grip tighter on your hips, he was silently begging to fuck you harder. You were bouncing on his cock at a steady pace but his actions made you slowly speed up.

His hands went up to your boobs, cupping and pinching your nipples as you continued to ride him. Joao started to buck his hips as you started to speed up, his actions hitting you in all the right places. “Fuck Joao…” Your head fell back as you moaned, your hands resting on his stomach to steady yourself as his hips started to move faster.

“You feel so good princesa…” Joao moved one hand to your neck, pulling you close enough that he could latch his lips against your neck. His teeth bit your skin, each shudder of pain mixed with pleasure as he started to thrust harder.

Your eyes scrunched at the sudden sharp pain, a gasp which quickly turned to a moan leaving your mouth. Your moans only encouraged Joao more. His mouth left your neck, a smirk on his lips as he admired his artwork on your skin. “So good for me.” His hand once on your hips now made its way to your clit. His thumb added more pleasure to your body and if it wasn’t for Joao holding you up you would’ve collapsed on his chest. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes, Joao…” You started to bounce faster. Joao knew he couldn’t hold himself back for much longer and luckily for him you couldn’t either. “Fuck I’m gonna come…”

“Yeah?” His actions quickened. His thumb sped up, adding more pressure on your clit which caused the familiar pit in your stomach to build.

“Fuck Joao I’m close…”

“My name from your mouth sounds like a dream…” He kissed you again, tugging gently on your bottom lip as he pulled back. “You gonna come?”

“Yes, Joao…” Your body started to slow, your hips only being moved by your boyfriend's hands. “Fuck…” You felt yourself grow tighter around him.

“Come for me y/n.” He moaned in your ear and that was all you needed.

Your body began to shake as your high washed over you. The tight feeling around him made Joao finish deep inside you. Holding you down on his cock as he finished his forehead leaned against yours as his high finished.

“Good girl.” He kissed your lips again, the pair of you catching your breaths.

You went to move off from his cock but he held you firmly in place. He slowly pulled you back down to lean on his chest whilst still inside of you, the film still playing in the background. “I know I hate the cold but I wouldn’t mind if the rain never stopped. You both shared a laugh at his words before you kissed his bare shoulder.

There really is no place like home.

—

Buy me a coffee <3

#football imagine #football x reader #football x y/n #football fanfic #joao felix fic #joao felix smut #joao felix x reader #joao felix fanfic #joao felix imagine #joao felix x you #joao felix fluff #joao felix

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rwrbmovie · 8 months

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BTS of #RWRBMovie: Stephen Fry as King James III

ML via Tatler:

The character was originally supposed to be a queen – ‘Queen Mary’ is the head of the family in McQuiston’s book – yet none of the grand dames were interested when casting calls went out. 'I think, at that stage of Her Majesty’s life, none of the Dame Judi Denches, Helen Mirrens and Julie Andrewses of the world wanted to do something like that,’ says López. Fry, however, jumped at the chance. 'He said yes right away,’ says López, pausing to laugh. 'Of course, he is friends with His Majesty. I never asked him what he thought the King might think of Stephen playing a fictional British king.’ Perhaps Fry’s friendship with the monarch is why he was so well-versed in decorum and royal protocol. 'He didn’t even have to be told,’ says López. 'He just rattled it off. He was like, “Can I say this instead, Matthew?” I was like, “Yes, fine, you’re Stephen Fry, you can do whatever you want.”

ML via What to Watch:

I think there’s a point at which, once a project starts to actually get some forward momentum, then it starts to become a lot easier to convince people to be in the movie, and by the time we got Uma, I was like ‘great, who else wants to join the fun wagon?!’ Stephen took no convincing whatsoever, that was such a happy thing for me, because I thought ‘well, there’s a very slim chance he’s going to say yes to this’, you know, I’m sure he’s busy, I’m sure he’s not going to want to do it, it’s too perfect, and then he said yes straight away, and I felt so happy.“

ML via OutSFL:

I’ve always been such a fan of his [Stephen Fry] and really admired him greatly. We had had some sort of communication through other people over the years because he had seen “The Inheritance” in London. He got word to me, through our producers, how much he loved it. I had been working at one point on another film that I thought I was going to make, and when he found out that I was working on it, he was like. “I’d really love to be a small part in it if you have anything.” But I never talked to him and never met him. When this role came around [laughs], we thought, “Let’s see if he really means what he says!” He jumped at it! It didn’t take long at all for him to say, “Yes.” That was fun. Just to watch him and work with him is just a great thrill and a pleasure. It was for everybody. Everybody was really excited the day that he came on set.

ML via TV Times:

'It was really important to create a lot of daylight between the fictional royal family in the movie and the actual royals - they aren’t the Windsors, ours are completely made up,’ says Matthew, 46. 'But when Stephen walked on set in that double-breasted suit, I think everyone in the cast and crew stood to attention!’

#rwrbedit #red white and royal blue #rwrb movie #rwrbsource #stephen fry #king james iii #rwrb bts #rwrbbts #bts #*#my gifs

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crepesuzette2023 · 8 months

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from The Beatles Book Monthly, No 23, June 1965.

JOHN: This month, Beatle People, I would like to give you an unbiased lecture about a truly sensational new book to be published, price ten and sixpence, on 24th June by Jonathan Cape, who are very good publishers as everybody knows.

PAUL: Hey! Wait a minute. He said an informal conversation not a flippin' commercial. We're both supposed to discuss things. Like the film frinstance.

JOHN: You discuss the film, frinstance, and I'll discuss this book. It's called "A Spaniard In The Works", folks, and it would be cheap at half the price.

PAUL: Don't you mean twice the price?

JOHN: You see, Beatle People, my learned colleague agrees that it's worth twice the price. Printed throughout in two glorious colours. Brown and green. Printed on real paper too, Beatle People. You can't lose, can you?

PAUL: Don't forget what John says. 24th June. Jonathan Cape. Ten and six-pence. "A Spaniel In The Circs.”

JOHN: "A Spaniard In The Works." Good grief, you'll have a Rolling Stone rushing out a book called "A Spaniel In The Circs" and all my good work will be undone. I say again, sir, undone with a capital UN.

PAUL: As I was about to say before I was Beatled, we've finished filming "Help!". Actually the last scenes were done at Twickenham a couple of weeks back but we've been called into the studios several times since for overdubbing. That means, well, you know when you see an outdoor scene in a film and the actors are miles away from the camera. Well, they can't use microphones or you'd notice them growing out of bushes or sticking round the corner of buildings. So if there is any dialogue in scenes like this they have to put it on the soundtrack afterwards. That's called overdubbing.

JOHN: There is no overdubbing in “A Spaniard In The Works" folks. No cheating and miming like that. A Spaniard If The Works" is live, LIVE, L-I-V-E. All Live. The book was written indoors using only close-range microphones, typewriters, ciggie-packets and green and brown ballpoint pens for the drawings. Remember, folks, only "A Spaniard In The Works" comes to you completely free from skin-irritating overdub.

PAUL: In Nassau we had to keep out of the sun because the scenes we did out there come at the very end of “Help!" and it would look funny if we were all brown and tanned in the snow sequence which you see earlier on and then pale and unhealthy in the Bahamas bit. All sorts of odd people that you'll know play parts in "Help!". Roy Kinnear, Frankie Howerd. The Queen Mother was nearly in one scene—but that was unintentional. She was driving by the film location in Nassau on her way to the airport after touring Jamaica.

JOHN: Pity she didn't stop and join us.

PAUL: We had a fabulous time down on Salisbury Plain a couple of weeks back. We did four days of location filming there with tanks and troops which were on loan from the Army. Bit chilly after Nassau with lots of rain showers and a cold wind but, without giving away any production secrets, I think the Salisbury scene is one of the funniest of the lot!

JOHN: Fun, fun, fun, with them chasing us, and us chasing them, and me chasing you and where's the tea Mal.

PAUL: One of the greatest free evenings we had during the making of the film was at Obertauern in the Austrian Alps. There isn't a great deal of night life but we made some of our own. It was the assistant director's birthday and we were at the Marietta Hotel. Dick Lester found an old piano in the hotel and we all had this gear sing-along session.

JOHN: It's a new craze. Yes, folks, it's all the rage. Have your own read-along session at home! A complete do-it-yourself read-along kit comes free inside every brown and green copy of "A Spaniard In The Works" PAUL: There's not much more I can say about the film without giving away very hush-hush secrets about the story. There's going to be a Royal Premiere in London on 29th July. At the Pavilion in Piccadilly Circus where "A Hard Day's Night" opened last summer. Then the film will start going the rounds in August and there's a New York premiere a week later. We do a European tour in June but we'll be back home long before the premiere. All I can say is I hope everyone enjoys the film. In a lot of ways we're all sorry the production is finished 'cos we had a great time making it.

JOHN: Is that all you've got to say?

PAUL: Yes, I think so.

JOHN: Well, if you've quite finished, perhaps you don't mind me having a quick word with Beatle People about this book.

PAUL: Which book is that, John? it says on this ciggie paper you've just handed me.

JOHN: I don't like talking about it really. People will think l'm plugging.

PAUL: Ah, go on, John, nobody'll think that.

JOHN: No, I can't. I'm bashful.

PAUL: Please…

JOHN: All right. Read all about "The National Health Cow" and "Cassandle" (on different pages). Read all about “Silly Norman" and "Benjamin Distasteful" (both in glowing green and beatle brown). These and fourteen other unbelievable fables before your very mouth in "A Spaniard In The Works”

PAUL: Aren't there drawings too, John? you asked me to say when you stopped the tape recorder just now.

JOHN: Yes, yes. Well, sort of. One of them (in brown and green which are very artistic colours and especially cheap to print, you see) is a full-page drawing of a fat budgie. Beatle People will be interested to know that I ate nothing but SWILL, the new deodorant bird seed, for six weeks in order to get into the right mood to draw this particular picture.

PAUL: What happened?

JOHN: I fell asleep on my perch but the picture came out O.K. I drew it in two minutes flat. Flat on my face at the foot of he perch.

PAUL: And what is the title of this new book of yours, John?

JOHN: Oh, I'm so sorry. Didn't I mention it?…

#Beatles Book Monthly #The Beatles #I cannot deal with Paul explaining what overdubbing is #but John can...Oh yes he can #Happy times #1965 #john lennon #paul mccartney #interviews

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kingofpopmj · 2 months

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Conscious Decision

Part 3

July 15th, 1988

Katherine and I spent the day together exploring London. She suggested we do some shopping before having lunch. Of course the moment she pulled me into a bridal boutique I knew she had an ulterior motive.

“This would look stunning on you!” Katherine complimented as she pointed out the gown on display.

“Mama Kay, that’s a wedding dress.”

“You should try it on.” She cheered. “It’ll be fun!”

“It’s beautiful but I think I’m going to pass on that.” I laughed off her comment.

“Michael was looking for you last night. He did not buy the jet lagged excuse.”

“Well, I’ll see him tonight.” I said as I guided her towards the exit.

“He fired Tatiana.” She said nonchalantly.

“What?”

“She’s a sweet girl but her crush on Michael was getting out of hand. My poor boy was so embarrassed. He had no idea she would do that.”

“Is he okay?”

“I think seeing his best friend would have helped.”

“Oh you’re making me feel bad on purpose!”

“You’re always the first person he runs to when something goes wrong. Yesterday, however, was the first time you weren’t there. It did a real number on him.”

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

“My boy is experiencing the beginning stages of losing the woman he loves. He is in no way shape or form fine.”

“He doesn’t love me in that way and he’s not losing me. I just needed a break to be alone and avoid any further damage to our friendship. I didn’t mean for my actions to come off as selfish. I’m sorry.”

“Here we go again with all the friendship hoopla.” Katherine rolled her eyes shaking her head. “You are not just friends-“

“We almost kissed. On opening night.” I blurted out. “He ran away from me and hid from everyone.”

“Oh, I see.”

“That’s why I said I think we were wrong.”

“I’m never wrong.” She said sternly ignoring my confession. I couldn’t help but laugh at her stubbornness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Y/N! There you are!” Michael shouted standing from his make-up chair. “Finally!”

“Your mom and I had a girls day.” I smiled hugging him. He kindly asked for the room and his entourage dispersed.

“How is the jet lag?” He asked suspiciously.

“I’m fine. I just need some rest.”

“You didn’t even stay for our after show ritual.”

“Michael-”

“It’s tradition!” He spoke over me. “Why did you leave?”

“I didn’t feel well.” It was partly true. He continued to study my demeanor.

“Tatiana.” He stated. “I didn’t- she wasn’t supposed to do that. I’ve never been so humiliated in my life.”

“I’m really sorry that happened. You didn’t deserve it.”

“You know.. every love song I write is about you.” He muttered.

“What?” I stared at him but he didn’t repeat himself. He closed the gap between us pulling me into his chest.

Each time the wind blows

I hear your voice so

I call your name

Whispers at morning

Our love is dawning

Heaven's glad you came

You know how I feel

This thing can't go wrong

I'm so proud to say I love you

Your love's got me high

I long to get by

This time is forever

Love is the answer

Michael softly sung into my ear as he swayed us back and forth. He held me for a moment longer before leaving a lingering kiss on my temple.

“Michael?” I spoke gently.

“I have to finish getting ready. Can you help with my hair? You’re the only one that does it the way I like.” He smiled pulling me across the room to his vanity.

I watched him as he excitedly gathered all the tools and products I would need. Every time I think we’re on the same page he throws a curveball. It makes it even worse that he just changes the subject as if nothing happened. As I began styling Michael’s hair my mind drifted off to how he makes me feel. When he holds me like that it’s impossible to hide my emotions. Michael is my home. When he holds me I feel complete. He’s the only person I truly feel safe with.

“I love hearing you sing.” I said as I fixed his hair.

“Thank you.”

“I love that song. It’s really beautiful.”

“It’s one of my favorites. It’s like it was in my head my whole life and all I needed to do was write it down.” he met my gaze through the mirror. “It’s inspiring being in love.”

“In love?” I broke our eye contact and tried to focus on his hair. “That’s sweet.”

“Are you in love?”

“Michael-”

“Because I think you are.” He turned to me placing his hands on my hips. “Please tell me that you are.” He stared at me expectantly as he rises from his seat.

Here we are again.

Our chests became connected as I felt his fingers slip under the hem of my shirt leaving a strong tingling feeling along my hips. We were admiring each other’s lips and yearning for what came next.

“I am.” I finally spoke.

“Y/N, I-“ there was a loud obnoxious knock on the door as it swung open.

“Oh-oh- I-I’m so sorry” Greg stood there with an apologetic look on his face. “ I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s okay.” Michael said. “What is it?”

“Princess Diana is on her way. They want us all in place for her arrival.”

Michael looked at me and I gave him a nod. He looked nervous as his lips met my cheek and he hugged me tightly.

“We will talk later.” He stated hopefully as he moved towards the door.

“I’m so sorry.” Greg mouthed before closing the door leaving me alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This next song is very special to me. It comes from my heart.” Michael spoke as the lights began to dim. “I’m going to perform it a little differently tonight. I hope you don’t mind.” His beautiful voice filled the stadium.

I just want to lay next to you for a while

You look so beautiful tonight

Your eyes are so lovely

Your mouth is so sweet

A lot of people misunderstand me

That's because they don't know me at all

I just want to touch you

And hold you

I need you, God I need you

I love you so much

Michael’s intimate intro to ‘I Just Can’t Stop Loving You’ caused chills to travel down my spine. The longer I kept my eyes on him the more I thought about our moment in his dressing room earlier. There was so much emotion behind it. I just wanted to know what he was thinking. I took a moment to look out into the full stadium. The audience was lit up with thousands of lighters hovering over the sea of fans.

Wow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We all gathered backstage after the show to celebrate. I didn’t realize how many people would be here or how loud it was going to get. Nonetheless, I was really enjoying myself, I was sitting with the band when everyone suddenly went silent. I followed their stare and saw the man of the hour.

“Dance with me.” Michael held his hand out and I gladly accepted.

“You’re my favorite dance partner.”

My comment went unnoticed as Michael stared off. His grip on me tightened as we danced in silence. He placed my arms further around his neck pulling me closer to him. Two songs went by without a word from him.

“Michael?” I poked his cheek getting his attention. “What’s going on up there?”

“Nothing.” He spat. He never snapped at me. It made me feel awful. His coldness triggered me deeply making me feel insignificant.

“What’s your problem?”

“I asked you to dance with me why do you feel the need to pester me.” I stepped away immediately looking at him as if he was a stranger. “Y/N-“ he said softly reaching for my hand.

“You’re being so ugly to me.” I shook my head walking away leaving him standing alone. I shoved the dressing room door open swiftly gathering my belongings.

“Jet lagged again.” I heard Michael’s mocking voice behind me.

“No actually at the moment I’m extremely fed up with you.”

“Me?”

“Yes you!” I pointed at him as my vision became blurry. “Why would you ask me to dance just to speak to me like that? You’ve never treated me like that before.”

“No! I wanted to dance with you because- I just- some of the guys from the crew were talking about you. I couldn’t- I tried to keep my cool but they were saying- I didn’t like it-“

“Wait.” I wiped my eyes. “You asked me to dance so no one else could?”

“I-“ he was frozen in place and I felt myself begin to tremble from how angry I was.

“You know what Michael. How about you figure out what you want because I can’t handle this anymore. One minute you’re serenading me asking me if I’m in love and the next you’re acting like this. You keep saying all these things and I have no idea how I’m supposed to take them because you never explain. It feels like you’re toying with me and it isn’t fair. Do you know how terrifying it is to be in love? The thought of losing that person destroys you because he’s one of the most important people in your life. Every time he gives you a shred of hope that he may feel the same he disregards it just as quickly- and it doesn’t even matter because to me- to me he is everything. He’s my everything. This back and forth is- it’s mentally exhausting Michael, but I’m still here.” I frantically caught my breath, Michael’s wide eyes brought me to the realization that I said way too much. He remained silent. I wanted to evaporated. Silence. I just shook my head brushing past him.

Nothing was going to be the same ever again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

July 16th, 1988

A bright golden beam of sunlight streamed through the curtains seeping through my eyelids. I sighed pulling a pillow over my face. It’s too early for this. The events of the last two days begin running through my mind as I closed my eyes. I’m a complete mess. If I could stay in bed all day I would. Michael was giving me so many mixed signals but, after last night, I’m afraid he may never speak to me again. I sat up throwing the pillow across the room with force.

“You weren’t aiming for me right?” My head snapped to the side to see Michael standing in front of the window looking out at the London sky.

“Michael!” I yelled pulling the comforter up to cover my pajamas.

“I brought us breakfast.”

“How did you get in here?”

“French toast! Your favorite..” he sang placing the take out trays on the table.

“How long were you watching me sleep?”

“I got extra syrup and fresh strawberries.” He danced taking a big bite of a strawberry.

“You scared me! Why are you here this early?”

“I knew the only way you’d listen to me is if I showed up unannounced and brought food.” A smile spread across his face. “Come on sit.”

“Give me a minute.” I sprinted to the bathroom and softly shut the door behind me. I brush my teeth and wash my face but my nerves are still through the roof. Michael’s here in my room acting suspiciously normal. I focused on my breathing as I walked out back into the room.

“My mom.” He stated as I took the seat across from him.

“What?”

“She had a spare key. I was just answering your earlier question.”

“Oh, then yes.” I smiled taking a bite.

“Yes?”

“I was aiming for you.” I answered sticking my tongue out.

“Ha. Ha. Ha. I have a comedian for a best friend folks!” He announced to an imaginary crowd.

“What would you like to talk to me about?” I asked laughing.

“I need you to promise me something first.”

“What is that?”

“I need you to let me say everything I need to say to you without interrupting me.”

“Is everything okay?” His tone beginning to make me nervous.

“I’ll explain everything.”

“I promise. No interrupting.” I held my hand up letting him know I took the oath seriously.

“Well, I want to thank you for visiting me. It’s the sweetest thing anyone has done for me in a long time. This tour has been incredible, but I have missed you very much. It’s just- everything is better when you’re around.” He slid his hand onto the table slowing inching it towards me. He gave me a small smile and I knew exactly what he wanted, so I placed my hand in his. “I know I’ve been all over the place and I’m sorry. It’s just- it’s such a tough situation. I would never intentionally toy with your feelings. I know that’s why you were avoiding me. I understand why and it’s okay. It was just for a few hours but knowing you didn’t want to see me was the worst feeling in the world.”

“I’ve kept something from you for a few years now because I truly believed it was for the best. It was easier when we were kids. We didn’t have to worry or stress. Once I got to the age where I understood my feelings it became more difficult, but not impossible. I told myself it was better to have you as my best friend than not have you at all. I wanted you in my life. I need you and I hate the idea of my feelings ruining our friendship. Then, my career took this incredible albeit insane turn. All the hard work, struggle and pain of my childhood was finally paying off, but it came at a cost. I’m constantly ridiculed, bullied and betrayed. They all misunderstand me because they don’t know me. I’m just a punchline to them.” He places his hand over his eyes leaning his elbow on the table in attempt to conceal his watery eyes. “I knew I had to protect you from this world. The media attacking you. The paparazzi stalking you. I couldn’t bear leaving you vulnerable to it all. There has always been an excuse. And they all seemed like great excuses. It wasn’t until yesterday that I realized it was fear holding me back. The fear of losing you, but let’s face it you aren’t going anywhere and neither am I. Y/N, there is nothing in this world that is worth keeping my distance from you.” His hand fell from his face and landed over mine.

“Y/N, I could never close my heart to you because it’s yours. It has always been yours.”

“I’m terrified but I think- I hope you want this too. I hope you want me- us.”

“I know what happened opening night hurt you. I know because if I had to watch some schmuck kiss you… or dance with you…” he paused his rant shifting in his seat “I would loose my mind. It would break me.” He squeezed his eyes shut softly shaking his head back and forth. “I could feel your pain. I could feel the ache in your heart. I could feel your tears. It was unbearable. I never want to be the cause of it again. Ever.”

“The reality is if we become more it will change your life in an instant. I pray that you feel I’m worth it as much as I feel you are. I know you are. It won’t be easy, but I vow to do everything in my power to keep any harm from coming to you. I will always protect you.”

“Lovely, in all the ways I’ve pictured my life, you are always in it. You and I are inevitable. We are predestined. It’s in the stars. Everything in me chooses you. You are it. You’re the dream of all dreams. You’re my dream come true. I love you. I love you infinitely.”

Michael’s shoulders relaxed as he let out a deep sigh. He stood up and pulled his chair over to sit beside me. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. My Michael.

“I um- that was probably too much to throw at you all at once. Goodness it’s hot in here.” He started playing with his hair and I knew he was panicking.

“Can I talk now?” I whispered. He hesitantly nodded.

“Michael, please look at me.” His eyes were closed and he shook his head no. “Michael”

He didn’t move and I could tell he thought I was going to reject him. My hands landed on his broad shoulders, his eyes still closed as I ever so gently turned him towards me. I tried to focus on my breathing as my hands traveled to the back of his neck. My fingers running through his curls. I took a brief moment to catch my breath before I leaned in.

As our lips met, a strong bolt of electricity ran through my body. I felt his hands tenderly cup my face as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against mine with a gentle urgency. In that moment, nothing else mattered - no excuses - no fears.

Surprisingly, the thought of being pressed up against Michael never crossed my mind, but now that it was happening, I didn’t want it to end. Michael’s hands were strong as he affectionately caressed my body. Our lips slightly parted - our breathing heavy - our gazes falling onto one another. Michael didn’t waste time letting his eyes travel. His breath hitched as he lustfully scanned my legs on either side of his hips.

“Oh lovely.” He quickly caught my lips again gripping the back of my thighs. He stood up carrying me with ease as he moved over to the bed.

I felt the plush mattress form to the curves of my body as Michael hovered over me leaving sweet kisses across my collarbone.

“I love you Y/N” he mumbled against my skin with each kiss.

“My entire life...” he stopped and adjusted himself to look into my eyes. “My whole life I’ve been completely in love with you.” The corners of his lips curved up and he buried his face into my neck. “Michael, I love you with my whole heart.”

“Please don’t let this be a dream.” Michael pleaded.

“This is real.” I smiled finding his lips again. “This is happening.”

“Y/N?” He said against my lips.

“Yes Michael?”

“Can I take you on a date? A real date. Just the two of us. Tonight after the show.” He moved to the space next to me as we both shifted laying on our sides to face each other.

“I would love that.”

“I want to kiss you forever.”

“I would love that.” I repeated flirtatiously.

“My girl.” He smiled leaning his forehead against mine. “You’re my girl..”

“Oh I am?” I teased.

“I would like you to be mine. Do you want to be my girl?”

“Hmmm.. let me think.”

Michael began singing and my heart melted further with each lyric.

You know how I feel

I won't stop until

I hear your voice saying

"I do"

Michael watched me intently waiting for my answer. He leaned closer and I smiled kissing him deeply “I do” I said against his lips.

This thing can't go wrong

This feeling's so strong

Well, my life ain't worth living

If I can't be with you

I just can't stop loving you

And if I stop

Then tell me, just what will I do

I just can't stop loving you

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There it is part 3!!!

Ahhhhh! Maybe part 4?

I hope you all enjoyed this rollercoaster lol

Let me know what you think. Also, should I put together a tag list?

#michael jackson #michael joseph jackson #michael jackson imagine #michael jackson x reader #king of pop #bad era #bad tour

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bestiarium · 8 months

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Rostron’s Sea Serpent [modern cryptid/urban legend]

One day when the Cunard Line ship Campania sailed into Queenstown, on what was to be an uneventful Friday evening, one of its crewmembers noticed something unusual in the water. Arthur Rostron - a future ship's captain who would later become famous for rescuing many survivors of the HMS Titanic - spotted what he would later describe as a 'sea serpent'.

The creature had a neck of about 12 inch thick and held its head roughly 8 feet above the water's surface. Rostron, along with a junior officer who also sighted the strange creature, reported their unusual find to the captain, who assumed the junior officer must have been drunk.

Rostron would never see the alleged sea serpent again, but the next Monday he came upon a newspaper article of a witness who claimed to have seen such a creature in the Bristol Channel. The man, whose name is not revealed, was supposedly attacked by the creature on Saturday (the day after Rostron's sighting) and fought it off with an oar. Given the time and location, Rostron assumed this beast to be the very same he had encountered.

The drawing that Rostron made after seeing the beast appears to have been lost to time, and I found no illustrations or other descriptions of the supposed sea monster.

However, I found that the incident is often compared to a similar story that happened a few decades earlier. In 1848, captain M'Quhae of the English frigate Daedalus saw a monster somewhere between St. Helena and the Cape of Good Hope. He had more luck than Rostron, in that several other crewmembers also saw the creature and could back up his account. The animal was described as follows:

Its body was about 60 feet in length, with an additional (estimated) 30 or 40 feet remaining underwater.

The creature's dark brown serpentine body was roughly 16 inch in diameter and its head was raised 4 feet over the surface of the water.

The head was equipped with jaws large enough to swallow an adult man, and fitted with many jagged teeth. The head was, he insisted, definitely that of a snake, and with a yellow-white throat. A seaweed-like mane protruded from its back, but no fins could be discerned.

Lieutenant Drummond would later back up the story of his captain in ‘Zoologist’, though he added a few details: the creature had a dorsal fin and its head was long (about 10 feet) and pointy with a flattened top.

Captain M'Quhae claimed that the creature came so close to the ship that if it had been a human acquaintance of his, he would have easily recognized their features. The creature was swimming to the south west in a relatively straight line. When I searched for M’Quhae’s story, I found some reproductions of the images that were originally published in the Illustrated London News.

Sources: Rostron, A.H., 1931, Home from the Sea, Cassel & Company Ltd., London, p.49-51. 'The Great Sea-Serpent' in Gleason's Pictorial Drawing Room Companion, Vol.3 No.1, July 3 1852 Edwards, A., 1990, Fish and Fisheries of Saint Helena Island, Centre for Tropical Coastal Management Studies, University of Newcastle upon Tyne, England, 152pp, p.14-17. (images 1 and 3: Gleason’s Pictorial Drawing Room Companion, image is a reproduction of an illustration in Illustrated London News) (image 2: Fish and Fisheries of Saint Helena Island, image is a reproduction of an earlier illustration in Illustrated London News)

#mythical creatures #urban legends #cryptids #miscellaneous #aquatic creatures #monsters #sea monsters #creatures

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blueshistorysims · 25 days

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July 1923, London, England

Jack Porter’s birthday party was very large and very loud. People crammed every part of their house, from the first floor to the third, and it was amusing to watch as Wilhelmina and her husband scrambled around their house, trying to speak to all the people they invited.

“Byron! You’re just standing there looking like a wallflower when I know you’re not,” Wilhelmina exclaimed, moseying her way over to him.

“I’m just observing the crowd. He nodded his head toward the tall red-haired man. “I’ve not seen that man at any of the parties you’ve hosted or any I’ve attended recently. Who is he?”

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to introduce you, he and Jack were flatmates back before he made it as a poet, and he was still in medical school. They’ve been friends longer than I’ve known Jack. Dr. MacGregor has been traveling the world since his wife died, and he’s only recently returned to London. You two would get along greatly—you’re both arguers.”

Byron froze. “I’m sorry, did you say his name was MacGregor? Montgomery MacGregor? From Perthshire, Scotland? The Scottish communist Montgomery MacGregor?”

“You know him?”

He gulped, nodding slowly. “He… he was… he’s my late sister’s husband.”

Wilhelmina looked equally shocked. “...Edeline was your sister?”

“Yes. You knew her?”

“We were friends, my god, I had no idea you were related. I’m so sorry.”

“You weren’t at their wedding or her funeral.”

She frowned. “Jack couldn’t get leave, and Joel had just returned home when they were married.” She bit her lip. “And Jack was still getting over the flu when she passed.”

“I… I think I am going to speak to him.”

Byron swallowed as he made his way over to the bar. It had been over four years since he last saw Montgomery, not since his father’s and sister’s funeral. He was clean-shaven, his hair was shorter, his glasses different, and if Wilhelmina hadn’t pointed him out, he doubted he would have recognized him.

“You look very different without a mustache.”

He turned around, and his eyes widened behind his frames. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ! Byr—no, it would be yer grace now, wouldn’t it?”

“Don’t fucking call me that. My god, it is you.”

He set his drink down. “Jesus. Ho-how are ya? How do ya know the Porters?”

“Divorced. Wilhelmina’s late brother and I were roommates in boarding school, and… we were sweethearts for a summer when I was younger.”

“...Ya look well. Better than the last time I saw ya.”

Byron looked at his feet. “You as well. Where have you been? It’s been four fucking years.”

Montgomery shrugged, pushing up his glasses. “Everywhere.”

They spent hours talking (and drinking). Byron told him everything he’d done in the last four years, excluding his sexual escapades with men while Montgomery described the last four years of his life. He had traveled all over the world as a way to grieve. He’d been from everywhere from Tibet to the northernmost point of Alaska, which impressed Byron greatly. He’d helped organize the British Communist Party but had only recently left it after a spat with the general secretary and a trip to Russia, and how he’d become disillusioned with the political ideology he once held to heart, and its lack of choice and democracy.

“Democratic socialist I suppose I am now, but I dinna ken.”

He’d only returned to Britain from his travels a month ago, and had moved into an old house that had been converted into three townhouses, smaller than his old one. It was difficult to be in Edinburgh, so he’d returned to London, working as both a private physician and part-time instructor at a teaching hospital.

“I have an old whiskey me mother gave me when I turned 30. Never opened. Fancy it? Me place is only a block away, straight down the road.” His accent had grown nearly twice as thick.

Byron looked around at the dwindling party. “Sure, I’d rather not be a straggler.”

It was well decorated, which immediately gave a clue that Elspeth had been the one to do his house. He watched as Montgomery disappeared into the kitchen, and he sat on the sofa, staring at the photographs of his late sister, who stared right back. It was uncomfortable, though he couldn’t place why.

It wasn’t until half the bottle was gone, and Byron and Montgomery were both properly drunk, when he glanced at the clock on the wall and saw it was past one in the morning.

“Oh fuck, it’s late.”

Montgomery blinked, slowly turning his toward the clock. “Aye, yer right.”

Slowly, Byron stood up, looking around for his overcoat. “Thank you for the whiskey. Do you think taxis operate this late?”

“Where are ya stayin’?”

“The Ritz.”

“Shite, that’s the other side of town. No taxi is available now.” He waved upstairs. “Take me bed, I dinna care. I can sleep on the sofa.”

“No, I can take the sofa, I don’t want to impose on your hospitality.”

“A duke on me fuckin’ sofa?”

“I’ve slept in worse places.”

The older man shook his head firmly. “I insist. Me bed feels like heaven.”

Byron shrugged, deciding he’d rather not argue with the Scotsman.

When Byron stepped inside the bedroom, a pang of sadness hit him. The way the room was decorated, shades of green and florals reminded him of Edeline, who adored green and decorated any space with it when she was able to. He wondered if Elspeth had done this for her brother on purpose.

He sat on the bed, feeling the mattress sink. He felt awkward, and things around him had begun to blur. Byron looked up to Montgomery had gotten closer, to the point where their feet were almost touching. There was a glossy look in his eyes as they made eye contact and all of a sudden, the room grew very quiet.

“Byron?” Montgomery whispered after minutes.

He licked his lips. “...You’re quite attractive, you know that?”

The Scot bent down and grabbed his face, and not much was said after their lips touched.

#i didnt tag this as mature but if you couldn't tell #tw sex #sorry i know this was long lmao but its one my fave posts #the walshes #the walsh legacy #sims 4 decades #sims 4 historical #ts4 #sims 4 decades challenge #ts4 1920s #1920s #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 history challenge #ts4 historical #tw alcohol #byron walsh #montgomery macgregor #the sims 4

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nocturna7 · 4 months

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David Bowie said that, in order to make his voice suitably hoarse for when he aged so drastically in the movie "The Hunger" (1983), he stood on the George Washington Bridge every night and screamed all the punk rock songs he knew.

Bowie actually learned to play the cello for his music scenes. He was reportedly somewhat intimidated by Catherine Deneuve but got on easily with Susan Sarandon (apparently very easily; in an interview with The Daily Beast in July, 2014, Sarandon revealed that she had an affair with Bowie while the two were working on this film).

Apparently, Ridley Scott was set to direct the film, but decided to pass when he heard that Bowie was in on the deal. The film was ultimately directed by Ridley's brother Tony.

One day during filming, costume designer Milena Canonero, who is famously dedicated to her craft, disappeared and was nowhere to be found. It was discovered eventually that she had flown to Rome to purchase fabric for a handkerchief Bowie is supposed to wear. Unable to find fabric she liked in London, Canonero had flown to Rome at her own expense to find the fabric she needed instead.

Bowie said of this film after it was made: "I must say, there's nothing that looks like it on the market. But I'm a bit worried that it's just perversely bloody at some points." (IMDb)

Happy Birthday, David Bowie!

youtube

#david bowie #the hunger 1983 #bauhuas #Youtube

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consanguinitatum · 4 months

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For One Night Only: David at the RSC Fringe Festival (oh, and one other thing he probably didn't do...)

For today's post in "obscure things David Tennant did way back when," we'll need to travel back in time to the late 1990s. It was a busy time for David. By May 1997, he'd just wrapped up his first Royal Shakespeare Company repertory season (in which he simultaneously played Touchstone in As You Like It, Jack Lane in The Herbal Bed, and Alexander Hamilton in The General From America). This set of three plays had begun their runs in Stratford in early- to mid 1996; they then transferred over to London's Barbican Theatre, where they had ended their runs by mid-1997.

Programmes for The Herbal Bed, As You Like It, and The General From America

Next on David's theatre agenda was the role of Mickey in Hurlyburly (a play I've talked about before) which ran at the Queen's Theatre in London from August to November 1997. He then performed a one-off staged reading of Derek Jarman's Blue at the Chelsea Arts Theare on 16 November 1997 (which, by the way, is another little-known DT performance I want to explore!)

That was it for 1997, theatre-wise.

Then, beginning in March of 1998 - as I've explored previously - he began his run as Moon and Brindsley Miller in The Real Inspector Hound/Black Comedy. This double bill ran first at the Yvonne Arnaud Theatre in Surrey and then in London, first at the Richmond Theatre and then at the Comedy Theatre. That play finally wrapped in August 1998.

But a month before wrapping The Real Inspector Hound/Black Comedy, David had popped over to Stratford to do something interesting, something that's the focus of this thread. It was called For One Night Only, and - as it says on the tin - it was, indeed, for one night only!

First, though? A little history!

Around 1990, the RSC began to hold an annual summer festival called the Royal Shakespeare Company Fringe Festival. Intended as a showcase for RSC talent, it included a mix of events: short plays, devised pieces, stand-up comedy, concerts, etc., as well as new works making their Stratford debut. The festival lasted two weeks and saw actors, directors, stage managers, musicians and staff all taking part in more than 25 events. All the events were either on Sundays, or timed around RSC productions, so audiences could go see fringe shows after seeing the actors perform in their usual RSC roles.

Most of the events for 1998's festival took place in a specially adapted 100-seat rehearsal room at the RSC's 'alternative' theatre, The Other Place. But not all of them. Their opening night event - on Sunday, 19 July - was to take place at the Swan Theatre.

That opening night event? For One Night Only!

Starring Desmond Barrit, Emma Handy, and Amanda Harris as well as David, the launch event cost £4-£12 and began at 7:30 pm. It was called a "curtain raiser" as well as "aptly-named."

And just what was it about? Well, um....I know it was organized and compiled by its star, Desmond Barrit...and that it was supposed to take its audience on a journey through the theatre. These articles say so.

But that's about all I know. I wish I had more details.

I am, however, supremely lucky to own a piece of ephemera about this one night only event.

Here's the front and back of my For One Night Only flyer, and as I'm sure you'll notice, it promises "an evening of theatrical prose and poetry...and a little gossip!"

Great. Could you tell us a bit more, thanks?

While researching For One Night Only, I came across something else of interest, which I thought for a moment David might have been involved in - an event staged nine days before For One Night Only. But after researching this event in more detail, I don't think he was involved, after all. Such a shame, really. He would've been perfect!

On Friday, 10 July 1998, at 1 pm in the afternoon, some Royal Shakespeare Company members got together to do a fund raiser and preview of the upcoming Fringe in the forecourt of the Other Place. Called a Sonnetathon, this three-hour event featured various RSC members reading all 154 of Shakespeare's sonnets!

Now a Sonnetathon would've been right up David's alley, am I right? He'd have loved it! But I'm about 99% certain he wasn't there - and here's why. That Friday night at 7:30 pm, David was onstage in The Real Inspector Hound/Black Comedy at the Comedy Theatre in London, that's why!

But here's why I say 99%. It's not impossible to imagine he got up early that Friday (after doing a show the night before) and took the train in to Stratford to do the Sonnetathon - wrapped it up by 4pm, then hopped on another train back to London in time to make the 7:30 curtain up for The Real Inspector Hound/Black Comedy.

But you have to admit, it seems unlikely.

But The Real Inspector Hound/Black Comedy wasn't showing on Sunday, 19 July 1998, so David was able to get to Stratford and go onstage as part of 'For One Night Only' to open the Fringe...and then get back to London in time to go onstage once more the following night.

So now you know what I know about For One Night Only.

Of course I'll keep looking for more!

#DavidTennant #ObscureDavidTennantPerformances #ForOneNightOnly #DavidTennantEarlyTheatre

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chrisevansonly · 10 months

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Doctors Orders? (harry’s angel au)

pairing: harry styles x female reader (angel)

summary: listening is very hard, but when you’re only listening to doctors orders….who says you’re doing anything wrong?

warnings: none<3

a/n: slowly getting my writing groove back thank the lord🙃

Technically you weren’t doing anything too horrible, just sneaking behind Harry’s back to surprise him on tour in Germany. Yes you thought you had to wait until July 2nd but you’d just gotten word it would be okay to travel, as long as you made sure to take it easy and get lots of rest. You can’t remember a time you packed faster in your entire life, Gemma and Anne both in smiling as they saw your demeanour do a complete change from the past few days.

Instead of flying economy, Jeff had gotten into contact with you and sent a jet to pick you up, that way you could be comfortable and arrive in Düsseldorf quicker than a commercial flight. There were, in all honesty, few ways this surprise could go. Harry could be slightly upset with you because you hadn’t told him you were cleared to travel, or he could be so happy to see you that he didn’t ask any questions: the more you thought about it, the second option seemed less likely.

When the chauffeured car pulled up to the venue, you thank your driver, your bigger luggage already being sent to Harry’s hotel, all you had with you was your outfit for the show, and a small cross body bag with your wallet, ID and anything else you figured you may need.

“Here goes nothing little bee”

Smiling at the few flutters of kicks against your belly you made your way to the stadium, having no issues getting in with your pass you carried with you at all times. The instrumental to fine line filling the space around you as you walked towards where you’d find Harry. Of course you stopped to say hello to Jeff and Madi as they spoke near the steps to head on stage, ensuring you that Harry had no idea you were here to see him.

“How did you manage this?”

You laughed turning to Madi

“Honestly Jeff helped me get here so he’s really the one who’s pulling this off, but our doctor gave me the all clear to travel again early, as long as I take it easy”

“Wait so Harry doesn’t know?”

Shaking your head in her direction she laughed

“I didn’t tell him about the appointment so i’m either in the clear or in the doghouse..you’ll be the first to know”

As you walked off towards the stage you could hear Madi’s laughter, the two of you had grown fairly close since her addition to the band, she was someone you confided in, and now considered like family to you. Düsseldorf’s arena was beautiful, and you knew it would only get better once it was filled with the thousands of fans who came to see Harry perform every time he visited their city.

“Rehearsing fine line without us…? Seems unfair if you ask me”

It only took about two seconds for Harry to pause, turning to look at you, eyes widening as he figured out what he wanted to say

“Surprise!”

Harry remained quiet, walking over to you slowly

“What-Wait you’re supposed to be in London, in bed!”

Laughing you shrugged

“Doctors ordered I come visit you so here we are”

“Doctors orders huh?”

You smiled finally getting your chance to wrap your arms around him, a sigh of relief escaping you once he returned the hug. Baby bee kicking too, seeming to appreciate the fact that she could hear her daddy’s voice again

“As much as I love you, and missed you, believe me I did, please elaborate why you’re here…”

There was a slight ounce of guilt because Harry really had been worried about you when you’d first gotten placed on serious bedrest, so you did feel a little bad about not keeping him in the loop

“I saw our doctor yesterday, and I was told I could travel again so long as I take it easy, I know I should have called you but I really just wanted to surprise you…and yes don’t worry I’ll take it easy”

Harry dropped his head, his shoulders shaking and you knew he was laughing, but it wasn’t until he knelt down that you knew he wasn’t mad. His hands held onto your hips will he rested his forehead against your now significantly large bump

“What am I going to do with you and your mumma bee…hmm?”

She kicked a few times where his head rested and he smiled

“Yeah yeah I know, mumma’s happy and that’s what matters, you’re both going to gang up on me, just wait.”

When he stood back up you smiled, leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips

“Do I get to avoid the doghouse?”

Harry laughed bringing you back in and holding you to his chest

“I suppose so…I missed you, m’happy you’re here”

“I missed you more, wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else”

The band wanted to finish rehearsing a few more songs so Harry had a chair and some water brought out for you, knowing you wanted to be around him until he needed to put another show stopping performance on tonight. Placing another few kisses to your lips he smiled, grabbing a microphone from the tech team before walking off towards the front of the stage

“Just wait till you see my outfit tonight….chose it just for you”

He sent you a wink before turning towards his mic stand, your face heating up, it didn’t matter how many displays of affection he showed you, Harry always made you feel weak in the knees. It had been happening since you both met, and you knew it wouldn’t change, even when you both got old and grey.

You were just happy to be back with your favourite person, watching him work his magic, and lets be honest, so was baby bee who was already her daddy’s biggest fan.

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ten-cent-sleuth · 10 months

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A Galling Yoke, Part 5

<- Prev | Next ->

for the Location: Tearoom square on my July Break Bingo card

See this post for main info, including a masterlist and synopsis. See this post for warnings.

Word Count: 3.8k

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x f!Reader

Rating: Teen

Rogers fetched you from the wine cellar just in the middle of your regular review of its stores. Your bellyaching about his deplorable timing was only silenced by his quirked brow and curt “Mr Holmes said it was urgent, ma’am”.

Mr Holmes.

Any irritation washed away. To your inconvenience and your pleasure, you found that whatever trials and triumphs you derived from your staid lifestyle as unattached mistress of your own home were easily displaced by the trials and triumphs derived in Sherlock’s presence. The latter simply tended to be so much deeper, so much weightier than the former.

That did not stop you from shooting Sherlock a dark look as Rogers led you into the front sitting room.

“We agreed to meet after luncheon, sir,” you scolded him.

Furrowing his brow, he clicked open his pocket watch. “It is twenty past noon. I suppose I do eat a little earlier on days I have plans for an investigation, but…”

“We are going to a tearoom,” you said, though amusement was beginning to break through your voice. “I meant hours after luncheon.”

He flushed. “Ah. Yes, of course. Well—”

You waved your hand. “This works fine. It shall still be open for business; we shall simply have to stay there for a while to be around for the rush hour.”

“Hours in your company, my lady? However shall I go on,” he said so dryly that it didn’t even sound like a question.

You snickered, then the possibility struck you that he had come this early precisely for that reason, if only subconsciously. Shaking the notion out of your head, you said, “Allow me to change into a tea gown before we depart.”

He gave you a strange look but nodded. You startled when you found Rogers standing…well, rather like standing guard in the hallway.

“Your ladyship,” he greeted, as though these were normal proceedings in Voss House.

“Er…Rogers,” you returned, not wanting to get into it, not at all.

You hummed to yourself as you headed to your chambers. Clearly, while Sherlock knew what was expected of the upper classes, he still hadn’t wrapped his head around you subscribing to those expectations. He likely had never heard you utter the words “tea gown” before today. At Ferndell, you were free to do anything and be anyone; now, you didn’t think you even knew how to act so freely.

Twenty minutes later, you re-entered the front of the house and stopped short at the sight of Sherlock waiting. His lips barely lifted, but his pleasure was unquestionable as it shone from his eyes. Unlike other gentlemen, he did not compliment your fabric or your figure, as was expected; what did surprise you was that he just as much refrained from making a snide remark about the expenditure or the frivolity.

“My lady,” he said softly, offering you his arm. His right arm.

“Have you forgotten your schoolroom lessons, Mr Holmes?” you teased. “How shall you take your hat off to your acquaintances on the street if I am on your right side?”

He arched a brow in challenge. “I shall not acknowledge any acquaintance at the cost of failing to support the side of yours that needs it.”

You cleared your throat. Another surprise. Then you took his arm.

Once he led you a few paces forward, you noticed Rogers standing by. You raised your eyebrows at him—was he watching Sherlock?—but did not question him.

The London air was thin and fresh with winter, though the sun glowed warmly from its zenith. You managed both the occasional stabs of pain or shakiness in your leg and the curious glances from other pedestrians wondering at your abnormal stance with the steady presence at your side. His muscled arm was a sturdy rock beneath your gloved fingers and his vigilant gaze an unbroken shield around you.

So secure did you feel because of him that you almost did not register that he was speaking to you for the uncertainty in his voice: “Are you sure I shall not be a hindrance to this mission? From what Enola and her, ah, contacts tell me, tearooms are quite the lady’s respite from gentlemen.”

“Quite sure,” you replied. “It is not uncommon for a young lady to bring a male friend or indeed a suitor to visit with her friends in a tearoom, and they need not even be chaperoned for it to be entirely proper. It may be a mite odd that it shall only be the two of us, but my being a widow and your being a known figure in London ought to mitigate that.”

“Am I truly such a known figure?” he questioned. “What if all the wagging tongues you promised me shall hold themselves in recognition of a detective in their midst?”

“I had not thought of that. Hmm. We shall have to hope that my presence frees those very tongues.”

“Your presence?” His attempt to lighten his voice so that he sounded incurious did not quite succeed.

“Indeed. As a maiden, I was the daughter of the Earl of Coltidge; as a wife, I was the property of the Earl of Pittford’s youngest son; as a widow, I am recognisable, noticeable, in my own right.”

Sherlock hummed thoughtfully. “Yes…by now, you have been in charge of your finances and movements in London for four times longer than you had been under Mr Sulyard’s thumb. I do not imagine that you had sat idly by in all that time,” he mused. “You must have seized the opportunity to forge your own reputation, carve out your own corner of the ton. The ladies who frequent tearooms—they shall feel comfortable in your presence?”

You tipped your head at him. “Very good.”

He huffed at your jab yet—if you were not imagining it—pulled you closer to his side all the same.

Upon entering the tearoom, Sherlock informed you under his breath of his observations: who took no interest in the newcomers, who was suddenly sneaking glances at Sherlock out of the corner of their eyes and likely planning to hurry away as soon as possible, who snapped their mouth shut at your arrival but was now whispering all the more vigorously. You bit your lip to keep your smile from showing; when you had told him the day before about Edmund’s possible affair, he had been eager to see the theory to its natural conclusion, but when you had pointed out that very little concrete evidence would be left after a dozen years’ erosion, he had dragged his heels to validate the alternative source of gossip. If the gleam in his eye as he analysed the room before him was anything to go by, however, he seemed to have forgotten his objections.

You had selected this establishment out of the many options in London because it was a personal favourite of The Most Honourable Lady Notley, the Marchioness Brindon and the unofficial head purveyor of marital problems among the first circles. If one were to hear any information about a decade-old affair, it would be coming out of her ladyship’s mouth or going into her ladyship’s ears. After you led Sherlock to a strategically located table and explained this to him, he whispered conspiratorially, “Skill is fine, and genius is splendid, but the right contacts are more valuable than either.”

You grinned at him. “I accept your apology.”

The next few hours passed in like fashion. To you, he described noteworthy behaviours—of suspicion, of anxiety, of mischief. To him, you delineated the most effective ways of finding out more about those characters based on their particular habits—at balls, during calling hours, by the servant grapevine. He wrote down these plans to enact at a later date. When you both agreed that it would be possible and efficient to dig deeper about a given person right there and then, you would take turns executing some ruse to wander closer and eavesdrop or prod.

After the third time one of you had gotten up to refill your pot of tea, a waitress had started coming around to do it for you, giving you both stern looks as though your self-service had questioned the employees’ ability to serve you.

“Gracious,” muttered Sherlock as the waitress dashed to your table and away with preternatural speed, “I see now why they are called ‘nippies’.”

Smothering your giggle with a cough, you stood up and smoothed your skirts. “Since we no longer have that excuse, I”—you threw your voice—“shall have to take a turn about the room.”

He smirked, likely enjoying witnessing the ridiculous lengths to which you were willing to go for this investigation. “Enjoy, my dear,” he drawled—for the ploy, of course, you reassured yourself.

You whetted your ears as you approached Mrs Gouldsmith’s table, the matron having glanced at you across the room a dozen times in five minutes according to Sherlock.

“—sshhh! She is right there!”

“Oh, hush, Fanny, she shan’t care a jot what ladies such as we are whispering about.”

“Harriet is right, Fanny. The Vosses think themselves quite superior.”

“Can that be true? Her ladyship has always seemed agreeable and considerate to me…”

“Of course she seems that way, Fanny: she is all things proper. But siblings are never too different from each other, and that Viscount Pashbroke is the worst sort of man.”

“Do you not recall what he did to my poor Emily?”

“Oh, yes. Fanny, you could not have forgotten poor heartbroken Emily?”

“No, no, but—was Emily truly all so heartbroken?”

“What a question! Of a certainty she was! The dear girl has already gone through four Seasons without so much as a second dance from the same gentleman in one night. Then last June, she met Lord Pashbroke!”

“Everyone in Town could see they were forming an attachment!”

“He asked to call on her, Fanny! He visited with us every other day for weeks. Dearest Emily and I were expecting him to pay his addresses anytime soon—I even had Gouldsmith begin drafting the settlement.”

“Oh, Harriet! Calling on a lady does not always lead to an engagement. Even a courtship does not always lead to an engagement.”

“The material point, Fanny, is that the gentleman raised my Emily’s hopes all summer, and then he vanished into the countryside without securing her affections. Only a person who disdained families of our sort—the untitled sort!—could be so thoughtless.”

“There, there, Harriet. It is for the best. Just think, had Emily married him, he would have taken her to the family’s favoured estate up north. Shropshire is quite the distance from Town!”

“But perhaps he would have taken her to the ancestral seat instead… It shall be his inheritance not too long from now, you know. Oh, can you imagine it? Lady Emily Gouldsmith Voss, Countess of Coltidge!”

As the ladies dissolved into raptures over their lost connexion to the earldom, you rolled your eyes and made your way back to Sherlock.

The detective raised an expectant brow.

“Naught of import,” you informed him. You would be having words with your brother about some things very soon, but that had nothing to do with the case.

You had barely resettled into your seat when the door swung open to welcome Lady Brindon and her typical entourage, namely her daughter Lady Rebecca Notley and the girl’s godfather Dr Crawford. You smiled at the marchioness, and though she returned the expression, she immediately bent her head towards her daughter and whispered something to her. Frowning, you turned towards Dr Crawford, but the man avoided your eyes.

“Sherlock,” you murmured, “I believe something is going on over there.”

He tilted his head to show that he accepted your opinion, but the furrow in his brow showed that he didn’t see it for himself.

“Dr Crawford does not look at me.”

“I did not take you for the vain sort, your ladyship.”

You glared at him. “You are most amusing, Mr Holmes. No, he and I are friends, for I…understand him in a way most do not.”

The teasing half smirk on Sherlock’s face plummeted. “And what, pray, is that supposed to mean?”

“He and Lady Brindon have been intimate friends since childhood,” you explained. “Their closeness did not end when she married Lord Brindon, and for that, they endure considerable idle gossip about the innocence of their friendship. I have never suspected aught improper between them—I am sure you see why: I have my own experiences as proof that a man and a woman can be friends all their lives and have naught romantic come of it—so he tends to seek me out for support, at least with his eyes, when they appear in public together.”

Sherlock scowled. “Well, if you are so certain, I shall engage him in conversation. I have met their ladyships and him at one of Mycroft’s events, so I shall have an excuse to speak with them.”

“Sherlock, do you not think that I ought to be the one who—?”

“You did the last one. It is my turn,” he snapped, rising to his feet and stalking towards the Notley party before you could pick your jaw off of the floor. What had soured his mood so?

Taking tiny, nervous bites of your Victoria sponge, you watched Sherlock stiffly bow and greet the trio. Your apprehension eased as his awkwardness did as well, evidently the conversation taking a promising turn as that gleam re-entered the detective’s eyes. But—oh, no, perhaps he had relaxed too much: you recognised the tension building in Dr Crawford’s shoulder blades, too little thus far to be noticed by Sherlock, but already glaring to you, whose acquaintance with the man was largely based on noticing when the people around him were pushing too hard.

Rather unceremoniously, you abandoned your half-eaten cake and hurried to Sherlock’s side.

“Lady Brindon,” you greeted brightly, “Lady Rebecca, Dr Crawford. Mr Holmes.”

After the exchange of curtsies and bows and how-do-you-dos, you forced out a light chuckle. “I hope I am not interrupting. Only, I realised having Dr Crawford and Mr Holmes in a conversation without a chaperone would become quite tedious quite rapidly. Your ladyships, you may be honest with me—have the gentlemen yet spoken of anything besides their work?”

Lady Brindon laughed. “Sirs, her ladyship has you both rather on the mark! They have spoken only of Dr Crawford’s house visit this morning.”

“That would not be quite so tedious if that particular patient had not been his and my mother’s topic of conversation all afternoon as well,” interjected Lady Rebecca, eliciting a sharp look from the marchioness, which went unheeded as the girl smiled rather wolfishly at you. “Indeed, I do not believe you shall be as much the saviour as you wished to be, my lady, for surely you shall wish to discuss her as well. Are you not acquainted with Ms Algar?”

You blinked, scrambling to recall everything you knew about the only Notley daughter. Though not malicious, she hungered for drama—her mother merely relished knowing what others did not want known—and felt enough entitlement to fish for it if necessary. In that case, this Ms Algar was somebody you were not expected to like.

With an angelic smile, you turned to Dr Crawford. “How is Ms Algar?”

His gaze darted between Lady Brindon, Sherlock, and the tearoom door before settling on you. “Quite well. She is quite well,” he answered. “That is, she is quite the same as the last twelve years. I…I have been her physician all this time, and I had not known you had met her, your ladyship. Indeed, I did not even know you were…connected to her, until Lady Brindon, er, informed me this afternoon.”

“Very few people do, I would say,” you hummed, ignoring the crook of Sherlock’s eyebrow.

Dr Crawford’s shoulders slumped. “I hope that means you do not think I was trying to keep this from you, my lady—”

“Nonsense!” you reassured him. “There is a reason Lady Brindon keeps your company and chose you as Lady Rebecca’s godfather, and I am certain that reason is your honesty and artlessness. Is it not so, my lady?”

The marchioness nodded with a serene smile, and even Lady Rebecca’s surly disappointment at your nonchalance lessened in the face of fondness for her godfather.

Reddening, Dr Crawford smiled at you all. “You are kindness itself,” he told you. “It is no wonder that you are friends with Ms Algar despite—” His smile broke. “That is, despite…”

“Despite circumstances,” you suggested, your heart rate spiking at the riskiness of it.

Fortunately, the smile returned. “Yes, indeed. I am sure she is uplifted to know such goodness exists after her attack.”

At that, Sherlock’s attention flew from you, where it had been this entire conversation, to the doctor. “An attack, you say? You mentioned a bump on the back of the head, but you would not tell me more…”

“Mr Holmes! Of course not!” you gasped. No wonder Dr Crawford had been tense! “That is no topic for mixed company. I apologise, your ladyships,” you added to the Notleys with a rueful smile. “It appears my jest about a chaperone had more truth to it than I intended.”

Lady Brindon waved away your concern. “It is of no consequence. Rebecca is always so eager to hear the gory details of everyone’s troubles.”

“Mama!” the young lady hissed.

“Still,” you said, “as apparent chaperone, I best ensure Mr Holmes gets home without offending any sensibilities now. It has been a pleasure—God bless you all.”

After you and Sherlock had taken leave of the trio, you returned to your table to retrieve your effects and settle your tab. Then, you set back off for Grosvenor Square.

“What were you thinking?” you reproached him, to which he paid no attention as he beamed and exclaimed—

“I do believe we are dealing with a homicide after all!”

You snuck a glance around the street and sighed in relief at its emptiness before pinching the arm he had again offered you.

“Ow! What was—?”

“We are in public, Mr Holmes,” you said, even more reproachfully. “Do lower your voice, or at least temper your enthusiastic tone, about murder?”

He grimaced. “Indeed. I suppose I should be more considerate of the fact that I am discussing your husband, too, should I not?”

“Oh.” You squeezed his arm. “To be frank, that had quite slipped my mind.”

He barked out a laugh. “I take it you are not disturbed that someone murdered your dear Edmund, then?”

“Not particularly. Perhaps the disturbance shall set in later. For now, I am simply curious. What has made you certain?”

“Ms Algar was attacked and struck on the back of the head.”

You waited a beat. “Yes?”

“Twelve years ago!”

You sighed. “I recognise that Mr Sulyard died twelve years ago, but—”

“Died from an attack to the back of the head,” cut in Sherlock, his voice lowering in volume but growing in fervour.

“I was told he died from trying to drive a phaeton while drunk at an ungodly hour.” You recalled serving tea to the messenger before he broke the news, that poor awkward officer whose eyes would not meet yours but whose face you would never forget.

Sherlock’s incredulous cry broke your reverie: “Did you not read the same coroner’s report as I?”

“I know not,” you said with an eye roll, “for you are the one who put it in my hands.”

You smothered a grin at his grumbles about your contemptible sass.

“The coroner noted that Mr Sulyard had only sustained a severe bump to the head and the bruising where he landed,” said Sherlock with a surprising amount of patience. “Normally, in a carriage crash, one receives defensive and reflexive injuries from reacting to the incident before hitting the ground, not merely the injuries of impact. The coroner conjectured that Mr Sulyard was different because he was intoxicated and his reactions would have been impaired.”

Thinking back on the few times you had observed drunken behaviour, you nodded: you had not understood much of the coroner’s report, but Sherlock’s explanation made sense so far.

“And yet,” he whispered, “the actual toxicology report showed that Mr Sulyard had not a drop of alcohol in his body.”

“What? But then…” You shook your head. “How could the coroner have missed such an inconsistency?”

“Warwick is a frumpish fellow simply waiting to be forced into retirement,” mused Sherlock. “He must have written off the toxicology result as the blunder of a nascent science.”

You shook your head again, wrestling with all the puzzle pieces that refused to fit in place. “You must have arrived at that conclusion yesterday, as soon as you read the report,” you said. “Why are you only certain of homicide now?”

“The inconsistency was suspicious, yes, but one must have an alternative explanation before ‘suspicious’ becomes ‘damning’,” he replied. “Ms Algar is that alternative explanation. Or, rather, she is a piece of it… Struck in the head with a blunt object, just as Mr Sulyard was… Her incident, at the same time as his… And of course, their prior connection.”

He glanced at you, and you pursed your lips before exhaling forcibly.

“Worry not, Sherlock. I have already figured out that Ms Algar was my husband’s lover; you shall not have to spell out that to me as well.”

No, Lady Brindon’s whispers and looks, Lady Rebecca’s goading, and Dr Crawford’s discomfort had spelled it out quite effectively already.

Sherlock offered you a tentative smile. “I was not worried about that,” he said. “You handled yourself with complete aplomb there. The way you directed that conversation without anyone—well, anyone other than me, of course—realising that you were directing… I am most impressed by your deductive ability, my lady.”

“Deductive—? Sherlock, that is not deduction,” you scoffed. Identifying Ms Algar as your husband’s mistress, perhaps, but leading a conversation? “It is… It is…”

“You would not call it guesswork, would you?”

“Not at all!”

He hummed. “No, indeed, you do not guess: you calculate the path by which you shall avoid offence and curry favour without compromising your dignity. You balance probabilities and choose the most likely. It is the scientific use of the imagination.”

You rolled your eyes; well, his flair for the dramatic had certainly not flagged in the years gone. “It is social manoeuvring, that is all, Sherlock.”

“You know my method. It is founded upon the observation of trifles. And, my dear lady,” he quipped, “there is nothing more trifling than social manoeuvring.”

Considering how he had so easily gone from being playful with you in the tearoom to snapping at you about talking with Dr Crawford to reassuring you while walking you home, you could not but agree.

Thank you for reading. Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for updates. :) This has probably been my favourite prompt to research for so far; the history of tearooms in Britain is fascinating! I really thought this was gonna be my shortest chapter yet and then it ended up being the longest by a thousand words… Well, feedback is always welcome! A cookie to anyone who can point out all the Arthur Conan Doyle references. ;P

#sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #henry cavill sherlock x reader #jealous sherlock holmes #henry cavill fanfiction #enola holmes #a galling yoke #the dimensions of fandom

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magswrite · 9 months

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the flat

prompt: champagne (july 30th). 949 words. @jegulus-microfic. ft. roommates james and regulus and a lot of overthinking.

It was three years ago that Regulus first moved in with James Potter, when they found a little flat in the heart of London and moved in out of what James called convenience.

“After all,” he’d said, “We both need a place, now.”

For three years, it’d been perfect—James, really, was an ideal flatmate. Didn’t make too much noise, kept the common areas perfectly clean (though his room was another story), always texted when he was picking up groceries. All things considered, he should’ve been the perfect flatmate, except that Regulus had the problem of being irrevocably in love with him.

James was, for all intents and purposes, a playboy. He didn’t bring his hookups back to the flat often, but when he did, he was annoyingly respectful about it. He’d stumbled upon James making breakfast for his guests more than once, and for all he knew, Regulus never heard a thing when they were fucking.

(He did—of course. The walls were thin.)

Recently, it’d been better. Not that Regulus was counting (he was), but James hadn’t brought anyone home in five months, and he’d been anticipating the other ball to drop—and Regulus was convinced that it was because he was moving out. Maybe even, because he’d found a partner—someone he could move in with, like Sirius and Remus had.

It was the only explanation for why he kept disappearing, particularly the past week, dodging Regulus with excuse after excuse. It’d been over three days since they’d had a conversation. It was also why Regulus was dreading heading back to the flat—it was a Friday night and he would no doubt be spending it alone, unlike James.

(James, certainly, would be at this mystery partner’s apartment. Honestly, he’d probably be moving out, sometime soon, it wasn’t as though this was supposed to be a permanent situation, anyhow.)

Which was why it was such a surprise for him, when their old flat door swung open, and he found James standing at the kitchen island with an ice-bucket, two elegant champagne glasses, and a bottle of Moët.

“Surprise!” James said, and for once, Regulus was actually, truly, surprised.

“What’s,” he said, glancing around, “all this for?”

James drew his eyebrows together. “Our anniversary,” he said, casually, and Regulus bit back the choking noise in the back of his throat. “We moved in three years ago—don’t you remember?”

He had a very forlorn look on his face, and Regulus was beginning to feel like he’d been misinterpreting…some things.

“Of course but—well, you didn’t have to do all this.”

“Why not?” He asked, voice airy.

“It’s—James. We haven’t seen each other in like, a week. This is very nice, and all, but if you have something to tell me, you didn’t have to do all this.”

There was a pause as a confused expression fell upon James’ face. And then: “Oh. You already knew then, that I was going to ask you tonight.”

He sounded almost…nervous. Dread settled in Regulus’ stomach—of course, James must’ve been planning to tell him he was moving out. The champagne was a consolation prize, at best.

“I didn’t know,” he clarified. “But I think we both figured that this wasn’t sustainable in the long run. I mean, we’re two adults living together, one of us was bound to move at some point.”

Regulus tried very hard to not sound too disappointed at the fact that, well, he’d probably be seeing far less of James at all.

James’ face, on the other hand, lit up, a smile overtaking it, “Perfect—then it’s a yes?”

“I mean, it’s not like you need to ask my permission,” Regulus said, slightly confused.

“No…I really think I do? What are you talking about?”

“…The fact that you’re moving out? What are you talking about?”

“Regulus, I’m asking you out.”

Oh…that was definitely not what he’d been expecting.

“What?” Regulus said, brain sort-of short circuiting.

“I’m asking you out. On a date—will you go out with me?”

Regulus’ first thought was: this doesn’t make any sense.

“But you’ve been…avoiding me.”

James’ expression fell, “Oh. I didn’t realize it was—I’m sorry. I just wanted it to be perfect, and I knew you weren’t doing anything tonight, and I guess I got ahead of myself a bit—“

And suddenly, everything fell into place.

“Yes,” he finally said, cutting him off. James, clearly, was nervous, and when he got nervous, he sort-of started rambling in nonsense, “of course I’ll go out with you, James. I just thought—well, I thought you were going to tell me you were moving out.”

James’ eyebrows wrinkled together again, “Moving out? I’ve practically been in love with you for the past five months. Why would I want to move out?”

Regulus’ next thought was: oh. Everything makes a whole lot more sense, now.

“I guess I don’t really know,” he replied. “I mean, it explains why the hookups stopped.”

(It was past time he stopped doubting himself, after all.)

“Perfect,” James said, “Because I have so much planned—you’ll probably want to change outfits, we’re going to the park first, with the Moët, and I know how you hate wearing work clothes outside the office. After that, I thought we could catch that movie you’d mentioned, a while back…”

Regulus started tuning him out, a bit. All he could think about was the way James had said in love, and later that night, when they went back to their apartment, settling in Regulus’ room (it’d always been the bigger one), he whispered it too, a low mumble onto James’ chest: love you too.

#jegulus #regulus black #james potter #microfic #yes im referencing barbie in this #also this got away from me #but enjoy <3 #james x regulus

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alakeeffectgirl · 10 months

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cruisequarries PART TWO

PART ONE What did we get up to yesterday? 2018? Okay. I will put everything behind a spoiler cut again (there are more pictures/a video today).

Actually, let's rewind just a little, for some Fallout premiere pictures just because.

Paris, July 12th:

London, July 13th:

Seoul, July 16th (according to the designer's website, the hanbok Heather is wearing was designed as a wedding dress, mmhmm)...

I love this picture because they're making those faces at Chris. Here's the bit of Tom making Heather cry in Tokyo:

I highly recommend listening to Tom & Chris commentary track on Fallout, which starts with McQ introducing himself as the writer/director and then Tom introducing himself - as McQ's friend. After the Fallout press tour wraps up, work starts in earnest on Top Gun: Maverick, which Tom and McQ have been discussing - idly, on McQ's part - for years now. "Our relationship is one long conversation about movies," indeed.

While TGM is filming, pre-production is also happening on MI:DR, which McQ has signed on to direct. (These two are usually juggling at least two projects at a time, and really it's probably more like five projects at a time.)

In January of 2019, they're all back in LA so Tom and McQ can pick up some awards.

The McQuarries also go to a premiere and look fantastic (I love McQ's suit):

Tom and McQ go to Ukraine to scout Dead Reckoning locations later in 2019, meet President Zelenskyy, and McQ gets to put his arm around Tom for once instead of their usual other way around.

OH NO I ALMOST FORGOT - at the end of 2019, Tom took the whole McQ clan with him to Las Vegas to see Lady Gaga and ask her to write the TGM song. [cries in 'that's his family']

Production ramps up on DR - and then unfortunately, as we all know, COVID. Most of the cast and crew were in Venice when everything shut down, but Tom hadn't arrived yet.

Production resumes in Rome in October (their production struggles/trying to keep everyone employed/Tom rightfully yelling at people to follow protocols because a lot of jobs depend on them is all well documented), and then moves to Venice. Heather and the dogs are also part of this traveling band.

This isn't six feet apart, dudes...

Production breaks for the holidays, and resumes in Abi Dhabi for the airport/desert sequences, and also one of my favorite pictures of Tom and Heather, just for her expression.

Train sequence filming in Yorkshire in April of 2021, that's Heather in the blue coat:

DR production then breaks for a bit over the summer so Tom can take all his friends to Wimbledon, go to several car things, and make McQ watch football (the soccer version).

DR filming resumes in the fall/winter. Heather goes with to South Africa and they rent out what is basically an adults-only hotel (and save it from having to close!), for part of their stay. I love this picture because Gypsy looks so long-suffering:

OKAY IT'S 2022 NOW, time for the Top Gun: Maverick premiere tour to start - finally! (Do any of these people SLEEP? No. I think it's well-documented that Tom Cruise does not sleep, which is part of what makes him Tom Cruise, but also this means he calls McQ at two in the morning to talk about movies. There's a podcast somewhere where McQ says he thinks Tom might sleep "between the 2:05 email and the 2:40 email", or something along those lines.) (After getting back from South Africa, there was a bunch of test screening stuff for TGM, which is why there are those parking garage pictures. Wouldn't the movie be done, you'd think, since it was supposed to be out in 2020? COVID gave them a reason to tinker with it even more.) The San Diego premiere on the USS MIdway (all the McQs were there, but there aren't any good pictures):

Then Tom went to Mexico, and McQ went home to London for a few days before Tom returned, and they went to the Royal Windsor horse show together.

THEN EVERYONE WENT TO CANNES. Sorry I have just a shitty screencap with a watermark here but alas tumblr only lets you put one video per post. Tom and McQ stopped to get their picture taken en route to the actual photocall and Tom made Heather come back and be in the pictures with them. There is video here.

Cannes, of course, was amazing. I have garbage homemade gifs but they're too big for tumblr (also they're garbage) but all the Cannes red carpet footage is available on YouTube, here and here. (Worth it for Heather, tbh.)

They went straight from Cannes - on Tom's helicopter - back to London for the Royal premiere. Where the McQuarries looked amazing and McQ wore his McQ shoes.

And the after party, because heaven forbid they not all ride in the same car:

And then the McQuarries got a slight break, while Tom went to do more TGM press. But he was back in London by the end of June, and they went on what can only be described as a string of dates. First, they went to the Rolling Stones concert at Hyde Park.

McQ was on Tom's other side, but he's only visible in video (the Daily Mail might be garbage but they do come through with the media).

Then Tom and Heather went to The Eagles show at Hyde Park:

And they all went to see Adele - also at Hyde Park. (The woman in the pink sweater is Tom's CAA agent Maha Dakhil Jackson - I found the picture where you can see Heather over Tom's shoulder.)

Then for Tom's birthday, they went to the F1 British Grand Prix (with some other TGM folks, but they aren't three steps behind Tom like the McQuarries are).

Oh no, we're not done. Tom takes Heather to Wimbledon, where she holds his sunglasses (not visible in this picture).

McQ did not go with, as he was recording a Light the Fuse podcast - which he surprise-dialled in a bunch of DR folks - and his final surprise was Tom. Who was still at Wimbledon with Heather. McQ calls Heather to get Tom, and Heather plays dumb and is like, "oh I don't know where he is, did you try calling him?" and Chris says he already told the podcast guys that they were together. So Tom does his segment from the car he's in with Heather, and his part is only supposed to be like ten minutes but he talks for about forty-five and this includes telling the world they basically all live together. Then they went out to dinner!

And the next day they all went to Wimbledon with Maha and her husband.

I'm stopping here because this is already SO LONG and 2023 is going to be wild just by itself! PART THREE

#cruisequarries

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