#hudson tights

[thc2]

#kate hudson #so hot 🔥🔥🔥 #sexy content #so fuckable #sexy tease #nice ass #tight butt #perfect butt

[junipum]

thanks sugarsnookums i needed to get that out of my system.

#goodnight to the foreman girlies and the chase truthers #gn to the cuddy simps and the kutner protectors #i hope the hudson polycule babes and the transfem!taub hc ppl ​sleep tight #and i hope amber haters and cishet duckling believers get mauled by bedbugs #joke but like… what r u thinking babe #shitpost #house md #gregory house #hate crimes md

[cementcornfield]

we still can't trust our tight ends though

#shouldn't they elevate tanner hudson by now?? #they have a roster spot with chase brown on ir #and he's the only tight end that has managed to do anything for us #fblb

[vaspider]

Pete Buttigieg is just a faggot.

It's very important to me that younger queers understand this: to the people who you're trying to be more respectable for when you say things like neopronouns set the trans movement back or you're why the cishets don't accept us or including [aces/bi people with the 'wrong kind' of partners/non-binary people/kinksters/non-passing trans ppl/furries/polyam people] just hurts us, can't you wait until we get all our rights before we talk about some of yours? -- to those people? Pete Buttigieg is just a fag.

On Sunday at Pride Northwest, some kids -- late teens, early 20s -- asked what our button I survived Reagan for this? meant. All of the queer adults at the tables making up our ad hoc counter looked at each other and sighed a little. Emet and another adult started to explain the way that the Reagan Administration handled -- or didn't handle -- the beginning of the AIDS crisis. How many people died. How much we were ignored. The Ashes Action. The Time Magazine article which explicitly blamed bisexual men for passing the pandemic to the cishet community, playing on all the worst stereotypical bullshit. The way that even when the CDC started paying attention, they were so focused on gay men that they ignored AIDS in the lesbian community, leading to the "women don't get AIDS, they just die from it" poster. And so on.

I finished counting out change and passed the last Bear Pride raised fist pin over to a bear a little older than me, then turned my head and interjected, "they didn't care until it started infecting more than just the fags." I turned my head back and handed him his change. He laughed bitterly and said, "remember when they called it 'gay cancer?'"

That what I need you to understand. The people for whom you are folding yourself into smaller and smaller boxes will never see you as anything but a freak. A queer. A dyke. A tranny. A fag.

Never.

These are people who will stand by and let you wither away and die alone, gasping for breath in a cinderblock room, and not even claim your ashes, and they will say you deserve it, because of your lifestyle. If they speak of you at all it will be by the wrong name, with the pictures you hate the most. They will curse at your lover, throw him out of the home you shared, and steal the gift you gave last Christmas to throw it in the trash just so he can't have it and they'll say Jesus loves you! while they do it. They'll feel good and righteous and blessed and holy and pure for doing it.

And for them, you spit in the eye of your sister. For them, you disavow your sibling. For their sake, you trim away bits of your heart and lace yourself up tight. Never too loud. Never too queer. Never inconvenient or embarrassing, never asking for too much.

Pete Buttigieg is what happens when your Boomer dad turns out gay. Middle America. Parents still married. Suburban-sprouted. Valedictorian. Harvard-educated. Rhodes Scholarship. Military service. More power to him: I hope he and Chasten are very happy together. Genuinely, I do.

You couldn't create a more respectable gay if you grew one in a lab run by concerned voter focus groups.

But Pete Buttigieg? Is just a fag.

That's the part you don't seem to get: when they abandoned us, they abandoned all of us. Rock Hudson was a beloved movie star and even personally friendly with that horrid pair of ambitious jackals. Nancy Reagan refused to help him get into the only place in the world that could treat him at the time, and he died.

It was 1985, 4 years after the CDC first released papers on what would eventually become known as HIV/AIDS and 7 years after the first known death from an infection from HIV-2. Reagan hadn't even said the word AIDS by the time Hudson died.

Pete Buttigieg is just a fag, and so am I. Unless I'm a dyke, which seems to depend on who's yelling what from which window and what day it is.

Yes, there will be people who genuinely love and accept you. Those people are worth all the frustration of the rest, thankfully, and they're the ones who love you in a pup mask or a leather harness and a neon jock like the ones sold by the men up the row from us last weekend. They're the ones who laugh out loud when you tell them you hid the word "dyke" in your company name, the ones who love you in all your messiness and uncertainty and the way you don't fit into neat boxes all scrubbed up and clean.

Most cishets, though... well, they don't actively mean you specifically any harm, at least not when they have to look at you. Not when you're right there in front of them. Maybe they'll be okay with you, personally, especially if you're the kind of gay who makes a good rhetorical device, and as long as you remain a good rhetorical device.

They need people to know that they don't have a problem with the gays, after all, and there you are, being all convenient. You make a nice token, and as long as you do, well. You're useful.

But they call you by your deadname when you're not around, and they put the wrong pronouns in your medical record even though they met you years after you came out, and they won't put themselves out to save you. Not one little bit.

I didn't want to be here again. The year I graduated from high school was the worst year of the AIDS crisis. The world into which I became an adult was a world in which an advisor and friend to Reagan, William F. Buckley, openly advocated for forcibly tattooing the HIV status of HIV+ gay men on their buttocks (and IV drug users on their forearms), and in which my father not only told me that when I was 14 or so, but when was told me that he'd advocated for that tattoo being "over their assholes."

(Buckley wrote that in '86, but he doubled down on it in 2005.

Fucker.)

But yeah. I didn't want to be here again. I wanted my daughter to inherit a better world. I wanted Obergefell and Lawrence v. Texas and Hope & Change to really mean something. I work for it, today and all days. I haven't given up.

I need you to know that, too. This isn't a white flag. I'm not surrendering. This isn't over. To misquote Henry Rollins, this is what Marsha and Sylvia and Stormé and Leslie and Brenda and Auntie Sugar trained us for. This is punk rock time.

But I need you to understand that if Pete Buttigieg is just a fag, if that human embodiment of a Wonder Bread, mayo and Oscar Meyer bologna sandwich is not respectable enough for them -- and he's not -- then the rest of us have absolutely no hope of measuring up. Not even if we trim away every colorful, beautiful piece of our community, not even if the Sisters Of Perpetual Indulgence vanish into the ether, not even if we sacrifice the five elements of vogue on the altar of white supremacist cishet middle-class conformity: we can't trim ourselves down to something they'll accept.

The only other option is radical acceptance of our queer selves. The only other option is solidarity. The only other option is for fats and femme queens and drags and kinksters and queers and zine writers and sex workers and furries and addicts and kids and the ones who can look us in the eye and see all of us to say we're here, we're queer, get used to it just the way we did 30 years ago. It's revolutionary, complete and total acceptance of our entire community, not just the ones the cishets can pretend to be comfortable with as long as we don't challenge them too much, or it's conceding the shoreline inch by inch to the rising waters of fascism until we've got nowhere left to stand and some of us start drowning.

That's it. Either it's all of us or it's none of us, because if we leave the answer up to the Reagans of the world and all the people who enabled him in the name of lower taxes and Democrats who wring their hands, weeping oh I don't agree with it but we'll lose the election if we fight it right now, the answer is none of us.

The brunch gays can come, too, I guess.

#long post #uncensored slurs #slurs #homophobic slurs #ronald reagan's grave is a gender neutral toilet #lgbtq #queer #trans #transgender #fag #dyke #lgbt

[savhudsoncloset]

savannah for between friends - may 26, 2022

she is wearing ashley williams’ white and red tattoo tights (n/a)

worn with cottage core top, crochet patchwork skirt and ultra-high sneakers

#savannah hudson #savannah hudson fashion #savannah hudson style #savannah hudson closet #instagram #fashion #between friends #celebrity fashion #influencer fashion #style #tights #ashley williams #2022

[wannaeatramyeon]

The Way of the Househusband: Lookism and HTF hc

You, the working spouse. Them, trying to be the best malewife.

(Making up for my Eli crap).

Throws money at the problem

Look. They did not work their lil bussy off to build up an empire then to spend it all day looking after the household. You will be employing help around the house, that is non-negotiable.

Expect a half burnt, hand made lunch most days though. It's the thought that counts, you tell yourself as you swallow down a lump of charcoal.

+ Eugene

+ Goo Kim

This idiot. Tries his best until he gets bored. And he gets bored very easily.

Half mopped kitchen, half made bed. Everything he does is done well until he just. Nah. Cannot be bothered anymore.

Good job you have a routine cleaning service and whatever other help you need as he takes instead the title of trophy husband.

Greets you coming home like an overexcited puppy. Lord bless him with some other social groups and hobbies so he doesn't rely completely on you for all his interaction needs.

+ Samuel Seo

If our Sammy isn't in therapy already, then get him in. Starve if you have to, just get him on his journey.

There is no way this man would be happy just being a househusband with his inferiority complex, slight delusions of grandeur and ambition.

When he eventually comes to terms with it, will always have little side projects going on to keep his inferiority/superiority at bay.

Likely one of those bastards that power trips from heading up some sort of Househusband/housewife social group, PTA, or on the board of a charity (he's in it for the power, not the cause) in his spare time.

Natural born homemaker

Natural may be a stretch for some of these boys.

Whether by choice or as a victim of circumstance, they have had to pick up very quickly how to be completely self sufficient. So stepping into house husband role? Easy!

+ Jace Park, Warren Chae, Jibeom Kwak, Daniel Park, Hudson Ahn, Baek Seongjun

+ Eli Jang

Oh my god. There is nothing that he loves more than being a househusband.

Never in his wildest dreams thought he would end up in this position.

Creating a loving home for you and Yenna, being the caretaker and provider. By far the best and most favourite role he has undertaken.

Joins in on the gossip at the school gates, with the other parents fawning over him. Melting hearts when Yenna toddles out and gives her dad a smooch.

Makes the absolute bento lunch bar none. Wakes up at the crack of dawn, practically leaping out of bed to make something delicious, healthy and cute for you and Yenna.

+ Johan Seong

Clueless vibes but that is absolutely wrong.

With his mother and leaving home from a young age, he has absolutely had to be self-sufficient.

In addition to taking care of two dogs too, this guy knows how to run a household and how to run it with 100% efficiency.

Knows the best time to visit the market for the freshest meat and veg to cook dinner. Also will visit 10+ stores to make sure he gets the best deal for his money. It's a matter of pride.

+ Ji Yeonwoo

Never had to really lift a finger around the home, instead dedicating all his time to studying. Vibes that his father also thinks housework is woman's work.

But not this guy! Whatever you need, he will make sure he fulfils it to the best of his abilities.

Study scheduling skills carry over to running the household. Runs an extremely tight ship, and meticulously plans everything. You want a doctor appointment? Dentist? Plumber. He is ON it.

In between sessions of Kyokushin Karate training of course.

+ Han Wangguk

Um hello? Does this even need explaining? It just fits.

Forced into being the carer and head of the household from a young age after his home life completely went to shit. Looked after Gyeoul to the best of his ability until he couldn't. Tried to be the best big bro/father figure since his stint in juvie.

Absolutely perfect as a househusband. Nothing to fault.

Will spoil you too. Small gifts he has come across that reminds him of you - a snack you like from the store, booking movie tickets for a lil date night together, a book he thinks you'd be interested in.

Perfection.

Clueless idiot tries their best

It's a 50/50 chance whether you will have a home and a husband to return to at the end of a day. It's also a 50/50 chance whether your home made lunch will give you food poisoning.

Sure, it's gotten better the longer they've been at it, but you're still wary. Especially since they have also gotten better at hiding any messes they cause too.

You can never stay mad though, especially when they get so cute when they're frustrated at having failed you as a househusband. Which is complete nonsense, by the way.

+ Vin Jin, Jihan Kwak, Jay Hong

+ Vasco Tabasco

How can this category exist without our resident cinnamon roll?

Fortunately for him, Jace has added himself onto Vasco's speed dial. Unfortunately for Jace, he gets 20+ calls and frantic messages a day asking how to get things done.

Nonsense includes asking how to revert the clothes after accidentally dying them pink. Can he put out a frying pan oil fire with water. How burnt can something be before someone will likely get food poisoning.

It gets better over time. Lucky for you and lucky for Jace.

COMPLETE househusband Tatsu vibes. Everyone is terrified of Vasco, intimidated by his thuggish looks and tattoos. (Until they find out he is the biggest sweetheart and himbo ever.)

+ Ryuhei Kuroda

Relishes being a househusband! Like a silly little roleplay and doesn't get tired of it. After, all it took him so long to find someone that keeps the interest of Ryuhei and lil Ryuhei.

A shameless flirt with the ajummas and all the other housewives. Getting the best gossip, the best offers and deals, best tips.

Unfortunately, his attention span is short. Listens with good intentions, then starts daydreaming about when you get home and how he will ravish you.

In the end, he falls short in some aspects of being a househusband, but will make it up to you in the bedroom.

Bulldozes their way forward until they are Househusband Extraordinaire

You cannot fault them for their effort.

Initially a struggle at first for them to come to terms with being a househusband. Look at this list for crying out loud. Consisting of killers and fighters and crime bosses.

But if they commit, they're going to give it all. Their tenacity means they will absolutely get things done. Every time they fail, they will keep trying over and over again. Whether that's to make you happy or for their own pride, they will keep going until it is perfected.

+ Xiaolong, Zack Lee, Xiaolong, Sinu Han, Seong Taehoon, Kim Munseong

+ Gun Park

There is nothing Gun Park cannot do if he sets his mind to it. That includes whatever the hell is his life right now.

Which he doesn't mind, per se. It's just... unexpected.

And he never thought there would ever be anything in his life that matches the thrill of fighting to the death.

But getting the pick of fresh fruit and veg when he's first at the farmer's market? Beating some old ajumma (almost literally) to grab the best head of lettuce? Unveiling your dinner like he used to with his masterpiece?

Ok. It's not bad. He'll still sneak off to beat up minors when he has spare time though.

+ DG/James Lee

Drops the K-pop persona pretty damn quick, reverting back to James Lee.

Because can you imagine how little he would be able to get done if people saw DG around trying to run errands?

But honestly. Look at him. This man, like Gun, does not have a domestic bone in his body.

He's not a genius for nothing though.

Dishwasher? Washing machine? Tumble dryer? How to iron in the most efficient way? He will work it out, don't worry.

+ Jake Kim

Anything, anything to make you happy.

As the Big Deal no.1, worrying about the street running smoothly is only his problem in so far as the protecting, the fighting, the money.

Clothes used to just turn up washed and ironed. Would live on a diet of ramen or just eating at one of the restaurants.

Jake is not initially cut out for being a househusband... But he learns quickly.

Eagerly gets to any household chores and errands with gusto. Sometimes even recruiting the Big Deal boys to help out when things get a little too hectic and out of hand.

#lookism #lookism hc #lookism x reader #viral hit #how to fight #viral hit headcanons #how to fight headcanons #viral hit x reader #how to fight x reader #goo kim x reader #samuel seo x reader #eli jang x reader #johan seong x reader #ji yeonwoo x reader #han wangguk x reader #vasco x reader #ryuhei kuroda x reader #ryuhei x reader #euntae lee x reader #gun park x reader #dg x reader #james lee x reader #wannaeatramyeon

[britany1997]

Let’s Motor

I genuinely wasn’t expecting the response to Rev Your Engines that I got, I was feeling very insecure about my writing when I posted it and I’m crying that y’all loved it so much😭 (read part one here)

I’ve also decided on subsequent fics to indicate when I won’t be writing any more parts, so this will be the final part to this series:) hope y’all love it!

Pre-read by my motorcycle expert adopted brother @pixielostboy 🥰

Poly! Lost boys x GN motor expert reader

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

You rolled out from under your 1953 Buick wildcat, smearing your hand across your face as you attempted to wipe it clean of oil.

When you’d finished your shift for the night, your boss was kind enough to let you use the shop’s tools to fix up your own ride.

The tune ups were going well, but you still took your Harley to work instead, hopeful you’d run into the strange group of rockers from a few days ago.

You checked your watch and sighed. Lately you’d tended to drag your feet, just in case the biker boys did drop by, but after days of waiting, you’d finally decided they weren’t coming.

That is until you heard the familiar mumbling of four motors pulling up behind you. You chuckled to yourself as you pulled a bandana from your back pocket to wipe your brow and turned around.

Your face fell as you realized the sight in front of you was not the four weirdos you were hoping to meet again, but another group of leather clad bikers.

You sighed and turned back to pack up your things.

“Expectin’ someone?”

You whipped your head around to lock eyes with a smirking Paul, leaning against a broken down truck one of your coworkers had been fixing up.

“Hello again,” you raised an eyebrow as you wiped down your tools, “where ya been?”

“Been busy sugar,” he explained, “didn’t mean we didn’t wanna come.”

Your lips turned up against your will as you shrugged in reply, “maybe I wanted to see you guys too.”

Paul’s face lit up at your words.

“Why didn’t I hear your bike pull up?” you asked.

“Got one of those silent mufflers, bike don’t make a sound,” he told you.

Your brow furrowed in confusion. Silent mufflers? “What?”

“Kidding babe, just didn’t wanna move the bikes from the boardwalk, I uh walked over.”

You scoffed, “isn’t it like a five mile walk?”

Paul rubbed the back of his neck nervously, “yeah I uh, I walk fast.”

You snorted, “whatever Paulie, you want a ride back on my bike?”

“Yes please,” he sing-songed as he practically skipped over to your side.

You mounted your Harley before Paul slid in behind you. “Hold on tight yeah?” you told him.

“Don’t gotta tell me twice sugar,” he said as his arms slid around your middle. He squeezed your sides gently causing you to flinch.

“Maybe not that tight,” you laughed.

Paul moved his hands to rest on your hips as you nudged up your kickstand with your heel before reving your engine and taking off down the road.

The short drive to the boardwalk gave Paul’s hands many opportunities to wander from your hips, but luckily for him you didn’t mind too much.

You parked your bike to the side of Max’s video as both you and Paul slid off and walked toward the three other boys loitering near the pier.

“Well, well, well,” David smirked as he took a drag, “just couldn’t stay away could ya?”

You scoffed in mock offense, “excuse me, but this one,” you jerked your thumb towards Paul, “tracked me down at work for you idiots.”

David threw his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out, “maybe we needed you to fix up one of our bikes again.”

You snorted, “they look fine to me.”

Dwayne rolled his eyes, “sorry about him, we really did just want to see you.”

You blushed as your gaze fell to the gorgeous brunette man’s shoes, “I kinda wanted to see you guys again too.”

“Wanna race?” Marko blurted out, bouncing on his heels in excitement.

Your head snapped up, “race? Race where?” you asked.

“Hudson’s bluff,” David spoke up, “you know it?”

“Yeah I know it,” you paused for a second, “what does the winner get?”

“A kiss from you,” Paul said smirking, as he leaned an elbow on your shoulder.

You rolled your shoulder, causing his elbow to slide right off you, “and what do I get if I win?” you asked.

“Four kisses,” Paul winked.

You rolled your eyes, “if I win I want…” you trailed off as you thought to yourself.

A lightbulb went off in your head, “I want that,” you decided as you pointed at David’s long black trenchcoat.

David’s jaw dropped, not usually one to be caught off guard, “…you want my coat?”

He regained his senses, “absolutely not, no.”

You pouted in mock sympathy, “scared you’re gonna lose Davey?”

He scoffed, “never.”

You shrugged, “then you’ve got nothing to worry about right?”

David bit his lip and weighed his options. There were four of them and only one of you. How could one little human beat four vicious vampires? You didn’t stand a chance.

David smirked and stuck out his hand, “deal.”

You smiled as you shook his hand, “alright then.”

It didn’t take the five of you long to clamor onto your bikes and line up parallel to each other.

“You’re going down,” Marko whispered from the left of you as Dwayne counted down.

You smirked, “we’ll see.”

As soon as Dwayne bellowed “go,” you were off.

You whipped through the beach, kicking up sand as you rode and making a mental note to clean your wheels later. Paul and David had an early lead, with you and Marko not far behind.

Dwayne trailed behind the four of you, but you suspected it wasn’t for lack of ability but more to teach David a lesson. Either way, you appreciated it.

As you turned off into the forest you pulled past Paul, flicking a wave in his direction as you left him in the dust. You smiled as you heard a soft gasp behind you from the shocked blond boy.

You leaned forward, your brow furrowing as you accelerated until you were neck and neck with David.

“Give up? You could still keep your coat,” you taunted him, keeping your eyes trained on the road.

“Not on your life.” he spit through gritted teeth.

“Suit yourself,” you replied as you pushed forward on the throttle, weaving in front of David and pulling up at the edge of the cliff.

David pulled to a stop in disbelief, “you…how did you…” he sputtered as he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

You smiled, “increased the size of my rear sprocket by two teeth awhile back, helps the bike accelerate quicker,” you explained.

“Why didn’t you say anything babe?” Paul inquired as he parked next to the two of you.

You shrugged, “you never asked,”

“Pretty smart if you ask me,” Marko admitted as he joined as well, “I woulda done that too.”

“Looks like you’ve got a jacket to hand over huh David?” Dwayne teased as he came around to David’s side, playing with the hem of the coat.

David’s face flushed red as he realized. He moved to take the coat off when you stopped him, placing a hand on his.

“No need,” you assured him, “the look on your face is a good enough prize for me.”

David grumbled as the other boys dissolved into fits of laughter.

“You’re a good time babe,” Paul nudged you with his elbow, “we live just down there if you’d like to come in for a drink,” he offered smoothly as the others exchanged knowing glances.

“Sure,” you smiled, “I could go for a drink.”

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

Taglist❤️:

@pixielostboy @bloodywickedvamp @6lostgirl6 @anna1306 @misslavenderlady @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame @paulxbathbomd @peachpixiesstuff @ria-coolgirl @flower-crowned-lady @lostboys1987girl @ghoulgeousimmaculate @feardot-com @softchonk @gothamslostboy @arenpath @bitchyexpertprincess @memphiscity69 @kurt-nightcrawler @solobagginses @mickkmaiden333 @arbesa-mind @warrior-616 @consuming-karma @dwaynedelight @vampirefilmlover @its-freaking-bats @dwaynesluscioushair @hallotonia

#the lost boys #the lost boys fic #paul lost boys #david lost boys #marko lost boys #dwayne lost boys #poly lost boys #poly lost boys x reader #poly lost boys x gn reader #poly lost boys x motorcycle expert reader #motorcycle expert reader #gn reader #tlb #tlb 1987 #the lost boys 1987 #lost boys #lost boys 1987 #the lost boys fluff #vampires #Paul tlb #David tlb #Marko tlb #Dwayne tlb

[milknhonies]

Wails of Wedded Bliss

Masterlist || Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: Sherlock Holmes is forced to marry you...and it is clear...he does not appreciate the union...thanks Enola...

Pairing: Sherlock Homes x wife!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Domestic r4pe, P in V intercourse, Forced/Arranged Marriage, Loss of Virginity, Loss of Innocence, Domestic Violence. Wedding crashing.

Word Count: 9k

Author Notes: This story has been published in the past on Tumblr on my old account @milknhonies-old-account since I have created a newer account and I am reposting it here.

11:35pm Monday 28th April 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

“You know Sherlock, matrimony is not as wicked and cruel as you might believe,” said his companion one day beside the fireplace of their flat.

The detective was slumped in his chaise playing away at his violin obnoxiously. The terrible tune of Frère Jacques made the doctor wince as it hit his ears sharply. Sherlock Holmes had found himself in a mental state of his own man made dramatics...

“Et tu Watson?” Sherlock sighed and put the violin down before wiping a hand over his face, “My dear doctor, I have no desire to restrain myself to the shackles and torture you inflict onto yourself.” He rose to his feet with a lengthy groan and sat his instrument aside. The depressed sir stumbled over a pile of discarded books to get to the drinks trolley.

The wine bottle cork popped loudly as he tugged you open.

It was no mystery. Sherlock did not entirely approve of Mary Watson purely out of jealous spite influenced by the attentions of his friend. When the pair married Sherlock stood stiff and tight lipped. He reluctantly handed over the ring as John’s Bestman.

Over the engagement and even during the marriage, Sherlock did not cease his sly childish comments made from time to time.

John however had caught his wife in conversation and debate on numerous occasions with the detective. Mrs Watson and Mr Holmes were not friends by any means, but they tolerated each other under limited circumstances. They found smart enjoyment in each other.

The doctor had come to visit his friend under the revered request of the older Holmes brother...Mycroft. There was finally an expectation...Mycroft wanted Sherlock to make a male Holmes heir...Perhaps it was scandalous rumour but John wondered how true the gossip of the older brother was; being a pillow biter or an infertile gentleman...especially with the pressure to have Sherlock marry and procreate.

Sherlock poured himself a glass of wine and downed it quickly. He set the glass on the mantle and shook his head slowly.

John tried to smile, “Mary and I have fun.”

Sherlock scoffed jealousy.

John had been married and moved out of Baker Street for six months now. Sherlock dared not ask the condition of Mary’s pregnancy.

“What fun? With your lace doilies and Shepard’s pie?”

His friend smirked, “I enjoy Mary’s pie very much, Sherlock...” He pursed is lips and tapped his cane to the floor, “Perhaps you need a slice of your own?”

Sherlock glanced at his friend. He narrowed his eyes as he returned back to the chaise, careful to not trip again on the books and loose papers that laid across the floor.

“My own pie?” Sherlock crooned as he laid back into the cusions, “Why do I get the sense that we are not speaking that of a pastry?”

The doctor tilted his head and cleared his throat, staring off into the fire, “Mrs Hudson has confided in me that you’ve resorted to returning here with...friends from Mayfair Row of the fairer sex.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. The old hag of a landlady needed to keep her nose out of his business. He was making his rent on time, it shouldn’t matter who he kept his business with.

The detective groaned and rubbed his eyes, “Merely cases, dear John.”

The doctor bristled, “Do not lie to me Sherlock,” he waved his finger, “I know very well what you do with those women...it’s only a matter of time you ask me to check your pecker. God knows what they carry.”

Sherlock shrugged and sniffed loudly.

“For goodness sake man...” John scolded, “Have you no heart whatsoever then for the dear girl you are to marry?”

The detective rubbed his hands and laced his fingers, “Why should I?”

“Sherlock!” his friend hissed, “Have you not even considered the notion she might also resent the concept of matrimony as much as you?”

“Is that possible in women?” Sherlock quirked, “Good Scot! I sound like my brother.”

“Your own sister is still dragging her feet through her engagement to the Tewkesbury boy on what...a year almost now?” the doctor tapped his cane on the floor thoughtfully.

Sherlock huffed, “Enola is not a woman.”

In the eyes of the law she was...she needed only pick a wedding date and commit to it.

Sherlock wouldn’t have the luxury of a long engagement. The wedding was next week and he had quickly agreed to the contract. He would marry under the financial clutch of his brother...Mycroft threatened to cut off all entire bank in regards to Sherlock’s unpaid drug debts...

After the cold leads to the trail of Madame Moriarty...the detective found little sleep in the night...Sherlock befell the unfortunate antidote of cocaine to help him stay awake and opiates to keep him asleep...John loyally helped those sweating events and threatened to put him in an institute if he didn’t cease his regular consumption.

Perhaps, John wondered, Mycroft was intending to cease the draining of his pocket by using a wife to tame Sherlock’s spending habits. John decided then and there that Mycroft truly was an idiot.

“You’ve not told me her name...” the doctor said in the long silence.

Sherlock looked at his feet and sighed, “Y/N...her name is Miss Y/N Y/L/N.”

The surname was familiar to the doctor, however not personally.

John nodded gradually and scratched his moustache, “Mrs Y/N Holmes of Baker Street...it’s got a little ring to it. A simple lift to the breath don’t you think?” he mused.

The other man glared at him, he didn’t like John making fun of the situation he’d been coerced into.

He deflected, licking his lips, “Mary has grown fat.”

John cackled at the poor insult, “Swollen with my child. I’m glad you have finally noticed. I look forward to seeing your future wife just as ‘fat’ one day too.”

“Please John, my ingestion!” Sherlock shuddered, cupping his lips.

The cane tapped again at the floor, “Surely she isn’t so unsightly?” his friend asked.

“She is most plain,” Sherlock complained, before he peeled through the papers at his feet and held up a board of hard card to his friend, “Here...my brother thought it kind to send me a portrait, to invoke my eagerness, but as is clear...my mind is not swayed.”

John took the photo carefully and moved his spectacles from his pocket to his face, he gazed upon your printed face in the glow of the warm orange fire.

The doctor raised a brow and snorted, “This girl? Sherlock...I believe your disregard to the union prevents you from seeing her true potential. I think you will make fine and handsome children.”

Sherlock looked on to the fire and continued to shake his head stubbornly, “I need a case Watson...not a wife...”

The doctor felt his resolve failing, he donned his hat and scarf, “Perhaps she is your next case...after all why would anyone agree to marry you?” he stood and left Sherlock to ponder until the embers of the fireplace burnt out black and the last light of the room was succeeded by the wretched dawn.

09:00am Monday 5th May 1890 Saint Marylebone Parish Church, London, England.

A lengthy breath escaped your chest as your fingers pinched your pearly white gloves.

Twenty was a scary age...you walked a line of spinsterhood.

This was it...

You were lucky to be here. Lucky to have this offering...the circumstances were complicated. You were illegitimate but nonetheless still cared for by your father’s parents. They pitied you and your past. Good Christians with empathetic hearts, they chose to raise you when your father abandoned you for a wife who despised the concept of living beneath he same roof as her husband’s bastard.

You were grateful and honest and polite and strived to please your paternal grandparents. When they presented to you a engagement contract, you dared not waste or drain any more of their kind financial generosity.

You were amazed by the name also on the document...

You were being asked to marry The Sherlock Holmes, London’s notorious detective.

You were stunned. You accepted.

His brother, the dealer of the contract was a friend of your grandfather and had been the proposer of the deal. The two men seemed to always sit together in parliament house.

You hadn’t even met your husband to be...today during the ceremony would be the very first time.

As your grandmother fixed your veil in the carriage ride to the church, you caressed the front of the bible in your lap. You prayed to God this marriage was right and meant to be.

“You are not as pretty as my daughter’s, but as our ward after all these years I am sure you will be a suitable bride to Mr Holmes,” she muttered under her breath.

Her husband happily scolded, “Nonsense! Our granddaughter will be a perfect match to the greatest detective of London.”

He leant beside you and pinched your nose under the veil, “My little girl is the prettiest princess today,” his fingers laced with yours and kissed the back of your gloves hand with his silver beard covered lips.

“Thankyou grandfather.”

The corner of your lips jerked up. He was the warmer of the two...but it was confided that your grandmother who sat sullen faced in front of you was merely putting in a facade. Your grandfather told you early at breakfast that your grandmother wept last night, sad to see you off to be a true married woman of society.

The accomplished their task, raising a young lady of good standing and half decent breeding.

The carriage came to a screeching halt.

The cold breeze hit your face as your grandparents climbed out of the carriage door. Your delicate gloves fingers reached out and were supported by your grandfather.

You passed your bible to your grandmother who exchanged them for a modest bouquet of flowers and lace.

The chapel was massive but you knew there would be only a small audience.

Your feet climbed the stairs and patiently waited for your escort. Your grandfather’s wobbly knees had to rely on you and his walking cane. Your grandmother climbed behind him to insure he didn’t fall and hurt himself or drag you down too.

The wooden church doors were open a jar.

The whistling wind made you feel like you were entering a funeral rather your own wedding. You were not opposed to matrimony but the dead silence and stares at the front of the pews made you blood feel cold...

A gentleman you knew as Mycroft Holmes was sitting in the front pew and rose to attention as you were entering.

There was three other men standing at the edge of the room.

The priest, and the groom and his best man.

Your husband to be was handsome from the distance you could see if him. His lips remained stern in a flat line however and his brows appeared knitted, perhaps he was...displeased?

Sherlock Holmes was accompanied by his infamous companion...Doctor John Watson. A war veteran.

A woman you had never met was mirroring his position to the left side of the church, your chosen maid of honour...but as she turned the slight curve of her belly spoke out... pregnant. A matron of honour.

Your grandfather clenched your arm and kissed the side of your head. You began your steady approach down the island with your grandmother now leading in front to find her seating on the front left pew.

You tried to not share too directly at your future husband’s frown. Perhaps he was tired or not aware he was frowning at all and just deep in his thoughts.

You passed your bouquet to your matron of honour.

Your arms felt shaky, this was it...a lifelong commitment ceremony.

When you paused before the alter, the priest bowed his head and asked your grandfather, “Do you giveth this woman to be married to this man?”

He gruffly cleared his throat “I do,” and turned you to face him, his hands squeezed your arms gently before he carefully lifted your veil above your face and over your flower covered hair. He smiled softly, tears beaded in the corner of his eyes. He leant closer and kissed your cheek, in your ear he whispered gently, “God bless my darling girl.”

Sherlock was quickly removing his white glove and pocketing it in his inner breast side blazer.

Your grandfather turned you around to face the priest. He placed your right hand into the holy man’s who then carefully removed the glove you wore and passed your naked fingers into the warm clammy hands of Sherlock Holmes. His reaction to your bare face was out of surprise...you did not know if his wide dark blue eyes were a good sign or not.

The priest tied a small white ribbon around your wrists, connecting you and Sherlock in symbolism.

He turned back and floated up to the stairs of his stand. He opened his holy book and said out to the very small group witnessing, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man...and this woman in holy matrimony.”

You felt your throat tighten and your mouth dry as Sherlock’s thumb softly rubbed the back of your hand. Your eyes glanced over to his face...his frown had disappeared, he was wearing the smallest of smiles. Relief swept through you, he was happy for now and that is all you cared for.

As the priest continued his holy speech on the reason of marriage you thought about your duties as a wife. You would now look after your husband as you have cared for your grandfather. You would bring forth a hot meal for dinner and host luncheons with other married couples of society. You would rub his sore feet and shoulders and prepare him a bath when he required it after his days of long tiring work. And most importantly...you would lay back and take him within to create children. You would spend the rest of your life expected to make your husband feel appreciated and loved. You were to be his other half, his Eve to his Adam.

He had the important duty of caring for you financially and supporting your future children and their education.

If he was a detective you knew his intelligence meant you would make very brilliant minded babes. You would make society proud.

You had seen Sherlock face in the papers but they were of illustrations that did not capture the colour and humanism of himself

“-Into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined,” the priest softly finished.

You felt Sherlock sigh and when his thumb stopped rubbing your hand, you tried to return the same rubbing onto his fingers.

It was a silent language of greeting and comfort...

‘hello, how do you do?’

‘I am well, thankyou.’

“Therefore, if any man can show any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace.”

The groom glanced over his shoulder and his lips appeared to tighten...they fell into a frown and his hand grip loosened...was he...your heart deflated...was he not wanting to marry you?

You tried to restrain your emotions.

The priest peered down at you both, “Kneel.”

Sherlock and you with your hands still touching and bound slowly bend to your knees before the altar. The holy man pulled out a bowl and pinched his hands into the holy water.

He flicked both of your faces as he spoke, “I require and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment, why ye may not be lawfully joined together in Matrimony, ye do now confess it. For be ye well assured, that so many as are coupled together otherwise than God’s Word doth allow are not joined together by God; neither is their Matrimony lawful...”

There was no way you could mention how you were concerned Sherlock’s reaction might’ve been worldly. He remained silent to.

Your grandmother once told you how people who marry often do not love each other until years later. It happened to her, so you had within your heart the trust that as long as you put in the effort to be the perfect wife, Sherlock would eventually grow his love for you.

The Priest smiled at you both and nodded his head,

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes wilt thou have this woman Y/N Y/L/N to thy wedded Wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?”

Your eyes glanced to his face, he appeared, flushed.

“Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

Your groom looked over your hands and then glanced up at your face, his throat bobbed, “I will.”

His thumb rubbed your hand again.

You tried to smile...it was hard when he didn’t appear as enthusiastic about the union as you had hoped. It reminded you this was really just a contract between his brother and your grandfather.

“Y/N Y/L/N wilt thou have this William Sherlock Scott Holmes to thy wedded Husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?”

Your eyes stared up at the Priest who was dictating the vow, “Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

Your voice for a moment caught in your throat. You looked to the floor and nodded, “I will.”

The priest then stood away and proclaimed, “Now ye have proclaimed to god, now tis time you proclaim your vows to yourselves.”

You felt Sherlock tighten his grip and faced him still kneeling beside him, his voice wavered as he proclaimed, “I, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, take thee Y/N Y/L/N to my wedded Wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

A pause in the air reminded you it was now your turn to repeat the solemn vow.

And for a split second...you wondered if agreeing would be a sin to god...you would do this all...but love...could you love a man who you did not know, honour a man who may not love you?

You nodded and properly looked into his eyes, trying to vow earnestly.

“I Y/N Y/L/N take thee William Sherlock Scott Holmes to my wedded Husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.”

He glanced away and his lips parted, it was if he wanted to say something to you...before he closed them and eyed the priest. Ah yes...you were still in a holy ceremony. Talking could come later.

The priest nodded to you both and gestured to your hands.

“Now the groomsmen may please administer the ring.”

Sherlock removed his other glove.

The man who stood behind him, John, stood carefully forward after stealing a small ring from his breast pocket and passed it to Sherlock.

The priest untied your hands and your groom delicately took your left hand. He removed your other glove and pocketed it.

“With this ring I thee wed,” He pinched your forth finger before sliding the cold golden band on, it felt slightly loose, “With my body I thee worship.”

You finally took the time to actually look at his full face as he vowed to you. His blue eyes were dark and sparkling like a night sky or a ravenous stormy sea. In the corner of his right eye was a fleck of brown...oh yes...the stony sea side by the waters, they were his solemn eyes covered by curtains of thick dark lashes.

“And with all my worldly goods I thee endow,” he trailed off softly.

His lips were thin, wet and soft...his skin flushed in a soft pink but not overly obvious, his neck was a shade lighter to his ears and cheeks.

You heard the distant hum of the priest standing above you both.

The groom cleared his throat, “In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

The priest clapped his hands and joyously announced, “For as much as William Sherlock Scott Holmes and Y/N Y/L/N have consented together in holy Wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a Ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be man and wife together, rise now as Mr and Mrs Holmes. In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

Everyone in the church echoed the everlasting word...“Amen.”

Sherlock and you rose steadily back to your feet. He let go of your fingers. Your hands limply fell aside. You turned back to your grandparents and smiled.

You were now a married woman before God.

The holy man brought around the script of lawfully paper to sign your name and the names of your witnesses. The parchment was laid across a small serving table where there was a small ink well and pen waiting.

Out of necessity you went to the table first.

When you signed your maiden name and then scripted out your new surname, you were now under the law of man the wife of the British detective. Your eyes fluttered shut...it was done...you were no longer considered the poor bastardess soul that had been disowned by both parents...you were now The Mrs Holmes. Wife and a future mother of Holmes sons and daughters.

Your matron of honour came closer to your side and politely smiled, “Mary Watson, my husband is the groomsmen. You are most beautiful and I must demand Sherlock cherishes you rightfully.”

She was a beautiful. Her gown at a light blue cooled her wild complexion. With her blonde hair and rosy pink cheeks, she glowed in her motherly state.

You returned the grin, “A pleasure Mrs Watson, thankyou for being here on this special day.”

She leant across you and signed the paper before laying her hands on your shoulders thoughtfully. You looked over your shoulder at the man who was now your husband.

He was shaking hands among the male participants. He was smiling. Your souls felt relieved. When he looked at you, the was something strange...he looked you entirely up and down... His face dropped, back to his deep thoughts.

He bowed his head to you before he brushed passed you leant over the certificate to officiate his name, however before the pen could meet the paper there was a persistent cry.

“I object!” Screamed this mousy tone that echoed the chapel walls, “Sherlock! I am sorry I am late! Stop! Stop the wedding!”

The sound of running feet screeched along the stone floor.

Everyone’s face split into shock as a boy who was a little younger than you for appearance sake came racing down the pews.

Yet as the boy ran closer, you could see the hat fall of his head and a wave of beautiful brown locks flowed down their back...her back...it was a girl in dirty boys clothes. She looked a kin to a chimney sweep with the amount of spot over her face and her hands and shirt.

“Please!” she heaved onto her knees to catch her breath, “Do not continue!” she raised her filthy palms in praying pleas to the priest.

“What is the meaning of this!?” your grandfather said losing his temper at the foul interruption of a seemingly happy union.

“Enola!” the two Holmes brothers shouted in union. They looked to each other accusingly before looking back at the girl.

The young woman glanced between you and Sherlock and started shaking her head.

“Enola,” Mycroft hissed and grabbed the girls arm roughly, shaking her slightly, “look at the state of you! What is the meaning of this? You were not permitted to attend and yet you come here uninvited nonetheless!?”

You were frightful of the way Mycroft shouted at her and brutally shook her. The young woman appeared scattered, she looked at you and then to Sherlock again.

“You were too late Enola,” your husband frustratingly sighed, “Mycroft let her go, this is my fault.”

Too late...wait....what...

You were stunned...speechless and confused...

Did Sherlock...have another love? Did this young creature hold his affections?

Mycroft loosened his grip. She sprung away from the older Holmes, “You are married, perhaps before God who I know you don’t care for!” And dashed passed you and waved the certificate with only your name on the paper.

“What blasphemy is this?” your Grandmother now announced with annoyance.

“But see?” The young woman named Enola ignored her and ran up to Sherlock, “Your name is not here, so legally you are not married Sherlock, you can stop this!”

His nose flared and his face darkened to pink. You could hear how his knuckles cracked as he made them into fists. He was furious. His angry eyes flashed at you and back at the girls.

You felt stunted...this girl was right...

Your chest deflated...you were not married, no, you were still in fact Y/N Y/L/N the bastard daughter of a Lord who was not permitted the privileged respect of your legitimate cousins and siblings. You were not a honourable woman still...you were still covered and stained with your parents sins.

The comforting hand of Mary Watson touched your hand. You started trembling.

Your heart ached. Your hopes to be veiled in a honouring title as a wife were diminishing by the second.

“I can help pay off your debts when I marry,” she quickly spurted, “Do not let Mycroft rule over you like he has done all these years! Do not marry a woman you clearly do not love Sherloc-”

“Enola!”

You gasped. You jumped as his voice bellowed and boomed through your ears and throughout the stone walls of the church. This dramatic scene was incredibly unorthodox and the priest himself seemed amiss and confused on how to handle the audience of the church.

“Enough!” Sherlock angrily hissed and shook his head.

He tore the paper from her hands and slammed it down on the priests stand before gracelessly signing his name.

“There!” he spat and slapped the paper against the priests chest, “It is done!”

He proceeded to storm out of the church leaving you and the rest of those in attendance in shock. “Sherlock! Wait!” Mrs Watsons husband shouted as he gathered his hat, coat and cane from a pew and hobbled out hurriedly after him.

Your chest tightened...you felt a rush of air escape you. You felt rather like your entire body had been spun around too many times. The embarrassment you felt before the audience was horrible. Tears were watering up into your eyes.

You felt abandoned.

It was quite obvious to you and everyone in the church...

Sherlock Holmes did not want to marry you. Why were you so unlovable?

You felt your legs grow wobbly. Carefully with the kind support of Mrs Watson you sat down in a pew.

Your grandmother did not look at you. She stared at the cross hanging above the ceiling and sighed. Her wrinkled lips turned downward. She did not approve of your behave or his.

This wedding was a distasteful event.

Your grandfather was shaking and needed to also sit down. The priest and Mycroft helped him to the opposite pew chairs. His hand was strictly clenching his chest.

And everyone but yourself was glaring at the young girl in boys clothes...

“Enola,” your matron of honour mumbled, “I think it best you leave until you are ready to apologise to your brothers wife...”

Your breath hitched and you gasped out of shock.

So she was not a old girlfriend romantically begging for love from your now husband...no instead the name came ringing through your ear. Enola Holmes...of course...the less experienced Holmes detective...

You dared not speak. You knew your tongue might be venomous and hot as a flame. You were in shock and a state of silent rage and sadness. You could’ve slapped the stupid looking girl whose face was full of surprise and regret.

You weren’t entirely sure how to express yourself. You felt humiliated and rejected. All those years of silence and a straight face after what your father had said to you...it broke you...

Your own husband did not want you. We’re you that much unlovable? We’re you cursed to feel this way?

Your grandfather was the only man in your life left that you felt honest adoration from...and his time was coming soon to an end in his old age.

You muffled your sobs into you gloves as you heard Enola run out of the church.

It was your brother in law who then came to kneel before you and hold out to you a handkerchief, “My sincerest apologies dear sister. I dared not think Sherlock or my sister could be so wicked a pair until now. All I can beg is you accept your role and keep your sweet countenance.”

You wondered suddenly why he was not the brother you married instead. Before you focused on such a thing you remembered that lusting for another man, your husband’s brother, was a grave mortal sin and incredibly improper before a holy priest.

Taking the cloth you sighed and covered your face, “Th-thankyou Mr Holmes, I do hope to make your brother very...” you croaked and tried not to break into tears again, to avoid them you swallowed hard, “very happy.”

You took a cool deep breath and forced a smile onto your lips. It hurt. Your cheeks stretched and painfully ticked.

He nodded and smiled, “I am sure you will my dear, I am sure you will, allow me the opportunity to escort you to your cab, your grandfather...”

You both looked at the older man whose anger had made him out of breath, “is still unwell.”

You said your subtle goodbyes. You kissed your grandfather’s balding scalp and scratching softly at his beard. He kissed the inside of your palm. His eyes watered, he didn’t want this for you. He looked down with shame.

In your eyes now you understood be would be the last man to have ever loved you.

Nodding you accepted his arm and thus concluded the wedding...

11:23am Monday 5th May 1890, 221 Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

Mycroft had hailed you a cab as your husband so nobly left into the one that had been rented for the both of you.

Your brother in law loaded you inside and had said he would look after your grandparents to make sure they got back to their own home safe and soundly.

You closer the curtain to the window and let your heart sob.

A sad bride on her wedding day, how terribly melancholy and cliché....

You didn’t expect romantic puppy dog love found in frivolous novellas, however you never expected such humiliation and horror to strike you on such an important date. This would be something you’d never forget...

The abandonment of another person in your life.

You were in a state of utter distress. You clenched your skirts tightly beneath your fingers. Yoh violently tore at your veil and the pins in your hair that held the specific style.

As the carriage cam to a halt the driver called out your destination, you pulled the curtain back and looked at the street.

221 Baker Street...your new home.

You opened and slid out of the carriage by yourself. You lifted your skirts, avoiding the black mud that your shoes squished into.

You climbed the front stairs of the building gradually and knocked at the door.

You waited five minutes before resorting to desperately banging. The horse cab had taken off and there was no going back.

What you desired most was a chance to sit down again and collect yourself before you sobbed hysterically on the street in the public eye. You already held the strange case of some being still clad in your white wedding gown.

When the door finally creaked open you fought every bone in your body not to storm your way through inside.

A wrinkle hand pushed the door open, followed by a steady voice of an older woman, “Why, hello my dear!” she said, “You must be the new Mrs Holmes then?”

A woman with wide eyes too close together with glasses and a loud clattering chatelaine on her waist opened the way to you.

Her hand launched out and tugged you inside by your wrist.

“Come, come in, please!”

You let her pull you inside the building and shut the door behind you.

As she locked the front door she spun to welcome you in an unexpected hug.

You normally would be shocked by such impropriety of embracing a stranger so quickly. But in your state of distress you leant closer into her arms and sniffled.

She pulled away, “My dear,” she gasped, “It is your wedding day, why the tears?” Your wet eyes went round and round as she jittered about you, admiring your dress and pinching at the soft material. “I did not expect you to arrive here so early. Oh and where are my manners! I’m Mrs Hudson dearest, I am your land lady and housekeeper.”

You fiddled with the ring now solid on your finger. You bowed softly to her, “My name is Y/N I don’t expect you to call me Mrs Holmes, Mrs Hudson, please call me as you will be my name,” you mumbled and wiped your eyes. They were pink and puffy.

She clicked her tongue with dismay.

“I presume Sherlock has brought you to this state...” The elderly woman smiled sadly, her wrinkles spread out, she took your arm and led you up a flight of stairs.

“Darling, I am just happy you are here. Your husband can be such a bully sometimes, but don’t tell him I said so. Your belongings arrived early this morning and I was just finishing putting your belonging away in your room.”

“Mrs Hudson,” you whimpered, “thankyou greatly for I have had a trying day...”

She gave you a copy of the home key to the 221B door.

Inside you were received with a scent of ink and tobacco. A very masculine smell. Clearly this was the home of your husband.

“Sherlock can be quite the messy tenant so I pray you will be fast enough to clean up after him,” Mrs Hudson stated bluntly.

“He has all his things thrown around the apartment and his excuse is always it has been done for a bloody case,” she made a high pitch sound and quickly covered her lips, “Forgive me dear, I don’t usually swear.”

You smiled sweetly and sighed, “Do not ask that of me Mrs Hudson,” you shook your head. Your grandfather had a terrible habit of doing many deeds and saying many things unfit for the ears of a lady.

She sighed with relief and clapped her hands. By taking your arm once more, she guided you through the homestead and presented you the premises.

Here there was a fireplace in the living room, nearby a bathtub had been carried from one of the bedrooms, it’s linens already prepared and laid over the copper surface. A fresh bucket of coal and wood sat beside the fireplace layout. The floor covered in a fine carpet and the curtains were the thickest of velvet.

“Kitchen is down stairs, shared by us both dear but I supply most meals as is the tenancy agreement so you needn’t burden yourself with those tasks, I do ask you wash your own linens. We have a alley line out the windows.”

You nodded as the woman kindly spoke to you and introduced you to your new life.

It was when you passed two doors you realised there was two bedrooms.

“Sherlock is sometimes a overly private person. Especially to the contents of his cases and clients. He owns the only key to his bedroom so I’m afraid I cannot show you his room until he arrives. This one, where Doctor Watson once resided is now yours.”

You opened it up and noted the empty trunks around the room which Mrs Hudson had emptied earlier.

“Doctor Watson lived here?” you asked over your shoulder as you stepped into the quarters.

You visually took in the fine canopy bed and a small desk and wardrobe in the corner with a large window that led out to the alley wash line, a balcony area and stair case up to the roof above.

Mrs Hudson went around and closed the suitcases and trunks gently, one by one. You started to explore which drawers she had placed what undergarments and jackets and what dresses had been hung in the wardrobe and which books she had stacked onto your desk and where she placed your accessories on your vanity.

You were not surprised by the condition of a separate sleeping quarter. Your grandparents slept in separate rooms...but that was because your grandfather was a loud snorer and suffered from nightmares of his time in the wars.

This marriage, you worried, would also lack a lot of physical contact...

“I am going to carry these empty trunks up to the attic dear,” Mrs Hudson stated as she lifted the empty wooden boxes. Your eyes widened and before you could offer assistance she had moved spritely out.

You opened the window to your room, allowing light into the space. You sneezed. It seemed the particles in the light showed Mrs Hudson forgot to dust the area.

You opened the small doors. The noise of the outdoor city crept in. The smell of the salty mud in the street tickled your nose.

Intrigued to enjoy more of your space you came out to look more around your home. It was smaller than what you came from, that did not make you any less grateful. This would be better than living in the gutter of the slums, you were sure.

The idea you now had a home of your very own where you could independently invite people over for tea and luncheon was exciting, your husband be damned if he didn’t allow.

12:07pm Monday 5th May 1890, 221 Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

When Mrs Hudson returned after removing the last suitcase and storage box, you politely requested she help you out of your wedding dress...

Her grey eyes widened at your request, “Did you not wish to await Sherlock’s return my dear? Traditionally the husband loves to take of this gown of all gowns.”

After his actions today...you were not sure you wanted to please him or suffer his very untraditional behaviour. You doubt he would be kind or patient enough to unbutton the line down your back.

You shook your head, “Thankyou for your suggestion Mrs Hudson, but my mind remains solid, I wish to resort to a dressing gown. I don’t intend to welcome any guests today other than yourself and my husband.”

Not willing to question your choice, she smiled warmly, “Alrighty dear, turn around then.”

Her wrinkly fingers pinched at your spine line of buttons starting from your neck downward.

“Forgive my prying dear...may I ask how the service went? I had expected you and Mr Holmes to have arrived together.”

You sighed and pinch the bridge of your nose. The moment you arrived you sensed this line of questioning would eventually occur...

“It was sorely interrupted by my sister in law...I believe she was attempting to save her brother from the wails of...” you smirked, and sarcastically drawled, “wedded bliss...”

You could hear the old woman cackle behind you, “Ah that Enola Holmes is a trouble maker and their mother if I might say so myself.”

“I did not witness his mother at the ceremony?” you noted openly, you presumed their parents had passed away.

“Oh no, probably not. Eudoria like a ghost in the walls some days. Very secretive that woman but good company I assure you, a comedian.”

How unusual to state so openly their mother was a trouble maker and yet good company...was such a thing possible?

“She...Enola...revealed his...true desires...or lack of...to be my husband...he left the chapel in a great frustration.”

Mrs Hudson’s worrisome tone opened out to you, “Oh no my dear, I am sorry to hear such a thing...I did say earlier some days he can be bully so I must pray he doesn’t treat you like that furthermore.”

You nodded sharply, “Perhaps my husband needs a bigger bully to tame his actions. Maybe he needs a good humbling?” you snorted a laugh. You felt a sudden pause in Mrs Hudson. You sensed her stepping away. Her sudden silence disturbed you

You looked over your shoulder to observe her but what came in view was a elderly woman gaping at a hard face man at the front door...Sherlock.

“Mrs Hudson, I do not believe it is a duty of yours to undress my bride and so I must find myself saying, I forbid you to touch her so intimately again,” he quipped as he shed his blazer and hung his top hat on the coat rack.

The room had become cold despite the bright sun shining into the apartment.

You felt exposed with your back flared out.

You turned your body for your front to face him.

The housekeeper snorted, “If you hadn’t abandoned her in the chapel this morning perhaps you would’ve been here to do it yourself.”

Your jaw fell open at her boldness. The man grimaced and smiled tightly with fire in his eyes, “Mrs Hudson?” he asked sweetly, “Get out of my apartment. Now.”

It was scary and yet so calm as he said it. His tone was full of a unspoken threat. The elder woman jerked up her chin and nudged him as she left the main room.

Sherlock swiftly locked the door behind her.

“So...Mrs Holmes...” He muttered bitterly, “You appear to be in need of a hand there with your wedding dress. Come here...wife...so I may relieve you of your strains.”

He spat the word ‘wife’ through gritted teeth. You did not feel safe...

“I...I’m sorry for what I said,” you mumbled, looking away from him as he stepped slowly closer to you.

He looked at you with a harsh face. His finger twirled in the air...silently demanding you turn.

He might as well have slapped you with the way you gasped. You bit your lip tightly to not cry now in front of him again. You turned away from him and began to pull down the bodice of your gown.

“Do not be,” he scoffed lightly, “You were merely stating what lay in your mind...”

You felt him behind you, hovering over you. You felt his fingers dug into the strings of your corset.

You pushed the bodice down to your hips. You untied the string of your bustle. When the springy cage collapsed, your white skirts fell passed your hips and down to your ankles.

“To this day,” Sherlock hummed, “I seek when women return to the corseting stays of only their chest. I don’t like pulling all these strings loose.”

You nodded slowly. You wanted to not disagree with him or voice your opinion. You had made the mood direly cold and you felt it was your duty to make him happy once again.

You stood from foot to foot nervously, “I had the means to merely shred my dress and not my underlings, you needn’t remove my corset-”

He cut you off blunt and brashly, “I want to see my wife naked and I need to pull these strings before I lose patience and cut them off, so please stay still.”

“Naked?” you gasped as he tugged roughly, making the whale bone loosen further around your waist and hips. You lost your balance and fell forward onto the lounge.

He twirled you around to face him, “Yes, naked,” and pushed the corset up and over your head. You felt suddenly like a trapped animal on the cushion lounge. The chemise was light and sheer...it did little to hide your breasts....

He got to his knees in front of you and started to unbutton your shoes.

“You know how to perform your wifely duties yes? You do not require an anatomy lesson I hope? A woman of sublime education should know how one copulates with another.”

You clenched your thighs tightly together, tol afraid to move as he stared up at you. Very tiny movement of your nodding made him hum approvingly.

You were feeling hot...sweat beading at the back of your neck. You were not sure whether you were ready to have him so carnally especially in the middle of the day. You were unsure if this was appropriate to be doing at all.

As he removed both your shoes...his hands tenderly pulled at your white stockings....his hands creeped up your legs and pulled at the ribbon garters... Your bare feet felt cold to the air.

You jumped as the feeling of his lips pressed to one of your knees.

It was the first kiss he ever gave you.

His hands were wayward and you frigidly laid still. You were still too scared to move. His hands cupped your covered breasts softly.

The breath in your chest was quickly stolen out in a gasp and a unpreventable shaking moan.

His face rose up and his nose nuzzled to yours. It was so intimate and sudden...you were frightened and turned your face away to shudder...

“W-wait,” you softly begged.

He pulled back and huffed, “Yes, you’re corrct, I am overly dressed as well it would seem.”

He pushed up to his feet and plucked at the buttons of his vest. His finger unkindly tore his cravat from his throat and thumbed down his trouser lifting suspenders.

You felt your knees rise up to your chest. You were unsure if he wanted you to help, if that was a part of the duties of the bedroom....you were still not in the bedroom however...

“I believe this copulation would be easier in the bedroom, my dear Mrs Holmes?”

You didn’t understand straight away what he meant...you were frazzled...surely men who hated their wives didn’t do this? Had you pleased him so quickly that he didn’t care about whatever you’d don’t to frustrate him?

He looked at you dumbly and tilted his head, glancing to your bedroom door.

His hand held out to you, “Shall we?”

Your mouth felt impossibly dry but your loins grew a buzz and you felt a need to self pleasure...was this lust allowed in a marriage bed?

You carefully rose to your feet.

He pulled you closer and closer to your room and finally closer to your own bed.

He gently pushed your shoulders down for you to sit on the soft mattress

He removed his shoes and pushed down his loose trousers. His breeches, he started to unbutton. You looked away from his face and up to the ceiling.

You heard his breeches hit the floor. You didn’t want to look at his intimates... He shed his shirt and started to pinch at your chemise.

“Lift your arms up.”

From the corner of your eyes you could see his bare chest.

You were trembling with your limbs above your head. You didn’t know this man...he was Sherlock Holmes the great detective but that is all you knew.

And you were letting him see you in a state of your most open self...

He pulled the material over your head and he groaned as he gazed at your totally nude chest. Your nipples hardened in the cold breeze wharfing through the open window. Your arms fell to quickly cover your chest, you were too cold and shy to be so exposed like this to him.

He noticed your shivering. He turned away and went to close the window and shut the curtains. With strange admiration you noticed his tight and strong backside and thighs.

You flushed and accidentally whimpered when he turned around and you saw his cock. It wasnt like the statues in the museum...nor the medical books you perused..

It was...larger, and brutish.

You bit your lip and clenched your thighs again.

Would be hurt you? You were curious as a young girl about sex like many. Among your friends you had heard that the larger the male member the more agonising coitus would be.

You quickly recalled a time as a girl your grandfather took you to a horse auction and a stallion had broken his way into the mares pen. The great black beast look the white squealing mare most violently.

Would Sherlock pin his body above yours and bite the back of your neck to keep you beneath him...

You gulped loud enough for him to hear.

His hand pushed your shoulders back slowly.

“Spread those pretty thighs Mrs Holmes, show me what is now mine...”

Your fingers dug into your arms as you held yourself. Pathetically, tears came creeping out the button ducts of your orbs and escaped down your cheeks.

You swallowed the sob building in your chest. You didn’t think this intimacy would be so frightful and terrorising...

He stared down at you with a mean smirk. He scoffed and shook his head. He touched your knees and helped force them apart. Your spread thighs revealed your hairy centre at the crease of your drawers crotch...

He hummed approvingly. He stuck two fingers into his mouth and sucked them loudly and lewdly...

You choked on your tears and covered your face with your hands unable to watch anymore...you felt everything nonetheless...

Those fingers trailed across your thigh and tapped at your peaking labia. Your eyes felt wide.

A light shriek jumped from your throat as his hot mouth latched to your neck and you gasped while his tongue tickled your flesh.

You felt a single finger wiggled its way around your pearl bundle of pleasure before trailing and prodding into the space of your body...the hole. Your vaginal entrance...

“A hairy pussy cat...I might need to change that...”

You didn’t understand what filth he was suggesting. You knew your pussy referred to your entrance but to change it made no sense to you...

His free hand gently pulled your wrists away and pushed your hands to sit above your head.

With his soft mouth he wetly trailed his tongue along your skin arouse down to your fuzzy covered underarm and across to the swell of your breath. You squeezed your eyes shut with difficulty as you felt the tip of his nose nudge your teat...

His hot breath covered your nipple.

It stirred a strange, painful warm down your belly and arousal between your legs. You felt the wet essences of pleasure seep from yourself...

You shuddered loudly and groaned into the head of his curly hair as his finger pushed inside, stretching you out. You blanched at the thought remembering his thick cock was worth four of his fingers at this moment.

The sound of his finger was squelching and wet.

His second finger flickered to get inside of you. You tore away your mouth and loudly groaned as he entered and spread your insides.

Your belly felt tight. You let out a moan.

He kissed along your jaw and pushed his mouth over your lips. You didn’t know what to do. It was like he was sucking at your lips and licking them with his tongue.

You felt your experience come to light. You and on some occasions of youth touched yourself intimately in the dead of the night when all in the manor were asleep...your soft sighs muffled by your own pillows were heard only by yourself. The scratching sounds of your hips rolling against a thick blanket between your legs were maybe mistaken for a skittering rat in the walls.

You urges would decease the touches when you were reminded by your own senses that your genitals were not your prize but your future husband’s to touch. It was a sin to steal what would belong to him.

And as you laid beneath Sherlock and recalled those desperate nights of silly humping you bucked your hips into the touch of his fingers filling and stretching your way.

It was good to be a virgin...you didn’t want to be a slut ...you worried he would see you as many saw you.... Like your mother a prostitute....

You kept yourself pure for this moment but for the first time you wondered if that was a good choice. Was the lack of experience...a good thing for men?

And after sometime of him thrusting his fingers in and out, you felt the soft hot skin of something touching your hole....the tip of his cock.

“Sh-sherlock,” you worriedly whispered, “Please...w-wait.”

Your husband grunted and lifted his hand away from your hole to run his thumb across your tear wet cheek.

“You are aware it will sting...nothing has been inside you like this before.”

“Yes,” you whimpered. He kissed your wobbling mouth and used the tips of his fingers to press on your clit. He rubbed you slowly and realigned his tip to your hole.

“Allow me to open your doors with my key, wife. Fill your home with children.”

You shouted up at the ceiling as he thrust hard and fast into your body. Your lower body felt like a hot poker was ripping up into you.

You gasped and choked on a silent squeak before a few seconds past and the air filled your lungs making you scream and cry out as your life changed forever...

It was like he had cut you inside. And the pressure had not left you. His cock was dug deep and snuggly buried inside your tight hole.

You hit him. Your fists banged his chest with the little strength you had left.

“Stop! Get off me!” you wailed.

With bruising grip he held your arms down either side of your head. He was too strong for you to pull and push off. You sobbed out for your grandfather, so scared this would kill you.

His hips pulled back. You both gasped.

You groaned at the sight of his dick leaving you, covered in dark burgundy blood. It yellowed his pale member.

You felt sick and turned your head away into your covers.

“Please,” you begged, “Let me go.”

He sighed and shook his head, his mouth latched to your ear, “No...you can do this Y/N...this is the price all wives pay.”

He sheathed back inside of you. This time the burn of your walls was a little less.

The smell of metal was in the room. Your blood scent hit your nose finally. You could taste it in the back of your throat.

The way his hip bones punched down and roughly scrapped your pelvis made you hiss.

His mouth forced it’s way onto yours again in a passionate kiss. You whimpered and begged him to stop again as he thrusted inside. It hurt too much...you whined and sunk your teeth into his lips and caught the tip of his tongue.

“Fuck!” he roared and pulled back violently. His lips and yours covered in bright red blood in contrast to the red waves between your thighs.

“Get off!” you screamed again. You tugged your arms weakly. You tried pounding your heels into the back of his thighs.

He rose his hand high and you squeezed your eyes shut waiting for a blow...it did not come. You heard him yell angrily and hit the blanket instead.

He tired himself out of you, the force made you choke. The taste of his warm blood in between your teeth had you spitting aside the covers.

He pushed off the bed and stomped angrily out of the room, slamming your bedroom door shut. You sniffled and turned onto your side, crying as the burn between your legs struck you. You felt empty and sore. Like his hand had punched inside your body.

This is not at all what you anticipated as a married woman...

Why would any woman ever love their husband after cause such agony as that in their beds...

You reached out for a pillow and tugged it to your face. Your nose rubbed deep into the soft goose feathers and let your tears meld with your snot.

You curled up and clutched your sore side...

It was a pain comparable to your menses.

You prayed for help or someone like your grandfather or Mycroft to come and save you.

HELPINES:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

#wowb #wails of wedded bliss #sherlock holmes x ofc #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes enola holmes #henry sherlock holmes #dark!sherlock holmes #dark!henry cavill #dead dove do not eat

[easternmind]

The weird and wonderful history of Kowloon as a digital interactive space - Part I

The Kowloon Walled City was one of the most emblematic locations in Hong Kong due to its irregular, fast-paced and largely ungoverned growth within a minute parcel of land. During the occupation of Hong Kong Island by the British in the mid 18th century, the Qing authorities surrounded the area with walls, turning it into a strategic position from where to closely inspect the foreign nation's covert activities. Almost a century later, during World War II, the area was seized by the Japanese, who tore down the walls and repurposed the stone for the construction of a nearby airport.

After the war ended, China would eventually regain possession of the city, though the disinterest of local authorities in addressing its increasing social disturbances placed it in a downward path to a state of utter degradation. By the 1970s, Kowloon had become the epicentre of Hong Kong's criminal underworld, dominated by a handful of its most vicious Triads.

Towards the last years of its existence, the ancient settlement was as a precarious heap of concrete, sheltering nearly half a million people within less than seven acres of land. Cultural and political changes in China made it increasingly difficult for this urban anomaly to remain unaddressed. In the late 1980s, an action plan was put together aiming to relocate its inhabitants and reconvert the real estate into an inner-city park. Stories about residents refusing to leave were featured prominently in newspapers all over the world, confusing many a reader as to why anyone in their right mind would choose to live in such insecure and unsanitary conditions. Once the single most densely populated area in the world, this enclave was an architectural aberration whose disconcerting aesthetic influenced numerous works of art in different fields of creation, including a small yet consequential number of video games. This article is as a tour of those interactive experiences through which we can still partake in a small sample of what it was like to exist in this abominably transfixing space.

九龍島 (Kyu-Ryu-Tou) - Starcraft - 1986

The year is 2025. An arms dealer escalates the tensions between East and West by developing a genetic weapon in a secret base at Kowloon Island. The United Nations react by sending in their best man, Jamie Starr. Unrelated to the Walled City itself, the first game to be located in the Kowloon peninsula - and indeed include the name as a part of its title - is this obscure turn-based RPG, Kyu-Ryu-Tou for the NEC PC88 and FM-77 machines. The game is a sequel to Shangai, released the year before, featuring the same protagonist. Starcraft would also go on to produce a third instalment in 1987 named TO.KY.O. Clearly there wasn't much regard here from the developers part for geographic accuracy, as Kowloon is depicted here as being an island. While Hong Kong's southern territory is composed of an actual island, all the different areas named Kowloon are located in the mainland.

Riot City - Westone - 1991

One of the most shameless specimens among a relatively long list of Final Fight clones, Riot City contains subtle references to Kowloon, though never referring to it by name. Two narcotics detectives are assigned with the mission of dismantling a cartel running a crime-ridden located in fictional Riot Island. This recurring yet geographically nonsensical notion of Kowloon as an island comes up here, yet again. The final moment of the introduction sequence for this minor Sega arcade success shows both protagonists approaching a tight cluster of buildings whose source inspiration is quite unmistakable. Because Westone maintained ownership of most of this production's intellectual property, a later port to the PC Engine entitled Riot Zone was made possible with the help of Hudson soft. Kowloon's Gate - Zeque - 1997

Reviving the Walled City through the lens of cybermystic surrealism, Kowloon's Gate is a dense, daunting adventure masterfully capturing the slum's dark and narrow recesses. This 1997 Japanese Playstation exclusive spans across four discs of unparalleled full motion 3D CGI spectacle, alternating with real-time 3D dungeons brimming with outlandish characters and concepts deeply inspired by Chinese history, geography and cultural traditions.

Ironically, Zeque managed to embed the theme of Feng-Shui, the ancient geomantic art seeking harmony between the individual and their surrounding space, into a story set in the world's most historically untidy district.

SaGa Frontier - Square - 1997

SaGa Frontier takes place in a solar system named The Regions, composed of multiple inhabited worlds for the player to explore, each with its different degree of civilizational development and culture. One of these planets goes by the suggestive name Kūron. Its pervasive neon light signs, food stalls, makeshift cabins and rooftop scaffolding instantly evoke the memory of China’s so-called city of darkness.

Shadow Hearts - Sacnoth - 2001

Shortly after the release of Koudelka, Sacnoth's initiated the development of Shadow Hearts, the first episode from a cult RPG trilogy exclusively designed for the Playstation 2. In good Japanese fashion, the game proposes an anachronistic yet visually suggestive depiction of Kowloon, portraying its architectural style and degree of decay as it existed in the late twentieth century, despite the fact that the game's events take place during the nineteen twenties.

Just as noteworthy is the almost complete absence of any inhabitants, which inadvertently make this portrayal of the quarter eerily reminiscent of the state in which it was found circa 1993 or 1994, as local authorities brought the long, arduous eviction project to a close.

Shenmue II - SEGA AM2 - 2001

Shenmue II exhibits the most complete and period-accurate video game representation of Kowloon to date. While more recent games featuring this area may represent a number of its aspects with the aid of improved visual fidelity, none features it with such depth as this masterpiece of masterpieces. More than mere background decoration, Kowloon exists in the Shenmue series as a crucial, climacteric element of its modern epic narrative.

It is a well known fact that Yu Suzuki and his team conducted extensive research of the region so as to achieve a result that impresses even to this day. It must be noted, however, that they have similarly taken a fair share of creative liberty when converting the area to best align with the themes they wished to explore. Further reading is required for a more complete context in this regard, namely how this area ties with an early Dreamcast tech demo design which fans lovingly named Tower of Babel. Ostensively, technical limitations did curtail the degree of precision in which the surrounding area could be replicated. The aerial view from the cutscene in which Ryo Hazuki arrives on location places Kowloon at an imaginary degree of elevation over surrounding vegetation. In the year of 1987, during which the game is set, the actual enclave stood perfectly levelled with a myriad of other modern buildings, undoubtedly more than could be reproduced under the circumstances. These trifling considerations aside, Shenmue II entirely succeeds in capturing the vibrant life and mesmerizing beauty of the destitute and decayed urban agglomeration, in a way that it was deemed entirely impossible at the time of its release.

For reasons entirely related to per post content limitations imposed by Tumblr, this article will be continued in PART II.

#china #hong kong #kowloon #kowloon walled city #videogames #Kyu-Ryu-Tou #riot city #saga frontier #kowloon's gate #shenmue ii

[bagopucks]

A. Matthews - Open Doors

✄————————————

Auston Matthews x Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warning(s): mention of temporarily losing a child -as in the kid ran off-, little bit of flirting, a lot of domestic fluff.

I literally just found out the other day too, that Auston’s mother is Hispanic, and that he grew up speaking primarily Spanish to his mother. <3

Proofread loosely

Requests for the reader, Hudson, and Auston can be made! It’s not a full AU, but these three can have specific/special requests!

—————————————

The doors of life open and close at odd times. One can be devastated by the loss of an opportunity, only for the next to be more promising or beneficial. I didn’t assume losing my child would have been an opportunity. Until I found him playing fetch with a man and his fluffy dog. Tossing a little tennis ball across the park and chasing after the dog as if it was a game, while the dog went to get the ball.

“Oh my god! Hudson!” I sprinted in his direction, confusing the poor kid as to why I was so concerned. He was only five, still oblivious to the cruelty of the world. I fell to my knees and hugged my son tight, his quiet giggles and attempts to push me back falling short.

“So that’s his name?” I looked up at the man, smooth skin and a faint stubble. A mustache that looked plucked from the 80’s. And a smile full of pearly white teeth. He had a hat pulled over his head, with a sports logo on it that I hadn’t been all too familiar with.

“Hudson? Yeah. Thank you so much for keeping an eye on him. I just- I took my eye off him for one second and-“ Hudson wiggled from my grasp to go tug the ball from the dog’s mouth.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. Kids are a lot to handle sometimes. I get it.” His words led my gaze back to Hudson, watching him wrestle with a dog the same size as him.

“You have some of your own?”

“Definitely not,” the man laughed out. “But I babysit for friends sometimes.” When I looked back to him, his hand was held out in a silent offer. I took it and allowed him to help me up off the ground.

“Thank you, again. It means the most.”

“Of course.” Hudson’s laughter drew both our eyes.

“Your dog’s name?” I asked.

“Felix. Your name?” When he asked, I provided, a newfound nervous smile on my lips.

“And yours?” I added.

“Auston with an ‘O’.”

“I don’t work at Starbucks.” I teased softly.

“Yeah, but you’ll need to know how to spell it when you take my number.”

It caught me off guard. And had Auston not found and taken care of my child, I would have turned him down immediately. But considering the circumstances, and his looks, I allowed him to put his number in my phone.

A door had opened, and though I had been hesitant to walk through it, I inevitably did. I walked right into another life. Another world.

“Auston‘s on the tv!”

I was lucky enough that Hudson wanted to walk through it with me.

“Where’s he at, hun?”

“He’s on the ice! Oh! Oh!” the excitement in Hudson’s tone, supporting a guy he had such an attachment to, never ceased to warm my heart. But it also worried me. It would break Hudson if something went wrong between Auston and I. I only asked him a thousand times if he truly wanted a package deal before we got together. And even then I didn’t push any responsibilities on Auston.

We were in a relationship, and I just happened to have a child. But Hudson wasn’t his, and at some point I knew Auston would have to start advocating for the boy’s care if he truly wanted a glimpse of a future for us. But we were a mere two months into our relationship, and I wasn’t in a rush. He already did enough.

“Oh goal! Number thirty four, Auston Matthews!” When I peeked into the living room, I saw my son, standing with his arms wide open and a foot up off the floor. Mirroring the stance of Auston, who performed his signature celly on the tv.

“You better congratulate him on that goal when he gets here tonight.” I slipped back into the kitchen. Hudson smiled and nodded, and he certainly did congratulate Auston when the time came. When he came barreling through my front door with a bag in hand and dressed down in a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt. His unruly yet flawlessly curly hair was damp, I assumed from a shower. It was dark outside, but my front drive was illuminated by the automatic motion triggered light.

“What did ya think of that, Buddy?” Auston’s voice rang out, and I looked up from the couch in time to see Hudson abandon his toys on the floor to barrel headfirst into Auston’s legs.

“Awesome!”

“That first one was for you.” Auston ruffled Hudson’s hair, trying to take a step forward only for my son to cling to his leg, hitching a ride.

“Who was the second one for?”

“Your mom, goof.” Auston’s cheery tone made me roll my eyes. Hudson pulled away from the man when he made it to the couch, dropping down, and the bag in his hand making enough noise to finally gain my child’s attention. And my curiosity.

“What’s in the bag?” I asked, turning my body sideways to face his own.

“An early birthday gift for Hudsy.” I raised a brow. I hadn’t expected Auston to get anything. Or even to remember the detail I mentioned in passing. Hudson however, lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Lemme see!”

“Oh just wait. You’re gonna love ‘em.” I folded my arms across my chest, as if to challenge his statement. My kid was picky. He didn’t like a lot of things. He was always grateful, yes, but still opinionated.

“Up on the couch.” Auston smiled from ear to ear as Hudson climbed up onto the cushion between us. “Alright. This is just the first part of your gift okay? We have to build on it.” I raised a brow as Auston reached into the bag.

“Come on!”

“Hudson.” I scolded gently. He glanced back at me with a sorry expression. “Patience.” He nodded and looked back at Auston, who in turn looked at me for approval to continue. I nodded.

“Ready?” He teased.

“Yes!” Hudson could barely hold still. And when Auston pulled out a black box labeled on the top with ‘CCM’, my boy’s brow furrowed in confusion. Then he opened the box, and twisted it around in his lap to show Hudson the fresh pair of rollerblades.

“Oh my god!”

“Auston,” my tone took on an immediate sound of surprise and tension. Auston’s initial expression of excitement upon Hudson’s reaction, turned into concern upon hearing my own. “Those were expensive- those had to be expensive.”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind.. it’s just skates, and he can use these for years.”

“His feet aren’t going to stay that small for years.” I argued in a soft tone, careful not to upset Hudson.

“They’ll stay small long enough.” Auston was always so nonchalant about everything. So ‘it is what it is.’ Sometimes it calmed me. Other times it stressed me out. I wasn’t sure what to make of his attitude at that point, so instead I let out a sigh and nodded.

“Okay,” I gave in.

“We have to try them out!”

“Not in the house.” I was swift to tell Hudson.

“Outside!”

“Right now? In the dark?” I glanced at Auston. “He could fall and hurt himself in the dark.”

“I’ve got him.”

I’d never trusted another man more with my child. Not once. Not his father, not my father, not my grandfather. But Auston?

“I’ll get his bike helmet.” I slowly stood up, straightening out the satin shorts of my pjs.

“Auston doesn’t wear a helmet!”

“He does on the ice.”

“Not when he’s rollerblading.” Hudson’s persistence made me groan.

“Tonight, he wears a helmet.”

And he did. My pink and black bike helmet. That I had to loosen a bit to fit his head properly. I followed the boys outside, and watched Auston get his own rollerblades from the trunk of his car before he came back to the porch steps.

“You sit down right there, and I’ll tie ‘em for you. Okay?” Hudson immediately plopped down on the edge of the deck, and I set his skates down beside him.

I opened the front door and reached inside to turn the porch light on.

“You boys gonna want snacks or water?”

“Hmm.. no thanks.” Hudson shook his head, far too excited as Auston got down on his knees slipped the kid’s first skate on.

“You got Goldfish still?” I stifled a laugh when Auston looked up at me.

“Always. Goldfish and two waters?”

“That’s a good idea.” I slipped back inside to grab the box of Goldfish, only to open the fridge and pause when it dawned on me.

I had a man in my front drive, putting a pair of skates on my kid. Teaching him how to do something. Something athletic. Something sporty. Promising to protect him. Trying to be a father. I felt the tightness in my throat before the burning of tears in my eyes accompanied it. I never imagined a world where Hudson had a dad. I wanted to, but I had pushed it aside long ago. I sniffed and wiped my eyes, the faint sound of laughter creeping through the open front door.

I asked myself why I left it open, when anybody could have walked inside? Because there was a man in my yard. Watching my kid. There was a man who granted love and protection. And ease to a life of constant stress. I smiled so hard it hurt. I slipped the two bottles of water from the fridge and closed the door before leaving the kitchen to go back outside. Greeted by the sight of Auston skating backwards, holding Hudson’s hands and guiding him forward down the slight slope of my driveway. Hudson’s foot slipped, and a moment of terror gripped my chest before Auston hoisted him up by his arms. Relief flooded my system. I was not one to film many things, but I had no shame in quickly setting the water and Goldfish aside, running inside to grab my phone, coming back with the video already playing, focusing my camera on the two in the driveway.

“Don’t point your feet inward. You gotta keep ‘em straight.” Auston would occasionally stop to nudge Hudson’s feet apart with one of his own.

“Look up at me. You look at the ground and you won’t know where you’re going.” He’d guide Hudson’s eyes straight with gentle words.

“When you start to get the hang of it, I have to let you go.” I couldn’t see my kid’s face, but I knew there was fear in his eyes. I had since set my phone down, leaning against the rail. I wanted to call to him, to remind him he’d be okay, but I decided to allow Auston a chance. No better time to learn like the present. And if I was going to completely trust Auston in the future with my kid, I needed to know he could handle every situation.

“It’s gonna happen, bud.” He slowed to a stop. “I know it’s scary, but falling is part of learning.” He leaned forward a bit. “You know what I used to do when I always fell?”

“What?” Hudson’s quiet voice was barely audible to me.

“I’d go running to my mom. And she’d hold me, and clean up my bumps and bruises. And then she’d send me right back outside to do it again.”

“Why?”

“Because sometimes you gotta fail to learn.”

“What did your dad do?”

Auston was caught at a loss for words, but only for a second.

“He’d usually just tell me to walk it off.. which is why I never went to him too much.” He passed off the answer as a joke, laughing quietly. I could tell by Hudson’s silence, that he didn’t understand how that was funny, or why Auston was laughing.

“What would you do?”

“After he told me to walk it off?”

“No.. what would you do- if I fell?”

I stiffened. I noticed the way Auston’s eyes drifted past Hudson to look at me. His brow furrowed in a questioning manner. I gave him a look of approval. So far, so good. Perhaps he knew how much our relationship and his place in mine and Hudson’s life rode on that answer.

“Well, first I’d have to pick you up, and I’d have to go rummaging through your mother’s cabinets to find stuff to clean any cuts. Probably slap a couple Hello Kitty bandaids on ya..” he smiled, let out a breathy laugh.

“I don’t like Hello Kitty!”

“Transformers?”

“Better.”

“Alright, Transformers.” Auston removed one of his hands from Hudson’s to ruffle his hair. “And after the bandaids it’s right back outside. Unless you really don’t want to. But sometimes tough love is a good thing.”

“Tough love.” Hudson repeated in a quizzical manner.

“Like.. making somebody do what they don’t want to, because you know it’s gonna benefit them in the end. Like helping them get over a fear.. like if there’s a girl they really wanna ask out, but they’re too afraid. Sometimes you gotta push ‘em into it.” Maybe not the best example, but I’d give Auston credit where it was due. He was doing a good job.

“Girls are gross.”

“They are.” The boys shared quiet laughter as I rolled my eyes.

“And what if the girl says no?”

“Then she says no. And you learn from that experience. The same way it is when you fall. You’re always gonna fall on skates. I still do it sometimes. It’s about knowing there’s a chance you’re gonna fall, and being brave enough to still go out and do it.” Silence followed Auston’s words. Then I saw Hudson nod.

“You can let me go.”

“Look at you, big man.” Auston teased, slow to release Hudson’s other hand. “Don’t move yet, okay? Just get a feel for standing.”

“Okay..” I watched Hudson straighten his ankles, and find a good stance.

“Move when you’re ready.”

We were out there for another hour or so. Well past Hudson’s bedtime. He fell a few times, but thanks to the sweater and pants he had on, he avoided any bleeding or cuts. My heart lurched every time Hudson tumbled, but the ache wasn’t near as bad when I watched Auston help him up and dust him off, asking if anything hurt too much or if he wanted to take a break. The only breaks they did take were for the occasional sip of water or a handful of goldfish. I took time to praise Hudson when he accomplished standing better, skating longer lengths, understanding the way to move. Then eventually my encouragement turned to quiet laughter as the boys started playing around.

Auston hoisted Hudson onto his shoulders, keeping a tight grip on the kid as he skated circles in the driveway. A playful yell occasionally falling from the boys’ lips.

When a yawn slipped past my own, I knew it was time to go in. I slowly stood up from my porch chair and reached for the box of Goldfish. Auston and Hudson both looked at me. Like deer in headlights.

“What are you doing with those?” Auston was the first to ask.

“Hudson needs to go to bed.” I informed him with a smirk.

“What?” Hudson whined. “No!”

“You’ve been up well past your bedtime, Buddy.” I placed my free hand on my hip.

“Please! Just another five minutes? Auston’s gonna leave!” I raised a brow.

“He’ll be back another time.”

“Yeah, when I’m at school.” I had been completely transparent with Hudson when Auston and I got together. He knew we were dating. At first he was uncertain, but he’d grown comfortable with the idea. His only issue since then had been the fact that he was never home when Auston was around.

“It’s a Saturday tomorrow.” When Auston spoke up, my gaze flickered toward him. I wasn’t sure whose side he was arguing for.

“And?”

“I have extra clothes in my trunk.”

“You wanna stay?”

“Can I stay?”

“Please!” Hudson immediately chimed in, his hands landing awful hard on top of Auston’s helmet. He flinched, but recovered quickly.

“You gonna put him to bed too?”

“Please!” Hudson’s excitement went momentarily unnoticed by us, trying to have a semi-serious conversation.

“I can do that.”

I acted as though I was contemplating my options, before I waved a hand and began to walk inside.

“I guess he can stay.” I knew Hudson let out a shout of excitement, but I was almost certain Auston had muttered a quiet, ‘yes’ as well.

The boys followed me into the house, Hudson running for his bedroom after Auston had set him down.

I stopped in the kitchen to set the water and crackers aside before walking into the living are.

“Where’s he off to?” I questioned as I folded up the blanket on the couch.

“Changing into his pjs.”

I chuckled and tossed the blanket into the basket by the wall.

“And you?” I folded my arms across my chest. “What do you think you’re sleeping in?”

“This.” He gestured to what he had on as he slowly crossed the floor. Auston rested his hands on my arms. “Or whatever I can get away with that’s less.”

“Auston.” I scolded softly.

“Cariño.” Darling. Honey. Dear. I leaned into his chest, and Auston slowly wrapped his arms around me. I hadn’t been so vulnerable with a man in a long time. Auston simply made it too easy.

“You have a kid to put to bed.” I spoke reluctantly.

“And a girlfriend to worry about.”

“You do too much, Aus.”

“I’d argue I haven’t done enough.” His confession was heartwarming and gut wrenching at the same time.

“You’ll get there.” I promised. “It’s a learning process. But right now, you’re doing amazing.” I slowly pulled back to look at him. “Hudson loves you. I love you. You make us happy. You’re here at times nobody expects you to be.. like tonight, with that birthday gift.” I paused. “Early birthday gift.” I watched him smile.

“So I’m meeting your standards?”

“Going above and beyond.” I promised, standing on my tippy toes. Auston leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to my lips.

“You should probably go find Hudson before he falls asleep.” I whispered. “He likes it when I tuck the blankets under his feet, and sometimes he likes his fan on. You have to ask.”

“Thanks.” Auston slowly pulled away.

“Don’t forget to sing to him too.” I watched his eyes go wide.

“I have to sing?” He sounded shocked. I laughed.

“I don’t make the rules, Aus.” I shrugged. “But I promise the secret’s safe with me if you sing for him.”

“Its not that it’s just- I mean.. I suck at singing.”

“He’s a kid. The most he’ll do is laugh at you and tell you to quit.”

“Then what?”

“Then you come find me. I’ll sing for him.”

✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾

#nhl imagine #nhl x reader #auston matthews x reader #auston matthews #auston matthews imagine #auston matthews blurb

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine trying to warn Sherlock that Moriarty is free…

The verdict was in - not guilty. You honestly wanted to shake the jury by their shoulders and ask why they had left their rational thoughts at home. The judge slammed the gavel, signalling for Moriarty to be free of his bonds and when you looked at the man, you could have sworn that he winked.

John nudged your arm, reminding you that it was time to follow the rest of the courtroom out. Once the pair of you were out on the street in much cleaner air, John pulled out his phone and began punching in a number.

“I’m calling Sherlock. He needs to know that this maniac is going to be walking about like a free man.”

Giving him a nod, you pulled out your own device. “I’m going to head back to Scotland Yard.”

John instantly pulled his phone away from his ear as it started to ring.

“What? Y/n we need to stay together.”

“I know but I need to set up a protective detail on Sherlock and Baker Street. Moriarty doesn’t care about collateral damage.” You reminded the good doctor.

Pointing at you, John’s expression was stern and serious. “Okay but be careful. I’ll see you back at the apartment.”

You gave the man a brief hug before turning and bolting down the street to hail a cab. Thankfully, the area was crawling with the vehicle you required. Once you had hopped in, you dialled Lestrade’s personal number and hoped with each ring that he wasn’t otherwise engaged. Your heart was pounding in your ears, the traffic felt slower than normal and the phone wasn’t being picked up as if the matter wasn’t of import.

“Come on.” You edged nervously, staring outside at the pedestrians huddled on the sidewalk.

When the signal turned green, the call was answered by the man you had been trying to reach. “Greg? Oh, thank god.”

“Y/n, I just heard the news. How are you holding up?” The detective inspector asked.

“Honestly I’m pissed but we can get into that later. Listen, I need a favour. I need a-“

“You need a protection detail on Sherlock, I know.” Lestrade guessed correctly. “I filed in the paperwork as soon as Moriarty’s trial started and got it fast tracked. It felt appropriate since you, Sherlock and John have thwart his schemes the most.”

You frowned. Something didn’t feel right about the way he was talking about the detail. “And?” You prompted.

“And it got rejected as soon as Moriarty was acquitted.”

You were mad and disappointed - in all honesty, you wanted to scream. But you pushed it all down and did what you could to tackle the problem. Leaning forward, you tapped the driver on the glass to get his attention.

“Yes, dear?” The elderly man smiled.

“Change of plans - take me to 221B Baker Street please.”

“Y/n, what are you doing?” Shit, you almost forgot Lestrade was on the phone.

As the car turned left onto Baker Street, you kept a tight grip on the device. “If Scotland Yard won’t help, I’ll do it myself.” You told your friend before hanging up just as the taxi pulled up to the curb.

Paying for the ride, you made a mad dash to the front door, pushing it open to get inside. It was mostly quiet. Mrs Hudson was running the cafe and it was clear that John wasn’t home from the lack of his coat from the hallway rack.

There was an absence of people and yet you heard teacups being set upon saucers and very low voices speaking. Heart leaping into your throat, you raced up the stairs and burst into the open flat of 221B.

“Sherlock-”

The rest of your sentence died on your tongue, ice running through your veins when you saw the man who had almost killed you and your friends without any remorse standing in the living room.

“Hi Y/n.” Moriarty greet when his eyes laid on you. “I take it that your little bid for a protection detail fell flat?”

He knew and he was mocking you for it. Stepping into the flat, you scowled at the enemy. “I’ve kept my friends safe from you before. I can do it again.”

Moriarty smirked. He moved away from Sherlock and across to you on his way to the door. His eyes skimmed over your features before he inhaled.

“You’re just delectable. Ready to give your life for a man who isn’t ready to return the favour. A pity really.” He commented and walked off.

~ More imagines here ~

#theladyofmanyfandoms #theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction #gif is not mine #sherlock imagine #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes x reader #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock imagine #bbc sherlock holmes imagine #bbc sherlock holmes x reader #moriarty imagine #moriarty x reader

[gossipgoal]

Can I request a Luke Hughes fic, please??

For the request,

Y/n and Luke at family skate for the stadium series

February 16, 2024,

Tomorrow was a big day for the devils, it was stadium series a crucial game to to win, if they going to have a chance of playoffs.

Luke Hughes was excited it was his first game in front of such a large crowd, so many pile cheering him on but then he realized Y/n the love of his life would not be there, standing in the crowd with her Michigan Hughes jersey the one Luke had given as a reminder of his love for her always even if there apart.

As Luke skated, his thoughts drifted to Y/N. He missed her terribly, her perfect wavy chocolate hair and her roses cheeks that glowed in the Michigan cold. The thought of her finally mobbing with next year, into their dream apartment overlooking the Hudson was the only thing keeping him going through the long days of practice and games.

JFK airport- February 16th 2024,

Jim, Ellen, and Y/n walk off the plane walking at quick pace to make good time for their drive out to MetLife stadium.

"He's going to be so surprised," Ellen whispered, her eyes shining with excitement.

"I know I can’t wait to see his face ," Y/N smiled, her heart racing with anticipation.

- - - -

Meanwhile, Luke laces up his skates ready for outdooor practice. His face gloom

Dawson teases. “What’s wrong pokey, Jack driving you nuts again”

Luke looks up. “Haha very funny, no I just miss y/n she loves skating.

- - - - - -

Luke shots the hard puck into the netting with a an ounce of frustration and a huff.

His older brother Jack sees this worried, “how about we have a little fun?" Jack suggested, gesturing to the other players on the ice.

Luke nodded, grateful for his brother's attempt to cheer him up. Together, they goofed off shutting the pucks around.

Meanwhile, Y/N and Luke's parents Jim and Ellen were watching from the sidelines, trying to stay hidden. As media interviews were taking place at the end of practice.

With renewed determination, Y/N and Luke's parents made their way to the edge of the rink, ready to surprise him.

As the rink doors opened to family Luke skated over to the sidelines, panting and smiling. That's when he saw her looking as perfect as ever.

Y/N stepped out from behind the pillar, a wide smile on her face. "Surprise!" she exclaimed, holding out her arms.

Luke's face lit up with joy as he skated over to her, sweeping her into a tight hug. "Y/N, you're here!" he exclaimed, spinning her around on the ice.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Y/N replied, her eyes shining with happiness.

“ I love you so much my love” Luke blushes “ I needed this today”

Y/n smiles, “look I brought the skates you bought when I was fourteen, they still work”.

Luke smiles “how could one forget your hot blue skates you insisted on having the coolest ones too always stand out in a crowd”

Y/n shyly smiles back “I missed you so much Luke I can’t wait till May I will be here on the first flight I can after graduation, it’s going to perfect we will star a incredible life together”.

Luke smiles and says “while maybeon Sunday we can start looking for that dream apartment of your the one with the view, and the open kitchen”.

Y/n blushes “I can’t wait pookie”.

#new jersey devils #nhl imagine #nhl fic #luke hughes #asks

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Live and work in a cute 1850 bar with an apt. on top in Hudson, New York. The apt. has 2bds, 1.5ba, $1.395M and it's already under contract.

This could be a very cozy place with some kind of theme decor.

The front room is a little tight, so it has to look special.

Here's another room in the back.

Love this wall.

Full commercial kitchen- oh, look, a ghost chef.

The kitchen has big windows looking out at the outdoor patio.

This is really nice. What a great little business.

Now, we're in the living quarters. Look at the architectural details and that chandelier.

Lovely little alcove.

For an older home, this is very cheerful and light.

Wow, look at this. I don't know why they don't show the middle room. Could it be b/c it's the 2nd bedroom?

Cute vintage kitchen has a stained glass window and an original sink. This is a pretty large eat-in kitchen.

Beautiful colored glass door opens to a deck. More beautiful woodwork in here.

This is very nice.

The primary bedroom looks looks like it opens to a covered porch.

I poked around and found an older photo of the building. Looks like it was a used furniture store.

#historic storefront for sale #vintage bar for sale #work & live property #houses #house tours #home tour

[savhudsoncloset]

savannah for free people - september 2021

she is wearing free people’s encore checkered tights in bubblegum ($30)

worn with henley cami and lady lux top

#savannah hudson #savannah hudson fashion #savannah hudson style #savannah hudson closet #instagram #fashion #between friends #celebrity fashion #influencer fashion #style #tights #2021 #free people #ad