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pynkgothicka · 16 days

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Pairing - Jupe! Dark! Kim Seokjin x AFAB! Reader

Synopsis-Based off NOPE, you and your friend visit a new attraction called Jupiter's Claim, and a grown up child actor begins to fall for you. Part One of the Movies Series

Featuring - Megan Fox

Word Count - Around 2k

Tags and Warnings - Kidnapping, Allusions to Death

Authors Note - While studying the movie and pulling what I wanted, Steven Yuen was looking FARRRR TEW FINE. Also cried at the end, the unknown is scaryyyy

A friendly reminder that all my works are dark fanfiction! Please if you do not like that do not read them! These depictions don't pertain to reality. This is your final warning before hitting the keep reading button!!

You hated RV parks.

You felt trapped at Megan's make-up artist job. The only benefit you had was being able to be around the horses they had brought in regularly. You stood by one in particular, Lucky, and next to .him was a quiet man, who you learned his name was Oj.

You knew better than to not bother him as he seemed on edge, but you liked being around Lucky. You would pet her mane, and just like being around her.

Soon however, Megan finally had her things together and motioned towards you. Letting out a sigh you wave towards Oj. “Bye, thanks for letting me hang out with you.”

“It’s nothin’.” He mumbled singling you off with a hand gesture.

“You like him or something?” Megan said walking next to you as you guys walked to her RV. You laugh her off slightly shoving her.

“Nah, I liked Lucky though. Oj was pretty chill, he just kind of let me be around. Guess I wasn't pestering him like the rest of that crew…” You deduct making your way inside her RV. You had your own space, in which you settled in. You dropped down on your bean bag exhausted. “Besides didn’t you want to go to that attraction or something?”

“Jupiters Claim? Of course, I paid good money for it, so you can bet your candy ass we’re going to see what's there.” You groan at Megan's want to go to some random attraction. You honestly rathered the RV at that point.

“Fine, just let me rest before we head out. You know I hate being out there in the sun like that.” You complain. Megan lets out a small squeal as she tackles you onto your small bean bag.

“Thanks! I could just kiss you right now!”

“Mhmm, the things I do for you.”

🏇

Walking into the attraction you were quickly put off. The old-time Western theme wasn't appealing to you at all. But from what Megan had told you on the way there, she wasn't there for the actual attraction. “I’m telling you, that kid Jupe, from Gordies Home, he owns this place.” Megan raves leading you towards the back of the attraction up towards the staircase to the main office. “I paid good money to see his memorabilia and talk to him.”

“Why not use it for something valuable, like a nice piece of jewelry or something?” You say walking behind her as she opens the door.

“Because I had extra money lying around and well I wanted to spend it.” Walking inside you were greeted by two people, one of them being a lady in a baby blue dress, cowboy hat, and boots complete the look. She stood talking on the phone and Megan tapped on the class making a motion towards the back door.

The lady smiled and gave a thumbs-up before getting back on the phone. Megan led you into the back office space. Sitting behind the desk was a man in a white top, obviously fitting the western aesthetic. His hair was black and slicked back, lips curving into a sweet smile. “Megan right?” He asked looking at her and shaking her hand.

Then his eyes turn to look into yours. He stood in a daze looking at you.

You give him an awkward smile and take his hand. He shakes his head and takes your hand in a firm grasp. “Sorry, I should’ve said something about bringing her around,” Megan begins clearing her throat. Even she could tell it was awkward. “She's cool people trust me.” Jupe seemed to be in his own world before finally pulling away.

“Oh it's fine, you know I don't usually let people bring others around, but just this once I'll let it slide.” He says laughing. He steps from behind the desk and puts a hand on the small of your back to move past you. You jump and look at him, Jupe giving you a smirk before continuing to move past you.

Megan smiles laughing along with him. “Trust me she's like a tag along, real chill.”

He smiles turning to look at you. “Let's just hope you’re a real Gordies Home lover.”

“Trust me, I’m really not.” You say laughing awkwardly. You really wanted to leave already.

🏇

Once his tour was over you felt weird about it all. Megan was ecstatic though, finally coming one step closer to one of her special interests. She asked questions the entire time, while you stood at the door pensive.

Megan then dismissed herself to take a call. This left you inside with Jupe. “So, are you usually traveling with her while she does makeup?” He asks as you stand near the window peering outside, watching Megan. You turn around nodding at him.

“No, I just tagged along when she invited me.” You say before speaking up again. “Listen I’m sorry if she was just being a lot in there. She's my friend but I know you have feelings and all.” You say looking at him. He seemed to be lost in his own world before snapping back to reality.

He blows out smiling. “It's right really, thanks for caring though. But let's not focus on that. What do you do for a living?” He said standing up and laughing, making his way closer to you.

You laugh with him awkwardly. “A horse jockey. Yeah, I mean when I saw some of the horses you guys had, I was excited. Like a way to be committed to the western theme.” You ramble on leaning by the window. You really just kept talking to not focus on how close he was getting towards you.

He nodded smiling towards you and sat on his desk, his body close to yours. “Yeah, I know a ranch where I get them, real quiet bunch… I bet you’d like that wouldn’t you?” He said looking at you.

“Like what?”

“You don't seem to fit the whole being a side character to Megan's story. Like just look at you, you’re just gorgeous.” Jupe rambled leaning in. You leaned back as he got closer. “I think honestly you’d like it here. I can make you a star ya’ know.”

You tilted your head shaking it at him. “Listen Jupe-”

“Jin. The name is Jin.”

“Jin, I’m not really interested in whatever you’re trying to do. I’m just here because I want to support my friend.” You say putting your hands out to put some space between the both of you. “I’m not here for my claim to fame moment.” Jin shakes his head, pursing his lips together.

“You sure you don’t want more than what you have? You never even considered all you could have is someone, who gave you a chance at getting it?” He rambled. His hand went back as he grabbed a stapler on his desk. “I can make you happy… happy with me.”

Seeing him go for it you ducked as he first swung it. Your back hit one of the walls, your hand trying to stop the blow. But that failed as you instead injured your wrist. You held onto it losing your grip on the wall. “Get the fuck away from- AH!” You’re cut off by the stapler hitting your head. You see a bright light before you officially are knocked out.

Jin let out a deep breath as he dragged you into his memorabilia room. Jin closed the door, locking it, but not before making sure you were knocked out. Just around then, Megan comes back inside looking around. “Sorry, did she leave or something?” She asked looking around. Jin nodded going to sit back behind his desk.

“Yeah, she said she had a headache or something. Talked about going back to you guys RV.” He said snidely. “Did she not tell you before leaving?”

“No… Thank you once again, I'll head back now.”

🏇

He kept you in that room for weeks.

Only just recently were you moved out from there, and put in one of his set dressing houses.

He preached about falling for you and wanting to spend his days with you. Laying with you late at night, his hands around your waist. He laid kisses on your neck as he would tell you sweet nothings, yet what was even more messed up was that the entire time you were chained to the foot of the bed.

Of course, the chain had some length but still, you felt as if it was fruitless to escape. But you didn’t dare stay locked up forever. Especially after he told you Megan filed a missing persons report for you and had been asking around for and about you.

She even decided to go to his live show just to get her mind off things.

So you began walking and dragging the bed as you walked around the home. The bedframe would hit the door and you pulled at it hoping to snap off the leg the chain was hooked to. You kept doing it until it was the day.

The day of Jins live show.

Jin stood in front of you showing off his tailored suit. “Do you like it my Star?”

You hated that nickname.

“Yeah, I-It’s amazing… It’s really fancy.” You replied feeding into his decisions. Jin smiled and kissed your lips. Before standing up and heading for the door.

“Be safe okay, after this I’ll be back, and Amber will be gone.” He smiled wickedly walking out and locking the door. She was one of the reasons he moved you here. He wanted you away from his wife, who obviously hated you. You could've sworn whenever you did have to stay trapped in his office, that she tried to poison you more times than once.

But that's beside the point.

You heard the sounds of people, music everything. You spent that day continuing on your escape. You finally pulled off the leg and started banging a heavy piece of the chain on the doorknob.

The loud PA system made you speed up as you growled slamming the chain on the knob. The incessant drone of Jin talking acts as background noise to what you are focused on.

“And so, as I said, in just under an hour, ‘The Star Lasso Experience’ is gonna change you.“

CLANG!

“Stay in your seats. So that was new. They’re early...”

CLANG!

You let out a loud fuck as you cry out.

Then you hear it.

Screaming.

You stop what you're doing as the wind blows in the distance, the same amount of distance as you hear the screams. It's droning and you stop what you're doing to cover your ears, your head hurting at the sound. You wait as it all goes away before you put down the chain realizing you were probably in a life-or-death situation. With one final kick, you knock the door down.

Looking around you see that Jupiter's Claim is a mess. You couldn’t even begin to figure out what happened. But you begin to clamber away, your body hurting as you do so. You hadn’t moved like this in a while.

You make eye contact with a man. It hits you exactly who it is, Oj.

He stares at you too in shock. “Help…” Was all you could muster up to say to him. He makes a motion for you to follow him and you do. You speed up getting into the truck as he grabs Lucky.

“Just get me the fuck out of here now.”

Let me know through a dm or ask to be included in my official Taglist- @darkuni63 @captainengineer-trixie @chimmisbae @iloverubberduckiez-blog @mageprincess7 @looneybleus @whipwhoops @mayvalentine33

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octuscle · 6 months

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I work in a really boring office, everyone just wears a suit and is so work focused that they never have time for anything fun. Is there anything that I can do with the chronivac to spice things up a little?

Thank goodness it's Friday. You still have two meetings to get through. Then it's finally the weekend. And then you can earn a little extra money by moonlighting on a colleague's building site.

Damn, what an absurd thought! How are you going to help out on the building site? By deducting the results of the inventory of bricks from your taxes? Hardly anyone knows as little about DIY as you do.

Your boss burps. Bloody loud. And takes a swig from the bottle of beer in front of him. His white shirt slips out of his trousers over his belly. Your colleague from HR stands up and says that he needs to go to the porta-potty to piss.

Something stinks here… You raise your arm. Yes, that's you. Damn, when was the last time you took a shower? Well, not this week. What's the point? You guys are all real men. Sweat and cum is your body lotion. Hehehe. Your blue button-down shirt disappears into thin air. The air in the portacabin where you take your lunch break is stifling. Sweat, onions, frying fat. A terrible mixture. Brppppppppp! And then there's your fart. Your colleagues laugh roaring. The foreman comes back from taking a piss and puts his hands under your nose. "Should I have washed them, mate?" You reach into his trousers, knead his cock and balls, pull your hand back and smell your hand. "Nah, but you should have your cock sucked again. It cud do with uh clean." The foreman whistles and the bricklayer's apprentice jumps up. Damn it, you wanted to have fun with this young guy behind the barracks after the lunch break.

Time to end the lunch break. You want to be in the car and driving home in two hours. Your husband is already eagerly waiting to suck your cock clean. Have a great weekend, Buddy! In the meantime, I'll think about how we can spice up your everyday life on the construction site even more!

Pic found @stargazerguy

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #chronivac #male transformation #muscle transformation #inked man #white to blue collar tf #bear tf

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bullet-prooflove · 2 months

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This is sort of a request but I was thinking about Beau and Ally and wondering if they ever came close to calling it quits. I know after Syria things were tough but they pulled through. But it made me curious…would it have been a mission or case that almost pulled them apart? I don’t see it being another person simply because of how devoted they are to each other but work could definitely be “the other person”

Tagging: @justameresimp @agentorange9595 @lxaah111 @librarian1002 @imaginecrushes @flrboyd @areamir @b-bradshaw @adaydreamaway08 @crimeshowjunkie @inkandarsenic @caffeinatedwoman @tortilla-maria1 @lemmons1998 @dr-alan-grantler @burningpeachpuppy @penguin876 @deliriousfangirl61 @goosterroose @kishie8 @skyesthebomb @whateversomethingbruh @notanotherpotter @yousigned-upforthis @silversprings-mp3 @sadboihours10101 @luckyladycreator2 @littlebadariell @toheavenwmydrms @buckysteveloki-me @kmc1989 @keyweegirlie @sca3a @flopiboni @secretsquirrelinc @mini-bee-bee @lokiwife2021 @readingislife @mariabolivar12 @feel-likeflying

Featuring JAG's Harmon Rabb

When you break up with Beau, he’s four months into a deployment in Osaka and you’re in a JAG posting in Washington. It’s his second deployment in as many years.

“I’m sorry, I’ve met someone else.” You tell him over the phone and his heart shatters into a thousand pieces. You refuse to tell him who but he has a couple of guesses.

You won’t pick up the phone to him after that and you don’t return his messages. For two months it’s radio silence.

When he returns home to San Diego he considers catching a flight out to Washington, to confront you, to try to change your mind but what’s the point? You’ve made it very clear it’s not him you want.

He’s been home less than three hours when your supervisor Lieutenant Colonel Commander Harmon Rabb turns up at his door. He’s dressed in civvies with a black leather jacket slung over his broad shoulders. Beau wants nothing more than to punch the smug son of a bitch in the face.

“My money was on Brumby.” He tells the other man, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “I never thought she’d leave me for you.”

“She didn’t leave you for anybody else.” Rabb tells him, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “She left you because she’s being court martialled.”

The news hits Beau like a brick because he can’t imagine what charges you could be facing. You’re diligent in your work, you obey orders, you have a calm and even temperament. He can’t imagine you ever crossing a line. The words that are coming out of Rabb’s mouth, they just don’t make sense.

He pulls open the door and tips his head towards the interior of the apartment indicating for Rabb to enter.

“I think you best come in.”

***

The story Rabb tells, it isn’t a pretty one, it make Beau’s blood boil as it unfolds over a couple of bottles of beer.

The charges are assault on a superior officer.

You’re looking at up to ten years confinement, a deduction in pay and a dishonourable discharge for punching General Micheal Klein in the face.

He suddenly understands why you broke things off with him. Beau’s on the promotional track, he’s on his way to becoming a Captain. His affiliation with you could derail that completely. This way he’s safe, his career untainted by what you’ve done.

“She gave him a broken nose.” Rabb tells him as he takes a sip from his beer. “The problem is she won’t tell me what happened. All I’ve got are witnesses statements, she’s refusing to tell us her version of events. It’s like she’s completely shut down.”

“What do the witnesses statements say?” Beau asks, dreading the other man’s answer.

“Torn blouse, broken buttons.” Rabb says quietly.

There’s a fury in Beau, it’s a vengeful beast that rises up inside of him as he thinks of the circumstances that have led to this. He can’t imagine how frightened you must have felt, how terrified you must feel now.

“I suspect the General decided to get her before she got him.” Rabb tells Beau, his thumb picking at the label on the beer bottle. “He says she came onto him, got angry when he rejected her.”

“And what do you believe?” Beau asks the other man, his voice barely more than a rasp.

“I think he attacked her.” Rabb tells him, his eyes reflecting the same quiet fury that simmers inside Beau’s chest. “And I think that she defended herself.”

“Can you prove it?” Beau asks him and Rabb shakes his head.

“Not without her statement and like I said, she won’t talk about it. I’ve tried everything I can think of but…”

He trails off and Beau looks away because psychologically he understands what you’re doing, why you’re doing it.

“Her father…” He says, feeling the emotion raise up in his throat. “His father used to hurt her, the response she’s having it’s trauma based. It must take her back…”

He can’t bear to say anything else. His heart is breaking all over again, for you, for what you’ve endured, both now and back then.

“I need you to come back to Washington with me.” Rabb says quietly. “I know what this could do to your career, your life…”

“It doesn’t matter.” Beau says, his voice raw as he rubs the back of his hand across his eyes. “Without Ally, none of it matters.”

Love Beau? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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#beau simpson #beau simpson x reader #beau simpson x you #beau cyclone simpson #beau cyclone simpson x reader #john hamm #top gun maverick

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copperbadge · 6 months

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Hey Sam, I remember reading a post or response from you about how to give to charities anonymously, but now that I’m searching, I’m finding a few different responses but still have questions. Any chance you could do a round up post? Wondering about the following:

1. How to give cash

2. How to give small amounts anonymously (e.g., if you can’t set up a DAF)

3. How to opt out of being sent branded junk if you can’t give anonymously, because it will end up in the garbage (seriously, no more pens, stickers or magnets please)

4. In giving anonymously, how important is the tax receipt? I only take the standard deduction on my taxes… is there a reason to bother with tracking the receipts?

Appreciate your help!

Ah yeah, it's rough knowing how to do some of these things. I've written about some of them, probably most of them, but disparately over several posts, so let me see if I can answer succinctly and all in one place.

How to give cash: You are pretty much confined to two options, giving cash to a staffer in person or mailing cash in an envelope. If you have access to the office of the nonprofit you may be able to swing by and drop the cash off, but it's not super convenient and often not possible. If you're at an event you can hand it in an envelope to a staffer, and that's really the only way my organization gets cash donations, but that requires you to be at the event. And technically I can't recommend mailing cash since the risk of theft is a real one. Giving cash is fine legally, but nonprofits often aren't thrilled with it because it can put their staff at risk and also there's, well, there's no way to track that donation to a person. But yeah, throw them dollars between two thick sheets of paper and mail that in with a note saying "This is for the XYZ organization" so they know they can accept it.

2. Giving small amounts anonymously: It depends on how you're defining 'small'; I have a DAF (for the readers: a Donor Advised Fund -- I talk a little about them here but I've never gone indepth) which has no minimum deposit or minimum monthly contribution, but they do have a minimum donation amount of $20. To me that's not especially large, but I know to many people it can be. Pretty much the only way to give an amount smaller than $20 anonymously is to give online through the nonprofit's website using a cash giftcard (like a Visa gift debit card), and just not give an address. If you custom-order checks you can sometimes order checks without a home address, or with the bank's address, and pay with one of those, but I've never tried that.

If you do use a DAF (and I can recommend Charityvest, they've been mine for several years now) you can always set up to pay small amounts into it and just have them send all that money in a lump sum once or twice a year. I pay in $75/mo and from that they pay out three $20 donations a month, and at the end of the year the extra $180 that has just sat there becomes a nice extra donation. Always bearing in mind of course that once you pay into a DAF that money is gone, you can't claw it back even if you haven't "donated" it yet -- just putting money in a DAF is considered a donation. Readers, if you're curious about DAFs I recommend googling, lots of banks have "what is a DAF" pages, but if you're not finding what you want to know do feel free to come ask me.

3. Opting out of swag when not giving anonymously: I'm tempted to just say "Ya can't" because it's hard, especially with larger orgs. Even if you opt out, often you'll still get mailings that are considered "stewardship" (maintaining a relationship) rather than "solicitation" (asking for giving) and swag counts as stewardship. You can always start with sending the org a letter saying "Please put me on a Do Not Contact list, I will continue to give but don't want to get your swag". If that doesn't work, start returning mailings -- if you get something from the org don't even open it, just write "return to sender -- no longer resident" and drop it in the mail. This is not guaranteed effective; some places will either just change the name to 'resident' or retry every so often just in case. You can call the org and ask to speak to "records" or "data", and then just be super up front: "I want to keep supporting you but I really don't want the swag, how do I get that turned off?" They can help, but if you give to another similar org, a lot of times orgs will do "list exchanges" where they swap mailing lists, and if the org does that and you're on the other org's list, you get put right back on the "ok to mail" list for the first org.

I will say, swag is very, very cheap and gets results, so you can also look at this as "well, it was wasted on me, but the five cents this pen cost will get them $1 from someone, so in accepting it, I am still helping them to gain donations." This depends on your tolerance for waste, of course, which I'll talk more about in a minute.

(I personally like getting magnets, because I put stickers over top of whatever's printed on the magnet, cut it out to the shape of the sticker, and behold! I have a cool magnet!)

4. Tax receipting: I'm not a CPA or a tax lawyer and I fucked this up the last time I talked about it, so take this with a grain of salt, but there is an "above and beyond" deduction -- after the standard deduction I believe you can deduct an additional up-to-$300 for charitable giving, and if you were to be audited you'd need receipts to prove that. (As I said, if you're planning on this, fact-check first, I am not a strong source for this information.) (Edited to add: comments informed me this is no longer the case, so I'm glad I added in the disclaimer :D) If you give via a DAF, no problem; the DAF tracks where and when and how much you gave, so I could use my DAF's records as "receipts". You can also, if you lost or didn't get a receipt, contact the org and ask them for your giving record for the year. Here's the problem -- if you are giving in a way that allows you to avoid giving your address, there may be no way to get those receipts, since you can't prove their record with your name on it is you. So if you want receipts but want to give semi-anonymously definitely make sure they have your email address. If you're giving $300 a year, you probably want to take that deduction; if you're giving $20 a year, probably it isn't worth it. But yeah, to get a receipt you generally have to give them enough information for them to identify you, but you don't need giving receipts if all you take is the standard deduction.

All in all, the options are -- give cash and get no receipt, give via DAF or using a giftcard and get receipts to your email, give with your address attached and just hope they honor your request to be removed from swag mailing, or give however you want, put up with the swag, and bear in mind that them sending you the pen or magnet or keychain wasn't much of a problem or cost for them and will get them money from someone.

Honestly, option four isn't the least irritating, but it's probably the least labor-intensive for you. But it really is a question of what you want from your relationship to the nonprofits you support, and how passionately you feel about the "waste" status of swag they send. Only you can determine where your tolerance point is between "having to put in so much effort not to get this stuff" and "having to throw this stuff in a landfill". It's a regrettable part of being a donor and building a relationship with a nonprofit, but we in the nonprofit field do appreciate your giving and your tolerance :) While there are some outlier bad-actors in the space, trust me, for most nonprofits, nothing we do is gratuitous. Almost all of us are on such a thin wire that if something costs us money and doesn't get us more money, it gets binned very quickly.

#nonprofits #charitable giving #donation

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tiny-merkitty · 2 months

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dad/caretaker matt murdock hcs ₊˚ʚ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

(read as platonic & familial only! i do not write for romantic pairings.)

ⓘ i do not consent to k!nk interaction! any nsfw account that likes, reblogs, or in any way interacts with this post or my blog will be blocked and reported.

the sweetest most attentive father figure ever

he can hear your heartbeat, the vague ways your breaths change, feel how sleepy and lethargic you get, he'll do everything he can to be helpful and caring when you need it!!!

don't feel like talking? that's okay, he can tell if what he's doing is helping without needing words.

he has to deal with alot of loud everywhere else anyway, whether that's in a tiny, packed office space or the entirety of manhattan — he's always welcome to unwind at home in silence.

he'd try to deduct anything that's making you uncomfortable without having to ask, he knows that constant interrogation can just make things more overwhelming.

you keep whimpering? your stomach is full, you seem to be warm enough— is his beard too scratchy? here, he'll move your head down to his chest.

he'd use alot of different nicknames, as well as just your actual name, but the ones that roll off the tongue most tend to be 'baby', 'sweetheart' & 'angel'

being mean towards his loved ones isn't in his vocabulary, if you've done something wrong there won't be anything more extreme than a gentle conversation — at worst, he uses his lawyer voice™, which consists of very, very, long spiels about how he's not mad! just a little disappointed!

he'd never take things away from you as a form of punishment though, he knows what it's like to grow up with sparse things in environments that weren't emotionally nurturing.

if anything, he is the biggest advocate for spoiling his kid — even if he won't admit it.

never in a grand way, but if you looked at a stuffed animal for three seconds too long in an aisle, it's finding it's way into the cart by check-out.

you like a certain brand of toaster waffles? what a coincidence, the fridge has five boxes!

if you make him anything at all, he is using it until it disintegrates.

you made him a bracelet? he's wearing it everywhere. including in the daredevil suit.

you drew something? he's sure it looks wonderful, whatever it is, he's already framing it in his office.

(yes this has something to do with a certain somebody abandoning him over a friendship bracelet as a child)

he likes having you physically close to him, the louder your heartbeat is in his ears, the more secure he can feel about your safety.

your warmth reminds him that you're okay, so he likes having you nearby, whether you're heads on his stomach or you're sitting somewhere three rooms over.

he's not a helicopter parent, per-se, but he has a tendency to be protective and worried —

he tries to be around at nighttime, even with the whole vigilante gig getting in the way sometimes, having you play doctor on his wounds makes him feel both guilty and comforted.

his favorite form of tylenol has a tiny heartbeat and hands that wrap around his fingers, after all.

bedtime stories aren't his favorite thing in the world, for obvious reasons, but if he's trying to get you to sleep, sometimes he'll practice his latest defenses until you nod off.

he assumes the legal talk knocks you out better than goodnight moon, anyway.

depending on the day, he's bringing you along to the office or church with him — the firm isn't very full during certain seasons, so he figures you can take a nap on the couch in his office or color over Foggy's paperwork.

Foggy's not the biggest fan of the latter —

the underneath of Matt's desk also makes a great fort— he'll pretend he can't hear you sticking stickers to the bottom or playing with his shoelaces.

on weekends, he'll take you by St. Agnes to sleep through morning mass, Sister Maggie usually has a hot chocolate ready for you in a special mug afterwards.

he's not one to force things like sunday school on you, but the church is a place he grew up and visits often, plus letting you see his mother makes him smile.

the two of you get donuts on the way home — or, you get donuts and Matt gets something overpriced and artisanal while he tries not to cringe at the overbearing scent of dyed sugar.

he's definitely a silly dad, holding you upside down by your ankles or slinging you over his shoulder while he cleans the apartment.

he draws out questions and asks silly things just to hear you giggle — "what?! you're four years old? are you sure? are you actually... five? no?"

overall, you're his kid and he loves you more than anything.

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lisbeth-kk · 3 months

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Sherlock fandom.

Hold Me

Sherlock thought his heart broke when his grandmother died. He was wrong. It got a crack, sure, but it was nothing compared to the heartbreak he felt when Victor walked out of his life without any explanation.

Please, tell me what I’ve done wrong! I can fix this. I promise you. Anything, Victor. Please. Sherlock.

The letter was never answered.

Sherlock wanted to drown himself in the nearest river or rob the medical cabinet in Matron’s office and OD on whichever substances it contained. He never got the chance to do either because Mycroft turned up at Cambridge and took him away to their favourite place in France, their grandmother’s family home.

After a week of fresh air, delicious food and Mycroft’s advice, Sherlock was able to shut the door to his heart. Infinitely.

“Seal it tight, brother mine. Only then can you be certain to never get hurt again. Sentiment is never an advantage.”

Sherlock was grateful to his brother for the advice. It worked and slowly the thought of Victor and what they had faded, and he was almost successful in deleting it. Almost.

He was always confident when he faced danger and criminals. Every word he spoke was the truth, unless he was lying to get a confession or trick said criminals. But that kind of lie came out easy and confident as well, because it was part of the game. His voice never faltered or showed signs of distress. He was quite certain he would pass a lie detector test if required.

***

It came as a shock to him that lying to Moriarty was futile. When he told the villain that he had no heart and Moriarty contradicted him, Sherlock knew he was beaten.

John Hamish Watson, who thought himself to be ordinary and unworthy, did something no one had ever accomplished. By being himself, never put off by Sherlock’s odd behaviour, always praising his deductions, protecting him from harm’s way from day one, he’d torn the seal over Sherlock’s heart to shreds. It lay bare for anyone to crush and break, and Moriarty knew. The most dangerous man Sherlock had ever encountered knew his weak point, that he was human and not a stranger to sentiment and love.

Sherlock could barely breathe after he’d tossed away the bomb jacket John had been wearing. John who’d urged Sherlock to run. John who’d been willing to die so Sherlock could live.

He tried to stand up, but his feet wouldn’t cooperate, and he sunk to the floor, his head slumped forward. Meeting John’s eyes was out of the question. His own eyes would reveal too much now that he was utterly shaken and out of control.

A sound broke the silence. It was a choked sob. Sherlock realised it came from his own throat and tried to fight his transport to regain his normal superior posture but in vain. He was trembling all over.

Warm hands on his shoulders startled him and all his defences broke when John spoke.

“Come here,” he said softly and pulled Sherlock to him.

Without hesitating or giving his movements a second thought, Sherlock encircled John’s back with his arms and held on for dear life. He rested his head on John’s shoulder finding comfort in the familiar scent from John’s skin.

“Hold me,” Sherlock whispered almost inaudible. “Please, John.”

And John held him as tight as Sherlock had ever been held. Sweet words were murmured into his hair.

“I’ve got you. Always. Don’t shut me out anymore, Sherlock. Let me love you the way you deserve. Please?”

***

Sherlock had thought it would be awkward once they returned to Baker Street, but John was nothing but determined when he’d set his mind to something. John showered first and when Sherlock came out from the bathroom, John was waiting for him and simply took his hand and led him to the bedroom.

Before Sherlock fell asleep in John’s arms, he asked John to promise something.

“Keep my heart safe, John. It won’t survive another break.”

And John, wonderful John, promised. Without blinking or hesitating.

“I promise, my love. Your heart is safe with me. Always.”

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @peanitbear @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitchworld @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely @raina-at @7-percent @ninasnakie @sabsi221b

#flash fiction friday #sherlock fandom #sherlock #john watson #mycroft holmes #bbc sherlock #sherlock fanfic #johnlock #FFF239 #seal it tight

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arteastica · 8 months

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early in the morning, especially when it rains, and a little before noon. (13)

erwin x fem!reader

chapters: (1) | (2) | (3) | (4) | (5) | (6) | (7) | (8) | (9) | (10) | (11) | (12) | (14) | (15) | (16) | (17) | (18) | (19) | (20) | (21) | (22) | (23) | (24) | (25) | (26) | (27)

summary: I basically took Isayama’s work, forced it into a romance story, and made Erwin the love interest. Commander meets cadet and they fall in love (not instantly though)

notes: very berry canonverse (but some events were modified to fit my narrative), wasn’t intended to be this long, but it all is in the details right?

content warnings: smut where it fits (or where I make it fit. Also, reader is NOT underage, so likewise, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, please.) slow burn (I really mean it. I’m not olympic diving into any form of smut for the first chapters.) no angst. I dislike angst. I would never. I could never. (Although angst can be somewhat subjective so take it with a grain of salt?)

wc: 2.7k

“I mean, if that’s something you’re comfortable talking about.” You rushed to add, fearing your question might open old wounds. “We don’t have to talk about it if-”

“No, it’s fine. You told me about your family, it’s only fair that I tell you about mine.” His eyes scanned the ceiling, as if trying to find the starting paragraph to a really long, complex story. He then took a deep breath and said: “My father, his beard was always unkempt and so was his mustache.” You chuckled lightly, tickled by the unexpected and rather random beginning he chose for his story. “He disliked loneliness. Not only when it came to people, but also objects. He didn’t like it when things looked lonely. If he passed by a bakery and there was only one loaf of bread left at the end of the day, he would buy it even though we had enough at home. If there was a book alone on a table, he would place it in a group with the others.” If your eyes hadn’t been glued to him the way they were, scanning every inch of his face, trying to read all the sentences you knew he was purposely leaving out of his story, you would have missed the way his lips twitched as they tried but failed to compose a smile.

“He rarely got drunk, but when he did, his habit of bringing lonely things home would only worsen. One time, I woke up in the middle of the night, startled by a noise that to my sleepy 8-year-old self sounded like a woman crying.” He said, as you shuffled against him, having no clue where this story was going. “Scared, I looked out the window only to see my father trying to push a cow inside the house.” You opened your mouth in disbelief. “He said the poor animal was all alone in a field, looking like it could use a friend. The next day, he had a hard time explaining to our neighbors that he wasn’t trying to steal their cow.”

“Well, that alone tells me a lot about him.” You said, the thought of a perplexed, golden-haired boy in his pajamas, and an equally confused thousand-pound cow being forced through a small door in the middle of the night making you chuckle. “What did he do for a living?”

“He was teacher.”

“Let me guess, History.” His eyes widened, head tilted to the side, asking you to explain your deduction as well as the conviction present in your voice. “I mean, that would explain a lot of things, including your love for History as well as all these books.” You said, pointing at the shelves that covered the walls of his room.

“These are not books. The ones in my office are. But these… these are just things I write.”

“All of them? You mean as in journals?”

He nodded before explaining: “Writing helps me clear my head, especially after expeditions. When we come back from a mission, time moves on and so does life, at least for those who survive. But what about those who don’t?” The question seemed to be directed at the air and not particularly at you. “What about those who never make it back home?” He paused for a moment, seemingly letting the taste of those words linger on his tongue like bitter lemon, before continuing. “When my men die out there, they are not really left behind. They are forever immortalized in the pages of these journals. It’s my way of remembering them, of making sure their sacrifice doesn’t go to waste.” Your eyes paced around his room, things slowly taking on a whole new meaning, and you wondered how much anguish and sorrow were trapped in the pages of those journals. “They stay behind and trust us, the living, to go on and find meaning in their deaths.”

You stared into the flickering flames of the fireplace without speaking, but simply, quietly understanding. Understanding that writing was his way of finding meaning, of making sense of it all. Understanding that a scout’s life was never easy, you knew that from the get go, but it was then and there where you finally and fully comprehended the dimensions of the position you held, the implications of the path you had chosen. And, when your vision started to get blurry, and your mind, to wonder if one day you would become a character in one of those dreadful entries, you decided it was time to change the topic.

“So! Your father was a teacher.”

“Yes, and I was in his class.” He paused for a moment, the space he decided to leave between each word, as well as the calmness in his voice, reminding you of trees after a violent rainstorm, battered and partially uprooted, but still standing somehow, or at least trying to. “One day, he was talking about how humanity was forced to take refuge within the walls to protect themselves from the Titans, and how that bought them 100 years of peace.” There was something about his voice that took you back to a rainy day, ten or fifteen years ago, sitting by the classroom window, only that this time your head wasn’t propped on your hand, your pencil wasn’t tapping on the desk, and your mind wasn’t lost somewhere far away, wondering when you would be able to go home. Because this time, the commander was the one speaking, and his voice, while monotonous and gentle, had the spark required to narrate the longest of stories without losing the audience’s interest in the process. A rare skill you had known only one more person to have: Hitch. That, paired with his ability to explain complex things, made you think he would make a great History professor; and you couldn’t help but wonder how different his life would have looked like had he chosen to follow his father’s footsteps.

“In doing so, any records of our earlier past were lost for all of time.” His voice pulled you back to the present, and you nodded, both to signal you were following his story, and to shake the vivid pictures that had started flooding your imagination, vivid pictures of him coming home after work to a warm dinner on the table, to his family, to a beautiful house in some small village or to a cozy cabin in the middle of some quiet forest, instead of this lonely office trapped between walls of cold stone. An alternate reality where he wouldn’t have to wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, startled by nightmares of titans tailing behind him, trying to devour him and his men.

“At least, that’s what we’re all taught.” You looked at him, your brow furrowing in suspicion, sensing there was more to this story. He seemed to be trying to decide what he would say next. Or whether to say it at all. And before you could tell him it was okay if he didn’t want to say more, he decided to continue. “I… having doubts of my own, asked my father a question. At first, he evaded answering and ended class as normal. But after we got home, he answered my doubts. He said the history books given by the government were full of contradictions and mysteries.” Something about that last line reminded you of a conversation you had with your own father a while ago, about those government conspiracy theories he was so intrigued by. But you didn’t want to interrupt, so you just nodded and let the commander go on.

“My father continued to tell me more, and even as a child, I was astounded. You see, there’s a reason he didn’t tell that story to the entire class, but I wasn’t smart enough to know.”

“You told the story to someone else.”

He nodded. “To other neighborhood kids. And one day, the Military Police came to question me.” He was looking straight into the fireplace, as if having a staring contest with the flames. Almost as if someone was standing in the middle of the flames, staring back at him, and he wasn’t allowed to break eye contact. You thought about the scenery reflected in his eyes. The blue in his eyes mirroring the bright, red fire, as well as glimpses of an emotion he had never displayed in front of you before. Slight anger, maybe. “My father didn’t come home that day… And I haven’t seen him ever since. He died in some accident in a faraway town. Or so I was told.” He added, sadness scattered around his eyes like stars in the dark night sky.

His words reverberated inside the silent room, spreading across the available space, reaching every corner, and stabbing every inch of your heart in the process. You had somehow deducted his father wasn’t around anymore, so when he started narrating the story you hadn’t expected it to have a happy ending. This, however, was way beyond your imagination. This was downright traumatizing, another level of disturbing for sure. And you felt horrible for asking him to pick at a wound that had barely even scabbed at all. But you also knew that his father hadn’t died in an ‘accident’. “Based on what I knew-”

“The government. He was silenced by the government.” You concluded, words leaving your mouth at the exact same time the thought was born.

He nodded again before continuing his story. “One hundred and seven years ago, humanity that fled into these walls… The king had altered their memories to make them easy to rule. That was my father’s theory.” You had never listened to this part of the story before. It was as if important pages had been ripped off the history books you studied at school. And the whole sensation was very odd. It left your mouth dry and your skin shivering. It was like finding there was an alternate ending to a book you had read a hundred times. One you never knew existed. A darker one.

He didn’t say anything, and you felt he was giving you time to process everything and reach your own conclusions.

“Because if he hadn’t done that, civilization within the walls could never succeed.” You finally said.

“Exactly. Ever since I was a child, I’ve been thinking… Why did my father have to die for nothing more than getting close to the truth?” He asked, and you knew this time he wasn’t talking to the air nor to you, but to himself, his voice and the emotions behind it raising like water reaching its boiling point. “Even those in the government would believe what they’re doing is just. However, I realized one thing about them: What they’re trying to protect is not humanity.”

“It’s their gardens, houses, and land.” You completed the sentence before he could, having lived far too many years around them to know what their most precious possessions are.

“If anyone dares threaten their authority, they’ll be silenced, whoever they are.” The hand that was intertwined with yours tightened its grip on your fingers. “In the end, there was nothing to justify my father’s death. In the end, my father was killed by human greed.” His knuckles went ghost-white. “And by the foolishness of his own son.” Still staring into the dancing flames before him, you noticed he had the eyes of a man whose future resembled a dead-end street. The eyes of someone who was tired of seeing seasons die one after another, knowing that his father would never come home. The eyes of someone who was tired of seeing tomorrow die even before it came. The eyes of someone who spent a whole life dreaming upon days that would never return, dreaming of a person he would never see again. And you wondered if it was his father whom he saw in the flames, or was it a younger version of himself? Or maybe, he saw memories of happier days. Memories of a past he would never be able to go back to, along with scenes of a future he would never be able to move on to. Because his legs remained forever trapped in the heavy muds of regret.

“Before I knew it, my father’s theory became true inside my heart. Now, my mission in life. It’s to prove my father’s theory once and for all.”

You wanted to string together the right words, one by one, until they formed a bridge that would lead you closer to him, so he wouldn’t feel so alone. Because, even though your bodies were pressed so closed together, you could tell his soul was lost somewhere far away, somewhere dark, somewhere lonely. And you knew his father would have hated it for him to feel that way.

You stayed still, silent, and slightly mad at yourself for not being able to say something to him. The night is always dark if no one holds the light, so you wanted to hold it for him. You really wanted to. But you were astounded and overwhelmed by all the information, both about his past and about the reality you all lived in. His father’s theory, if true, would change the world as you knew it. As everyone knew it. A possibility that, if true, would change everything.

In the end you made peace with the fact that you weren’t wise enough to know what to say, and opted for gently wrapping your arms around him instead, pulling him closer, burying your face in the crook of his neck, hugging him as tightly as you could. If you couldn’t tell him, you would show him. If words were beyond your ability, you would make sure actions weren’t. He immediately responded by tightening his arms around you and pressing his nose against the top of your head, where you could feel him breathing heavily. He took such a deep breath that, for a moment, you thought he was going to cry. But no, you knew he wouldn’t, that would be nearly impossible. Because at this point, given the rate of pain he had been enduring for years, at that rate your eyes would run out of tears before your heart could let go of the pain.

As your head rested against his chest, in such proximity to his heart, and as its beating told you more about the pain he had been living with for all those years since his father’s passing, a question popped up in your mind.

“The basement. In Eren’s house. It has something to do with this. Doesn’t it?” You spoke after a few minutes of silence.

“Intel suggests that the basement of Eren Yeager’s home in Shiganshina holds a vital secret regarding our enemy. That’s our destination. By getting there, I can prove my father’s theory. I know it.” He held your hand tighter. “I just know it.”

His words carried the exact same conviction they did during meetings when planning strategies or during expeditions when giving commands in the field. Only that this time they were infused with something else, a certain vulnerability. A vulnerability that, along with the violent beating of his heart against your ear, explained to you why he was so committed to the cause. Why he had decided to give his entire life to the Survey Corps. It all made sense now. You understood that it had less to do with freeing humanity from the walls, and more to do with his late father.

As his heartbeat lulled you to sleep that night, your mind became flooded with thoughts of the basement and the secrets that could be hidden there. If there was something hidden at all, in the first place.

next chapter

taglist: @elnyrae @angelaevangelion @depitaangeline @ynackerman9499 @afatalheat @pumpkin-toffee @velouria17 @gassytritis @goddessinsweats @nube55 @jeanboyjean

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ifindtaxpro · 4 months

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🏠✨ Decluttering as a profession? Maximize your success with savvy tax considerations! From home office deductions to strategic client management, unlock the keys to financial prosperity. 📊💼 #ProfessionalOrganizers #SmallBusinessTax #DeclutteringSuccess

#Professional Organizers #Home Office Deductions #Service Income #Small Business Taxes #Decluttering Services

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anneangel · 10 months

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Being at Holmes' side is the undoubted source of Watson's joy, otherwise he would not have created an entire collection where Sherlock is the hero, which Watson wrote faithfully throughout his life, he is like his admirer number 1.

Watson treats Holmes with the greatest deference, there is no one better in the world for him, he himself admits that Holmes is the man he most respects and holds in the highest regard.

Watson was never really interested in learning Sherlock's deductive techniques, he admired Holmes' intelligence (obviously), but what held his curiosity was Holmes as an individual.

As a biographer he never sheds light on Sherlock's techniques, but on Sherlock himself, by whom Watson is undoubtedly fascinated (which is why Sherlock accuses Watson's writing of being sensationalist, as Watson does not speak of the facts itselves, he romanticizes Holmes as the hero of mystery-solving).

But it's not like Holmes doesn't like it, he doesn't like flattery from anyone (especially where there are ulterior motives). But Watson truly admires Holmes from the heart, it's an honest feeling (and Holmes doesn't get it from others that easily because everyone has an ego war with him at some point), but Watson never changes, Holmes says he's been the same ever since that they met.

That's why Holmes is so: "my dear doctor", "my dear Watson", "my dear boy", "my man" (...)

It's a lot of use of the possessive pronoun, and a lot of willingness to show affection with the constant use of "dear", and he doesn't do that with anyone else.

Holmes is so reclusive, polite and generally sentimentally aloof from everyone. Holmes abstains from friendships and extra-professional relationships, does not encourage visits that are not clients, and tipically does not seem to allow anyway someone to enter in his daily life and leisure, with Watson exception.

Holmes trusts and believes in Watson enough to have him by his side on cases, and there is no one else who fills that spot but Watson. Holmes also says he doesn't like how Watson narrates his cases, but he never stopped him from writing and even encouraged him at times. Besides, he doesn't share facts of his private life with anyone, but share only with Watson.

Despite appearing at times, Holmes is not only a cold and reclusive thinking machine, he does display emotions towards clients, other detectives, police officers, and those close to him and his home and work. But nothing like what he kept with Watson throughout his life.

Holmes likes to have him by his side, even to concerts, hikes or turkish baths. Watson entered his life beyond the professional aspect, he is not someone Holmes merely shares rooms with, nor is he a mere sidekick.

Holmes is still quite emotionally closed and does not share elements of his private life easily, even for Watson he takes time to feel comfortable sharing something and when he does it is always in moderation. But somehow Watson becomes unique, he is not a confidant, but Holmes knows that he is someone he can talk to if he ever wants to. He knows Watson will never turn him down or turn his face away.

Watson has managed to put down some roots inside Holmes heart when no one else seems to have succeeded.

Probably the only reason they don't call each other by their first names is because it would be stepping beyond the bounds of Victorian era decorum, it would be scandalous.

But they have dialogue, trust, respect and empathy for each other, for all life. Together they make each other feel like they can handle any situation, good or bad. They value and bring out the best in each other. There are for each other when asked, when they need. They praise and support each other's achievements. They keep each other's secrets and help each other. They forgive each other's mistakes and overlook flaws inherent in each other's personalities.

They support each other's lifestyles even when they have differing views on life. Well, Watson never supported Holmes' drug use, just as Holmes always thought Watson's marriages were an act of selfishness of Watson in leaving him alone in many cases. But they never gave up each other because of these disagreements, right? They find a way around it and be there for each other. They could go years without seeing each other, and when they finally saw each other it was as if nothing had changed, that's why they were each other's fixed point, no matter what happened or what they had to endure.

They would do anything for each other. They would abandon anything in the world for being in each other side. Because those who love take care!

The point, is an great relationship. Is an great definition of relationSHIP.

#sherlock holmes #sherlock x john #johnlock #holmes/watson #dr john watson #arthur conan doyle #acd canon #relationship #they love each other #friendship #but lovingly #best duo ever

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knockyasocksoff2022 · 2 months

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Theory: Poe was the leader of Gelhart Security Services before his defeat to Ranpo and subsequent isolation.

(A/N: sorry if the grammar is terrible or the theory doesn’t make sense i just had this thought really suddenly and wanted to post it)

So I was reading the Dazai, Chuuya Age Fifteen Light Novel yesterday and something about GSS was mentioned that they didn’t mention in the anime (understandably).

Randou says on page 56: “Mn . . . Brr . . . The currently leader of GSS is a cold calculating skill user.They say he has close ties to the Guild, a top secret North American organisation.”

The book also says, on an earlier page (48) that the drill instructor is an actual soldiers so the members were highly trained fighters.

You may be thinking, “Wait, but that doesn’t sound like Poe-kun at all?”, but I think a lot of people forget he’s a trained sniper. The only question is: how?

The connection to the guild and trained fighters could be two people, either Poe or Twain. However, Twain is hardly cold and calculating, and Poe is the only guild member fluent in Japanese which could be from extensive studying of it because of his crush on I mean rivalry with Ranpo. Or it could be from time spent in Japan, after all he would have needed t communicate with Ranpo in order to challenge him. (And I don’t think Asagiri would give such a cool backstory to such a minor character, sorry Mark.)

It all makes sense. During 15!Arc, Poe would have been 20, and when he was 22 he met Ranpo to challenge him and was then defeated. It was never said where the challenge took place, but given Ranpo attachment to Fukuzawa and the agency as well as inaptitiude for travel (lack of navigation skills) I doubt he would have been in America for any reason, especially since the agency was so new. (It’s true that he could have flown there to accept a challenge that piqued his interested but let’s keep in mind that the agency salary isn’t that much and plane tickets as well as travel in general are expensive.)

Another thing is that Ranpo is pretty unaware of things around him, even small things like how to use the train (I know I keep using that example, I’m sorry. It’s just the easiest one) So, I doubt he’d have knowledge of things going on abroad, much less knowledge of Poe to call him over to Japan for a challange.

If the challenge took place in Japan where the two just stumbled upon each other, the question is: Why is Poe in Japan in the first place?

I think that he ran away from his adopted home when he was a teen (assuming his early life follows irl Poe’s and his parents died/abandoned him) and went to Japan just to get as far away as he could. (Maybe he was offered a position in Order of The Clock Tower because his adopted parents and him lived in England for four years). He had connections to the Guild, but maybe wasn’t fully part of it yet, or maybe he wanted military experience before he joined an organisation like that (I can’t imagine why, because before the whole book thing it seemed like a country club for skill users.)

But for whatever reason, Poe joined GSS as a legitimate security officer where he learnt to shoot. He was more healthy then (before his six-year isolation) and even learnt to fight a little, but was a far better marksman than fighter.

The GSS men did crime jobs on the side for extra cash. Then the subsidies for GSS were cut off and they went full criminal. Somehow, maybe through a job or Poe volunteering the information, they figured out that Poe had a skill. He became important to the company. And he’s smart so when it came time for a change in leadership they picked him, despite his young age, he has an ability and they respected that.

We’ve seen him be cold and calculating, especially when trying to trap people in his novels or scheme against Ranpo (at first, now he’s just a softie). He dedicated almost a decade to Ranpo’s defeat, so we see his determination and cunning (even if it’s no match for Ranpo’s deductive skills).

The GSS were pirates, nothing too complex and they had no big plans (like Fyodor’s mission to eradicate skill users), they just wanted to steal. So it makes send that someone who maybe isn’t a crazy genius brilliant strategist was leading them.

All in all it makes perfect sense that Poe led up the GSS for a bit.

After GSS’s defeat to Soukoku it probably disbanded, any members not part of that mission who left alive scattered, including Poe. After the fall of his organisation he was left wandering, and out of desperation or boredom he took Ranpo’s challange and after his defeat went, sulking, back to America where he officially joined the Guild, hoping Fitzgerald’s resources could help him defeat Ranpo once and for all.

#bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd #bsd ranpoe #ranpoe #bsd ranpo edogawa #bsd edogawa rampo #bungo stray dogs ranpo #bsd ranpo #bungou stray dogs ranpo #ranpo edogawa #edogawa ranpo #bsd edgar allan poe #edgar allan poe bsd #edgar allan poe

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asherloki · 3 months

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My tiny

Sherlock x petite!reader

Request:- Hello! Fellow writer here :) 8 and 9 on the smutty one liners for sherlock x reader? Maybe he was thinking about her in his head (mind palace, whatever lol) and he called her to baker street and deducted she wanted him back? :) take this as far as you want or don't do it at all. Nothing but love <3 ~ @run-clever-boy

Smut

Word count:- 4144

A/n:- I'm not good at smut, I hope you still like it.

Prompt lists!

I walked upstairs almost as fast as I can and stood infront of Sherlock's door. As I came home after office I recieved a text from him "come at once, case ... Mostly - SH". Sherlock Holmes is the one who discovered my talent which I never knew I had. Solving mysteries. I was never into detective fiction either, until one day I met him he immediately asked me a few questions. He says he deduced I have an analytical brain, a brain to form thousands of theories, imageries which often are the reason for my distress, so he wanted to use my brain for something good. I started to tag along with him and John Watson. He took me to the cases which weren't dangerous for a woman. To him I'm rather a tiny woman, he even calls me tiny sometimes, which I first showed irritation to, but in my heart I know how much I like when he calls me that. So, the cases which are dangerous for a tiny woman like me he makes sure I solve, or help in solving them from their flat. As much as possible. He even let me talk to clients. I don't know what is the name of this relationship of ours, is he a guide, shaping me into a better person or ... I don't know but I actually like the fact that he doesn't care about women. Except for some, Molly Hooper his friend, Mrs Hudson his landlady, eurus his sister but it's complicated, and there's been someone else who intrigued this poor detective with her wit. He talks rather highly of Miss Irene Adler. His respect towards her makes me like her too, even though she's a criminal. Also that compliment, well I hope he meant it as a compliment when he said, "you're witty, like the woman". He likes my wit, intellectual debate. He sometimes brings up such topics of which I can speak of passionately, passion, he likes it. He also -

"Why didn't you knock?" The detective came opening the door, reminding me I've been standing there like a fool without knocking.

"Oh ... Sorry, I just-" I ran out of excuses, "let me in detective" I entered, his tall body couldn't stop my 5ft tall one to pass through the door.

"Welcome I guess" he said closing the door, "well it's my chair" he pointed towards his chair which I occupied.

"So? There's still alot of space there" apparently Sherlock himself is a lean man and I am petite as well, "anyway you said there's a case for me".

"Oh yes wait" he nodded and recalled about it, he went straight to his mantle piece and pulled out a letter which he handed me saying "here".

"From Mr Laurent" I read, "isn't he a detective too?"

Sherlock nodded in response.

"To miss... Wait it's for me?" I was stunned, a detective needed help but from me and not from.., "I don't understand".

"Seems like Mr Laurent has a crush on you" he said anything, I rolled my eyes and opened the letter,

"Let's read it" I said and read the letter contained the case Mr Laurent needed my help with, an old man was murdered in Venice, his four sons and their wives were in the house with three strangers, he's known for his reckless lifestyle when he was young, Mr Laurent also sent me a ticket to Venice. I read the whole thing out loud and Mr Holmes, my friend, I hope I can call him so, listened attentively, "he needs my help? But it's rather clear, who did it."

"Who did it?" No comment was made on his part to the request of help instead he asked about my theory for the case.

"Isn't it obvious, three strangers at his house exactly at the time of his murder? I mean, look he was known for his reckless lifestyle when he was young, which I'd like to believe involved women, who knows, how many enemies he harboured for himself and who knows how many illegitimate children, atleast one wouldn't surprise me, we need to check on the strangers, if the family members were to do it they would've done it anyday, won't even make a fuss about it, even though it's possible they chose this time to put the blame on the strangers but I believe the wealth of this old man would go to them anyway, they're the legal family but these strangers." I looked at Sherlock, he stood at where he was, staring at me, I know these eyes, he only stares like that when I'm making a point, a theory, a solution to the mystery, "we can check on these strangers I guess ".

He came closer to me, slowly, I didn't know why but the air was... Sultry, I didn't feel such things for him, never ever, he's not really... My type.

"Yeah" he said clearing his throat "are you going then?"

I shook my head "no, I don't know this person " I stood up, "I can't spent time with someone I barely know."

"I'd suggest the same" he said taking that ticket away from me, "he just wants to get into your..." He stopped.

"Into my?" I asked..

"Nothing " he said and put that letter away.

"Into my bed, I know" I answered making him chock, "was it vulgar?"

He glanced at me, it's not that vulgar, I said many vulgar things intellectually that just made everything less awkward for John, Sherlock and I never had an awkward moment, we have same vibe, same mentality, same everything.

"No it wasn't " he said coming closer, it's bizarre, he's like everyday, clad in his black trousers, white shirt, his same dressing gown, something hot surrounded us. I've barely felt any such tension after my fling with Thomas ended. It was all about Sex and Sherlock hated it, he never objected but he hated how we just banged wherever we got the chance, we didn't spare his bathroom. He doesn't know about it.

"What's in the corner of your lips?" He asked touching the corner of my lips, almost, I didn't move, consenting him silently to touch them.

"What's there?" I enquired, to my own surprise my voice came out as a sultry whisper, never happened with him.

"May I check?"

I nodded and I wasn't aware of what I was going to experience. His lips touched mine, the first time ever, we kissed? I couldn't believe my own senses we actually kissed.

He pulled away, smirking as he replied, "there was nothing".

Can you believe it?

"Very funny" I replied sultrily and walked towards the kitchen, "what was that supposed to mean ? Jealousy?"

He furrowed his brows as I said something impossible, "jealous of what?"

"Mr Laurent?" I replied.

"Why would I be?"

"I don't know, perhaps the fact that he asked me to come with him and if he's handsome then we might.."

I didn't have to complete my sentence when my detective came almost running saying,

"Don't you dare bang him all over Venice".

"I'm not a whore"

"I know you aren't, but Thomas"

"He was my fling so..."

"Shut up you're my tiny detective" he literally called me tiny and didn't let me act offended, rather crashed his lips on mine, bless Thomas for teaching me everything I needed to be good at this. I let our tongues dance as we parted lips to let them enter.

"I've been thinking of this, and more everytime you formed theories of a case, solved them, did some analytical research or simply said something intellectual with.." he said pulling away, "with passion, so much passion, you're a spark, a fire and I would be cold without you" my ears as if I couldn't believe what I was hearing, he was vulnerable, expressing himself however he could, "make me warm Sunshine, tiny little detective".

"I'm not.." I couldn't even object, he interrupted.

"Miss 5ft."

I'm tiny, his tiny... I did say his didn't I?

"Tiny one, hated when you banged Thomas" Sherlock said booping my nose lightly.

"Could see it in your eyes" I replied letting his fingers trace the features of my face.

"Pretty Little face, cute little exterior" he said out loud then leaning to my ears he whispered "only I know how much thirst is in there".

Yes, the thirst. Never thought I'd actually do it with him but..

"Guess we're gonna..." I stared.

"Do something else " he picked me up and I wrapped my legs round him as he carried me to his bedroom. I'm so petite that I fit perfectly in his arms. He has comforted me many times when some violent case triggered me, I love his embrace and I am loving whatever we're upto. He dropped me on his bed, and he climbed on top of me.

"So, what's your plan?" I asked confidently knowing he has little to no experience in bed.

"You'll see tiny" this time it hit a nerve.

"If I'm petite then why do you wanna fuck me" I said a little agitated. He smirked knowing he's successful in driving me up the wall.

"Because, your anger and passion turns me on" he said as his hands fumbled with my shirt button, "and your intellect is my porn".

Now that was a big sixer by Mr Holmes. Making a woman like me whimper. And that made him raise a brow.

"I see your body reacting to my comment." That was sultry just like his voice. No wonder I've always admitted one thing about him, he has a sexy voice.

"Because words are our thing detective" I played my turn as well.

"I see, tiny detective" we both are detectives. And we both get a bit excited by intellectual word play. He and I know how to trun people's heads with words. He did it Jeanine and I, too with some men to get information.

"What if we actually..." I began to touch his buttons, "do the action this time, without all the talk?"

"I like that idea" he said, he and I both unbuttoned our shirts. Tossing them to some corner of his room. As soon as we both sat half naked his lips attacked my neck. Leaving prominent marks, for people to know to whom I belong, for now or... Forever Mr Sherlock Holmes.

I brought him even closer as the sensation was different, special, we've solved many cases together and this does feel special. Alot special. His hand roamed to my back and unclasped my bra. My nails dug into his skin. I wasn't ready for him to see me like this. His tiny detective at his mercy, does sound sexy doesn't it?

"May I?" He whispered in my ear, asking for permission if he could see my breasts.

"Ofcourse, it's not like your tiny has the biggest set of boobs" I joked to which he raised his face and looked into my eyes,

"Good, then they'll fit perfectly in my palm" he said, still not for once looking down at me. As I nodded and gave my consent then only he looked down and took no time into brushing his fingers against my hardened nipples, sending shivers, a touch from a man I trust, the hands which keeps me safe, the safest touch.

"You've never been into bodies did you?" I couldn't help but ask. He kept marking my neck and in between pinching my tits as he replied,

"A good body will lose it's charm with time, but a charming personality as yours, a passionate mind as you, an intellect like yours will never."

He does have a point, we'll still be eachother's favourite even after we're old as a goose.

"Also.." he continued, "your eyes will also remain beautiful, bright, reflecting your charming personality, a mystery I'll spend my life solving".

I allowed myself to bring him even closer and kiss him more lovingly this time, as his hands started to undo my belt and then pulling my jeans away. If I knew something like this would happen I would've come prepared, but... Guess he doesn't really care about all that.

"Don't overthink it" he said, "you look fine, I..."

He trailed off, wonder what he wanted to say but yes, I won't be a spoil sport with my overthinking. I got up and treated his trousers the same way he treated mine. And the twitching member of him was making sure to make his presence prominent.

"Should I do something about it?" I asked kissing his neck, feeling his body reacting to it under my fingers. I made him pull his pants down leaving him in his boxers, preparing myself to finally be the person to see Mr Holmes's thing. Wonder if anyone else got a glimpse... Oh right, Jeanine.

I kissed his chest as I put his boxers down, his twitching member finally got a bit of freedom. He let out a soft whimper, his cheeks turned pink, so he's shy? It didn't seem so the way he kissed me. I looked his member, wrapping my hands around it making him let out a whimper again,

"May I?" I also should take permission if he did. He nodded and I brought my mouth to his tip, leaving a light smooch on it. I knew what I was doing, Thomas was a good practice. He stared at me, breathing heavily. I guess I smirked when I licked his length, then wrapping my mouth on it I started to work on it, with both my mouth and my hand. He controlled for sometimes but he moaned, finally he let himself be vulnerable, he liked what I did.

"I never kn..." He tried to speak as I made it incredibly impossible for him to do so, "never knew... You...ah" see? Incredibly difficult as I fastened my pace, "you could do ... It so... Ah... You're great".

That lifted my confidence and I...

"What the?" As I planned to make him cum in my mouth, I see he has something else in mind, he pushed me down and pinned me to bed.

"Let me return this favour tiny" his heavy voice whispered in my ear. I knew what he meant, I squeezed my thighs together, knowing there's a wet spot in my panties. His voice wasn't helping, rather was making it worse. Thomas was good, but I never knew he, Sherlock Holmes knows how to do to a woman. He got down and almost ripped my panties away. I really don't know whether I'd be able to wear them again after we... It's okay, I sometimes forget my pants at home. I still squeezed my thighs, keeping him from seeing what he wanted to.

"Are you eager?" I teased, I told you, I'm well trained by my fling. He smirked, but his smirk was innocent. My teasing was gone, I felt... I... With Thomas it was just good sex, but I... Felt safe with Sherlock. Never happened before, no one cared for me like he does, no one values my wishes like he does. He gives me more than I ask. And I'm not even talking about material stuffs, he... "My my". He forced my thighs to spread to give him a good view. He looked down and then at me,

"Tiny" he said seductively, "just like you" I was thinking of something sexy to say until he said, "I like it".

And then? He dived like a starved man would for food. His tongue touched my clit giving me shivers, making me moan loudly, thank goodness doctor Watson is married and out of this flat. Otherwise he'd have heard me moaning, as his tongue played with my clit. He didn't stop there, he let his tongue run through my slit, I tried to move upwards in his bed, his big hands grabbed my waist and pinned me in my place. I put a finger between my teeth to keep me from screaming. His tongue felt good, even better and I know now why. He kept on eating me out as I put a hand on his head, grabbing his curls and pulling it slightly. That's how horny I can get, don't go on my looks. He finally pulled away from my pussy, staring right into my eyes,

"Few more licks would've painted your face white Mr Holmes" I said panting.

"Guess you can paint my dick all white" he said stroking his dick. That's a sight I liked, the posh detective and his tiny childish assistant, newspapers called us "the detective and his sunshine", "posh detective and the tiny woman", "detective's childish assistant". Only if they knew, posh detective, cold detective and his childish, innocent, tiny, intelligent girl is doing dirty on his bed. He positioned his tip to my entrance, gave me a look, I nodded, ready to have him in me. And he did push himself into me,

"Ah fuck you're big" the only thing I could scream as his big cock entered me. But that's it, he's in me, I realised something I never did, now I want him, him.. I stretched my arms out, asking him to come to me. He wasted no time and leaned on me, giving me a kiss he stared to rock his hips, slowly and sensually. It felt good, my tall man, his face burried in my neck, his thrusts hitting perfectly. He protected me from bullies, showed me I'm extraordinary to worry about those ordinary people, made me realise he and I are worth better things and ... Now that I know all these, I'm not ever going to stray again... I hope. I'm staying Sherlock Holmes. He took his pace and fuck it felt nice, it felt perfect,

"My go- oh yes" I moaned, he raised his face to see mine,

"Oh, little miss tiny is about to beg" he said to tease me, I remember he told me about Irene Adler wanting him to beg, and ended up begging for protection from him, twice.

"I don't beg, men gives me anyway" I didn't wanted to be a self absorbed person, especially not now, it's just ... Came out. He replied with a sudden thrust that found the spot,

"Ah yes right there" I screamed, arching my back. He stopped, his cock in me.

"What if I don't fullfill your desire?" He does that to people, being rude but never to me. I showed my puppy eyes (which I always do and it works on him)but eventually my mouth spoke,

"Pretty please?" Which apparently means I begged for more.

“I told you, you would eventually start begging.” he said with a smirk and resumed his thrusts at my g spot. I brought him closer and wrapped my hands around him. The most intimate, he and I. I could stay like this forever, but he eventually got up and fucked me faster, the roomed filled with him painting, my moaning and our skin slapping. His cock worked fine in me. And we both knew I was close.

"So am I" he said between his pants. With some more thrusts I let out a scream, eyes closed, I painted his dick white. He pulled out of me immediately, shooting white strings to my belly.

-------

We got up, we cleaned ourselves and sat on his bed with a chessboard.

"Oops got your bishop" I mocked as I replaced his bishop with my pawn.

"Aww poor your queen" eventually he trapped me and got my queen that made me gasp,

"You did not" I, surely am offended by Sherlock's intelligent move, "not my queen, I can never win without it".

"Oh I'm sorry tiny" he didn't seem sorry at all, "be careful next time" his voice was gentle, soft as he explained how I should play and be careful next time, "you got it?"

"Sherlock?" I called him, not answering his question, I can play chess well, now if you play with Sherlock Holmes you're never good enough, but I wanted to ask him something else, "how was it?" He blushed, I'm too bold, I can ask anything without thinking twice, "anything you imagined?"

He nodded fumbling with my queen, "the world is filled with ordinary and notoriety you know tiny" he said looking into my eyes, "reality is often cruel, I... I saw your innocence and potentials in your eyes. You were wasting your time with Thomas, fling is useless, I hoped you'd find something better, worthy of your time, all I could give you is my adventures. You.. you're very intelligent, emotionally. You're an unique, creative thinker as well, you're hard to describe just like me. Can't let those ordinary people bully you, can't let those ordinary men lay finger on you, I couldn't stop Thomas since you consented but I want you to understand, you're here for something better." I just listened to his words, made sense why I always felt no one understood me, sitting here on his bed, wrapped in his white bedsheet with a chess board. If feels safe, he makes me feel... Understood.

"What I mean to say is I'm terrible at expressing emotions, yet I feel them just like you do, I saw you couldn't fit in with your dull boring, bimbo classmates who ultimately back stabbed you. But I see you here, with me, smiling, laughing, feeling safe I hope. This world is dull for people like you and me tiny, these people are cruel, boring for us, you and I couldn't settle down with any ordinary profession or people. We're too similar. The only thing though I believe you have extra is, your innocence. With you, reality is better than my dreams, my imagination. Because my imagination came with the reality of the world that I faced, but with you I saw a different side of it. You're different, innocent, you think differently, you're kind and you don't do things to please people. You don't want to be ordinary, you hate being boring, you're far more me than I am, you're far better me I must say, you're a better Sherlock Holmes, you bring out the better Sherlock Holmes in me, my tiny. This reality is better, and I am not just talking about sex."

Can you believe? His puzzled words did make sense, it's better here just him and me.

"I realised today that you love me" I spoke as a tear fell from my eyes, remembering how everyone treated me and how he does, I'm his better world.

"Glad you know" he said looking down at the board. I didn't know where we were at the game but I moved another pawn of mine.

"Sherlock..." I spoke, "if you wanted someone good, I believe there are many people who are... Good. You know I can't control my temper, I have no filter, I am also pretty childish and-"

"If by good you mean ordinary people, who doesn't have personality, who copies others, brags to you, lies to you, use you" he knows everything I've been through, he knows how people treated me, "ordinary people often thinks they're extraordinary, especially to those who actually are... Rare. You know my university life". I nodded, he was a lonely kid,

"So was my school life" I certainly was a lonely kid in my school, we're both eccentrics.

"We can live in our safe bubble, here, with our stupid adventures if you'd like" he proposed and I loved it, guess my grin proved so,

"And I" I got up and threw my arms around him, "love it".

He hugged me tightly, the sorrow we experienced, all was transformed into a certain joy, he always felt relaxed holding my head to his chest,

"But detective?" I had to be myself and make a proposal of mine, "I like your handcuffs." He looked suspiciously at me,

"Fine, my tiny's wish is my command".

#bbc sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock x y/n #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock fanfic #sherlock smut

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regularlyrainy · 11 months

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Juxtaposition

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Fluff, Alhaitham x gender neutral reader

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There are many words that people would use to describe your boyfriend. The one that they use the most is „arrogant“.

„What do you mean it is now finished?“, Alhaitham stares at his colleague with his usual blank expression. „Well, it took longer than expected to write that report and-„ „Then you should have applied for an extension, instead of submitting past the deadline making my life needlessly harder.“ and with that he walked away leaving a frustrated person behind.

To no one‘s surprise, it is not the only word that has been uttered in relation to your partner. „Inconsiderate“ might have been one of the front runners.

A loud „What!?“ is heard out of Alhaitham‘s office. „You heard me. It is already 5pm, which is the end of my office hours. I am going home.“, he said while getting up to leave. „But I JUST got into the door! You cannot be serious right now…. Just give me-„ „And stay longer than I need to? I believe that to be quite unnecessary and a waste of my time.“ „But…“ Nothing more is said as Alhaitham has already walked out of the door on his way home.

Whenever you announce to people that Alhaitham is your boyfriend you are always met with three distinct reactions: disbelief, confusion and pity. However, you never understood these responses since there is no one else you could imagine yourself with.

As you are preparing dinner you hear the front door opening with a relaxed „I‘m home“ attached to it. An instant smile paints across your face as you make your way to greet Alhaitham with a hug. „Welcome home! How was your day?“, you ask while squeezing him. „The usual, nothing much to say, what are you cooking anyway?“, he replies, a confused look making itself noticeable. „Oh well today I‘m trying something new! I hope you‘ll like it!“ „You know I‘m not much of a picky eater, y/n“ „I am aware, but it was a heads-up, in case it does not taste well“, you say with a huge grin. For the first time that day, a small smirk shows itself on Alhaitham’s face as he leans in close to you, your noses almost touching. „Your cooking has never disappointed me as such my deduction is it will be no different today“ and with that he moves in and kisses you, first slowly then with passion, pulling you closer with his arms around your waist.

You‘re the one to break the kiss and as if awakening from a trance you whisper „The dinner will burn…“ He stares at you with his beautiful eyes not looking away for a second. You raise an eyebrow and say „Are you sure everything was „the usual“ today? That was one hell of a kiss.“ He continues to look at you and hold you tightly in his arm as he takes the other to cup your cheek. „It was, I just missed you.“ Your heart skips a beat at his words said so elegantly yet nonchalantly making you blush instantly. „A-Alhaitham?!“, you stutter as he moves in for yet another kiss, short but sweet then he releases you from his grip stepping into the kitchen.

You are left puzzled as you stand in the living room. Shaking your head, you smile and think to yourself: Truly, if put in juxtaposition, I got the better part.

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Ayooo!!!! My very first post on this blog…. Anyways! I wanted to commemorate it to the silly man that is my pfp. What a doof (I love him.)

Hope you like it!!

Small side note: idk if he actually is a picky eater or not. Let‘s just pretend he isn’t for the sake of this fic

Meow

#alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x y/n #alhaitham x gender neutral reader #alhaitham x you #genshin impact x gender neutral reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #x reader #x you #x y/n

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kemetic-dreams · 10 months

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Lucien Victor Alexis (1887-1981)

Not very much is known of Lucien Alexis’ early childhood in New Orleans, but what is known are the achievements he would make in later years to come. Born on July 8, 1887 to Louis Victor and Alice Saucier Alexis, he was educated in the local schools where he excelled academically. Alexis was determined to attend Harvard University. Not having the finances to do so, he began working in 1907(at the age of twenty) as a railway mail clerk, saving for the education he so desperately desired.

By the time he reached twenty-seven, he had set aside enough money for four years of college. He applied and was accepted at Harvard but was asked to attend (for one year) Phillips Exeter Academy in New Hampshire, a prestigious preparatory high school. While at Exeter, he lived in the home of Mr. H.F. Quimby and soon developed a keen interest in foreign languages and the sciences. By now he had only enough money for three years upon entering Harvard, so he managed by graduating “cum laude” a year early (1917). It was there, at Harvard, that he earned the nickname: “The Negro Einstein.”

That same year, Alexis entered Officers’ Training School in Des Moines, Iowa and was commissioned as a 1st lieutenant and assigned to the 367th Infantry on October 15, 1917. World War I was raging in Europe and Alexis sailed for service in France on June, 1918. Two months before departing, Alexis married Rita Holt in Gulfport, Mississippi and together they would have one son, Lucien Victor Alexis Jr.

Upon returning to New Orleans, Alexis took up the profession of teaching. He was assigned to McCarthy Elementary in 1921 and appointed Assistant Principal in 1923 at Willow Elementary. But his greatest reward came in 1926 when he became principal of McDonogh #35, the only public high school opened for the education of colored students in the city of New Orleans. For the next nearly 30 years, he would leave an indelible mark on this institution which is still being echoed by many of his formal students up to the present day.

“It was not unusual to spot our principal walking up and down the corridors of the Rampart Street School reading scientific works printed in German. Noted for his mastery of Latin, he often found time to instruct advanced classes in the subject.” (Class of 1936)

Other graduates affectionately tell stories of his successful administration but also his dreadful “army”. Being a former military man, Lucien was said to be strict but fair as well as famous for his method of disciplining students. Students who violated his dress or discipline code were forced to join Alexis’ “army” and ordered to march up and down the second floor of the school building.

Respect for Mr. Alexis soon extended beyond the school grounds and into the community. Since McDonogh #35 was located on South Rampart and Girod Streets, the students had to pass through a neighborhood of sleazy bars, houses of prostitution and various other vices. Often the girls were meddled by men on the way going and coming from school. Fortunately, once it was known that you were an “Alexis” girl, you were never meddled again. They respected Mr. Alexis and knew to show respect to his students.

The “Negro Einstein” did not give up his interest and love for science once he became principal. For five years he engaged in serious scientific study and soon published a 40 page brochure outlining his principles of a new theory which he termed his “ethonic” theory.

From 1929 to 1937, he published the following scientific articles: Fundamentals in Physics & in Chemistry, The Thermo-Electric Formula, The Riddle of the Magnetic Field, An Empirical Disclosure of the Fallacies of Relativity, A Counter-Deduction from Bent Alpha Tracks, Radiations-Their Loci of Travel and Their Loci of Origin, The Co-Origin of Gravity&Cosmic Rays, Simple Formulae for Measuring Atoms, Their Speed, and the Speed of Light.

Upon retirement, the brilliant educator and published author opened Straight Business School on North Claiborne near Esplanade Avenue and Mrs. Alexis basically ran it. Lucien Alexis also was president of the Supreme Industrial Life Insurance Company, founder and executive director of the School of Post-Modern Science in New Orleans, and a charter member of Sigma Lambda Chapter of Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity.

Alexis also spent a great deal of time on his favorite hobbies at home. On the 25th Anniversary of his graduation from Harvard, he told the Harvard press of these hobbies:

“Don’t interfere with my physics and chemistry, which I have raised from the ignoble position of a hobby into the dignified status of a science. Don’t interfere with my Italian which I have picked up since leaving you fellows. Don’t interfere with my German, my French, or my Spanish which I have kept plugging at. These are my near hobbies. You may interfere with my gardening and my frequent efforts at directing operettas, especially the Gilbert and Sullivan ones, for there you are in the field of real hobbies of mine.”

Lucien Alexis passed away December 18, 1981. He is buried in the family’s tomb in St. Louis Cemetery No.3.

#african #afrakan #kemetic dreams #africans #brownskin #brown skin #afrakans #lucien alexis #science #alpha phi fraternity #german #french #spanish #new orleans

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