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sophie-looks-at-stuff · 10 months

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Some Modern Aemond Headcanons:

Hey y'all! So the votes were pretty close, but by a slim majority it looks like one post per character was the winner! 🥳 I also just have too many ideas for certain characters! So I'm going to start with my favorite, the man, the myth the legend, Aemond himself. My internet is going to be a little spotty for the next few days, since I'm going to be moving, but stay with me! I'll get them all on here at some point :)

He has a big black/gray great dane named Vhagar. I saw someone else say he’d have a great dane, and I totally agree!

He experimented with different colors for his false eye, blue, green, maybe even the signature Targaryen lavender. But ultimately he settles with the sapphire blue stone. It’s different, and makes him feel badass, but also a little pretty :)

Mans is the embodiment of dark academia, from style to work ethic. He’d be a double major in philosophy, and history. Maybe a minor in business, just in case Aegon somehow convinces Alicent and Viserys to give him the family business instead him. He’d still be the CFO or something, but CEO does have a better ring to it…

He'd get his own apartment as soon as possible. He doesn't like having roommates all up in his business. He refused to stay in a dorm room with a total stranger, so he and Aegon teamed up for once to convince Alicent to let them do an apartment together instead. But after a year or so, Aemond needed his own space… Aegon isn’t exactly neat and tidy sometimes.

Speaking of his apartment, I think Aemond would be pretty minimalist. He doesn't super love clutter. But his office might be the one exception. Since he's a double major with a minor, he's got a lot of textbooks, and novels lying around. Unlike Helaena, he's not a collector, or a huge fan of nic nacs. But he does have his posh tea, and I think he'd have a small collection of about 3 or 4 daggers.

It would be interesting to see him with an s/o that is a collector, he'd probably end up designating a part of his house to them for all their little things. He could handle a small corner or bookshelf, but it grows on him overtime. And he gets secretly a little excited every time they bring something new home. "Hey look what I got at the antique store today!" "Add it to the shelf love :)"

Definitely a smoker. He knows it’s a bad habit, but he’s not super driven to quit either. It’s a stress reliever, and it gives him something to do while thinking. Helps him process stuff. (also it’s just kind of hot to think of Aemond with a leather coat and a cigarette, plus that motorcycle I mentioned earlier…)

Black is his favorite color/shade, at least for clothing and interior decorating. But ever since he was a kid he's had a thing for blue, a deep ocean, sapphire blue. That's probably why he settles on the blue sapphire for his eye.

Modern boyfriend Aemond would be a secret romantic I think. He didn't really have many girlfriends if any in high school. He'd have had his first kiss and all that, but they weren't really on his radar. Part of me thinks Aemond would be with someone a slightly more extroverted than himself. They would get him out of the house a little more, even if it's just to take Vhagar for a longer evening walk than usual.

I think one of his love languages would be gift giving. He can be a little closed off sometimes, so when words seem to fail him, he'd find a way through gifts. They'd range from a bouquet of your favorite flowers, to a private dinner at the nicest restaurant in town. You saw a dress, or top you liked online? It would be nicely wrapped in a box on your bed within the next couple days.

He needs someone with patience. He's insecure about his eye sometimes, (not all the time, cause I feel like he has some days where he's totally feeling it). He might take a while to let down some walls, but when he does, you can read him like a book. You see him squint a little at something his brother said? You know he's annoyed and wants to change the subject.

Looovvessss dark chocolate. More particularly though, he loves chocolate covered espresso beans. It's his snack when studying.

He runs cold, he has an extra layer with him at all times. Sometimes it's a sweater under his leather jacket, or a scarf Alicent made him tucked into his bag.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond imagine #aemond x you #aemond fic #modern aemond #hotd headcanon #modern hotd #aemond headcanons #modern au #headcanon #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #team green #hotd memes #aemond x oc #hotd season 1

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mityenka · 2 months

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things i've been into lately! statement jewellery, brown eyeliner and mascara, wearing clips and ribbons in my hair, moisturizer, linen, antique cutlery, poulenc's sonate pour violon et piano, cigarette cases, soviet film posters, clara zetkin's works, espresso macchiato, short nails, nights out, thin scarf & hoop earrings combo ⭐️

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bellofthemeadow · 8 months

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Blended Hearts and Bitter Brew | Part 2

Summary: Your life was boring, hoping for your big break, you were stuck at Starbucks for what felt like forever. The hot metalhead that just came through your door might just be the amount of shit-stirring fun you've been looking for. (3.8K)

A/N: Hey everyone, I am very sorry for the delay for this chapter, its been quite crazy at work and with the ini starting again (MY LAST ONE YEHHH!), things have been even more intense. So, it's safe to say it's been quite a whirlwind. I also had to delete my previous post because I encountered an issue with the chapter that required me to go back and make some fixes. I'm hopeful that everything is resolved now - fingers crossed!

Additionally, I'd like to extend an invitation to anyone who may have questions or requests for me. I would be absolutely thrilled to have the opportunity to work on them. I'll be away for a few days, and there's nothing I'd love more than to find myself writing by the lake, to be honest. Thank you all for all of your support and kind words, I love you all very much!!

Taglist: @hehekittyhawk

Warning: SMUT, phone sex, discussion of sex, masturbation, wearing, suggestive language, reference to bratting and brat taming (18+) (no minors like at all!!!)

The Phone Call

Usually, after a long day at work, you were more than ready to head home and collapse on the couch while munching on an entire box of hot pockets. Today was a bit different, though. For the first time in a long while, you were actually... excited! Still riding the high from your encounter with Eddie, you took the extra 10 minutes out of your way to stop at the corner store and grab the second cheapest bottle of wine (Fancy) that you could find! Cradling the bottle like you were Gollum with the ring, you were ready to let loose and get a bit frisky.

You got home quickly, stepping through the streets of Indianapolis, your overheated mood a total contrast to the frosty outside. After a quick shower where you made sure to scrub every inch of your skin, which was now pinkish from the scalding heat of the water, you put on your favourite black satiny robe. The soft frock hugged you deliciously, flowing around you like water and reaching just beneath your ass, highlighting its fleshy curve. In front of your antique floor mirror that you’d found in a second-hand shop, you gave yourself a saucy wink while twirling like a damn Jewelry box ballerina. A slutty ballerina, in your case.

You giggled to yourself as you sifted through the kitchen drawer, searching for the candle you were certain you'd received during last year's Secret Santa. Your hand moved blindly, finally identifying the candle's rounded shape with your extended fingers. As you grasped it, you opened the container and took a deep sniff—Peppermint Mocha. You snorted; your manager really was an unimaginative dick. Well, it would have to do for tonight.

You lit it up using the lighter you had stashed under one of your flowerpots for smoking emergencies. You had promised yourself that you would cut back on smoking this year, but every once in a while, nothing could help ease the tension like a good cigarette. It was also unmatched after sex, although THAT front had been pretty quiet in the last few months. Perhaps Eddie could help resolve that, you thought with a cheeky smirk as you imagined him pulling harshly on your hair as you devoured his tattooed neck.

You let the pepperminty aroma waft through the room as you started to set the mood around your little shoebox studio. It wasn’t much – barely enough space for a double bed and a small round table – but it was all yours. You didn't have to share with anybody, didn’t have to abide by anyone’s schedule but your own. If you wanted to get high and eat ice cream straight out of the tube, or if you wanted to practice the riff you couldn’t quite get right on your guitar until early morning, or if, like tonight, you wanted to set a sultry mood and masturbate thinking about Eddie’s tattooed chest… Well, you damn well could.

You sink down to the ground and settle onto your round, fluffy carpet. This very carpet had been among the first pieces you had bought after settling in your new life in Indianapolis. Regret over this purchase had never crossed your mind; its deep burgundy shade harmonizes exquisitely with the studio's dusky tones. And right now, as you reach for your vinyl collection, you can feel all of its fibers against your bare legs. Your senses heightened since the afternoon; its gentle touch now feels almost teasing against your puckered skin making you shiver deliciously.

You allow your index finger to roam over the spines of the hundreds of vinyl records stacked at the foot of your bed. There were so many of them that you reckon you could use them as a bedside table or something. You were quite proud of them if you were completely honest. You’d spent so much time curating this collection since your dad brought home a vinyl player for your 11th birthday. Your dad had insisted that "its sound is far superior to them boom boxes kids use these days." Along with the player, he had purchased your first ever metal album: "Master of Puppets," That night, you had both spent the rest of your birthday listening to the music with your dad, both huddled in the living room, heads bobbing to the harsh rhythm of the tracks—much to your mom's annoyance who must have shouted "SHUT IT DOWN" at least a dozen times before you’d gone to bed, feeling like your life had changed completely. After that, there was no turning back. Ripped jeans, short black skirts, fishnets, and leather became your uniform, and music became your greatest lover.

You reached out and retrieved the specific record you had in mind. Gently sliding the sleek, obsidian vinyl out from its protective sleeve, you cradled it delicately. As the stylus met the surface, K. K. Downing’s guitar strings struck like a punch to your senses, in a delectable impact of metal. The music flowed through you like an electric current, coursing through the grooves, infiltrating your ears, and permeating every fibre of your being, until you were immersed, entwined, and carried away by the raw yet exquisite sound.

Moved by the beat, you rose and started swaying back and forth, the music's rush flooding you until you didn’t exist. Music always held a flavour more alluring than any drink and a sensation more ravishing than any drug – music consistently brought you to a peak of euphoria that couldn't be replicated by anything else. You loved that feeling; the one where you would float over the world in your own little bubble, where no one and nothing mattered except for you and the music.

Your hand found the bottle of wine resting on the kitchen counter, and you took a large gulp, letting the burning liquid cascade down your throat. With the buzz of the wine slowly enveloping you and the music infusing life into your being, you began to move your hands up and down your body, tracing your curves beneath the satin of your robe.

Swaying your hips to the music, you let your mind drift back to Eddie; his husky voice as he tried to tease you, the mischievous tint behind his hazel eyes that you hoped would, when properly provoked, turn more devious—perhaps even a touch wicked. You let your mind wander to what Eddie was hiding behind that Metallica shirt. With a teasing smile to yourself, your body swaying from side to side in a tantalizing shimmy, finding balance with the rhythm of the music.

Come crawling faster Obey your master Your life burns faster Obey your master, master

The sound of your phone ringing brought you back down. "No way he called already!" You dropped the volume of the music before grabbing your phone.

Unknown number

This was too good to be true! And right on time too as the song on the vinyl changed. "Burnin' Up" started to invade your ears. Grinning deviously, that was perfect timing, and you were more than ready to put on a show if Eddie was on the other side of that line.

“Hey there handsome, feeling desperate, are we?” you sultrily cooed.

“Good to know you are a little brat outside of work too.” Eddie’s harsh tone sent a shiver down your back while his words sent a clenching wave through your core.

“Aw, but I just did what you wanted me to do.” You added a quiver to your voice for full effect, “I just wanted to be a good girl for you…”

“Fuck, you can’t just say shit like that baby!” You let out your best teasing laugh.

“Why is that? Am I making you hard?” You questioned innocently, “Are you hard for me right now Eddie?” A strained sound made its way to your ears as you took another gulp of your wine “Am I being a good girl for you now?”

“Good girls don’t tease. Good girls don’t… arg… Good girls listen, and they don’t act like desperate little brats for attention! ‘That why you were acting like a spoiled little princess earlier? Ya wanted all my attention, like the desperate little slut you are.?Well, you have it now baby, so you better make it worth my while” You whimpered at his words, but you didn’t want to give into him – not yet anyway, you wanted to savour this as long as you could.

“Tch, don’t flatter yourself. I don’t need attention from wannabe metal douchebags, thank you very much.” A dark chuckle erupted from the phone.

“Tut, tut, tut. Baby, you can fool yourself all you want. But I can see right through your little spoiled brat display. Beneath all that though, rocker girl thing you’ve got going on, all you want is for me to put you in your place. Am I right, or am I right?”

Fuck, he was too good at this. Most men you had been with had not really wanted to indulge in this fantasy of yours. Most of them had found it weird, not really understanding that when you were acting like a bitch you didn’t want to have a “conversation to settle our differences” as one of your exes so aptly put it. You snorted - No, what you wanted was for someone to grab you by your hair and spit in your mouth. And then, you wanted to cuddle, eat junk food and listen to music until your ears bled. But that was a bit too much to ask apparently.

“Where did your mind go baby? Am I too much for your little bratty ass?” Eddie teased through the phone.

Suddenly a wave of vulnerability like you’d never really felt before washed over you, making you extremely self-conscious. You felt stupid in your little satin robe, half drunk on wine and desperate for some guy you all but had 10 words with. Your skin was itchy, and you felt too hot like a hand had wrapped itself around your throat and squeezed. Fuck, what was wrong with you? For once, a guy was willing to indulge in your little kinky fantasy and what? You were gonna have a panic attack?! You didn’t even know the guy, why were your nerves on fire, why did it feel like you couldn’t disappoint him? Why were you feeling like you were teetering on the edge of a precipice, ready to plummet to your death?

Were you afraid of the fall, or were you afraid that no one would be there to catch you?

“… I’m sorry Eddie, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” You could feel tears gathering in your eyes.

“Fuck, shit.” You could hear Eddie scrambling on the other side of the line, “Did I go too far? Fuck I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Shit I should’ve checked for safe words before, shouldn’t have gone straight into it, it's just you drive me goddam mad honey.” A pause as he seemed to realize what he had just said, “Not like “mad-mad” more like lust-mad or – fuck, I don’t even know what I am saying and I’m rambling, and I probably sound like a complete maniac and…” You let him continue, his unfocused voice making you feel safe and maybe, just a little… understood.

“s’ok Eddie. It’s me, it's just… I guess I got a bit scared because you know… You just seem a bit too good to be true.” Silence.

“WHAT?! I seem too good to be true?” His voice took on a misbelieving tone, “Have you looked at yourself? You are like the definition of hot!” You chuckled at his words,

“Nah I am serious babe! Next to “HOT” in the dictionary, there is a photo of your face, I promise you that!”

You felt yourself grow warm under his words, “You’re just saying that…”

“Hey, don’t do that alright,” he counters sternly, his voice so full of certitude and assurance that it fills you with safety. You were so full of his words that you could pop at any moment, “I don’t say shit I don’t mean, never. And look,” a sheepish pause made you hold your breath, “You kinda intimidated me back there, you know. Like your fucking hot, and your witty and then I find out your kinky AF too? I mean, you’re like my dream girl brought to life. I feel like if I pinch myself you’ll disappear, like I made you up or something.”

You release a breath at his words, attempting to regain a modicum of composure you tease, “What like Pygmalion? Am I your Galatea then?”

“Baby, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Never mind…Did I kill the mood?” you ask in a squeaky voice.

In response, Eddie burst into a hearty laugh, “Nah baby you didn’t. It’ll take a lot more than that to scare me away from someone like you… How ‘bout we slow down? Maybe you could tell me what you were doing before I called you up.”

That you could do, "Well, I got back from work all flustered, just had to blow off some steam, you know? Poured myself some wine and put on Killing Machine..." A pronounced groan reached your ears.

“A tad controversial for a so-called metalhead to choose that record—a bit too... mainstream," Eddie quipped, his tone teasing. But your lips curled into an unabashed smile. "Maybe, but I was riding a Burnin' Up vibe, and needed the perfect backdrop. Anyway, a solid album's just that, regardless of how mainstream it might be." you bantered in return.

"Amen to that, baby. But tell true honey, was that all you were doing? Sitting around with music and a glass of wine?" Eddie inquiries with a touch of salaciousness in his tone.

"I might have been dancing... explored a bit beneath my robe—" you teasingly purred.

"Describe it," Eddie suddenly interrupted breathlessly.

" Oh, you want to know what I’m wearing? Is that what you want Eddie?" you replied teasingly.

"Don’t tease baby, be a good girl and describe what you’re wearing.”

You pause for dramatic effect, taking the time to compose your thoughts. "I'm in my black robe, it's all satin with lace, barely grazes below my ass..." you slowly croon, your voice a delicate whisper.

"Damn, keep talking, baby," Eddie's voice urges you, dripping with desire. "It caresses my skin so sensuously, makes me feel so good... Am I doing well?" you inquire, a mix of nervousness and anticipation in your voice.

"Absolutely amazing, baby. Have you touched yourself yet?" he inquires further.

"Just my tits, Eddie. I was kinda hoping you'd give me a call," you shily confess “Are you happy to hear how much I want you?"

"More than you can imagine baby, are you wet for me?” You could almost picture him; he was sitting in a nondescript room, perhaps with some Metallica posters and records strewed about, he’s clenching his teeth as you describe how much you want him, perhaps he took out his cock too. Is he touching himself, you wonder? Because right now, all you want is to dip one of your fingers inside your panty and relieve some of the tension that has been building since before you left for work.

“I’m so wet for you Eddie… I think I’ve been wet since before I left work, that’s how much you affect me. I want to show you that I'm not just a brat; I can behave, I can be your good girl" you say earnestly.

"I know you can be, but let me share a little secret with you, baby." Eddie pauses, and you hold your breath, awaiting his words. "Truth is, I kinda love it when you get all bratty on me..."

At his words, emotions erupted within you—a mélange of lust, desire, joy, and a tad of shyness. Each little butterfly fluttering deep within your belly in a symphony of feelings.

“There’s more of that where it came from,” you sheepishly admit, all too aware of your tendencies to tease and your strong-headedness. You lick your lip, and purr, “Are you hard right now Eddie? Are you as hard for me as I am wet for you?”

“Oh baby, I’m as hard as fucking Andúril right now!” Eddie loudly pants.

“… What did you just say?!” Nervous laughter meets your ear as Eddie stammers,

“No-nothing. It’s nothing. Forget I said anything.” With regained confidence, he continues,

“You gonna touch yourself baby? Come on, be a good girl and touch yourself with me.”

You quickly fumble with your phone as you put it on speaker and lay it next to you on your bed. “I’m in bed…” You shakily exhale.

“Yeah? Me too honey. Now. Touch. Yourself.” His tone left no room for arguing. You could hear a belt unbuckle and a zipper coming undone amidst the rushing of fabric on the other side of the line making you shiver as you imagine him taking his heavy dick in his large hand.

Slowly you hiked your fingers up your thigh, feeling the goosebumps rise under the trace of your nails. You reach under your robe, and you hiss as your index finger grazes your weeping pussy. “Ohh Eddie, I’m so wet, I’m dripping everywhere.”

“Fuck baby, I want to hear.” Blushing like mad you position your phone next to your dripping pussy before slipping your index inside, the wet squelching of your finger going in and out of your core sending pleasurable shivers down your spine as you imagine Eddie’s reaction on the other side of the line.

You breathlessly moan “You hear that, Eddie? You hear how much my bratty little pussy wants you?!”

“Fuck sweetheart, that’s the most metal music I’ve ever heard. My dick’s so hard right now, I feel like it’s gonna fall off.”

“I want to hear you too.” You frantically demand “Yeah? You want to hear me rub my dick baby? You’re such a perverted little girl!” Eddie didn’t need much convincing and all of the sudden you heard a loud plop, and a loud moan escaping Eddie’s throat. The sounds sending an arrow straight to your warm core; did Eddie just spit on his dick? The wet sound of his hand going up his dick was truly one of the sexiest things you’ve ever heard.

“I’m close baby…” Eddie admitted between loud moans.

“Already?” you giggle breathlessly.

“Fuck, don’t be a brat now baby. You close too?”

“Mmm-hmm” You hummed “Not close enough.”

“How many fingers, you’ve got in that sweet little pussy baby?” Eddie pants, almost pained.

“Just the one Edd.” “Shit baby, add another one. Can you add another one for me, honey?” His words alone were almost enough to send you over the edge.

“Yes Eddie, Yes I can. Anything for you!” You whisper-shout into your phone.

You dip another finger inside, ripping a loud moan from your throat. You part your finger, frantically spreading your slick all over and making a mess over your sheet. You curve your index toward you until you reach the spongey spot inside of you that feels oh so good. You rub and rub while your thumb aggressively circles your clit.

“Oh Eddie!! Mmmmm… Fuck, I’m close Ed, I’m so close! I don’t want to come alone!!”

“You won’t baby, you’ll come when I tell you to come. Not before.” Eddie pants into the phone. After what feels like forever, you feel the cord that had been steadily building inside of you start to grow taunt, teetering on the edge of snapping in half.

“Eddie… pleasepleaseplease! Please let me come!”

“FUCK! Come for me baby, I’m cumming!” His words send you over the edge and you see a white light blinding you as your body grows tense before letting go.

You can hear Eddie’s panting on the other side of the line while you try to catch your breath. Now sticky and half-naked with your robe open, you feel a wave of shyness overtake you.

“Eddie? Are you… Are you ok?” A loud laugh meets your ear.

“Am I ok, Baby? Pretty sure the Milky Way just exploded in my room. Damn, that was the hottest thing ever!!” You shyly chuckled at his sweet words.

“It wasn’t like… too much or anything?”

“Wait Baby… Was that your first-time having phone sex?” You grew hot and are quick to dispel any ideas he might get “No, not at all. But…” you hesitate, “But it’s the first time anyone ever made me feel like that before.”

“What? Orgasmic?” Eddie teases.

“Shut up!” You laugh before your traitorous vulnerable heart plants himself down your throat, “I meant like safe; you know. Like you wouldn’t make fun of me or like you actually wanted to hear me come. Like I really mattered for a minute and it wasn’t just about your dick.”

Eddie’s voice grew soft at your words “Baby, there is nothing that I would love more than hearing you come every day, it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. If you let me, I’d put it on a CD and listen to it on repeat.”

“You mean that?”

“With ever fibers of my being baby.” Eddie answers honestly. You can hear the truthfulness and the transparency in his voice. makes you feel better, and perhaps a little bolder, as you ask, "Does that mean you'd like to see me in real life again and not just when I have to serve coffee?" When Eddie doesn’t answer for a second you feel your heart drop down like a lead balloon.

"Or not," you chuckle, "I didn't mean to sound conceited. It's fine if you don't wan—"

Eddie cuts you off, "I'd love to, baby."

"You would?" you ask, your voice tainted with disbelief.

"I didn't mean to sound so unenthusiastic. It's just that I'm not used to having such a pretty girl proposition me like that. Had to pinch my ass to make sure it was real, ya know."

You laugh as your hand nervously toys with the lace of your robe. "So when would you like to see me?"

"How about tomorrow? Pancakes for dinner, and then if you want, I have a show with my band in town. You could come with."

"Yeah? You want to see me tomorrow?"

"Nothing else I'd rather do."

"There's nothing else I'd rather do either, Eddie."

“Then it’s a date… Be ready 'cause I’m gonna rock your world Baby!”

You giggle at his words “Can’t wait Eddie.” You look around you, with thighs still sticky with your pleasure—yeah, you really couldn't wait to see your rockstar again.

Next chapter

#eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie x you #eddie x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #smut

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neonblessing · 5 months

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10.

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT! ⚠️ Click here to read Neon Blessing from the beginning!

Club RED was a labor of love. A cyclopean eye of neon tubes stared down at the street from the facade of a beautiful temple to excess, bathing the darkening street in bloodred light which played through the mist kicked up by a nearby waterfall. The building was dark glass and darker stone, three stories tall and culminating in a domed roof. It wasn’t even 5 pm, but the line was pouring out the door and onto the sidewalk, foreign raincoats and umbrellas standing side by side with wet-haired Diluvian partygoers.

Shiv had never entered a nightclub through the front before. There’d been one club, the Magpie, that she’d frequented with her friends, but the owner was one of Ornarch’s devout and always let them skip the lines. Huh. She hadn’t been to the Magpie in years. She wasn’t even sure if it was still in business.

The line moved quickly, and before long, she was at the door. “Let’s see some ID.” There were two bouncers, identically dour and militaristic-looking men who loomed over her like a pair of sunglasses-clad statues, their suits custom-made to fit over the bulky structure of a mil-spec exocloak. Thin seams in the skin of their faces suggested the presence of subdermal armor plating to protect what the mechanized armor didn’t. One of them handled a scanner with the practiced care of a guy whose grip could crush a human skull.

Shiv showed them the card. “Kooler sent me.” The one with the scanner stared her down while the other barked a few quick words into a headset. If shit went south, the only viable exit was ducking the rope to the left, but Headset would make a grab for her and if those huge hands got a grip it was over. She’d need to distract him first, maybe blind him. Throw her coat in his face? She started to shrug it off her shoulder, just in case. Scanner continued to glower at her in a prolific display of disdain. He should be too far away to do anything, but just in case-

Headset spoke, snapping her out of her planning.

“Hm?” She’d missed what he’d actually said.

“Go on in. The boss is on the second floor.” Shiv pulled her coat back over her shoulder and brushed past the bouncers and into the club. She pushed her way past a heavy curtain of soundproof fabric and replaced the endless roar of the streets with the endless roar of Club RED’s speakers.

Water poured down gilded fountain walls and colored lights arced and scattered through thick smoke, produced by a mix of sweet-scented cigarettes and industrial fog machines. Waiters and waitresses wearing practically nothing served a very peculiar clientele: half of the patrons were exactly what she’d expected, the sort of wealthy-looking folks willing to spend fifteen credits on a can of beer; and the other half were all grizzled paramilitary types. The burning coal glow of their cybernetic eyes stared out at her through the fog, automatically seeking out her vital organs before flicking back to their drinks.

Shiv scaled the stairs to the second floor, taking a moment to look out on the dance floor from the balcony. The band’s frontwoman was more work of art than human, her limbs all formed from sweeping lines of carbon fiber and steel. Her guitar plugged into a port on the back of her neck, her quicksilver fingers dancing over the strings with surreal grace. She had a voice like an angel with a smoking habit.

“She’s quite something, ain’t she?” A woman’s voice came from behind Shiv. She turned to see Kurtz, for who else could it be? The owner of Club RED was maybe forty years old, a little shorter than Shiv, and built like a brick. Her head was clean-shaven, revealing dozens of tally mark tattoos, in sets of five, spreading from near her temple and across half of her head. Unlike everyone else, she was dressed simply and practically, in sturdy black pants and a tank top, and unlike everyone else, she had a gun at her hip, an antique revolver. Both of her eyes were red: one eye was flesh, with an iris that had either been dyed or transplanted. The other eye was metal, the iris glowing the exact same shade as the vast eye on the front of the building. She carried herself with an easy confidence, bordering on arrogance. “Are you the one Kooler mentioned?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m Joan Kurtz, owner of Club RED and REDEYE PMSC. What brings you to my door?”

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#neon blessing #10 #shiv #kurtz #xuria

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sundayandsunday · 3 months

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#tiffany #antique tiffany #vintage tiffany #tiffany and co #cigarette case #tobacciana

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mariana-oconnor · 9 months

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The Golden Pince-Nez pt 3

Last time I came to the decision - entirely logically and data-driven and not at all because he made an incredibly rude comment about one of his servants - that The Professor was a hack, his life's work is founded on a lie and he either commited or is complicit in the murder of Willoughby Smith.

I also came to the conclusion that he smokes too many cigarettes. (1000 a fortnight, you know over a year that's 26,000? And he's getting them imported from Alexandria? Guy has a problem.)

Stanley Hopkins had gone down to the village to look into some rumours of a strange woman who had been seen by some children on the Chatham Road the previous morning.

Was she stumbling around blindly, because I feel like with the prescription Holmes described, she's going to find it very difficult to get around on her own without her glasses.

I had never known him handle a case in such a half-hearted fashion.

Let's play: Is Sherlock bored, or does he dislike the conclusion to this story?

Even the news brought back by Hopkins that he had found the children and that they had undoubtedly seen a woman exactly corresponding with Holmes's description, and wearing either spectacles or eye-glasses, failed to rouse any sign of keen interest.

So she definitely exists and has been in the area. But Holmes doesn't seem to care about that, possibly because he already knows it must be the case and therefore this is of little concern.

He was more attentive when Susan, who waited upon us at lunch, volunteered the information that she believed Mr. Smith had been out for a walk yesterday morning, and that he had only returned half an hour before the tragedy occurred.

Man goes for walk. Vitally important information. It means that things may have occurred in the house without his knowledge, or that he might have been involved in something on his walk without anyone else's knowledge, such as meeting up with our lady with bad eyesight.

He was, indeed, a weird figure as he turned his white mane and his glowing eyes towards us.

Why are his eyes glowing? Eyes are not supposed to glow, Watson. Does he have tapetum lucidum? Is he a werewolf? Is he a demon? Has he finally smoked enough cigarettes that he has merged with the cigarette and now he is literally smoking?

Holmes stretched out his hand at the same moment, and between them they tipped the box over the edge.

Second recorded incident of Holmes knocking things off tables like a cat.

I don't know what the cigarettes have to do with all this. I feel like it's going to be obvious. The only idea I can have is that he's part of some sort of artefact smuggling ring and every two weeks he gets a massive batch of 1000 cigarettes but hidden in the package are antiques. But why would that affect his appetite? And clearly he is getting all 1000 cigarettes because he's smoking all day and night. And why would that require Holmes to smoke like fifty in a go before?

So there must be something in the cigarettes? Are the rolling papers money? Are the rolling papers ancient documents? But then he smokes them, so that makes no sense either.

“Yes,” said he, “I have solved it.” Stanley Hopkins and I stared in amazement. Something like a sneer quivered over the gaunt features of the old Professor. “Indeed! In the garden?” “No, here.” “Here! When?” “This instant.”

You solved it by knocking some cigarettes off the table?

^Holmes and the Professor, probably

I mean, obviously he has connected the dots, he's Sherlock Holmes and he is controlled by the almighty god-writer of his universe who's feeding him all the lines. But still. What can you work out from knocking cigarettes off a table? Did they fall wrong? Or was there something on the bottom of the box?

“A lady yesterday entered your study. She came with the intention of possessing herself of certain documents which were in your bureau. She had a key of her own."

So far, so not what I thought... this is not in keeping with my thoughts that the Professor dunnit.

UNLESS she was looking for evidence that he was a fraud and had previously talked to Willoughby about it, then when he refused to help her - loyal to his employer as he was - she took matters into her own hands.

Her possession of the key intimates that she has at one time had access to this desk. She's one of the previous secretaries that was let go for creative differences. Creative differences that were The Professor being a fraud, obviously (I refuse to believe this man has any academic ethics).

SO using the key that she kept after the termination of her old employment, she snuck in using her knowledge of the household and its schedule. The Professor came upon her and killed her, but knocked her pince-nez off and under the desk as he did so. No clue what he did with the body... put it in a crate of cigarettes?

THEN Willoughby comes back and asks if she came to see the professor, enquires about the allegations she made. The Professor says 'Oh no, dear boy. She hasn't been to see me, and she was a vary fanciful girl. You know what women are like.' Because he's a terrible person.

Then Willoughby finds the pince-nez, recognises them from his previous meeting with the lady and just as he's putting it all together STAB in the neck from the professor, but this time there isn't time to hide the body, the maid, Susan, is already there. the Professor hotfoots it away and leaves Willoughby there, forgetting all about the pince-nez still clutched in his rapidly cooling hand.

There are still some holes, and the cigarettes still make no sense and we have no body, so habeas corpus isn't exactly satisfied. We habeas pince-nez instead.

I could just read the story and find out, I guess.

I really want the professor to be a fraud. I want him to be totally discredited and disgraced. I want it so bad, you guys.

The Professor blew a cloud from his lips. “This is most interesting and instructive,” said he. “Have you no more to add? Surely, having traced this lady so far, you can also say what has become of her.”

This might seem like he genuinely doesn't know what's going on, because he doesn't seem worried. Or, per my hypothesis, he's just an arrogant bastard who's convinced he's smarter than anyone else in the room.

“I will endeavour to do so. In the first place she was seized by your secretary, and stabbed him in order to escape. This catastrophe I am inclined to regard as an unhappy accident, for I am convinced that the lady had no intention of inflicting so grievous an injury."

Really? Random lady we don't know did it? That would be very unsatisfying. 'Guy dies in room holding glasses belonging to the person who killed him' isn't a very intriguing murder mystery.

"She ran down a corridor, which she imagined to be that by which she had come—both were lined with cocoanut matting—and it was only when it was too late that she understood that she had taken the wrong passage and that her retreat was cut off behind her. What was she to do? She could not go back. She could not remain where she was. She must go on. She went on. She mounted a stair, pushed open a door, and found herself in your room.”

Ah, that's why the shortsightedness is relevant. Should have guessed that was connected.

This is where the Professor kills her and stuffs her under his bed right, then smokes a million cigarettes to cover up the smell of her rotting corpse?

(I'm grasping at straws, let me be)

“And you mean to say that I could lie upon that bed and not be aware that a woman had entered my room?” “I never said so. You were aware of it. You spoke with her. You recognised her. You aided her to escape.”

OK, that was like my... second theory last time? He's complicit in aiding the murderer.

Again the Professor burst into high-keyed laughter. He had risen to his feet and his eyes glowed like embers.

Demon professor

Y'know, if he went into higher education and got tenure.

God that show freaked me out as a kid. Could not watch it.

“She is there,” said Holmes, and he pointed to a high bookcase in the corner of the room.

OK, I know I suggested he was feeding her and that was why he was eating so much last time, but she's really been hiding in his room this whole time? Behind the bookcase? I guess she can come out when no one else is there, but she's just been living behind the bookcase this entire time?

...at the best she could never have been handsome, for she had the exact physical characteristics which Holmes had divined, with, in addition, a long and obstinate chin. [...] And yet, in spite of all these disadvantages, there was a certain nobility in the woman's bearing, a gallantry in the defiant chin and in the upraised head, which compelled something of respect and admiration.

Watson: She was ugly, but for some reason I still respected her. It was a very confusing situation for me. This has never happened before.

It's okay, Watson. We all know you're a shallow bitch sometimes and we love you for it.

“Madam,” said Holmes, “I am sure that it is the truth. I fear that you are far from well.”

Yeah, because she's been stuck in this room with the chain-smoker for over twenty four hours and he hasn't cracked a window. Honestly impressed she hasn't suffocated.

“I have only a little time here,” she said, “but I would have you to know the whole truth. I am this man's wife. He is not an Englishman. He is a Russian. His name I will not tell.”

Secret Russian! Did not see that coming. I'd ask if that's why the imported cigarettes, but he was getting them from Alexandria, wasn't he? Although there's probably an Alexandria in Russia, there were like fifty gazillion Alexandrias. Every time Alexander the Great stopped somewhere for the night, he called it Alexandria. Now there was a guy who like the sound of his own name too much.

For the first time the old man stirred. “God bless you, Anna!” he cried. “God bless you!” She cast a look of the deepest disdain in his direction. “Why should you cling so hard to that wretched life of yours, Sergius?”

You just said you weren't going to tell them his name? I get that's not his full name, but still...

Also, this does not seem like a happy marriage. Not least because no one seemed to know he had a wife and he was hiding her behind the bookcase. Not traditionally a good place to keep one's spouse. Although I suppose it is more original than the attic. Professor Coram/Sergius beats Mr Rochester on that point, I suppose.

“I have said, gentlemen, that I am this man's wife. He was fifty and I a foolish girl of twenty when we married. It was in a city of Russia, a University—I will not name the place.”

Thirty years is quite a big age gap... I feel like even at the time it would have been larger than average. Also, is she trying to hide things or could ACD just not be bothered to come up with a Russian sounding name?

“We were reformers—revolutionists—Nihilists, you understand. He and I and many more. Then there came a time of trouble, a police officer was killed, many were arrested, evidence was wanted, and in order to save his own life and to earn a great reward my husband betrayed his own wife and his companions."

Firstly, I have now decided that this story is the sequel to Oscar Wilde's play Vera; or The Nihilists. Also, he's a Snitch. I knew I didn't like him. We all know what snitches get...

“Among our comrades of the Order there was one who was the friend of my heart. He was noble, unselfish, loving—all that my husband was not. He hated violence. We were all guilty—if that is guilt—but he was not. He wrote for ever dissuading us from such a course. These letters would have saved him. So would my diary, in which from day to day I had entered both my feelings towards him and the view which each of us had taken."

So, she was maybe kind of cheating on him? Honestly, they both seem a little terrible. although they might have just been good friends. It's a little ambiguous.

Also, the name of the love interest in Vera; or The Nihilists is Alexis, so... like... Is this deliberate? Admittedly that's not his real name... sort of... but still.

“I must finish,” she said. “When my term was over I set myself to get the diary and letters which, if sent to the Russian Government, would procure my friend's release."

But would they though? Would they? Maybe I'm cynical, but are they really going to let one guy go from the gulag just because you sent some letters purporting to be from him saying 'no, we have to be nice little nihilists and not kill people'? You're placing a lot of trust in a government you literally were attempting to undermine and overthrow because you believed it was corrupt.

I'm just saying.

"With this object I engaged an agent from a private detective firm, who entered my husband's house as secretary—it was your second secretary, Sergius, the one who left you so hurriedly. He found that papers were kept in the cupboard, and he got an impression of the key."

So, I was right, one of the secretaries was involved!

Winning!

Also losing, but if you cut up all my theories and put them together you can sort of Frankenstein the right answer.

Still no explanation for the cigarettes, though.

She tore from the bosom of her dress a small packet.

I assume that this did not involve tearing her actual dress and she's not just standing there, tits out, from here onwards. I have to assume that, although the wording is very dramatic, I feel like that would be mentioned.

“Too late!” she said, sinking back on the bed. “Too late! I took the poison before I left my hiding-place. My head swims! I am going! I charge you, sir, to remember the packet.”

...

Anna, what have you done?

I have saved Alexis.

(There may possibly be 1 person who understands this... if that's you, hi! Thanks for existing.)

AND THEN, after she dramatically dies right in front of them from self-inflicted poisoning, there's a hardcut to them chatting on the way home.

"When you asked me to believe that she walked along a narrow strip of grass without once making a false step I remarked, as you may remember, that it was a noteworthy performance."

That does explain the grass, but not the cigarettes. Did you use the smoke to find the hidden room by looking where it blew?

"I therefore smoked a great number of those excellent cigarettes, and I dropped the ash all over the space in front of the suspected bookcase."

I feel like you didn't need quite that many cigarettes to do this. But also, dropping ash all over someone else's carpet is really rude. I know the Professor's a dick, but it's not like he's the one cleaning up after you. You just gave that poor housekeeper a horrible job and I bet she doesn't have a vacuum cleaner, and even if she does it's a manual one that requires pumping or something like that.

"...by upsetting the cigarette-box, I obtained a very excellent view of the floor..."

You definitely did not need to knock the cigarettes off the table to get a good look at the floor, Holmes. You have on several occasions in the past literally just fallen face first onto the floor to examine it without bothering to say a word. You knocked those cigarettes onto the floor because you wanted to.

"Well, Hopkins, here we are at Charing Cross, and I congratulate you on having brought your case to a successful conclusion."

Not sure how successful it is to turn up with an extra body rather than a prisoner, but I guess the killer found justice??

Not exactly what I'd class as success. But ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I guess.

Good for you, Hopkins!

"I think, Watson, you and I will drive together to the Russian Embassy.”

And Alexis was freed from the gulag, Professor Coram/Sergius died from complications due to smoking and his work was never complete, and everyone else lived happily ever after. Apart from the dead people, who were still dead.

Never would have guessed betrayed Russian nihilist wife trying to free her lover from the salt mines. But really, in hindsight it's so obvious 🤣

And the next one takes place in a famous university town. Is it Oxford or is it Cambridge, that's the question.

#Letters from Watson #Sherlock Holmes #The Golden Pince-Nez #long post

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