Defying The Ground

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Every iteration of Arthur saying BRILLIANT

Martin’s 5-fold “fine”-fest

The Carolyn Knapp-Shappey Eyeroll™️, which you know would have been a thing

Douglas's casual-yet-fancy hand flourishes for when he presented the solution to everyone's problems

A BAKED POTATO!!!

“Here I am, don’t step on me.”

The entire gifset of Herc and Douglas’s smoothtalk showdown

All of Arthur’s facial expressions in Limerick

All of Arthur’s facial expressions, full stop

“What a delicious metaphysical conundrum.”

IT’S NOT PUCCINI!!!

Carolyn’s warning look

Douglas’s challenge eyebrow

“I’m not crying. Your smoke got in my eye.”

me: (looking down nervously) what are all these buttons for

‘Please could you request a weather report Douglas?’

‘Yes darling’

‘Captain, Douglas.’

Cabin Pressure - Paris

“I decided early on there would be no mention of the S word, or indeed the H word, still less the ‘E, MDW’ phrase. But that didn’t mean there couldn’t be, maybe, a couple of sly references… Benedict was an incredibly good sport about it all, especially given the audience was full of Sherlock fans. Though he did give me quite a look at the first read-through when we got to ‘Wow, Skip! You’re just like Miss Marple!’ “

X: anxiety

“Calm down, Martin.”

That was a phrase that had pursued him throughout most of his childhood. He’d become so used to it that it barely came through to him as an instruction anymore: it was just white noise, contributing uselessly to the clamour of the world that was often too bright, too loud, and too disorganised to be reasoned with.

MJN, he sometimes thought, was doing its utmost to desensitise him to its own particular brand of chaos. Maybe one day it would succeed.

But not today.

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Light is filtering in through the open curtains, and Douglas awakens blearily to a patch of sun directly shining into his eyes. He grunts softly, bringing one hand up to block the bright ray of light, and he glances down. Martin is clinging to Douglas where he lies on his back, one skinny leg clumsily tangled with Douglas’ own, his right arm thrown over Douglas’ belly, his face mashed against Douglas’ chest. Douglas can feel his soft inhalations and exhalations, feel the air rushing through the silver hairs on Douglas’ chest. 

Oh, how Martin had first delighted to see them, running his hands through them and saying, “What, you don’t dye these as well?”

“Martin,” Douglas murmurs against the thick mess of ginger curls, smelling faintly of his own honey and ginger shampoo. There is no movement, and Douglas can feel the sun heating the backs of his fingers and his hand. “Martin.” Nothing. Martin’s breathing remains even, and he doesn’t so much as stir.

Douglas rolls his eyes.

Of course it would come to this.

“Captain,” Douglas says, and Martin’s head jolts up. His pointy little chin stabs sharp against Douglas’ chest, and he looks around with bleary blue eyes.

“Huh?”

“I need to close the curtains.”

“Curtains? But it’s–” Martin squints at the window, and he groans softly. “But I’m so warm.”

“Every day has its dark clouds,” Douglas retorts, and he shoves the young man off him. Martin flops onto his back like a dead fish, and Douglas’ lip twitches as he moves up, shoving the curtains closed. Ah, black-out curtains! That’s the stuff!

Sliding back into bed, he wraps his body around Martin’s, relishing the warmth of him - he’s putting on a little weight, in the past few months, and while he’s still skinny, he no longer feels quite so emaciated, and Douglas can no longer count his ribs when he drags a broad palm up Martin’s side. 

but now i’m thinking about a theater au where its just a theater that’s a venue. like, they just rent the space out to shows/concerts/screenings/etc. carolyn as the owner/manager/ceo, douglas as the front of house manager, martin as the backstage manager, arthur in charge of ushers or something. they have this small old theater that’s a little rundown, but its quaint and has personality and they get a good bit of business wanting to use the space and like,