The legal clinic at Yale Law School that is working with the ACLU to fight Trump’s executive order is asking anyone who has experienced any issues with Customs and Border Patrol due to the ban, including anyone getting turned back from boarding flights to the U.S. in other countries, or any other airport intimidation, to PLEASE WRITE TO airportwatch@mailman.yale.edu.
THOSE WHO OPPOSE TRUMP’S EXECUTIVE ORDER: PLEASE SHARE THIS AS WIDELY AS POSSIBLE. This request is coming directly from the legal team on the case.
I’m sharing this from Nicolas Medina Mora (my former co-worker) who knows one of the attorneys involved.
“It’s January 29,” Sherlock declares, and John rolls under the cover so he can snuggle closer to him.
“Hmm,” he sighs happily, nuzzling his nose against Sherlock’s neck and breathing him in.
“It isn’t just any other day, John,” Sherlock continues, one hand starting to stroke his back slowly.
John, his mind still fuzzy with sleep, tries to focus on what Sherlock is saying, and he replies softly, “Is it?”
He feels more than he hears Sherlock exhales loudly before he pulling away, “Wha-” John starts to protest but Sherlock’s finger are brushing his lower lips, forcing John to open his eyes and looks at him.
“It’s January 29,” Sherlock says again, and the wonder and happiness in his eyes make John’s stomach flutter.
It takes another second for him to understand, “Oh. January 29.”
Sherlock smiles, one of those smiles that stretches to his eyes, and John leans in for a kiss. Sherlock moans quietly into the touch, pressing their bodies closer again and sliding both hand up his back and neck. John grins into the kiss, tongue tracing Sherlock’s lips slowly before parting them. Sherlock’s mouth is warm and welcoming, and John kisses him for long (long) minutes.
“I love you,” he whispers when then part, and Sherlock remains close, sharing every breath.
Sherlock brushes their nose together, “You’re marrying me today.”
John can’t resist another kiss, “Yes, I am.”
Sherlock closes his eyes, “You’ve met me all those years ago, today.”
John holds him tighter, loves him harder, “Don’t tell me you don’t know the exact number of days, minutes, secondes since I’ve pushed that lab door open.”
Sherlock laughs, the sound getting lost inside John’s mouth, before whispering the exact number of days, minutes, seconds since he’s fallen in love with John Watson.
i want this post in an IV drip connected to my arm at all times
peeps: write long pages about the glorification of abuse and the objectification of queer tropes
bbc: we are very proud of sherlock and the fact that it made us filthy rich
