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frogsmulder · 4 years ago

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Maybe There’s Hope: chpt 3 All The Colours Cannot Brighten

Starting from the final events of 09x20 The Truth, Mulder and Scully tackle their new reality as fugitives. When they finally settle into things, Scully finds out she is pregnant again. A canon divergent AU where I thought, what if Scully got pregnant whilst on the run instead of at the end of season 11?

2.1k words; rated t; tagging @today-in-fic; read on ao3

Scully shuffled awkwardly, walking into the department store, having foregone underwear. Currently, it was at the top of her mental list as she tried to discreetly pull her slacks down to stop the seam irritating her. Mulder's hand was at home on her back, to make matters worse, the usually comforting gesture making it more difficult to shift her pants.

Mulder chuckled quietly, seeing her fidget. She elbowed him to remind him he was in the exact same situation and it wouldn't be hard to exacerbate it if she wanted to. He squeezed her hip in apology, but she could still feel him laughing.

Leaning up, Scully whispered in his ear, "This needs to be quick. There are security cameras everywhere; we don't want to increase our chances of being recognised." Her pulse quickened at the prospect. "So, a set of clothes, toiletries, and we get out."

He nodded. "We should split up to save time."

"Agreed."

They parted without a single word more, Scully heading up the stairs to the women's and children's section and Mulder staying in the men's. She watched him, as she climbed the stairs, grow smaller and out of sight, feeling that gnawing in her stomach swell in his absence. Sucking in a breath, she focused her mind and steeled herself for the rest of the operation.

On the second floor, Scully was greeted with a bombardment of bright colours. Keeping her head low, she ignored gaiety and headed straight to the lingerie section, picking up the first packet of black briefs she found in her size. Practicality over style reminded her of her childhood, her father's strict orders, how she both embraced, and rebelled. She was conscious of that storm brewing in her again. With her plain clothes, she could hide from the world and its prying eyes. Yet a niggling thought told her that no-one would notice if she picked out some lace, no-one would see beneath her exterior armour: she could have something for herself again. She brushed her fingers over the delicate material, daring to imagine the power she could have. A small piece of control regained. Perhaps she could banish her contrition from the bedroom. Take control.

Ultimately, she left the lace behind, opting to match her plain briefs with a couple of plain t-shirt bras; the peril of public exposure was starting to take its toll. Every tick of the clock marked a drip of anxiety pooling in her lungs and the water levels steadily rising. Time was marching on.

Just socks, t-shirts, jeans, a coat, and maybe a jumper. She wondered if it looked suspicious buying a whole wardrobe in one, but was too drained already to consider changing tactics.

She grabbed a pack of socks whilst hunting for some t-shirts and jeans.

Two t-shirts: checked.

One pair of jeans: checked.

Coat.

Scully wandered surreptitiously through the floor, doubtful it would have a waterproof, when she stumbled upon tiny hats and boots.

Her insides crumbled.

It had been so long since she'd set foot in this section, buying small clothes to wrap her small child snuggly in. He would be a year old now, she reminded herself, learning to walk, starting to babble. Walking slowly, as if in a dreamlike state, she found herself subconsciously heading for the 12-18 months; no control over the path her feet chose. She was surrounded by a sea of cotton soft baby clothing: yellow cardigans, baby blue t-shirts, miniature dungarees... She imagined his ginger hair in a red sunhat. He'd be a year old now, Scully reminded herself as she picked up a white whale soft toy. It was something that she could have bought for his birthday and watch him chew the tail off when he was teething; tuck him into bed with and read bedtime stories.

----------

Mulder went upstairs to find Scully, having got all he needed. Not finding her anywhere obvious, he started to panic.

"Sc–" he called, but his mouth closed around her name, stopping himself, aware of the crowd of other shoppers who would easily hear him. Forced into silence, he picked up the pace, scanning all the rows of clothes for his familiar sign of red hair.

They are coming for you, son...

The sound of his pounding feet was mimicked by the rush of blood in his ears.

If you want my advice... leave your pretty, little partner...

He felt dizzy and disoriented, not knowing where to look or which way to turn.

get out of there while you still can...

He heard the giggle of a child cut through his mind with clarity but he dismissed it. After all, this was a department store, not a house haunted by unexplained phenomena; he had left those behind in his past. Yet he heard it again, closer, and he could have sworn it was from inside his head.

He stopped and turned around slowly.

Mulder saw that familiar red hair, peeking out from behind a rail, only it was more of a strawberry blonde and just above knee height. He crouched down to see her properly, but she moved away, only her blue eyes fixing sharply on his through the clothing.

"Em?" he whispered.

She made no response but turned away around the corner.

When Mulder rounded the corner himself, she was already at the other end, turning another, her bob of hair only there for a flash before she disappeared. He followed her winding trail, curious where she was leading him, until she stopped, standing next to someone, trying to tug at her shirt.

"Sc– Dana," he smiled, using her given name under some perceptive veil that it was safer. Emily nodded shyly. "You found her."

Scully turned around, still clutching the white whale. "What? Mulder? What are you doing here?"

"E–" He looked to Scully's side where Emily had just been but now was nowhere to be seen. "... I came to find you," he said, which was true, he just didn't want to unravel the traumatised inner workings of his brain in the middle of the baby section.

Then he realised where they were; where Scully had been; what Scully was holding in her hand.

"Dana," he whispered, a lump of worry caught in his throat, distorting his voice.

Scully looked down at the stuffed toy in her hands like she had her hand caught in the cookie jar. "We didn't buy him anything for his first birthday..." she tried to explain.

He wordlessly took the whale from her grasp and put it in the basket with the rest of his clothes like it already belonged.

She shook her head, searching his eyes for some understanding. "No, we can't... The money... We can't afford–"

"Yes we can," he interrupted her. Everybody grieved in their own way; maybe it could soothe him too. "Toiletries and then we're out of here," he reminded her.

"I haven't got a coat yet. Though, I think we're better off getting blankets for the car."

"You find the toiletries, I'll get the blankets. Meet back... by the stairs?"

Scully sighed.

Mulder stepped closer, wishing he could vanquish her hurt. "You sure you're okay, S–?"

"Yes, I'm fine. It's nothing." She brushed off his fussing, feeling like a small, incapable child herself under all the attention.

Mulder held her cheek in his palm and dried a stray tear.

"I'll be fine," she amended.

Trusting her, he gave Scully the basket and watched as she left him, walking quickly like she was running away. Her stiff gait so un-Scully-like and alien it was a physical embodiment of her grief. Himself feeling like cement, stayed, weighed down, swamped by a tide from slowly opening floodgates. Mulder looked at the row of white whales lined up on the shelf, each flopping with individual personality in the way that stuffing could make it appear so.

"Do you think he would like it?"

The bob of strawberry blonde hair nodded out of the corner of his eye before vanishing, leaving him to navigate the labyrinth alone.

----------

Scully was vaguely aware of what she's putting into the basket: deodorant, soap, razors, tampons– she hadn't even thought about those until she saw them. Her hand briefly hesitated over a box of condoms but she clenched it back into a fist. It would just be a reminder, an admittance, an avoidance.

At the checkout, she remained stoic and silent, resisting Mulder's touch at the small of her back. Ignoring the numbers as they flew by on the till, she handed over the money, too much to be paid in cash without raising eyebrows. If the cashier said something, she didn't notice. It wasn't until they were back on the dust-roads, alone, dressed comfortably in their new, plain clothes that Scully lowered her guard. By then, the day was long behind them, Selene cresting twilight in her silver, moon chariot. Night darkened their paths heading south, the chill creeping to tuck them in.

Curled up in the seat, Scully wrapped herself in the scratchy woolen blanket, it in no way kept the cold at bay. The white whale they had bought was tucked under her chin, squished closely to her chest as she held it tightly. She gazed out of the window, turned away from him, watching the last of the colours blur. At first, Mulder thought she was shivering from the cool air, so he rubbed her arm, but when he did so, she gasped and sniffed, retaking air like she would drown.

Mulder clenched his jaw and his fist on the steering wheel, angry with himself for not noticing sooner. They used to trek over the country all the time; long car rides filled with easy talking and comfortable quiet. Times were different, but their silence was a symptom of something more fatal. He wondered how it was so simple to forget that they had changed. He pulled to the side of the road and turned the key on the ignition.

"What... are you doing?" Scully whispered, choking on the sound of her broken voice.

He tried to reach for her hand. "Scully, please..." His plead faded into the stillness.

She remained looking out the window, focusing on the darkness. "I'm fine."

It was a knee-jerk reaction, taken from a box of samples she'd collected over the years. Scully cringed when she heard the old habit spill from her lips. It was an obvious lie– she knew it– risking exposure, especially to Mulder, who knew her so well. Feeling she had to was worse. Did she want Mulder to tell her she was wrong or was she only trying to kid herself?

She expected his words to follow swiftly, felt them on her tongue as he was going to say them. Yet they never came; his hand settled still on her elbow, the silence growing louder.

He continued to give her his undivided attention until she crumbled under the weight of his worry.

"I just..." She paused, licking her lips, trying to find the words to explain when her head was an empty void. She turned around to face him, yet she bowed her head, failing to hold his gaze. Huffing, Scully collected her feelings and imagined holding them in her chest. They trickled through the cracks in her hands, slipping as she struggled to understand them. What she had left in her palms was the guilt that tainted everything she touched. She tried again. "... Want to be happy... I'm not sure I can do that again. Not when there's so much missing."

Mulder gulped, running out of words to comfort her. I'm here, he wanted to say, You have me. But deep down he knew it was pointless saying it; it wasn't enough for her, even if it was for him. He couldn't deny that they were different people– very different people– despite all that they shared.

"It's going to come back for us," she stated simply and braved a glimpse at him. "We shouldn't have gone to the store. We shouldn't have stayed in the motel, Mulder."

He melted in her gaze, hating to see her burn herself in penance for all the things she couldn't control. Only that morning had he put a smile upon her face; things seeming hopeful. The way she had giggled wrapped in his arms now a distant dream.

You know she's right, Mulder. How do you save her now? the grizzled man chuckled, but Mulder ignored the voice.

"You said it yourself, Scully, we needed those things: 'practically speaking'." He felt cruel for using her own words against her, but they were the only ones he had.

She didn't turn away like he was expecting her to. Instead, she trained her eyes on his in the darkness. It wasn't a cold, hard stare but it wasn't filled with warmth either. She reached for his hand, locking their fingers together: a last act of hope. Mulder held onto the feeling, closing his eyes to the darkness.

"Maybe I was wrong."

#my fic #Maybe there's hope #dana scully #fox mulder #msr #on the run #xf fanfic

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dirt-cup-draco · 5 years ago

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Draco x Reader- Bullies

Requested by @tahliamalfoydepp

A/N: Thank you all for being so patient. I am now officially moved and will have more time hopefully. I have a fever and am worried about that, but I’m sure it’s nothing. I am happy to see my inbox is filling up! <3 I’ll be answering as much as I can in the next couple days.

Draco was pacing like a caged animal, frowning deeply as his nails tore at the delicate skin of his hands. You bit your lip in concern and stood from your place on his bed, standing in front of him. He didn’t stop, however. Just spun on his heel and continued his mechanical pacing.

“I’m not my father’s pet! I’m my own bloody person, and that... that idiot Potter and his asinine friends wouldn’t know a thing about- well about anything!” Draco spat with venom even as he ran out of words to say. He’d been ranting for the past hour, his hurt at the trio’s words filtered into anger and a superiority complex. Just like his father had taught him, you supposed.

“Of course you aren’t his pet.. They don’t understand your life. I’m sorry Draco,” You said calmly. You reached out as he neared you, hands closing around his arms and he stopped for a moment. You let your palms skate down the sleeves of his jumper as you pulled his hands apart. Angry, dark crescents were imprinted into his pale flesh. Sighing you pressed your lips feather-light against the harm he had caused himself.

“I’m nobody’s pet!” He declared, undeterred from his rambling even as you tried to calm him.

“You aren’t,” You parroted back to him, trying to appease him. You didn’t mean to sound careless or uninterested but you wished Draco would stop antagonizing Harry, knowing full well the boy would just hit back, as would his friends. Draco was always left feeling defensive. You cared, you really did, but how could you help?

Draco’s eyes narrowed at you as he saw you lower yourself back on his bed, eyes dashing from his head to his toes back up to his head. You were thinking. You weren’t listening. No one ever did.

“I’m not your pet either, you know,” He said quietly, almost like an afterthought, you were surprised at the bitterness that tainted his melodic voice.

“Draco?” You asked, eyebrows quirking up in confusion. “I never said you were...”

“But everyone thinks so! I’m just Y/N’s little pet! And you treat me like I’m nothing more than an annoying dog, pawing at your robes vying for attention. You probably think as little of me as Potter does!” He snapped.

You frowned, trying to stop the anger from bubbling up. He was hurt, ticked off, you couldn’t blame him for his insecurities. But at the same time you couldn’t let him discount how you felt for him and accuse you of untrue things.

“You know that isn’t true, love,” You said, testing the waters as you were back by his side in two long strides, kissing his cheek because he had turned away from you at the last second.

“Don’t call me that, you’re just trying to appease me like everyone else does! I’m either the object of everyone’s hate or someone people want to please just because of my blasted last name... I thought you were different, or maybe I had just hoped you wouldn’t be such a brown noser...”

“Draco Malfoy!” You gasped, aghast that he would say such a thing. “Okay fine! I don’t have to comfort you! You bring this on yourself. I love you, but you are constantly antagonizing everyone! I get it that being who you are sucks, that your father is a sperm donor more than a real parent and I am sorry you have so much on your shoulders but that doesn’t mean you can tear others down, especially not your girlfriend,”

“Oh so now you’re siding with Potter? I knew it! You must like him better than me,”

“That isn’t what I’m saying!” You nearly screamed. Draco was only a step from you and you wondered if you should slap him or give him a hug. “I want to be there for you but my motives have never been to kiss your ass. I care about you Draco, the real you. This is not the real you. Right now you are a child who doesn’t know how to process his feelings. I don’t blame you, but I need you to figure out if you want to handle everything alone or if you can be enough of an adult to see that I’m not using you or kissing up or anything like that... And for Potter, I am not siding with him, but maybe think next time before you speak. You get yourself in these situations, love...”

Draco was quiet. It was a startling shock compared to the shouting that had been going on just moments before. He opened his mouth once, twice. Eventually he collapsed onto his sheets beside you. “I’ve been a fool it seems,”

You grabbed his hands, lips returning to the fading marks his nails had left. “A little bit,” You admitted, “but that’s okay. I still love you,”

“Im lucky you do, who else could possibly love me?”

You tugged him into your arms and stroked his platinum locks as he adjusted and then melted against you. “You’re very lovable, people just don’t take the time to get to know you like I do. Or maybe you aren’t giving them the chance to,”

“I’m sorry,” He muttered, face nuzzled against the junction between your shoulder and neck.

“I know,”

“And I-I am grateful that you always listen. I don’t mean to get angry at you.”

“Shh, all is forgiven, we all act out sometimes, you’re no exception. And as much as you try and get a rise out of Harry and his friends, they do the same to you and it isn’t fair. Next time I’ll hex them, just for you,” You teased, kissing the crown of his head as he chuckled against your skin.

“Have I mucked things up?” He finally spoke after you two had fallen into a comfortable silence. The thinly veiled worry in his voice didn’t escape you.

“No, we’re okay,” You reassured and Draco knew you meant it. Even if he acted out and pushed others away, he always knew you would stick by his side and keep him in line.

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #harry potter #request #ask #angst #comfort

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gay-dragon · 5 years ago

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David’s character development as seen through his clothes

In light of the quarantine and suddenly having loads of free time when I usually have none, I figured I'd take this opportunity to revive an old post that I think got swallowed by the internet (probably because I tried to get fancy with gifs, so I'm just gonna do screenshots this time)

Basically, I'm a fashion hoe and I adore David Schreibner so this is an analysis of how the clothes he wears in season 3&4 reflect his journey as a character - let’s go!

Essentially, one thing I love about David is that he's a very multi-layered character, but he remained super consistent throughout his development. That's really hard to do, and DRUCK did it beautifully. To summarise it very crudely, I'd say that there are three main levels to David that we discover in season 3:

- Layer 1 is the mysterious cool guy that Matteo is instantly struck by

- Layer 2 is a fun, goofy and playful side of him which Matteo discovers quite quickly when they start getting to know each other

- Layer 3 is the very vulnerable, scared side of David which Matteo sees hints of a couple of times earlier in the season, but it’s so heavily veiled by the other two layers that I would argue he doesn’t really see this side of David until at least episode 7, and only truly sees the proper extent of it when they reunite at the pool and David finally talks about his feelings.

I also think there’s another layer which is the competitive, sassy side of him, but I have yet to figure out where to place this one, so I’ll leave it aside for now (I think it could play a big role in his potential season, though: when you’re competitive but struggling to achieve your dreams, it can be really painful. But I digress)

None of the three layers cancel each other out of course, David is still a cool person and a goofy person even when we’ve seen his more vulnerable side. But by the end of the season we’re finally able to see how these three aspects of him work together and influence each other to inform his behaviour.

This brings me to his fashion. I absolutely adore what they’ve done with it, and how consistent it has been throughout this development. I just want to point out a couple of examples of his outfits that perfectly demonstrate his consistent and believable development.

Of course throughout the majority of season 3, we see David sporting plain, baggy, dark coloured outfits in order to, we assume, be noticed as little as possible. What I’d like to look at is the clothes we see him wear that depart from this.

There’s of course this iconic shirt, which we see him wear very early on in the season. It hints at his goofier side, which Matteo has already gotten to know. I love that they had him wear it in the almost kiss scene, because although Matteo was very smitten by David’s cool guy side, I don’t think he would have fallen for him so completely if he hadn’t gotten to know goofy David. DRUCK makes a point of showing us the two of them clowning around a lot, so it’s clear that this playful attitude is something of a requirement for both of them, in a relationship. This shirt is also slightly more revealing than a lot of the clothes we’ve seen David wear so far, so that's a reminder of the hint of vulnerability that David has let Matteo glimpse. Basically I love this dinosaur shirt because it encapsulates hints of all three of these layers of David, making the almost kiss even more believable as we are reminded of exactly why Matteo is falling for this guy.

Similarly, the shirt David is wearing here is more revealing than what we’ve seen him wear before, once again reminding us of the reasons why Matteo is so smitten. However there is none of the playfulness of the dinosaur shirt, it’s just dark colours, slightly paralleling the way Matteo feels about this situation: a little vulnerable, and definitely not playful (it’s so clear how uncomfortable he is)

Fast forwarding a little to this scene, aside from being an absolutely iconic look, I was so excited about this wardrobe choice because it completely communicates what is happening in this scene: David is beginning to let other people in. He’s meeting his boyfriend’s friends properly for (I assume) the first time, and later in the scene he gives Abdi advice in a way that implies personal experience (so hints of vulnerability). What’s great about the shirt is that along with this slight opening up to the world, we finally see David starting to wear clothes with a little more pattern and structure, but it remains consistent to his character by having a dark colour scheme. The shirt is also still quite baggy, reminding us that David hasn’t quite let these other people see his more vulnerable side.

This one is quite simple and goes without saying: Matteo and David wearing each other’s clothes, the morning after they’ve finally let themselves be completely open and vulnerable with each other. It’s such a gorgeous visual way of saying: we understand each other, we are here for each other, we love each other.

This one is the look that made me most emotional. The sunglasses are fun and goofy but also cool, and they hide part of his face so again a reminder of his vulnerable side. And paired with the jumper which denotes a sense of belonging to a group, we get this: David still has some way to go in terms of letting people in, but he feels like he belongs, and he’s beginning to open up. I love it so much.

Going into season 4, we see David wear a shirt that serves a very similar purpose to the dinosaur shirt, except this time it has the added layer of being a shirt that belongs to Matteo. Here we are once again reminded of all these layers of David, all these reasons Matteo fell for him, but it also goes the other way around. Indeed, this clip is technically David’s perspective, so we see that he loves Matteo for all of these reasons too, and they go so well together because they understand each other on all of these different levels.

Then for the rest of season 4:

Throughout season 4 we get to see David wearing much lighter colours, or wearing outfits like in the scene where he meets the boys that fit the darker colour scheme that he has always adhered to but have more structure (and occasionally more pattern). This is what I was saying earlier about him having let his friends in to an extent, but still having some way to go before he lets himself be truly open.

On that note, in season 4 I know some people found him out of character, but I don’t really agree: I think those three layers are still at play. The only difference is that we’re no longer seeing him through Matteo’s eyes, and he hasn’t let many people in all the way to layer 3, so of course we’re not going to see him in the complexity that we saw him by the end of Matteo’s season.

Indeed, by this point David seems to have relaxed a little, I’d say he’s let Matteo’s friends in to layer 2, so he is now both cool David and goofy David. But as far as we know he has not yet let them see him truly be vulnerable. This means that he’s still at a level with them that he was with Matteo quite early on in season 3, so there is clearly still a long way to go before he really opens up.

Therefore I hope that if/when he gets a season, we’ll get to see him working towards finally being totally open with the world (not that he needs to tell the world all of his intimate secrets, but just being his entire self). I’m sure Matteo isn’t the only person that he’s let in to layer 3 (Laura most definitely was before him), but I think it’s important to be able to be vulnerable and honest about not being okay with more than just one or two people - maybe we’ll see him start letting in some of his own friends, new or old.

But there you have it, guys. There’s always so much to see, and tbh this only really scratches the surface of what there is to read, but in essence this is why I love what they did with David’s wardrobe choices throughout the two seasons that we have known him. It’s such a perfect example of what DRUCK does so well, which is developing characters in every aspects of the show. I’m really excited to see where they’re going to take David next, and how it will be reflected in what he wears!

#druck #david schreibner #druck meta #druck analysis #mine #txt #my metas

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nightingveilxo · 7 years ago

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The Film “Stay” and How it Brings Things in Sherlock Together

Right after TFP aired, I did this short meta about how the deaths and accidents in Sherrinford looked staged, and by that I mean they had too little blood, angles were wrong, etc. I was annoyed, because I started off the episode aware that Eurus’s eyes were the wrong color; not the contact lens issue, I mean the little actress playing Eurus had brown eyes while adult Eurus was revealed to have blue, which didn’t make sense. Unless something else was wrong, like little Eurus suddenly appearing in 221B, and the trio suddenly appearing on the beach (as mentioned in TLD), outside the old Holmes residence.

In March, I was working on meta about repeating events, and how to work through things or stage them to look a certain way. It narrowed down to the editing, lighting, and directing choices--throwing in many film, tv, and lit references, in order to create possibly two seasons of content. I say possibly, because I watched S4, hoping it would explain things that still made no sense in S3 (wrong dates, Sherlock taking over the blog, and repeating things off the blog). It just got stranger in S4, and I still don’t know if we’re going to end up back in the aftermath of TRF or HLV. I will say though, that if you follow the plot, flickering lights, disappearing people and objects, staging, camera, and directing choices in Stay, S4 of Sherlock will make a lot more sense. I didn’t know that many people when I did my original meta, and wasn’t aware people hadn’t seen Stay. I was glad it seemed to help a few people.

The image at the top if from the film Stay. It says Forgive Me over and over again, because Henry (Sherlock) not THoB Henry Knight, but that works too, because he also lost his parents in a traumatic event, writes it about his guilt over those deaths. Henry Knight was also a Sherlock mirror, and it’s possible that it was his parents that died in a traumatic way (based on evidence in TEH that I’ve already covered), causing the rift between Sherlock and Mycroft (or possibly their father having an affair). Henry’s been suicidal for quite some time, and the whole of Stay revolves around his traumatized brain trying to make sense of things in his last minutes alive. Compare that with the note John receives, because some of us contemplated that it was actually meant to represent the note Sherlock didn’t leave in TRF. “Ordinary” is also what John says about Sherlock’s parents in TEH, and it’s the word Mary uses about having a life with John.

Note the line from Stay about suicide. Naomi Watts’ character is speaking to Sam (John), a plaid-and jumper wearing, bicycle-riding therapist who was standing in for Henry’s regular therapist or so it appears. She’s tried suicide before, and she’s quoting Henry’s favorite artist, who also took his own life. It’s important to note that Lila tells Sam (John) he can’t understand being in the kind of pain that she knew, and that Henry seems to be experiencing. It’s the same sort of idea that many of us have had about how John treats Sherlock in S3 and 4, without having been in his shoes. Lila does mention how there is too much beauty in the world to end things, though...

Compare this with Sherlock in TLD, speaking from his own experience with taking his life in TRF.

(Part of this is a direct quote from ACD canon The Veiled Lodger--)

Sherlock: Your life is not your own. Keep your hands off it, do you hear me?

Sherlock: “Taking your own life.” Interesting expression. Taking it from who? Oh, once it’s over, it’s not you who’ll miss it. (Resting one hand on the railing, he looks westwards along the river towards the London Aquarium. In a brief cut-away, a pistol fires towards the camera, then there’s a brief shot of the exterior of the Aquarium as the gunshot echoes and then smoke rises from the end of the pistol. Sherlock now has both hands on the railing as he continues to gaze along the river.) Sherlock: Your own death is something that happens to everybody else. (Faith has looked in the direction he’s looking but now turns to face him again. He lowers his head, his back to her.) Sherlock: Your life is not your own. (His voice becomes strained.) Keep your hands off it. (As he looks down, it’s as if he and the railing are suspended in mid-air with no ground or river below them. His feet are not touching anything.) ( x )

This is important, because all the events that actually happened in Stay, take place on the Brooklyn Bridge.

Henry is in hell. Sherlock: I’m burning up. (See more below). Mary: Sherlock, go to hell. Mycroft: I can give you a map reference for hell. ER number 999 becomes 666.

We also have The Burning Child (a story told by Freud, who was brought up in TAB and all of S4), which is told by Henry’s father. It’s repeated, just like The Merchant story is in S4 of Sherlock. In Henry’s case, the father is manifesting as blind, because he possibly never took notice of his son or his art. Remember the idea that was going around for awhile that John had been shot in the eye, and was blind? It’s also why I sometimes refer to people (esp Mary in S4) as manifestations, thoughtforms or compilations of various people.

It goes with this, where characters Athena and Lila are morphing, because Henry’s mind is becoming more and more unstable.

This is what Athena actually looks like, and she’s practicing Hamlet (Henry Letham anagram--we know Mycroft loves those), a play about contemplating death.

Here’s our Athena/Anthea, who is associated with marriage.

This is in Magnussen’s MP (which also looks like Mycroft’s theatre).

The number 21 comes up four times in this film, because that’s how old Henry was going to be when he committed suicide, but he fell in love with Athena. In one instance, it looks like 2121. 221B anyone?

The original meta I did associated with Stay. The rest of these images will make more sense if you view it, but I didn’t want to make this meta too long.

Henry in Sam’s office. Yes, the couch and bookshelf look like Sherlock’s chair.

The glass sphere theme, like the one Arwel bought for S4.

Twins and triplets everywhere.

Leon, Henry’s dad, and Sam playing chess. Sam also has giant chess pieces on his office desk.

Henry’s mother and Mary in T6T. Henry’s mom and Henry both have this bleeding head issue, because Henry hit his head during the car wreck. The injury is very much like the one when Sherlock goes off the roof in TRF, which is another reason why I can’t definitively say that things started getting weird in HLV.

The aquarium (although that is also from The Lady of Shanghai, as are the multiple mirror reflections in HLV)

Stairs like in Magnussen’s place.

Olive, Henry’s dog who was put down years ago, just like Redbeard was.

Empty fridge, like Mycroft’s.

MRI scans in a not-quite medical facility, similar to in Sherrinford.

When Henry visits a strip club, these scenes begin to show up on the screen behind the dancer, although the burning effect that happens when Mycroft watches his film is also referencing the film “Sinister”.

I’m going to end this here, because you really should watch Stay for yourselves. This link will bring you to it on YouTube. I’m working on two other meta for Naomi Watts films that factor into Sherlock, but you should also read

@may-shepard The Ring meta, because it’s amazing, and a second one by

@swimmingfeelsinajohnlockianpool that filled in some more information. I’ll be interested to see if we end up with a seven days scenario, since weeks = years.

More links and tags under the cut...

Lit, Film, and TV References Master Post: ( x )

*EMP/Unreliable Narrator/Alibi/Editing All Give Sherlock His Audience ( x ) (Part II of Justifying John Watson)

Justifying John Watson/Johnlock as a Player in the Drama ( x )

Time Is a Leveller & We Get Six Napoleons ( x )

*Magnussen’s MP is Mycroft’s Home Theatre ( x )

A Happy Ending or Mycroft Has Been An Idiot ( x )

Lestrade Has Been Helping All Along (Whether He Knows It or Not) ( x )

Sherlock and John Become a Unit/Couple in TLD (Or it’s their memory of doing so—TD12?) (x)

*Stories Making TEH Unreliable ( x )

More Internal Editing in S4 ( x )

In T6T, Sherlock Becomes Left-Handed and John Becomes Right-Handed, But Only When Lestrade is Present ( x )

Ajay in a Memory of Nuclear Codes ( x )

Sherlock and John Became a Couple in TLD ( x ) Part I

Sherlock Became Captain Watson’s Soldier in S4 ( x ) Part II

Stag Night Results in Culverton’s Hospital and the Morgue Scene ( x )

Eurus in Mycroft’s Home Movie Transition ( x )

@monikakrasnorada @mrskolesouniverse @ebaeschnbliah @gosherlocked @devoursjohnlock @sarahthecoat @loveismyrevolution @kateis-cakeis @holmesianscholar @sherlockshadow @tendergingergirl @sherlockians-get-bored @posh-boy-clever-boy @princesse-des-lucioles @fellshish @iris-wallpaper @antisocial-otaku @love-in-mind-palace @darlingtonsubstitution

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feuillesmortes · 7 years ago

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This is a Henry x Lizzie modern au fic inspired by @harritudur’s flatmates au. Thank you dear for allowing me to play in your sandbox!

Henry and Lizzie are uni students in London and share a flat. Enjoy!

“Remind me again why we’re here.”

His voice seemed to have come from far, far away. Lizzie almost didn’t hear it, such was her state of mind. The day was splendidly beautiful. The warm light of the late afternoon covered everything in a golden haze, surprisingly making up for the chilliness of the occasional wind blowing in Regent’s Park. Lizzie had her eyes closed, sunbeams played behind her eyelids to produce the most extraordinary colours. Nothing could spoil that day, not even a mildly cranky Henry Tudor.

“It’s your fault, really.” She slowly opened her eyes to look at him squarely. “You wouldn’t stop nagging me about how I should not get the tube in my condition. You left me no option but to drag you along.”

It had been almost three weeks since Lizzie sprained her ankle. The first week she hadn’t left the house not even to go to uni. She had been desperate to go outside, and the weather of the recent days certainly did not make it any easier to just lie around and wait for her ankle to recover.

“I was right, though. There were loads of stairs to climb at that station.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Not that many. Besides, you should actually thank me for dragging you across town. You said you’d never been to Regent’s Park! Blimey! You should really go out more and get to know the city better. You’re always stuck behind a pile of books or calculators. Oh, and not to mention your Excel spreadsheets! You should definitely take a break.”

Unlike Lizzie, Henry had not grown up in London, but somewhere else in Wales if she recalled it correctly. He had moved to the city only after he was admitted at the University of Westminster. Worse, Lizzie suspected that the years he had spent in France left him with an attitude all the more dismissive of the city.

Henry scoffed, but didn’t respond to her badly veiled insult. Yet deep down she knew her comment had been unkind. It had been his commitment to his studies that earned him a grant at Westminster, after all. Also, she was keenly aware that taking a business management (and finance) course was not at all the same thing as being a humanities undergrad.

“Enfin...” Henry sighed, and Lizzie was only too glad for him to change the topic. “It’s autumn and I don’t understand what we’re doing in a rose garden above all things.”

He was right, the blooming season had come and gone. Yet Queen Mary’s Gardens remained a charming place all year long. Just now by passing the gates, the yellow and coppery trees of the garden were a welcoming sight, their branches gently swaying in the breeze. After spending weeks locked away in her flat, the dried leaves that crunched beneath Lizzie’s feet were enough to send a soothing sensation to her core.

“You’ll see there are still some roses left. To quote Mulan, the flower that blooms in adversity is the rarest and most beautiful of all.” Henry actually chuckled at that, and Lizzie caught herself smiling back.

“It’s so like you to quote Disney, Lizzie. I should not be surprised.” It was not often that she saw him smile. It was a shame though, for the look quite suited him.

They walked some distance until they were completely surrounded by rose bushes from all sides. “And les voilà!” She teased. “All looking nice and fresh. Well, not so fresh, but nice still.”

He chuckled again and bent down to look at some of the roses. “If you told me there was a rose named Absolutely Fabulous I wouldn’t believe it.” He stood again. “We could actually hold a contest for the corniest rose name here, couldn’t we?”

Lizzie laughed. “Alright. To my left I’ve got Heart of Gold, Blue for You, Song and Dance, Keep smiling annd Especially for You. What have you got there?”

“Hmm, let me see. Silver Shadow, Free Spirit, Fragrant Delight and Remember Me. I’ll take back what I said, mine are actually brilliant. God save the British enthusiasm for gardening!”

“I know, right! Now you see why I love this place.” She winked at him and Henry grinned back, a broad genuine smile showing teeth. Lizzie quickly found out she could not stare at him for too long, though. The golden light of the fading afternoon made his eyes look queerly lively and blue. She had to shake that unsettling feeling off. “Guess which one is my favourite.” She blurted out, grasping at the first thing that came to her mind.

He took a look around him. “Hmm, I know it’s got to be a white one... C’mon, Lizzie, don’t look so shocked. It’s not like you haven’t come back from the market with white roses multiple times by now. I’ve seen them in the kitchen, I’m not blind yet.”

“Well, I bet your favourite rose is a red one, innit?” Henry had the look of a red rose person, if such thing existed. He preferred coffee to tea, something that was unthinkable to Lizzie. She could picture him in one his French cafés like a proper snob. “How about Red Abundance for you?” She gave him a tight-lipped, sarcastic smile.

Henry frowned and looked almost offended. “You take me for such a cliché? Nah, I’d rather have one not so... ominously red. I reckon a pinkish rose or... There! Nostalgia. A white centre with a cherry red edge. How do like that one?”

“It’s alright, I suppose... Don’t look so proud of yourself. Are you going to start calling this one the Tudor Rose or something?”

He was smirking, the bastard. “Well Lizzie, your favourite rose should be that pink one over there. Free Spirit. It suits you right.”

Is he flirting with me or just taking the piss? For the life of her, she could not tell. Not only was Henry Tudor the most unreadable person she had ever come across, but his behaviour towards her so far had been erratic and tense, to say the least. At the end of the day, it was not their fault they had such different personalities but had been thrown together in the same flat.

“Goodness!” A look at the sun reminded her of the lateness of the hour. “We’ll have to leg it if we’re watching the sunset from Primrose.” Henry clutched her arm to stop her. “You mean, the hill? We’re not running anywhere with your ankle like that.”

“Come on, Henry! I haven’t been there in ages! And I know you’ve never been there yourself. It’s my ankle, okay? I decide what to do with it.” Her ankle was swollen and throbbing already, but he didn’t need to know that.

Henry only pursed his lips. “If you’re going to be so stubborn about it, then sure, why not!” She grabbed him by the arm and rushed off.

By the time they arrived at the top of the hill the sun was almost gone, but the colours in the sky were still incredibly stunning. The succession of orange to pink to violet would never cease to amaze Lizzie. The city skyline was outlined just perfectly, and birds came and went crossing the skies whilst seeking their nests. It was everything she needed to forget her ankle woes. Henry was so quiet beside her, she could swear he wasn’t even there. Most of the times his usual mutism was irksome, but Lizzie was glad for it now. The only thing she regretted was not bringing a coat. She was trying to hide her hands inside her jumper when she heard “Do you want my jacket?”

“Sorry?” She instantly flipped her head to him. “You’re cold.” He said, rather matter-of-factly. “Do you want my jacket?”

“God, no! I mean, thank you, but no.”

Had that come across as rude? Lizzie could not think of anything more embarrassing than to have Henry lend her his jacket at that moment. She had been daft enough not to think of the wind before going out. The wind that sweeps the gloomy hills of London, as the poet used to call it. They shared a comfortable silence for a minute.

“It’s a pity we don’t get to see the sun actually setting here.” Henry uttered softly. At that moment the sky was almost fully dark. The last rays of light dying out.

“Yeah, it sets just behind us. We can see the moon rising, though.”

“You should go see the sunset at Greenwich Park. It’s quite the view.”

“You’ve been to Greenwich? Oh my, that’s far! You have to get the DLR for that. I’m impressed.” As a north Londoner born and bred, Lizzie hardly ever crossed the river. She rarely ventured further south than Borough Market or further east than the Tower.

Henry chuckled softly. “Just because you don’t see me going out it doesn’t mean I don’t.” He shrugged. “Just not with you.” Suddenly Lizzie wished she had invited him for her outings before. His company was not completely unpleasant after all, just... Mildly annoying. But his words left her wondering if he had been going out with someone else that entire time.

“Hiya!”

They instantly turned from their spot on the grass to look at the stranger standing behind them. The man gave them a slightly apologetic look before settling his eyes on Henry. “Sorry, mate. Do you know what time it closes?”

Lizzie was happy to chime in. “Around six or so. But don’t worry, they won’t be chasing you off the park.”

The man gave Henry a tight smile and a “Cheers, mate” before wandering off, leaving Lizzie utterly baffled.

“Did you hear that twat? I answered his question and he thanked you?” She scoffed, but Henry was gazing too far-off to see her vexed.

“It’s not that, Lizzie.”

“Then what?” Her voice came off slightly high-pitched.

He turned his eyes back on her. “He thought we were a couple.”

Lizzie felt her face burning. “Even so! I’d be your girlfriend, not your property. He should’ve thanked me.” She babbled, and hoped that she might pass off her red cheeks as indignation rather than embarrassment.

“Of course, Lizzie.”

There was a seriousness in his voice, and Lizzie felt her embarrassment deepening. She could not believe she had dragged Henry Tudor to what could be considered one of the most cliché dates in London. Watching the sunset from Primrose Hill, what was she thinking? All that was missing was a bottle of Prosecco and a blanket to warm their legs.

“We should head back.” She started to gather her things as a way of dismissing the awkwardness. “It’s dark and there’s food home.”

“You mean, if Rodrigo hasn’t eaten it all by now.”

Henry was sporting his smirk again, and Lizzie felt her face breaking in a half-smile. “He wouldn’t dare!”

“I think he likes to be scolded, don’t you think? Probably mum issues. I can picture Mrs De Puebla boxing his ears for being naughty. Rodrigo, you ate all the food again!”

Lizzie could not help but burst into a laughter. Somehow it felt good sharing a laugh with him. Henry got back to his feet and gave a hand to help Lizzie stand and descend the hill. It seemed that just like that, easiness was restored between them. And they both could go on with their lives and pretend their accidental date had never happened.

#henry x lizzie #modern au #h7 x eoy #twp fic #henry vii x elizabeth of york #fanfic #this is my first time writing a modern au #heee

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asunafairywizardessheart · 7 years ago

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Tomorrow’s Safari

Yukiya/Asana

Requested by: Anon

Summary: On holiday on safari, they enjoy a night camping on the deck of their lodge where the Yukiya’s daughters transform him into a lion.

“I will never get tired of this view,” from their mountainside apartment holiday lodge a romantic panoramic view of the dry savannah greeted them as the sun set on another day of their family holiday.

Mountains in the distance were shaded in a veil of blue light and curtained by the rainbow effect of the sunlight steadily sinking below the earth. Herds of black horned wildebeest and zebras with pricked ears were silhouetted across the endless meadow of sunburnt grass.

“It’s weird,” Yukiya murmured softly in her ear and circled his arms around her waist.

“What is?” she placed her cool hands over her husband’s as the had a discreet moment alone as their children roasted marshmallows behind them, on the fire pit cleverly built on the deck of their apartment.

Yukiya had one of those realisations that could never be explained, “Well, we see romantic sunsets setting behind the ocean at home, yet here, it is the same sun but it holds a different beauty I have never seen before. Why is that?”

Gazing out at the savannah in the background, with a sea of green tree tops flowing out from underneath their deck to meet the distance plains, she tilted her head in thought at her husband’s question and offered a theory, “Perhaps, we see the sunset at home so much it lost its romantic touch.”

Immediately, he refuted that theory, “I don’t think that’s it,” he kissed her exposed shoulder.

“Then, what?” She tried making sense of whatever was going through his mind.

He had a sound reason to refuse her theory, “How can I be exhausted of looking at something so beautiful every day? I mean, those sunsets were not romantic because I was alone,” his golden-brown eyes, the same shade their two five- and four-year-old daughters, Anastasia and Violet had inherited pierced her pink eyes, the same jewel-rose colour their nine-year-son, Caden had developed.

Even after ten years of marriage, those kinds of unexpected compliments made her blush as she used to when they were still dating and were at the academy, “Why are you looking at me like that?” she averted her gaze and tried to wiggle out of his arms.

“Don’t hide,” he wore a soft smile, “I think it’s cute you still blush like that.”

If her cheeks were warm from his first compliment, they were now burning red-hot from a line like that. Those arms around her tightened but his body felt nice and warm against her skin as a southerly breeze whirled through the mountains.

Within that breeze there was a chill and Asana peered over her shoulder and Yukiya to the kids sitting at the fire pit. Caden carefully watching his younger sisters and teaching them his go-to technique for getting a crispy and melted marshmallow then a burnt one. Aside from his large pink eyes, he was a clone of his father.

Asana could see he was wearing a jumper alongside Violet with her brown hair tied into twin braided tails. Apart from her golden-brown eyes, she was a physical and spiritual copy of her mother. Anastasia, however, hugged her arms around her body to keep warm, “Ana,” as she was nicknamed.

“Yes Mommy?” her golden-brown eyes were shaped like her fathers and along with her dark blue hair and straight lips, her button nose, defined cheekbones and face shape came from her mother.

“Go put a jumper on, I would hate for you to catch a cold while we’re on holiday,” she instructed.

Not disobeying, she disappeared into the inside of the apartment lodge, the entire building made of treated pine where the yellow planks of the nailed wood shined brilliantly in the setting sun. With a noise, the glass door rumbled across the tracks below and in a matter of seconds, Ana raced outside with a jumper covering her exposed arms.

Yukiya and Asana suddenly found greater joy watching their three kids than the sunset sinking behind the vast savannah. “Daddy, you should try it,” Violet ran over to him and offered him a roasted marshmallow that was partially burnt.

“Is that for me?” he knelt to her level and closed his mouth around the gooey sweet.

“Do you like it?” she asked, adorably smiling at him through those round brown eyes and eyelashes which mirrored the shape of her mother’s, the natural winged tip reminding him of the fragility of butterfly wings fluttering in a breeze.

Despite the burnt bits and the goo getting caught around his teeth, it hit the bullseye of his sweet spot, “I love it, thank you,” Yukiya suddenly had a hunger for more, “You kids better go to bed early tonight too.”

“Why?” Caden tilted his head, cutely.

Cushioned with colourful pillows, a long bench circled around the fire to entertain larger crowds. With Violet in his arms, Yukiya and Asana sat opposite their other two with Violet not moving from her father's lap. She impaled another marshmallow on her poke and hovered it over the flickering golden flame.

Yukiya answered his son, “Tomorrow's the safari on the savannah.”

“Already?” not even Asana could believe they were already halfway through their family vacation.

Caden had not even registered tomorrow would be the day they get to journey through the savannah and watch the wilderness with their own eyes rather than through some documentary. Much like their brother, Ana and Violet’s golden-brown eyes sparkled with excitement, “We’ll see lions!” they cheered together.

“Mommy?” peering at her adorably in the warmth of her father’s arms, Violet called out to her.

“What is it sweetie?”

“Do you think I can talk to a lion?” she asked, giving her best lioness grin.

Being the offspring of two taming wizards, Yukiya and Asana, both passed on their talent to understand animals to their children. It was inevitable too, they would learn of their abilities at a younger age than Asana since they were always waiting for their parents, at the animal and magical creature hospital and research facility, tied with the city’s public zoo, when they finished school.

Violet possessed a very energetic and imaginative personality, much like her mother’s that seeing her twisting her face to mimic lioness was as adorable as watching a cub. Ruffling her brown hair as though it was a mane, Asana laughed along with her playfulness, “You remind me sometimes of a little lion cub.”

“How?” she tilted her head confused, not concentrating on her roasting marshmallow.

“Because, you’re a cute like a little cub,” Asana pinched her cute little nose but from the corner of her eye where she could see the flames flickering the impaled powdered sweet caught on fire.

Violet's gaze turned to the burning torch and watched her treat disappear into the flames, “Aw,” she pouted, “I wanted to eat it.” There was something amusing in the way she mourned the loss of her marshmallow that made Yukiya chuckle.

Rasping a hand through her hair, he had an idea. “I know we were thinking of going out tonight but what if we had a campout dinner by the fire?” he suggested, looking across at Caden, Ana then Asana beside him, “It's only a suggestion?”

“It's nice up here,” Caden smiled and nodded.

“Can we roast more marshmallows?” Ana tipped the empty bag over to express they needed more.

“Of course,” Yukiya smiled at her, “We'll go get some supplies.”

Asana being yet to speak but sitting around the fire with her family was a better afternoon than sitting at a restaurant deciding what food to eat off the menu. It wasn't exactly camping but it was close enough to the real thing. With the flickering fire and the warmth radiating from the flames and the savannah becoming one with the darkening skies, it was as perfect as it could get.

Yukiya squeezed her hand. The touch unexpected and off in her own thoughts, she flinched in startle. She turned her head and saw Violet standing behind him and teasing his hair with Ana helping, she couldn't help but laugh, “What's up?”

“Did you want to go to the restaurant?” he misunderstood her silence, perhaps not seeing the proud smile she wore when she stared deep into the flame before her, “We don't have to do what I suggested.”

She shook her head, “No, that's not what I was thinking about.”

Peering over at Caden, he was poking the flame with his stick and glanced up at his sisters making a tangled mess of his father's dark blue hair. Asana faced Yukiya with her unwavering smile, “This is perfect, don't you think?”

His daughters giggled behind him and Caden smirked amusedly, “Mom.”

“I know,” Asana laughed with her son.

“He looks like he's been struck with lightning,” Caden laughed.

Ana poked Yukiya's cheek and suddenly gasped with a good idea, “He's a lion but not yet. He's missing something.”

“I know!” Violet jumped down off the sofa and ran into the inside of the lodge, through to her parents’ room.

Asana turned to Caden, “Will you cone with me to get some supplies?”

“Uh-huh,” he looked across to his father, “Before they give me a makeover too,” he urged.

Violet came running back with a black case in her tiny hands. Somehow, she knew where Asana left her makeup bag within the bathroom inside the suite of the master bedroom. “Daddy, you need to be a lion,” she put the makeup bag on the bench next to him and began searching for something.

“Mom,” Caden tugged on her sleeve, “Let's go to the shops now.”

She could see her son's desperation to leave before he became the target of his sisters makeovers. It was always dangerous when they reached for their mother's makeup bag and Caden always ended up a victim along with Yukiya. Unlike his father, who relaxed and allowed them to paint him like a canvas, Caden didn't enjoy it so much and tried to run away from their deceiving cuteness.

“Will you be right here?” Asana asked Yukiya.

He responded with a lion's roar, “That's lion for yes.”

“You need to be fiercer than that Daddy,” Ana giggled.

“Don't attract real lions, okay,” Asana gave him a kiss and rubbed cheeks with her daughters, like a lioness would rub her head lovingly against her young cubs fur, “Be back soon my cubs.”

Caden had already grabbed his mother's handbag and was standing by the entrance door, “Come on, Mom!” he called, his voice filtered through the glass doors.

“How did he get there so quickly?” his speed to escape his sisters was more amusing than Yukiya's teased hair with the way his straight strands were fuzzed and surrounded his head.

“Be careful,” Yukiya whispered up to her, “Take your wand.”

“Yukiya, I'm just going to the shop next to the lobby,” Asana assured him, “We'll be back soon.”

“Mom!” Caden called impatiently.

Ana giggled and whispered something into her sister's ear. Yukiya and Asana traded glances trying to guess what this big secret was, and whatever Ana had whispered to her Violet giggled and nodded too, “He can be a cub,” Violet whispered.

Asana couldn't help but laugh, her daughters already planning to ambush their big brother when he came back with her from the shops. Although Caden protested whenever they did ambush him for a makeover, he ended up going with the flow eventually because of the time he spent with his younger sisters. Like his father, he had a strong sense of family and usually took on the role of protector whenever his parents weren't around.

Yukiya often saw himself in his son because of his strong sense of family.

“Daddy, what animals will we see tomorrow?” Ana was excited, “Will we see a tiger?”

“What about magic lions?” Violet wondered, “What about a wolf like Wolfy?”

Violet opened the eyeshadow and Ana had a round tube of foundation which matched the fair complexion of her mother. He felt the cool liquid of the foundation hit his skin and the gentle brush of the eyeshadow across his eyelids.

“We won't see tigers,” as they applied makeup, Yukiya was prepared to answer their questions, “They live in jungles but we'll see other big cats, but how about we make a game of this.”

“A game? What kind of game?”

“Tomorrow when we go out on the savannah, try spot as many different animals as you can,” Yukiya proposed, “Whoever sees the most will get a special prize and there are two runner-up prizes too. We’ll include your brother, Mom and me.”

“What’s the prize?”

Yukiya had to think for a moment, “Now, it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you the prize.”

“I will see heaps of animals tomorrow!” Ana promised.

“There is only one rule,” Yukiya said.

“What’s that Daddy?” Violet asked.

Like himself and Asana, their two daughters had a frightening habit of wandering away. It was the primary reason why they always had one daughter to each parent. Even Caden, used to wander away and ended up becoming lost within the forest around their country home. With the help of Elias and his family, Yukiya and Asana managed to find him a day after he had disappeared but it still haunts them to this day that he was alone.

Yukiya said very clearly, “Seeing animals only counts if you remain inside the tour bus.”

“So, we aren’t allowed out?” Ana asked.

“Not unless you have me or your mother and we say so,” Yukiya’s instructions were serious.

That tone carried in his voice in a way his daughters understood and dared not to disobey. Rarely did Yukiya become mad at his kids or used any force in his voice other than the usual firmness whenever they became naughty. But when his voice was blunt and serious, his kids knew to follow his instructions without question and trusted him.

“Okay, Daddy,” Violet agreed.

Ana agreed too, “Okay, we won’t go outside the bus Daddy.”

“Good.”

Asana and Caden, meanwhile, roamed up and down the shops aisles grabbing supplies, not forgetting the marshmallows to roast over the fire. Eggs, bacon and bread with sausages too to cook over the fire and feast on.

“Caden,” Asana called out to him.

“Yes Mom.”

“Tomorrow, when we go out on the savannah,” she worried he would become distracted and wander off, “I do not want you to wander off.”

Caden sighed, “Mom, are you and Dad ever going to let that go?”

“Caden, we could have lost you that night,” Asana reminded him and her voice was free from its playfulness. Gently cupping her son’s face in her hands, she looked into his eyes and easily could see those traits she admired in his father, “You are just like your father sometimes.”

“How?” he didn’t understand.

“Your eyes are full of the lively curiosity and spirit just the same as his,” she smiled into his eyes, “Your father and I love you and your sisters very much but the three of you have a bad case of wandering away.”

Caden was six when he had wandered off into the forest but as he grew older, he remembered how his parents cried when they had found him. He had spent an entire night lost and alone in the forest but his father’s wolf familiar was never too far behind him. Now older, he understood why they were so worried and glad they had found him.

“I know Mom, I love you and Dad too,” he didn’t need a long lecture to get what she was saying, “Besides, I haven’t wandered off for a long time. I’m nine now, not six.”

He was growing, he wasn’t wrong, “You are growing too quickly,” Asana hugged him tightly and kissed the top of his head, “Even when you are all grown up, you’ll still be my little boy,” the thought in only another few years he would be leaving childhood made her a little sad.

“Come on Mom, we’re in public,” he laughed and released himself from her embrace.

“Is there anything else you want?” she asked before they went to the counter and paid for their items.

Caden walked ahead of her but he was walking backwards as he spoke to her, “Hey Mom. What is your favourite animal?”

“My favourite?”

“Yeah, Dad likes dogs and wolves,” he had asked his father when they were out trying to find an injured magical creature in the woods, “I like birds, Ana likes dolphins and Violet…I think likes every animal, but I don’t know yours.”

Asana didn’t really have a favourite animal because she saw the value each animal possessed, even the scariest predators she respected, “Hmm, that’s a tough question,” she said, “If I had to say any animal though, I would say cats.”

“Cats?”

Asana watched the cashier scan and bag the items, “Well, I respect every animal and magical creature but cats, even when they don’t have some real magic to them, are magical in their own way. They are cute, the ultimate silent predator and can adjust to almost any climate. There are desert cats, snow cats, jungle cats and home cats.”

“So, Dad likes dogs and you like cats,” he repeated to himself as if he had learned something new about his parents that he had never known before, “There are lions, cheetahs and leopards that live in the savannah right, but I don’t know if there are dogs,” he rambled.

As the last items were bagged, the cashier announced the total price and Asana handed over the cash in the country’s currency. Carrying the bags, they both made their way back to the hotel lodge that facing the city side looked as though it didn’t have that enormous deck overlooking the savannah on the other side.

“Do you think they have finished putting makeup on Dad yet?”

“I doubt it,” Asana laughed, “But, do you want to help me cook dinner?”

“Anything to get out of being their doll.”

“They just love you,” she smoothed her hand through his hair as they took the elevator up to their room at the top of the building, “Besides, we all need to go to bed early tonight, like Dad said, so we have all of our energy for tomorrow.”

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mtvwind · 6 years ago

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“This week is obscure The Blackout reference week”

R: So since I was enjoying Matty yesterday I couldn’t share a song til today, and here’s something really sad: the song I wanted to share with you doesn’t appear to exist on the internet! I got it from MySpace, who, as we know, recently lost everything.

J: Womp!

Until I get home to upload it to the blodge, what are your memories of MySpace?

OG MySpace, nothing! I was Bebo through and through. Would go back to Bebo. Bebo over LinkedIn any day. Modern MySpace I remember because we were the only two people in the world registered.

Oh, new MySpace!!!

Did you forget?

I did.

I can’t understand how

The rest of the world did.

What a shame. A crying shame.

Justin Timberlake died for nothing.

The real daddy.

Right, we’re dangerously close to making this about Lance Bass.

Ah, you discovered my plan.

MySpace was one of my prime downloading spots back in 2006. I was pro at finding fake profiles for bands that had been set up with downloadable songs.

I was all about youtube2mp3.com

YouTube wasn’t really a thing yet when I was stealing from MySpace

God so old. Limewire before that I guess.

Yeah, I guess. I uploaded to Tumblr so fingers crossed this works. Tell me what you think of the distinctly average pop punk song.

Initially I’m disappointed that “Baby Baby” is not Baby One More Time. Did you ever watch The OC? It reminds me of that.

I did not.

It’s very that.

Do you recognise the singer?

You mean the singer that sounds like every other singer of that era?

Yes

I do not.

You’re in for a treat let me show you a pic of him:

Shut up?

For real!!!

Omg. Isn’t life a full circle?

This is a short-lived pop punk side project band fronted by none other than Sean Smith! (I think it came after that photo but it felt right)

I feel cheated. Let me listen again.

Go ahead, enjoy.

Oh god I can hear it now.

I don’t know who else was involved

They too have faded into obscurity

Or how long ago it was, unfortunately. However I’m sure he did YOU. ARE. DEAD. MEAT! t-shirts. I want to say it was just before Dirty Love.

There was not a t-shirt that man didn’t try to sell.

He’s still doing it with his podcast.

Jesus.

I still have a Dirty Love t-shirt but I do not ever wear it

I once ran out of clean washing and was forced to wear a The Blackout shirt I bought from Pulp. In fact I am once more out of clean washing so watch this space

Outside?? Where people are??

To be fair I had a jumper on. But I knew.

Fun fact: I actually have a few TBO shirts I still wear! The numbers are dwindling as I put more and more of them into retirement.

I like the idea of a retirement village for merch of bands that nobody cares about anymore. Just populated by Black Veil Brides.

It’s this drawer.

You have many drawers.

There’s a girls medium Fall Out Boy shirt from 2007 in there, but regrettably I am no longer about the size of a medium girl.

Omg, about the size of a MEDIUM GIRL

This week is obscure TBO reference week

I have to say nothing fits me anymore that’s for sure

I have 2 XL TBO tees, one of which I have literally never worn. The other is the one with the gates of hell on that looks like a metal band shirt. That one is my fave.

I wish I could sell merch.

I’d buy your merch. The ‘You Are Dead Meat’ shirts came about when Watkins still walked free.

We should use that as a historical marker, like BC/AD.

Difficult though, because where do you pick as your day zero? I’d pick the day that we all woke up and read about him being arrested on the BBC.

That was literally weeks after we’d seen him if you recall.

But I know you’d pick the sentencing, aka the day you came out with “he did WHAT-kins?”

That was by far my magnum opus.

Among your best pun work. Under appreciated by the Twitter community.

An artist is never truly appreciated in his own time.

Alright, Van Gogh.

There’s a joke about ears but today has been too long for me to think deep about it.

Is there?

There’s always a joke.

There’s always a bad pun.

Okay, here’s a question: you can pick ONE figure from our musical past back to relevance. Who?

Oh man. Sean would be the most grateful but he’s the least talented.

In music as in sex, amen.

Oh my god. I was going to say Kate Bush, but, Sabrina.

Omg. Interesting and unexpected choice.

I’ve been trying to bring Boys back for a few years.

youtube

I resent your comment on Mother she’s very relevant

Correct, that’s why I changed my mind. Oh - can I bring back the Singing Nun?

youtube

I was thinking about her yesterday! I would bring back Steve from costingless.com

Wow, I certainly would not.

He was great.

Was he, though?

We’ve remembered him.

That’s not always a positive.

#sean smith #the blackout #you are dead meat #myspace #our emo youth exposed

0 notes

afishlearningpoetry · 6 years ago

Photo

Looking Closer at How The Abominable Bride Foreshadowed and Can Be Used to Chronologically Decode Series 4:

Immediately after the midpoint of TAB – the murder of Sir Eustace – Sherlock learns of a Miss Me? message from the murderer attached to the dagger meant to evoke the ghost of Moriarty Sherlock is chasing in his dreams. The truth he doesn’t want to face is that Moriarty is alive and going to return.

Immediately after the midpoint of John’s original plan for series 4 – the murder of Mary Watson – John finds a Miss Me? message attached to the dagger meant to invoke the ghost of Mary that John is trying to hide in his story. The truth he doesn’t want to face is that Mary is alive and already back.

Both messages lead to a case, still left unresolved by the end of series 4, one they have to solve together, and like Sherlock says in TAB, “Sometimes to solve a case, one must first solve another.“

[Continue below the cut for more ➤]

See also: Shout out to @shinka for “Something Borrowed, Something Blue”... 10 Revealing Things From The Six Thatchers That Haunt You Late At Night, 10 Revealing Things From The Lying Detective That Haunt You Late At Night, and 10 Revealing Things From The Final Problem That Haunt You Late At Night. (#tw suicide #tw blood)

Bonus: Me... or you? IOU a Fall:

When Sherlock first starts his dream after hearing the news about Moriarty’s return, his dream takes form around trying to figure out how Moriarty faked his death. But the exact logistics of “how” aren’t very interesting – all it takes is some fake blood, a convincing act and maybe some make up, as Sherlock later realizes what Emelia Ricoletti did – and not really the point. Sherlock doesn’t really need to know how he did it, he needs to know why. And admitting that, transitioning from the guise of rationality to the emotional acceptance of what his return means and how Sherlock can beat him, is one of the main purposes of the episode.

After Sherlock first goes to the morgue and first wonders why the bride did it, he shuts down. He sees the writing of blood on the all, the “You” meant to invoke Ricoletti shouting “You... or me?”, which in Sherlock’s mind is pulling from Moriarty leaving him the IOU apple. One of them was supposed to die on that rooftop. You... or me? But as we see, Ricoletti doesn’t die after her act. It’s a question that reverberates in Sherlock’s mind multiple times. Sherlock’s dream threatens to fall apart right there as he asks “How could he survive?”, but John in his mind pulls him back into focus. It’s always you, John Watson, you keep me right. Then Sherlock doesn’t work on the case for weeks as time passes by.

Sherlock takes a new case concerning Lady Carmichael and Sir Eustace to focus his attention elsewhere after Lestrade calls the unsolved case to his attention, a scenario he’s devised in his mind to try to predict what’s going to happen with John and Mary’s rapidly deteriorating marriage, and it doesn't take long for that train of thought to lead him right back to Moriarty, where this parallel begins.

The three of them, Sherlock, John, and Lestrade, all stand over Sir Eustace’s body shortly after he’s killed as they argue about how it was done. “There is only one suspect with motive and opportunity,” Sherlock says. “They might as well have left a note.” Lestrade points out they did leave a note. That’s what people do, don’t they – leave a note? Leave a note when? Sherlock assumes that the bride did it, but the bride was also presumably attacking Watson at the same time that he was killed halfway across the manor, leading them to argue over could have done it. Sherlock will later realize that Lady Carmichael is the culprit and that’s what he saw when he found her in front of the pool of blood. Right before the bride he’s speaking to takes off the veil and turns out to be Moriarty.

By the time of series 4, Sherlock is putting the lesson he learned into effect by coordinating with John and letting him in on the plan to take Mary down. But because Mary fakes her death, returns to manipulate John, and isolates him, it doesn’t go according to plan. John’s story in series 4 is clearly supposed to only last two episodes. Both of them have character arcs that begin and end in that span of time, unlike any other series in the show. So if we look at his original story only lasting two episodes, Mary’s death coincides exactly with Sir Eustace’s. The next episode John finds the message that Sherlock received after her death.

In this scenario, John’s story this time, John teamed up with Sherlock to stop Mary and it ended with a shootout that claimed Mary’s life. But Mary faked her death and now John is the one who’s being haunted by Mary. The first half of his original story, TST, manages to be mostly stable and consistent within its own rules and logic despite all the details about it that are wrong. Mary’s video messages are an extension of the redemption arc that John invented for her, which means they’re doctored footage.

One of the ways that we’re told that her videos are a lie are the color scheme that John uses in his story. Mary’s videos always have blue in them, no matter what the scene they appear in looks like. As @shinak explains in “Something Borrowed, Something Blue: What Colors In S4 Tell Us About John’s Writing Process”...

Why so much blue?

We know it’s John’s color. We know all the important characters wear it this season. We know it means something. It means that the bluer the scene is, the more the Writer tries to stick with a narrative. It’s where we can most feel the Writer’s presence in the scene. The narrative, in blue, has to be the most Official and Clean possible. This is John trying to stay as faithful as possible to what he wants to sell to the audience on a surface level, even when the subtextual level is packed with unsaid truths.

Blue is a Lie. Blue is Fiction of the highest level. It’s John’s imagination running wild in the context of establishing a story.

In regards to Mary’s videos:

Baker Street when John goes back to see Mycroft and his team is in a more dark orange light, but it is still home and a place of confession once again. Notice how blue the screen is when they all watch Mary’s video.

Contrast between safety and the lie of the color blue. The same blue screen reappears at the end of TFP when Eurus as John’s mirror admits she killed Redbeard. A lie again.

And Mary’s styling:

Notice also her hair, longer and curly. While she still wears some patterned shirts (one with butterflies and the other with flowers), her style switched from feminine to more masculine and casual. Gone are the reds, the pinks and greens. She is all about blue, black, white and grey.

Even in the last video message, which John invents, when John tries to return color to the story and the lighting in the video is warmer, Mary is still in blue. John is still lying to the very end. He and Sherlock themselves are draped in blue in the final shot, connecting the lie about Mary to the lie about the entire ending altogether. Blue is also in John turning Sherlock away with Molly.

John introduces himself seeing the video message after Sherlock has already seen it. It allows truth to leak out for a moment in the post-credit cut, “Go to hell Sherlock”, before it has to be modified. In this version of events, John tells his therapist that he hasn’t reached out to Sherlock and Sherlock hasn’t reached out to him in months. This is explicitly contradicted by the ending of the previous episode; not only did John give Sherlock a note we don’t see, Sherlock went to his house and was turned away by Molly with John’s message.

John isn’t able to let the truth out because Mary is holding him hostage in his own house. On top of everything else, something else that tells us is the use of the color pink and Molly in this scene, per “Something Borrowed, Something Blue”:

This one is subtle. I didn’t notice it at first, but pink is the other color that keeps popping up this season. It’s not as blatant as red but everytime it appears, it shows us a good symbol. It is still John, but a John who can’t escape.

[...]

This is a double: Molly as the Writer tells Sherlock John can’t see him and hands him a note, while wearing under the jumper a white shirt with pink stripes. This season is filled with suicidal tones through Faith, alcohol and drug abuse and the leitmotiv of saving John Watson. The John Prisoner through the Writer is begging for help.

This context is important for knowing how John chooses to write the video message in the mirroring scene.

John, Mrs. Hudson, and Mycroft are in the flat where Mycroft is trying to figure out what triggered Sherlock’s relapse. Mrs. Hudson says, “You want to know what's bothering Sherlock? Easiest thing in the world, anyone can do it.” Mycroft says that he understands Sherlock’s logical side better than anyone else but that’s precisely against the point that Sherlock learned in TAB. In TAB, Mycroft was dying at an increasingly rapid rate within Sherlock’s dream logic, and Sherlock figuring out the “how” wasn’t the point, he needed to learn to be vulnerable with John. It’s about him learning to be more emotional.

This is following one of the things John does; plot points set up in TAB seem to naturally continue in the surface text series 4, which is why they seem convincing, but they’re part a larger lie. Sherlock breaks his vow to Lady Carmichael, then Sherlock breaks his vow to John. John threatens to beat him when Mary is in danger, and then he does after Mary dies. And this is one of the more convincing parts of the unreliable narrative precisely because we did see Sherlock go through an emotional arc in TAB, which allows us to understand the decisions he makes in the true events of series 4, even when John is showing a filtered version of him, but it’s still built on the explicitly wrong premise that John and Sherlock have not reached out to each other. Whatever Sherlock is doing here is in response to the note that John gave him.

Back in TAB, Sherlock continues bickering with Lestrade and John until his mind catches onto what John said before, “About a note, what did you just say?” For all that Sherlock pretends to abhor emotion this episode he’s so upset about Sir Eustace’s death he misses the obvious literal DAGGER sticking out of his chest. It’s not just that Sherlock is afraid to face the truth that Moriarty is back, it’s the wall that he puts up is breaking, even in his dream where he can imagine anything he wants. John is the first one who shows the message to the audience.

That’s why Sherlock is speaking so urgently in this scene, because he’s already aware of what’s coming, and he’s doing all of this in order to protect John without putting him in danger. But not involving him is precisely what’s putting him in danger; not involving him led to the fall, which led to Mary, which led to the wedding and pregnancy, which led to not just Mary killing Sherlock but John and Mary trying to kill each other. This is what leads to the ending, where Sherlock works with John to take down Mary.

Mrs. Hudson, even filtered by John, realizes this much about Sherlock: “He's not about thinking. Not Sherlock. Of course he is. No, no. He's more emotional, isn't he? Unsolved case, shoot the wall! Boom, boom! Unmade breakfast, karate the fridge.” John goes back and forth on this episode on whether or not Sherlock is a sociopath; he calls him a monster, despite part of his mind manifesting as Mary saying, “Yeah, OK, all right, he is. Agh! But he's our monster”, but the issue isn’t really that John thinks Sherlock is not emotional, per se; it’s deeper than that. Sherlock has a mental breakdown, shows up to his therapist’s house, makes a very melodramatic show, and begs for his help and displays a host of emotions the whole time; exhaustion, anger, disgust, fear, vulnerability, callousness.

The issue is that John isn’t sure how much Sherlock values his feelings, or the feelings of other people how much he’s aware of them, and if he would return them, if he’s even capable of returning romantic feelings at all. John watched him shut down Molly at the Christmas party in ASIB before apologizing for being so cold; Sherlock genuinely had no idea felt that strongly because he does try to shut himself out from feeling things and that leads to him being very alone, which often leads to him misreading other people, but he does apologize to her after he realizes his mistake. So for John the issue isn’t that Sherlock is incapable of human emotion, it’s how he treats other people, stemming from his own fear of being rejected. It’s how he talks about Mrs. Hudson in TRF when John thinks she’s in danger, it’s the way he uses John as an experiment in THOB, it’s the way that it’s the way that later in series 4, John invents Eurus and has her do an elaborate test involving a bomb that wasn’t going to go off with Molly again, and Sherlock has to manipulate her into confessing that she loves him and him lying about loving her in order to save her life, like on the subway in TEH. But Sherlock did think that the bomb was going to go off at first; it isn’t until right before he begs John for his forgiveness that he finds the switch to turn it off, which is why he manipulates him, recognizing the opportunity.

But it’s also true that John does often conflate his callousness with being unemotional, because in that moment Sherlock does unintentionally signal to John that he himself has an “off” switch, that he’s capable of pretending he cares or he doesn’t care at any given moment. John can be too close to it. Think of Mrs. Monkford in TGG, where Sherlock pretends to be emotional while crying merely to pry information out of her, only to drop the veil immediately after he gets what he ways. Sherlock does that because she’s part of a scheme to split the insurance money with Janus Cars for Ian Monkford’s misfortune, but from John’s perspective it’s that he has that ability at all. While Mrs. Hudson’s testimony is important, it’s not groundbreaking for him to hear that about Sherlock, exactly. John’s issue with Sherlock is not that he never acts emotional, it’s how he treats him and other people. John tries to make this issue revolve around the grief both of them are feeling about Mary’s death, and he really tries to sell this with the morgue scene where he beats Sherlock, but because Mary’s death is a lie, that entire problem between them this series is a lie. It’s deeper than that. John tries to write them as two straight men who have some personal and moral quandry to settle over the body of a dead woman before the curtains close at the end of his story, and he gives both of them per-established flaws that are baked into that, but neither of them fit, even if they fit some version of the truth.

Sherlock regresses in TST to such a degree that he’s acting like Sherlock did in series 1; he taunts Vivian Norbury to such an extreme degree for no other reason than to degrade her that she shoots Mary for him, which is part of the coverup, Norbury doesn’t exist, but it’s also giving him the flaw that he already overcame in TAB; his fear of vulnerability leading to callousness. It’s also not a coincidence how much John emphasizes him having this old flaw in the same episode where they two of them barely speak to each other, because John has to give himself a flaw; the cheating subplot. The cheating subplot is John sublimating himself emotionally cheating with Sherlock and also communicating with him secretly about Mary, but he weaves it into John’s deeper issue in TLD about not being the man that he wants to be:

We texted, constantly. You want to know when? Every time you left the room - that's when. When you were feeding our daughter. When you were stopping her from crying - that's when. And that's all it was. Just texting. But I wanted more. And do you know something? I still do. I'm not the man you thought I was, I'm not that guy. I never could be. But that's the point. *voice breaks* That's the whole point. Who you thought I was... is the man who I want to be.

But because we know that John is lying about the girl on the bus, and that his marriage is a sham, where does this come from? Who is the man that he wants to be? John’s quarrel is ultimately unresolved in the same way that Sherlock doesn’t respond to Irene’s texts. He declares that she’s a sociopath and that’s why Sherlock likes her, but he still isn’t sure about that by the end of the episode. The problem is not Sherlock acting emotional. The problem is that John loves him and doesn’t think Sherlock would return those feelings, and he has a breakdown about the state of his life and how lost and alone he feels being closeted in a life that’s drastically wrong for him. John and Sherlock are having very different journeys of learning to be vulnerable, where one is able to find his solution, and the other isn’t.

In the wake of Eustace’s death, Sherlock has to be reminded by Lestrade about the message tied to the dagger, he must have seen it! The message isn’t there when Sherlock finds Sir Eustace, but it’s there after the bride escapes. Similarly, Mary doesn’t give anyone her video message right away, it takes time for Sherlock to get it.

This is an honest connection to TLD where Sherlock has stabbed Mary’s message, something that John either couldn’t have known about or would have had to notice himself:

Unanswered question... Well, what does he do with anything he can't answer, John? Every time?

He stabs it.

Anything he can't find the answer for, bang! It's up there.

For this reason, I believe this element is true. This honest connection is also one of the most important parallels in the entire timeline of TAB overlapping with series 4; it tells us a lot about both characters, what’s happening in context of the story, and the overarching structure of the entire show.

The dagger connection is critical because among other things, it means that John’s story was suppose to end after TLD. But in TFP, at the very end when John reestablishes his story’s universe after going off the deep end for the rest of the episode after the TLD cliffhanger, Sherlock returns the knife to the mantle. Which means the true story hasn’t really ended. Sherlock hasn’t really solved it. And because this is John writing Sherlock, the question also becomes: what does John think Sherlock hasn’t solved?

It’s never explained why Mary’s message as stabbed to begin with; what was it about the video that Sherlock couldn’t answer? Sherlock follows her instructions and fulfills the case, it wasn’t a mystery that he couldn’t solve. The only answer would be “How does he save John Watson?”, but that very question is built on a false premise, because both of them did reach out to each other before John directly lies to the audience about it. If it was that simple, he would have done it. But John can’t answer him. He can’t answer the door, and he can’t answer his phone. The question then becomes, providing some of the other details about the message are true, augmented by the true events of series 4; how does he save John Watson given what John told him in the letter? How does he get him out of his house that’s become a prison? And how is Mary involved?

Because Mary is the case of series 4; the coverup and fallout of her murder is what the story revolves around. She’s the case that Sherlock can’t solve because him and John are separated. That’s why the knife is still there the case still unsolved, as Mary’s face from the second video message, the one that John fully invents, looms over them until the very last shot. And Sherlock has already subconsciously connected Mary to Moriarty; Sherlock can’t solve her case because he still hasn’t consciously realized it yet.

In TAB, we aren’t shown what the message says until John reads it, Miss Me?, reinforcing that this is all for John. John is the target. “I will burn the heart out of you.” Sherlock doesn’t answer him because he still can’t communicate with John about Moriarty’s return because Sherlock runs back to his past instincts; to shut John out and deal with Moriarty himself in order to protect him. Sherlock walks off without saying a word. In TLD, we get John’s mirror of this scene; we do see part of the video message at the end of TST and that it has Miss Me? written on it, and John is writing this, but the first time he discovers it in the story is when it’s with the dagger.

It’s not just Moriarty returning, it’s Mary too. It’s both of them. Because we know that Mary’s death was a coverup, this means that she’s going to return for real soon, and with real consequences. John tries to obfuscate what really happened by making Mary holding him as prisoner in his home as him manifesting his grief in the form of visions of his dead wife. But as Sherlock says in TAB, “There are no ghosts in this world. Save those we make for ourselves.” This also writes her out of the story, because after John completes is arc in his last scene with Sherlock in TLD, as per his original story plan, he finally stops having ghost visions of her. John is seeing Mary because she’s still alive and she’s drugging him. She’s trying to get him to commit suicide after isolating him, hurting Sherlock in the worst way imaginable. If Moriarty or Mary wanted to kill him they could have done so at anytime. Eurus shooting John is not the first time Mary has appeared to John. They want it to be John’s decision so that Sherlock will lose his humanity and, Moriarty hopes, become just like him. John ultimately gets out of it by faking it, but Mary is still out there. The case is still unsolved. The knife is still stabbed to the mantle.

When John writes that Sherlock still hasn’t solved the case yet, he isn’t just talking about Mary’s return or her true nature, he also means his own death. John didn’t let him in on the plan and now Sherlock has to solve it. It’s going to be the most difficult case he’s ever had, like Mary says in part of her video:

I'm giving you a case, Sherlock. Might be the hardest case of your career. When I'm...gone, if I'm gone, I need you to do something for me. Save John Watson. Save him, Sherlock.

And the reason why he has to do this, the reason why any of this is happening, is because Sherlock didn’t let him in on the plan. Sherlock fell; Moriarty faked his death; John married Mary; Mary faked her death; and now here they are. All because Sherlock wanted to protect John. But he’s hurt John more than Moriarty ever could have by not telling him the truth; that he loves him and he always has.

One of John’s blog entries before the fall shows a picture of a Clue game board with the knife in it. Sherlock deduced that the victim faked his own death. John writes, “And he told me it might be improbable but nothing’s impossible. I wish I still believed that.”

This is the case that John is leaving him. The case of his death.

The case of his death and how Mary was involved.

Shadows of this fear still echo throughout series 4, even when it’s over (”You didn’t think I’d just disappear, did you?”). Sherlock says Moriarty’s return is undeniable to Mycroft in TAB immediately after he leaves John alone, even after he was just attacked by the bride himself:

Do you miss him?

Moriarty is dead.

And yet...?

His body was never recovered.

To be expected when one pushes a maths professor over a waterfall. Pure reason toppled by sheer melodrama. Your life in a nutshell.

Sherlock is being purely honest in his dream, unfiltered for anyone else, which means that when he wakes from his dream and lies in front of Mary that he’s definitely dead, no question, he’s purposefully contradicting what he knows. Even if he’s in denial that he’s dead, it’s still a question. When John writes Sherlock saying that Moriarty is dead, and that everything that’s about to post-humous revenge And this is exactly what John does in TLD, with a minor caveat.

If you’re watching this, I’m... probably dead.

It’s suddenly not, “no question”, but “probably”. It’s not just a difference between how both characters are handling both of their returns, it’s a progression in their shared knowledge of the larger scheme that’s happening. It’s not that Moriarty is dead, no question, Mary is dead, no question, they aren’t connected, no question; both John and Sherlock had to process information on their own, letting their insecurities and subconscious suspicions slip into the stories that they’re creating, letting similar patterns of the same ideas, however differing, parallel each other, before the final confrontation with Mary and Moriarty.

Sir Eustace and Mary dying were massive midpoint events that shifted the tension of both stories. Both Sherlock and John found the answers they were looking for in that moment, even if they didn’t realize it; what remains to be seen is what they do with it together.

#sherlockedit #tjlcedit #tjlc #sherlock bbc #john watson #the adventures of sherlock holmes #greg lestrade #mrs. hudson #mycroft holmes #looking closer at tab timeline #edits #television #gifset #gifs

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hisinfernalzombie · 8 years ago

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Dear Mother Sam, With my 20th birthday fast approaching, I’ve realised many things. I haven’t taken enough opportunities to tell you how much I love and appreciate you since I hit my teen years, especially those rocky few years where I was so horrible to you for no good god damn reason other than I was drinking and being an awful human. I never really thought about how much you’ve done for me and sacrificed for me until now. I see these things now because I am at a point in my life where I am starting to have to do the same things for those I love. We’re very alike, and if I think it sucks having to make sacrifices then you probably did too. But that’s the beautiful thing about a mother’s love. For that, I am forever thankful. We had a rough start to our lives as a family unit. You were a single, divorced, young parent in a time where it was still frowned upon and the government were only just starting to support that kind of family unit. You had to fight for everything. If there’s one thing I’m grateful to have inherited from you, apart from some great genes, it’s that stubborn strength. You never gave up or backed down in any situation, even when you were scared because that’s just the type of person you are. Still to this day, you are stubborn as hell and don’t take no for an answer. You still fight for everything you believe in and never let anyone tell you anything different. You still make decisions based on what is best for us as a family, not just yourself. Even though I’m not an adult and should be making many of those choices myself. I’ve seen you at your lowest moments and never once have I doubted your strength. You are the strongest person I know, not just the strongest woman.

So many people have negative opinions of young parents. You were 20 when you fell pregnant with me. A total accident, and in the 90’s that was still somewhat problematic. However, having a young parent was honestly such as blessing. When the majority of my friends have parents in their late 40’s or early 50’s, you only just hitting your 40’s is brilliant. You’re a tattooed woman, a pierced woman, a cultured and educated woman. You’re not oblivious to the struggles young people face because it wasn’t so long ago that you were in my shoes. And it hasn’t really changed all that much since you were my age. Although I know you have forever been criticised by your “liberal and soft” parenting skills by other older parents you had it spot on. I’ve never had a friend that didn’t say to me at some pint “I wish I had a mam like yours”. You’re a second parent to my closest friends, and I think they almost love you as much as they love their own mothers. You always let me be my own person, never pushing me to be someone I didn’t want to be or do things I didn’t want to do. You let me pick my clothes, decide what I wanted my hair cut like, what I wanted to read, what music I wanted to listen to. Prime example, you used to let me dress myself for nursery. The other parents had some opinions about this when their kids rocked up in perfect coordinated outfits and I waddled on in wearing a jumper and wellies in the height of summer. But that’s what I wanted to wear, so that’s what I wore. If I wanted to listen to Rob Zombie in the car at 5 then god damn it I did. The first time I wanted my hair cut short in primary school you knew I would hate it at the time, but you let me do it anyway because that’s what I wanted and it’s how I would learn what I like and what I don’t. Are comics a totally acceptable bed time story? Too right they are. When I wanted to join ballet, you knew I would hate it after a few weeks but you let me go anyone. Then when I threw up out of nervousness at a summer show you let me quit. Must have only been there a couple of months, and you bought me the full ballerina get up for it. Now I look back at all that wasted money and wonder how on earth you kept your cool. Bravo mother. Never agreed with the times you tied my hair up though. Even as a toddler I wasn’t a fan of all that faffing, but I commend you for trying to make my questionable appearance a little more adaptable.

Childhood was simplistic but oh so memorable. I grew up in a time when technology was starting to expand and grow rapidly, and all the kid’s I knew were bought these things in order to entertain them with no effort from parents or buy their love. Not us though. We still had a tiny TV with a handful of channels, a record player and imaginations. My favourite childhood memories are all wonderfully simplistic. Moving the dining room table, putting on a vinyl record (probably Abba or something, I don’t remember the music so much) and having dining room discos. Ever day on the walk home from school I would climb trees and find a “special thing” that you would incorporate into my story that night. We went fairy hunting and you told me I had them living in my bedroom so I used to make beds for them out of the padding in your bras (sorry about that). You told me garlic grew in men’s beards and the bigger the beard the more garlic you could harvest. You told me there was a troll that lived in a tunnel near the house and told me that my Stepdad and his brother were troll slayers. I thought they were the coolest people in the world for a while after that, but they also had beards so I was always garlic hunting. When I was obsessed with Polly Pocket you bought me the best advent calendar to date for Christmas. It had the Polly doll behind door 1, then gave you bits of outfits. But that wasn’t the end of it, oh no. You wrote tiny notes from Polly Pocket and hid them in my room at night for me to find in the morning. I had a whole dress-up box filled with all sorts of random clothing and questionable accessories. Possibly my favourite thing is that you were a parent ahead of your times. You said a massive “fuck off” to gender norms and stereotypes for kids, to gendered clothing and toys. If I wanted to wear boys clothing, you let me. It is just clothing. If I wanted a toy that was “meant for boys” you would let me have it if you could afford it, like that toy garage with the cars. I was more interested in climbing trees and getting dirty outside that going to Girl Scouts or dance classes like the other girls. You let me get absolutely filthy, let me play sports if I wanted, helped me climb those trees. When I dressed up as a builder in school as a kid, many parents raised an eyebrow because it was a “boy costume”. You loved it. I was never in a box based on my sex, and continue to reject that box now. You never told me I couldn’t do something because of my gender and that is so vital for a child. It’s meant I know no there’s nothing I can’t do if I want it bad enough to fight for it.

You never shied away from conversation topics many parents tend to dread. The sex talk was seemingly a walk in the park for you, you handed me a book (a very graphic and scientific book at that) about where babies came from then answered every question I could possibly answer. You were always good at that. When I got to the age of asking “why” all the time you would mostly give me a scientific factual answer instead of spouting nonsense. I never asked why grass was green again because you just confused my 4-year-old brain. You always educated me about the LGBTQ+ community and the issues they faced to the best of your ability. I’m glad I can now return the favour and educate you on modern LGBTQ+ issues now that I am part of that community and experiencing them first hand. When I started first questioning my sexuality, you were so unbelievably supportive. You would talk about anything and everything with me. You would tell me about world issues because you wanted me to be aware. You’d teach me about other cultures. You tell me about what it was like growing up in the army so I am aware of the ways other people live. You educated me on what a healthy relationship was, what was normal and acceptable, what to be careful about. Being so up front with me helped me so much. When guys tried to make a move that I wasn’t ready for, you had taught me how to say no and that it was okay to say no. When I would be upset over the fact boys had dumped me because I wouldn’t have sex with them, you would comfort me and tell me how strong I was and how proud of me you were. You made me aware of mental health issues so that when I hit 14 and started experiencing depression and anxiety I knew what was happening. It also meant I understood other people’s struggles and how to behave with them to help them. I don’t personally know many people who were brought up having such an understanding for these things as I did at such a young age.

When I started blooming into a little baby bat and had the dreaded phases, you were supportive. You told me when I looked like an idiot, which admittedly was most of the time, but you were still supportive of my expression. You took me to concerts, made me clothing to fit my 7 year old goth desires, gave me my first eyeliner which is a vital element of that iconic emo/scene phase I went through, bought me CD’s of bands I knew you really didn’t want to hear blasting through the house (Black Veil Brides and Brokencyde anyone?), gave me a hair straighter and didn’t question those god awful hair extensions. I do however apologise for the ungodly amount of hairspray I used in order to get the perfect swoopy fringe and teased bouffant, I put several holes in the ozone layer and made the house stink of Got2B Glued. When I wanted to start dying my hair in primary school, you let me. Again, this raised eyebrows among the stuffy parents but you had the brightest red hair known to man when I was a baby so it was only to be expected that I wanted hair like my mam at some pint. From year 4 onwards, my hair had purple highlights, was totally purple or red, and in year 6 I found the beloved “Midnight Blue” dye that gave me the nickname blueberry muffin among my friends. I first bleached my hair at 12 after months of begging. I wanted blue hair to further amplify the scene look. My love of coloured hair has never stopped. Although you hate me for dying the bathroom grout a multitude of colours I know you will never stop me changing it. I remember being asked, “How on earth did you manage to let your mam do that to your hair?!”. I just asked. Same with my piercings. When I started asking to get my nose pierced around the time I wanted the blue hair, you told me if I saved the money for it and did my research then I could do it. So that’s what I did. That was always the rule with any form of body modification, along with my hair changes that were as frequent as my mood changes. I had to do my research and pay for it myself with money I saved up. All my other friends were getting piercings and having to hide them or were forced to take them out as soon as they got home. Not you though. Never batted an eyelid. Hell, when I was 15 you blackmailed me into getting my second lip piercing because it annoyed you that my face was unsymmetrical. The only thing you ever fought me on was stretching my ears, but I did it anyway. I stretched my ear and let it close up a total of 3 times over the course of a few years. You accepted it when I was 17 though, and now both my lobes have 12mm holes in them that I honestly think I would look so odd without. You probably still hate them, but again you’ve always encouraged me to be my own person and express myself however I want. I wanted tattoos from a young age. I remember doodling designs I wanted when I was a toddler. You always told me once I was 18, if I had wanted the tattoo for over two years I could get it. You educated me on tattoos, the laws regarding them. When I came home at 15 and said my friend knew a tattoo artist that would tattoo a 16-year-old with parental consent, you told me something I will pass on to any children I may have in the future. “The law states you have to be 18 to get a tattoo. If an artist is willing to risk losing their licence just to make some extra money from tattooing an underage person, then they are not reputable artist and you shouldn’t be getting tattoos from them.” We got matching tattoos this year, something we had said we would do when I was a toddler. My first tattoo. I listened to at least one thing you said when I was a teenager. You’re a cool mam.

One thing I never expected when I came out was for people to say negative things to you. I don’t know why that never crossed my mind, but I guess when you come out you prepare yourself for all the struggles you’re going to face personally. That’s a luxury I had that I don’t think I gave you. I had time to mentally prepare myself for that, think about how I would handle certain situations. You didn’t get that time to prepare. You were throw in at the deep end. Much like when you became a parent in the first place I suppose. I never thought you would have people ask you if you were disappointed that you had a gay daughter, or say they were sorry I was gay as if they were saying they were sorry for the loss of your child. I never thought people would point fingers and “blame” you and your “liberal” parenting for me turning out gay. I never thought you could have lost friends over it. I didn’t you expect for you to have to fight for my identity and validity as a queer woman, I thought that would just be my fight. You’ve never once complained about it though. Thank you.

I am so lucky to have a parent who is so passionately supportive of me, who actively tells me they’re proud of me for everything I do, who encourages me to chase my dreams but also tells me that it’s okay to give myself a break, to relax and just enjoy life. You believe in me when I don’t, you tell me I’m capable when I don’t think I am, you listen to me when I need it most, you are a friend. I am so grateful to have the relationship we do, I know how lucky I am. Although we butt heads and get snappy with each other, I know I can always count on you to be there for me when I need you. I know you’ll be proud of me. I make sure I’m doing that every day. I love you so much, mam.

Yours, Steph x

An Open Letter to My Mother Dear Mother Sam, With my 20th birthday fast approaching, I've realised many things. I haven't taken enough opportunities to tell you how much I love and appreciate you since I hit my teen years, especially those rocky few years where I was so horrible to you for no good god damn reason other than I was drinking and being an awful human.

#appreciation #childhood #children #education #lgbt #lgbtq+#lifestyle #long reads #love #memory #mother #open letter #parenting #personal #relationships

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