#I’d picture after John woke up not only did he go on a vacation but he INSISTED in taking Gerome with him

[whereismyhat5678]

Okay they may look a lil’ sloppy but I just need to post something with these two-

THE BROTHERLY BOND MUST BE CHERISHED IT’S SOO FRICKEN CUTE!!! 💕💕💕

But seriously though- I don’t draw enough of John and not even Gerome!- Like- I’ve drawn him a couple times but I don’t actively draw him y’know??? I really need to draw them more they’re just- THEY’RE JUST THEM LOOK AT THEM LOOK HOW THEY BOTH JUST LOOK SO HAPPY- I CAN’T IT’S ADORABLE????? 💖💖💖💖

[gemma-lemma]

Cloudy Days - JJ Maybank x Male OC

1.5 – Stay out of the marsh

 When Parker woke the next morning, it was to a lady walking past the sofa he was crashing on. Once he realised that she didn’t just have awful taste concerning the colour of her clothing, but was actually wearing a cop’s uniform, he was suddenly wide awake and frantically scrambled to the end of the bed within 1.5 seconds, as far away from her as possible. Wide-eyed and heavy breathing he stared at her. Unimpressed she stared back, an eyebrow raised and a hand lazily on her hip.

“Do I have to be concerned about why this is your first reaction to seeing a cop?” She asked finally, voice husky, but pleasant. It reminded Parker of a home he’d never had. He shook his head slowly to get rid of the steadiness her persona seemed to emanate, and remembered that she was still a cop. He had met cops like that before, and they had been just as bad as all the others. Some even worse.

“Do I have to be concerned about you sneaking around my cousin’s house at eight in the morning?” He shot back after a quick glance towards the clock on the wall. She raised the corner of her mouth and formed her eyes into slits, as if she was saying ‘touché’.

“Your cousin’s house? That must mean you’re Big John’s nephew, am I right? Tamara’s boy.” She concluded and he nodded curtly, not really liking the idea of talking to a cop in general. Even less liking the idea of a cop knowing anything about his family. “My name is Sheriff Susan Peterkin. I need to talk to John B. Do you know where he is?”

Weighing how good of an idea it could possibly be telling her lies, Parker decided that she would go check in his room anyways and thus just nodded towards it. “He’s in his room. Fast asleep, I assume.”

She nodded and went on. Parker used the moment to go to the bathroom and get somewhat ready for the day. His shirt was completely sweaty, though, so he just shrugged it off and threw it in some corner. When he came back out, John B was already talking to Sheriff Peterkin.

“…of the things I heard, was that your Uncle Teddy, your guardian, hasn’t been in the state for three months.” Peterkin said, leaning on the wall to get a better look at a picture that hung there. John B quickly tried to clean up a little, and Parker decided to just stand back and watch the situation unfold.

“Yeah, that’s false.” He tried to save his ass, but she just lazily waved a hand at him.

“You don’t have to say anything, I know it’s true. I called the school.” She said without even looking at him. Parker studied her side profile, the way she talked and moved. She seemed jovial, and it unsettled him because it comforted him. The last jovial cop he had met had tried to get into his pants. Not very pleasant memories. He had almost gone to jail for decking him.

“They said you used to be a good student, but now you’re failing all your classes.” She said and walked over to the table, where she picked up the remainders of a joint and sniffed at them with a disgusted expression.

“No, no. It’s only one, and it’s history. The dude’s a dick. He’s out for me-“

“And I heard there was a fight on the beach yesterday.” Peterkin interrupted John B, clearly not caring about his excuses. “And a gun was involved.”

Now she looks like an angry mom, Parker thought, and immediately had to think about his own mom. He quickly pushed the memories down.

“Okay, alright. A gun? No.” John B lied, doing a miserable job at trying to convince her. He patted a hand on her shoulder and Parker had to stop and stare a moment just to admire his horrendous stupidity and balls of steel. Back at home, if you even so much as looked at a cop the wrong way, they would beat you up real good or worse. But Peterkin didn’t seem to mind as much as the cops in Jacksonville. In fact, all he got was a glare.

“Did I get in a dust-up? Yeah, but was there a gun? Pft. No. No way.” John B said.

“That’s okay. I know who it was. I’ll get to him.” Parker didn’t like the sound of that. JJ was a hothead and would most probably do something incredibly stupid. “All I’m worried about right now is making sure you’re in a safe home. And you.” She pointed a finger at Parker, who theatrically laid a hand on his chest and made a questioning expression. “I bet you’re not eighteen either. What can you tell me ‘bout your living situation?”

“Yeah, super safe. Super sound, sturdy, you know me.” John B scoffed, and Parker added: “I’m just on vacation, Lady. I’ll be gone soon one way or another.” He ignored the sting that truth gave him.

“Nah I don’t like the sound of that. I’m gonna keep an eye on you, too.” Peterkin said and eyed him sceptically.

John B quickly added: “And, Uncle T is comin’ back, so…”

“That what he told you? Well, if he’s really coming home, I think you should be allowed to stay.” Peterkin said, obviously not believing the Routledge boy. Parker couldn’t help but wonder why she would do that.

“Thank you.” John B said in a duh-tone.

“But if I stick my neck out for you, you have to help me. Tit for tat.” Peterkin said, and immediately summoned a picture of another Jacksonville PD detective in Parker’s head, who was as corrupt a cop as they could get. Hell, he probably sold and snorted more drugs alone than most of the dealers he busted together.

John B scratched his temple. “What does -what does tat mean?”

“Let me see, how can you help me? Oh, I know. So, a body was found in the marsh yesterday. Were you in the marsh yesterday?”

That piqued Parker’s interest, because it was not what he would have expected.

“Yeah, we were fishin’ for some drum.” John B said and cast a quick glance at Parker, who made a grimace that was supposed to tell his cousin to not spill a thing.

“Did you catch anything?” Peterkin asked.

“Nah, we were skunked.” John B said and quickly turned away before looking at her again. He wasn’t as bad a liar as Parker had feared.

“Strange. Fishing’s usually good after a storm. All sorts of things get stirred up.” Peterkin mumbled in a tone that said ‘You’re a good liar, but I know you’re talking shit, kid’. “You come across a wreck yesterday?”

John B feigned thinking for a second before denying. Peterkin held up a hand to mimic water-level.

“You’re skimming just above the surface, John B.” She sank her hand a little and drew circles with a finger. “Now, down here is foster care, juvie. Pretty big drop for a smart kid like you.” She raised her hand to eye level. “Up here is you and your little friends doing whatever you want. Outer Banks – or foster care on the mainland.”

John B sat down, Parker shifted. Peterkin was different from all the cops he had ever encountered, and he didn’t know what to make of it yet.

“You’re one inch above the surface, boy. If I was you, I’d start flappin’ my wings. Now, you sure, you didn’t come across a wreck yesterday?”

John B shook his head. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.” Peterkin turned around to face Parker. “How about you? See anything unusual?”

Parker chuckled and shrugged. “I haven’t been here in years, how the hell would I know what’s unusual?” He gave her a look that made it clear she wouldn’t get a single word out of him. She gave him a look that said ‘Just you wait, I’m gonna figure you out soon enough’.

She looked back and forth between the two of them, and Parker imagined seeing a hint of worry in her dark eyes. “It’s better if you didn’t, you understand? I’m going to look the other way, as long as you stay out of the marsh.”

She started out the door, but turned around one last time, disgustedly eyeing the Château. “I got dogs living better than this, John B. You might wanna think about cleaning up. And you.” She pointed two fingers at Parker, mimicking watching him. “Remember, I’m gonna keep an eye on you, Cloud.”

And like that, she was gone. Parker couldn’t help but wonder how she still remembered his name. He definitely didn’t want to meet her again.

John B threw a can against the wall and put his head in his hands.

“She’s unusual.”, said Parker, but his cousin didn’t bother to look up towards him. He decided to walk outside and take a nap in one of the hammocks.

 Parker didn’t know how long he had slept, but the next thing he knew were soft fingers brushing the hair out of his face and a melodic voice telling him to wake up.

“Leave me alone.” He mumbled and tried to turn away, forgetting that he was in a hammock and falling right out of it. Kiara’s laugh rang loud and clear.

“Oh, Parker, I tried to do it softly.” She smiled and crouched down beside him while he groaningly sat back up. He was shirtless, but when he looked up at the darkhaired girl, she did not only hold a hand out towards him, but also a crumpled piece of fabric.

“You brought be a shirt?” He asked confused, but she just laughed.

“It was lying around, and you get burned so easily. You’re lucky the hammock’s in a shadowy spot. Your sunburn’s already kinda nasty.” She gave his red shoulders a quick glance before helping him up. To his surprise, the piece of fabric turned out to be a light blue long sleeved shirt, which he just draped on but left unbuttoned. It even kinda fit his black shorts. Jokingly, he posed and wiggled his eyebrows.

“How do I look?”

“Fantastic.” Kiara giggled, and they walked over to where the others were, sitting down on a small couch. On the small table in front of it was a pair of bongos.

“Do you know how to play the bongos?” Kiara purred, and Parker shook his head.

“I know how to play the guitar, though.”

Her eyes lit up in delight. “You know how to play the guitar? That’s awesome! Listen, you teach me how to play the guitar, and I teach you the bongos. Deal?”

Parker smiled. “Deal.”

Their bongo session didn’t last very long, though, because John B appeared and announced that he was calling it off. “Peterkin said, if I stay out of the marsh, she’ll help me with DCS.”

“And you believed her?” JJ asked incredulously from his spot in the sun.

“Yes, JJ, I believed her.”

“An actual cop, John B. You believed a cop.” JJ looked at Parker. “What are you even good for if you just let him believe the cops, man?”

Parker shrugged. “I can’t decide what he believes in or not. You know, I’ve made the experience that people usually only learn from their mistakes once they start turning around and biting them in the ass.”

“Great support, Parker, thanks.” John B said sardonically. Then he turned back to JJ. “All I gotta do is stay out of the marsh for a few days, and she’ll help me out. It doesn’t help that your ass was the one shooting a gun.”

“You know what I should have done? Just let Topper drown your ass.” JJ retorted and Parker leaned closer to Kiara while the two of them kept bickering.

“Is his name really Topper?” He whispered, waiting for her to tell him it was some kind of stupid nickname.

She nodded her head. “That’s his actual name.”

“God, that guy just keeps getting worse and worse. First, he has frosted tips, then his name is Topper. What’s next? Golf?” Parker shuddered and Kiara and Pope giggled.

“They always, always win.” JJ said desperately and boxed a buoy hanging from the roof.

“Look, it’s okay!” Kiara shouted and he turned around.

“No, it’s not! They don’t want us to go down into the marsh. That means there’s something valuable down there, and you know it.”

“He does kinda have a point.” Parker mumbled and JJ looked at him gratefully.

“See, even Parker agrees, and he’s like – a total chicken.”

“Fuck you too, Maybank.”

“Okay – just listen. I understand why you don’t wanna go.” He pointed at Pope. “You’re the golden boy, you got way too much to risk.” He looked at Kiara. “And you, I mean, you’re already rich as fuck anyway. Why would you bother?”

Parker rolled his eyes at JJ, who now turned back towards John B. “But you and me, man? We got nothing to lose, we really don’t. And from what I can tell, neither does Parker anymore.”

Parker leaned back in the cushions of the couch. “Asshole.”

“But am I wrong? I know it didn’t use to be that way to you.” He said the last part to John B again.

“I don’t want to talk about this. I just don’t wanna talk about it.” John B mumbled and pushed past JJ, away from the group.

“So that’s just it?” JJ called after him. “John B, listen to me, I have a plan.”

He walked after John B and talked to him about scuba gear and rich kids not going to foster care, until John B finally agreed.

Parker rolled his eyes and leaned back, already seeing how this whole thing was going to blow up in their faces.

[collecting-stories]

Home - Kiara Carrera

Request: hi! can i request a platonic pogue imagine where kie is assaulted at a party and the pogues are all super protective and concerned?

A/N: The title comes from a poem by Rupi Kaur of the same name from her book The Sun and Her Flowers. I have excerpts from the same poem at the beginning and end of this. 

T/W: This talks entirely of sexual assault and violence. It’s not in graphic detail but please read with caution if that’s something that upsets you. 

Outer Banks Masterlist

~

It began as a typical Thursday from what I can recall

Sunlight kissed my eyelids good morning

-

Kiara had a million dreams about leaving the OBX but they always involved coming back. The beach was a part of her. Other people talked about the Outer Banks like it was prison, like if they could belong to anywhere they would never choose that island but Kiara knew differently. The Outer Banks wasn’t just the place she lived it was her home. It ran through her blood. All her best memories were here, on the Cut with the pogues, at home with her parents...even when things got tough at school she still belonged, in some way. Other people came and went, they visited and never stayed, but the OBX was her home. Her hometown, her security blanket. It was the first sand she ever stepped on, the first wave she ever caught.  

She could remember learning to drive stick shift in her dad’s old car down back roads and sitting outside in the salt air while her mom tried umpteen times to braid her hair the way she had seen in youtube videos. All her friends were here. All her family. It was the place she felt the most love. Every piece of her could be tied to the OBX.  

She loved the Outer Banks. The beach, the Cut, even the Eight. The boneyard, the Wreck, every landscape, every lighthouse, every pebble on the island held a piece of her heart and she loved it all dearly. But love doesn’t always last.  

“Can I ride with her?”  

It sounded like Pope’s voice but something was covering her ears, she tried lift her hand up, pull whatever it was off her ears, but her arm was strapped down. Someone pressed a hand to her arm and she flinched.  

“It’s okay honey,” a woman said, voice even. Her face came into view, hazy like Kiara couldn’t quite focus on the image, “we’re gonna take you to the hospital okay?”

“Can I ride with her?” Pope repeated, his voice cracking. If she could’ve seen him she would’ve seen the terrified look in his eyes. Bloodshot, cheeks stained with tears, as he pushed against the officer holding him back.  

John B was off to the side, holding Sarah. Shoupe had JJ pushed back, trying to calm the boy down. But he looked just as shaken as Pope, face red and fists clenching so hard his nails were digging into his palms.  

“You have to follow behind, I’m sorry. Only family are allowed to ride along in the ambulance.” The woman, who was walking beside the gurney, called out to Pope.  

“Are you fucking kidding me!” JJ shouted, “We are her family!”  

“Hey, calm down!” Shoupe pushed JJ back again.

“Fuck you!”  

When another cop moved forward Peterkin put her hand up. “He’s fine.” She promised.

Someone grabbed Pope’s arm and he practically jumped, turning away from the ambulance for the first time since it had pulled up. They loaded the stretcher up into the back, the female EMT climbing in after it, reaching out to hold Kiara’s hand. Behind Pope, Topper stood, looking apologetic. He’d come up the beach with some others when they heard the sirens. Most people had fled but an ambulance meant they weren’t here to break up a party.  

“I’ll give you ride.”

“What?” Pope asked, confused. JJ, John B, and Sarah had all turned when they saw Topper approach.  

“Let me drive you guys to the hospital.” He repeated, glancing over at his ex, “it’s the least I can do.”

“Yeah okay.” John B nodded, his whole body shaking as he followed his friends toward Topper’s SUV.

Kiara had been to a million parties in the OBX. Every summer since she was fourteen it felt like she lived half her life at parties on the beach. The pogues brought the keg and they all just hung out, chill, easy, sometimes a fight might break out but that wasn’t typical. She had never felt anything but safe on the beach. It was open and there were always people around and she loved the feeling of hanging with friends and watching the ocean at night.  

The OBX was her great love and the beach was her safe haven.  

And she’d been chatting with different groups like she always did, weaving her way around different people’s narratives and finding new friends. Dancing with JJ, Sarah, whoever. It was like every other night at the beach until she wandered a little further up the sand.  

Maybe it was the third drink, or the fourth...she didn’t know anything other than suddenly feeling bad. Like she was swimming in her own head. She felt like she was going to be sick and she told Sarah she’d be right back. She was going up to the Twinkie.  

God she loved that car. That stupid, rusty, bus that JJ had installed a new tape deck weeks ago when she complained that they needed cassettes in the old junker again. That bus that Pope and JJ found her slumped against.  

“Kie!”  

She remembered little else besides going up the hill to the where the bus was parked but she would never forget the way JJ screamed her name. It was something she’d never heard before. Not happiness, not relief, not anger...he was scared.  

He held her while Pope called 911 and then called Sarah. ‘Something terrible happened, come quick’. He held her until the ambulance came and when he stood in the waiting room, pacing back and forth like a madman, it was her blood that stained his white t-shirt. It was on his arms, under his nailbeds, mixed with his own. When a nurse tried to take a look at his bleeding hands his flinched away from her so hard he bumped into a chair and knocked over a magazine rack.  

“I need to talk to you about what you saw,” it was the first thing Peterkin said when she got to the hospital. She pulled John B down the hall, leaving Sarah curled up in a chair by herself, still crying.  

“Pope and JJ...I wasn’t there when they found Kiara.” John B explained, raking his hands through his hair. What did he see? Nothing...the same thing he saw at every party. People, kegs, more people. “Someone did this to her...we were fucking feet away and someone-” his fist hit the wall and hours later he had it wrapped when his knuckles started to bruise, “someone did this and we weren’t there.”

“I’m trying to figure out who that person is.” It didn’t matter who Peterkin interviewed, all the pogues stories melded into one, singular proclamation.  

“If I knew I’d rip their fucking throat out.”  

Peterkin called Kiara’s parents. They’d been to the hospital with her three times in sixteen years. Once when she was born, once when she pulled boiling water off the stove and her mother had to sit with DCS for hours convincing them she was a good parent, and once when she was fourteen and broke her wrist skateboarding. There was even a picture hanging on their fridge of her, sitting on the exam table, holding her arm up proudly. On the back her dad had written ‘Kiara, age 14, first break’.

The pictures of this went into a folder. Close ups of her thighs, her throat, her face, her hands, arms, wrists, stomach, every part of her documented for a plain manila folder. Her dad stood outside her room and cried for the first time since she was born.  

“You gonna be a big name surfer someday?” Her dad had teased her the first time she went out on a board with him. It was floral and she’d picked it out herself, eager to learn.  

“I’m gonna surf every beach in the world.” She was eight and her mom stood at the edge of the tide, watching them drift further out.

“Which one you think you’ll like the most?”  

“This one.” She had pictures of Hawai’i and Venice Beach and Australia tacked to her wall even then but she knew what she loved.  

Kiara had made it to the Twinkie when she felt her throat close up the way it always did before she puked. She grabbed the hood of the bus and leaned over, throwing up right there in front of John B’s car and thinking that she would have to tell them not to step in it when they left later that night.  

Pope stood barefoot in the hospital waiting room because he’d walked right through it. The police collected his shoes at the scene and he had ridden all the way there with nothing but a pair of gym socks Topper had in his trunk on his feet.  

Kiara had thrown up, wiped her mouth on the back on her hand, and stood, her mind on grabbing a water bottle from inside the Twinkie, when someone grabbed her. They knocked the wind out of her, shoving her forward into the car that was parked next to the bus. Her head hit the car and a hand pushed her face down against the hood. When she tried to scream, and she couldn’t even tell if she was screaming or even opening her mouth, they lifted her by her hair and threw her against the side of the Twinkie.  

It could’ve been anyone. When she woke up and Peterkin came in to talk to her the reality of it all felt like it was crashing down on her. Like a wave pulling her under the ocean and she was fighting to break the surface.  

“I didn’t see him...I didn’t...I can’t....he could’ve been anyone.”  

“We’re gonna keep looking baby,” Peterkin had promised but the truth was there was a whole island to search. Most of the kids had fled when they heard the sirens and there was no way of knowing if Kiara’s attacker hadn’t fled before that. The moment he heard Pope and JJ calling for their best friend.  

Topper told John B he’d keep an ear to the ground. Kelce and Rafe expressed the same sentiment. JJ, Pope, and John B kept a close watch on any pogues but it became more and more clear that the person who did this hadn’t just left the party. They had left the island.  

A touron. Here one day, gone the next. A stranger. A faceles, nameless, person had come into town for a vacation. On summer break with family, with friends, with someone. They had come onto her island and they had taken it from her. Kiara’s mom sat in the hosptial bed beside her for days, holding her daughter the way she used to when she was small and reminding her of every single person on that island that loved her, hoping against all hope that Kiara would feel even an inkling of that. And when she went home, when she climbed out onto her roof along in the middle of the night and she looked out at the ocean it all looked the same but she wondered if it even recognized her anymore.  

-

This home is what I came into this world with

Was the first home

Will be the last home

You cannot take it

There is no space for you

No welcome mat

~

Taglist: @maplelattes22 @poguesrforlife  @freckled-and-daydreaming  @chasefreakinstokes @millie-753 @fangirlwithme @alex12948 @katherine097 @tangledinsparkles @carbonated-beverage @mariofgreengables @damonsalvawhore27 @dopedoodes @dolanfivsosxox@belledutchess @poguelifeeee @faded-blue @parkerpetertingle @thebookwormlife @summer-clouds-and-long-days @jellyfishbeansontoast @minigranger @hoewkeye @love-someone-special @tiredfeels @strangerthanfanfiction713 @the-only-nana @tomzfrog @mozz-are-lla @vindictive-hearts @poguestyleskye @ssprayberrythings @jenahbell @beautyandthebleh @gothackedalready @teenwaywardasgardian @sarahcxmeron @haha-fuck-you-thot @stillbelieve398-5 @rewindlr @queenniccimicci @kissessforharryyy @thedarkqueenofavalon @alytavzla @bqmblebee @linniep @nerdypartytrashpsychic @xxchxrryxx @spencer-reid-is-a-cutie @mirjanak @danielladreaming @obx-saltlife @youngestxhearts @spnobsessedmemes @wowitswondergurl @celestialmaybank @mybnkjj @pineappleandcherries @mysterious-adventurer @justawilddreamerchild @rhyetaylor62 @calm-rejects @balletandyuzu @oh-annaa@aiifandomsunite @x-lulu @ceruleanjj @wicked-laugh @obxwriterfan @allie-mcginn @pcterparxer @literarycharleton @khiaraaa-in-spacee @crushe-s @teamnick @daydreamlilys@collectiveuniverses @activist-af @mdgrdians @buckys-sunflower @vindictive-hearts@copper-boom @talksoprettyjjx @5am-cigarette @smiithys @dontjinx-it @outerbanksbro @mysticsthinking @heavenlymama  @rudy-pankow-needs-an-oscar @babymatilda @raekenliar@lemur46 @haute-shawn 

[icedcoffee20]

✨love✨ waking up with cramps and seeing I’ve started my period. Happy Monday.

I had such bad anxiety set in last night. This has become a more regular premenstrual symptom. It really sucked. I became fixated on heart health, which is often how it goes. And it was tough to fall asleep.

The cramps woke me up from a strange dream about a high school (and grade school tbh) crush. I started liking John in eighth grade, and as a chubby teen with self esteem issues, I never believed I’d be liked back. But then he asked me to dance at our grade eight grad. Summer passed, we started high school, and at the end of the ninth grade he signed my yearbook saying he was excited to see me “up north,” which is what everyone in this area uses to refer to northern Ontario, which isn’t even truly northern more than it is simply eight hours north of us. We live at the most southern part of Ontario (and Canada in general, fun fact)...most of Michigan is more north than southern Ontario and it always puzzled me when I’d go shopping in MI and be asked if it was snowing where I’m from. Anyway.

It was that summer vacation at the cottage grounds up north when I realized John also had a crush on me. It was all very sweet, very innocent. He did things to try to impress me. I was painfully shy, and still pretty naive, so it stayed very sweet and very innocent.

After high school we would occasionally see each other out at clubs and have a drink, but it has been probably 16 years since then.

Fast forward to a few years ago. For whatever reason, I reconnected with an ex best friend from high school. We met for dinner when I was home visiting for the holidays. She was always a bit of a hot mess who thrived on men’s attention and therefore only ever talked about dudes, and she said “you won’t believe who I fuck regularly.” And of course, it was John.

I was equal parts envious and validated. She was also a fat woman so it felt kind of nice to know he’s into bigger bodies. When I moved home in 2019 and was dumped by my then partner, I joined tinder to see what this area had to offer. John, who has zero internet presence, showed up on my screen. I was too nervous to swipe right.

All I know about him is that he did (does?) a lot of coke, like most of the formerly popular crowd in this small town, and he works in some sort of construction industry related area. And if the tinder pictures were recent, he is still very handsome with his tanned skin, blue eyes, dirty blonde hair. I think part of me will always wonder about him from time to time. Clearly dream brain will, at least.

[lordjohntheshow]

John Grey and his boyfriend Stephan Namzten have a great life (and now three dogs) and are considering taking the next big step: marriage and children. Complications arise. This is a Modern AU set in 2019. 

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 

VANITY FAIR, November 2017

A FAMILY AFFAIR

An excerpt from the actor’s forthcoming memoir WILD NIGHTS chronicling his early years growing up to his days as a struggling actor. In anticipation of the Royal Wedding enjoy his take on a wedding among Britain’s upper crust.

By: Percy Wainwright

Imagine my surprise when my stepfather George invited me to his third wedding, in London. He wanted me there with him as he took on his new life and invited me out for the “whole season”. I took one look around my tiny, non air conditioned studio apartment in the Valley and knew I had no other choice. Within 24 hours I was touching down in Heathrow. I wondered a little about why George invited me, but in a small way it made sense: he had no real family himself and didn’t want to feel left out. He let me have the use of his apartment- or “flat” as I learned to call it, having already moved in with his bride to be.

 I then did what any self-respecting 22 year old with a large, empty apartment, an allowance, and too much free time would do. I went clubbing. That’s how I first met Kay*. It was sometime past midnight, and the DJ was trying out some experimental trance pop. I saw him before he saw me. He was small, but he didn’t have that obnoxious edge some short men get. Cute blonde hair a shade most boys grow out of. Muscular, but the white shirt and jeans he wore showed he didn’t really care about his appearance. He glided through the crowd, disappearing in the back room for a moment. I lost track of him until I saw him cut through the dance floor to leave. On a whim, I grabbed his hand and kissed it. He looked up at me and laughed, crinkling a pair of baby blues that would have made Paul Newman jealous. I pulled him to me, like he was water in the desert. The music was too loud to have a coherent conversation, but neither of us wanted one. 

After three or so songs (who can really tell with electronica?) he was pressing me up against the wall outside the bathroom, kissing my lips, my neck, as if he wanted to swallow me whole. In fifteen or so minutes we were in my flat and I was flat on my back. When I woke up the next morning alone in that big bed, I actually laughed- I’m usually the one that leaves them high and dry.

I still went clubbing, but I didn’t see my blonde boy again. Four weeks before the wedding George invited me out to a dinner with the family. “They’re gentry, you know. You don’t have to bow or anything, but do you know the proper forms of address?” He’d asked me nervously, in the taxi on the way over. “Um.. milord and milady?” I’d said, trying to remember what I’d learned from my days of getting high and watching Downton Abbey. He sighed. “They’ll just think you’re an uncouth American, it will be fine.” He’d huffed in reply. It was cute, to see him so nervous to make a good impression.

How to describe the family. Everyone looked like one of those paparazzi pictures of the royal family on their time off: trying to look normal in jeans and a sweater but the outfit still cost 700 pounds. I suppose I’m not one to talk though, my style’s always been very Gucci via Goodwill.

My new stepmother’s flat also had that rich, lived in feel. There was a couch from 1972 next to what I’m fairly sure was a pair of original Chippendale settee chairs. Every flat surface or shelf was covered by books: leather bound ones in the library and slick, glossy ones in all of the real living areas. Yes, you read that right: this was an apartment. With a library.

We all sat down to drinks in the living room. I chose one of the Chippendales, of course. An actual butler took my drink order. Once everyone was arrayed and properly lubricated, the true conversation began. The son who was obviously serving as Head of the Family grilled me and George about our jobs, hobbies, acquaintances, and was probably about to start on what petty misdemeanors we’d committed when his wife patted his arm and started a real conversation instead of a background check. It was boring, but I was surprised to find I was enjoying myself. Mostly I was enjoying what I am dead certain were a pair of original Degas’ ballerina studies.

Nearly an hour in I was shocked out of my art appreciation when my own tiny dancer walked in. He was out of breath, dressed for work (a boring navy suit, so a professional of some type, I noted), and apologizing profusely, to his mother, his soon to be stepfather, his annoyed brother, and then his gaze fell on me. I’ll say this about him: I’d never want to play poker against him. There’s not a man alive better at controlling his face. For a moment I was certain he didn’t remember me (I mean, I was in a clean cut Oxford, not the neon green mesh tank he’d last seen me in.)

“Hello. You must be Percy. I’m Kay.” He said, warmly, holding out his hand for me to shake. The look he gave me, and only me, had so much heat I thought I was back in L.A.

He sat across from me when we moved to dinner, and chatted politely. I was annoyed to find someone so handsome was also smart, and funny, and kind, especially to his mother and my stepfather. Yet, when he raised his brows to me at the end of dinner- a challenge, and invitation- I was all mush.

The next four weeks went by quickly- too quickly. All the pomp and nonsense of what American hetero weddings have become pales in comparison to An English Society Wedding. There were morning suit fittings, tux fittings, and even normal suit fittings, to make sure I wouldn’t be looked at some poor American cousin. Forget a bridal shower at some swanky country club. There were at least three engagement parties, a trip to the Queen Anne Enclosure of the Royal Ascot (requiring another suit), and multiple days involving skiffs, yachts, polo ponies, and cricket. I was game: it was like being stuck in some specialty park at Disneyworld, and I love to learn the rules so I can break them. Here were a few I discovered:

              -You can’t ask people where they go on vacation. You ask them where they summer, or winter, or, for the younger, sportier ones, where they ski.

              -An American accent threw them, especially when I turned on the Southern drawl I usually kept safely packed away. If I wasn’t from Newport, or Vail, or New York, I was no one of importance.

              -No one ever discussed money, but every conversation was about it: where children were going to school, what new homes or paintings were being purchased, who had just closed what deal.

              -And unlike in L.A., where everyone bedecked themselves in the latest runway looks, here you often learned the richest people also had the oldest clothes. The Princess Royal attended one of these parties in a dress she’d had since 1983. I know the year because I asked her.

By the time the wedding rolled around, part of me was ready to go back to the plastic sheen and bounce of Los Angeles. Other parts of me, like my heart, wanted to stay in this weird world forever, because it’s where Kay was. If this world was a weird Disneyworld, than I was its Cinderella. I’d been scraping things together for so long, spent so many nights wondering where the money was going to come from, how I was going to eat, I cannot explain the relief of having that disappear. Of having someone ready to pick up the check like nothing- and unlike a lot of the men I’d slept with, not expecting a quid pro quo.

Kay and I spent a few weeks before we even had sex again- he was busy, and I was being pulled along to every wedding event anyone could possibly imagine. It’s the stolen moments I remember the most. The way his breath hitched when he saw me partially undressed during our tux fitting. How he always made sure I had what I wanted to drink, no matter the party we were at. When his hand brushed mine and we hooked our pinkies together, walking down this hallway or that. And the night we were finally together again: breathing our secrets together in the dark.

I told him I loved him. I didn’t actually say “I love you”, I’m not an idiot. I told him “I’ve never felt this close to someone,” and that “I’ve told you things… I’ve never told anyone before” and “I know this must sound strange.” He soaked it up, and looked at me, those blue eyes full of affection, rubbed my arm. “I care deeply for you, Percy. My heart… I think someone else has that. I can give you everything else.” He said it like he’d pried it out of himself… carefully and painfully.

I wish everything had been enough for me.

The summer swept along, and suddenly it was the day I’d come for all along: the wedding. It was held in a quaint village in a “small, country chapel” that sat the two hundred guests with ease. The interior looked like a florist’s shop the night before Mother’s Day. (Kay’s big brother had to take at least three puffs from his inhaler and everyone had to pretend they didn’t notice it happening.) All the women were arrayed in pastels, or florals, most looking ten years older than they actually were in the severe, pinned up styles the occasion demanded. One of the coach horses ate the fascinator Kay’s girl cousin had talked about incessantly over the summer. But seeing my stepfather trip over his words, bursting with happiness at his new life and new wife was truly one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. In short, it was a perfect family wedding.

And then it was over. They were off on their honeymoon, backpacking in East Asia as if they were 22 and not 62. I’d seen my stepfather off. I knew he would always be part of my life, but that I wasn’t meant to live in his. I finally understood why they call it a flat: that’s all I felt walking around that apartment.

I wanted Kay to say: “I love you. Move in with me. Marry me, when it’s finally legal.” He didn’t. He was still caring, and attentive, and sweet, but we never talked about love or a future. Maybe that’s why I invited the Swede back to the flat on the last night before I left. Why I forgot that Kay was coming over to cook me a farewell dinner. Why I didn’t lock the door.

Turns out, he’s not as good as a poker player as I’d thought. I saw it all. Shock, dismay, pain, but never the anger. He left, never saying a word.

It wasn’t until the next day, somewhere 10,000 feet above Chicago, my suitcase full of a bunch of fancy clothes I’d wear only to auditions that I realized he always got quiet when he was angry.

*names, dates, and details have been altered to protect the innocent

[intrepidolivia]

Alexandria Country Club Pt 12

Pairing: NeganXOlivia (OC)

Warnings: cursing, discussion of violence, discussion of death, discussion of depression and suicide, bullying

Summary: AU! Olivia and Negan return to Adair’s and find detective David Bryce waiting with some upsetting news. 

A/N: Sorry this is a short chapter, but I’ve had a busy week! I’m on vacation upcoming this week, so hopefully I’ll have time to write!

Olivia went pale, and Negan understood why. If the threatening letter had been issued from her own printer, it meant whoever had written it had been in her apartment. The thought of someone capable of issuing such a graphic threat being inside her home, using her computer, going through her things… it was fucking terrifying.

Detective David didn’t seem to understand that, though. He smirked, as though he’d uncovered something useful. “Anything you want to tell us, miss Sullivan?” he drawled.

“He was in my house?” she asked, her voice breathless.

The man frowned at her. “No sign of forced entry.”

“Quit being coy, detective Bryce. You think she wrote it because that would make your job easier,” snapped Adair. “Why would she even do that? And what about the pictures and texts?”

“Well, why indeed,” said Bryce, glancing at Negan appraisingly.

Negan rolled his eyes. “Are you implying Liv wrote death threats to herself to, what, keep my attention?”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?” the detective raised an eyebrow. “You’ve taken off work quite a few days for someone you’ve only been dating, what, a week or so?”

“I didn’t--I wouldn’t do that,” Olivia said softly.

Negan felt his hands balling into fists and fire stoking in his chest. “So you think that’s more likely than an abusive ex--”

Detective Bryce held up his pen. “Allegedly abusive.”

“Who just got out of jail for it,” Negan continued, his voice rising. “Isn’t that worth checking into?”

“We’re investigating,” he said in a tone that suggested he didn’t think anything would come of it. “In the meantime, was anyone with you at the time you received the message or the texts?” He looked pointedly at Olivia.

She swallowed, glancing up at Negan, her brow knit. “No…” she said.

“Hmm.” he said, writing something in his notebook.

“You’re wasting time,” Adair spat, his hands white-knuckled on the countertop. “Liv didn’t do this. It’s ridiculous. Hell, look at her, she doesn’t need fake death threats to keep a man’s interest.”

David smiled blandly. “Sure, sure. We just have to check every angle, and you understand the note being matched to her printer, well. That’s pretty fishy,” he said, his tone painfully condescending. “And with her history…”

“What fucking ‘history’?” Negan grated. He reminded himself he would get arrested at the very least if he put the detective through a wall. More likely shot. The beat cop with the man looked young and edgy.

The other man looked almost smug as he glanced up. “Widowed, living alone, poor previous relationships, I have a citation for a public intoxication--”

“That was two years ago--” Olivia objected.

“The very public fight with the heroin-possessing ex, more to the point the stay in the looney bin, court ordered mind you…”

Olivia went white, sinking into a chair and not looking at Negan. “That wasn’t…”

Adair was livid. “You have no right--”

“Watch your tone, kid,” Bryce cut him off. “I’m well within my purview to have you arrested if you get uppity with me. You can be in your feelings about this all you want, but the fact remains that miss Sullivan here is historically unstable, and has issues in intimate relationships. Between that and the fact that there’s no actual evidence supporting her claims, well…”

Negan watched the younger man force himself calm. “She obviously didn’t take the picture of herself,” he pointed out.

“And we’re looking into it.” The detective looked at Negan. “Just want to make sure we have all our facts straight. We’ll be in touch.”

Olivia didn’t look up from the floor as Bryce and the other cop took their leave. Negan wanted to go to her, but he hesitated. He told himself it was because he wasn’t sure what she wanted, but he had to admit to himself there was something more. After all, it was awfully strange that there was no sign of forced entry at her apartment. And she had been alone when the note and the texts came through.

He wanted to dismiss the very thought of her doing this to herself, of course. She certainly didn’t seem the type. Adair rejected the idea outright. But at the same time, how well did he really know her? Things had gone quickly. Maybe too quickly. Almost too good to be true in a way. Giving him the chance to be the hero, a protector…

Adair knelt in front of Olivia, but not before giving Negan a questioning glance. “Hey, Liv. You okay?”

Negan couldn’t see her expression, her face hidden by hair. “I… He twisted everything.”

Adair took her hands. “I know. It’s okay. We know he’s full of shit, right?” His blue eyes slid up and shot a warning glare at Negan.

“Of course,” Negan said, shaking himself. He put a hand on her shoulder. It was ridiculous to doubt her. Wasn’t it?

She looked up finally, taking a slow breath. “It was after John died,” she said softly.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to explain,” he said.

Olivia frowned, searching his face. “Yeah. I think maybe I do.”

Negan felt a little curl of guilt wind its way through his stomach. Had she seen the little flicker of uncertainty? Heard it in his voice, or sensed it in his hesitation?

“I’m going to make you some tea,” Adair told her, standing and giving Negan a narrow-eyed glare. The younger man stalked off to the sink to fill the kettle.

Olivia looked down at her hands in her lap. “Our anniversary. It was about seven months after he died.”

“Yeah. First anniversary after Lucille passed was rough,” he said softly.

She nodded. “I drank. A lot. Somewhere in there I started taking sleeping pills. Got on the computer, sent a few messages to people I cared about. I don’t really remember it. I was pretty much blackout drunk. Long story short, someone called emergency services. Woke up in the hospital with an order for a psychiatric stay.” She shrugged.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said. He didn’t know what else to say.

“I’d have talked about it eventually. I just… I didn’t want you to think it was because I was… whatever that detective was implying. I had a really bad time, and I hurt myself. That’s it.”

Negan felt more than a little ashamed. And more than a little angry. It was true he didn’t know Olivia as well as he wanted to yet, but that was little excuse for letting a prick like David plant a seed of distrust between them. He sank to one knee, cupping her face in his hands and making her look at him. Her eyes were red, and he wiped away tears with his thumbs.

“It’s all right, babydoll,” he said. “Shit happens. You had a bad fucking time of it. What’s important is you got through to the other side, you got a good life, with a fucking hot boyfriend, and a best friend who’s ready to fight the whole damn world for you.”

Olivia managed a halting little giggle. “I-I’m sorry. I thought you might believe him.”

Negan stroked her cheek gently. “Well, he thought that too. That’s why he said it. Fucking prick. Not enough that he doesn’t take this shit seriously, he’s gotta try to get me to leave, too.”

“You’re not going to?” she asked, hiccuping softly.

“Not a chance,” he told her. Then he paused, frowning. It was one thing not to believe her. But it had seemed like the detective was trying to plant doubt in Negan specifically.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Probably nothing,” Negan mused, standing and pulling her to his chest. “Just an asshole doing what an asshole does. Then again…” He kissed her hair, and looked past her to Adair, who seemed a bit more mollified now that Negan was behaving properly. “Hey, Adair…”

The younger man looked up from the heating kettle, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“See what you can find out about Detective David Bryce.”

Tagging:  @noodlecupcakes @glittered-unicorn-lava@genevievedarcygranger@adair-donovan @feistybaby @negans-network@ask-kakashihatake @divadinag

[random-imagines-blog]

British Blood, American Heart {Sherlock Half-Sister Oneshot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 2300

The digital clock on your computer went from 6:59 to 7:00 and you let out a sigh of relief. It was finally time to return home, curl up on your couch and binge watch Netflix to your hearts content. It took you a couple of minutes to shut the computer down, gather your things in your bag and start to head towards the exit. It was a bit strange today - usually some of your co-workers invite you out to some sort of event and keep you here coming up with polite excuses until well after you could be home. But all you got today was a couple of smiles and a ‘Have a great weekend’ from them. Not that you were complaining. You could easily get used to this change.

There was something about the common people that you worked with. You didn’t really consider yourself to be a snob but you always somehow believed that you were above them. You were certainly smarter than the whole lot of them put together but you weren’t ready to apply it because you didn’t want the attention of being the know-it-all geeky girl. It was bad enough people had already called you Hermione throughout University.

The office that you worked for had a shitty parking garage. There were always spraypainters down there, people hanging out and doing drugs. It wasn’t very well patrolled by the security guards either so you opted to just rent out a space in a public parking lot down the street. It was worth it, knowing your car was safe and being able to get a bit more fresh air in the process. As you went out into the late afternoon sun - weak, much like the tea that was left in your thermos - you eagerly planned out your night. A couple more chapters of your Clive Barker book, an episode or two of something on Netflix, your favorite TV dinner and then at last - your bed.

But your plans seemed to be foiled quickly. As you turned the corner to get to the block where your car was waiting for you, your work-required heels clicking against the sidewalk, you felt a sharp sting on your arm, and then things started to get blurry. It was like trying to look through binoculars that weren’t adjusted properly. Everything was moving, blurring together. The building next to you no longer seemed to be solid and the ground felt like you were walking on a pool cover while it was still on the water. This caused a major migraine and you closed your eyes instinctively to fight against it, but it would be a while before you opened them again. You remembered the sound of a bell as you were dragged through a door, you felt something bump into your leg - or maybe your leg bumped into it - and then nothing more.

The telephone in Mycroft Holmes’s office rang. And rang. And rang. Nobody was there to pick it up. The building was utterly silent, with only the sound of the London rain against the windows and the electronic buzz of the security system to break up the ringing. An automated voice asked the caller to leave a message or to call another number in case of emergencies, two beeps and then a hushed, mumbling sound from a female, calling out for help. It was cut off as the time limit for messages came to a close, and then it was only the buzzing and the rain once again.

Sherlock gets a call the next morning. He didn’t want to answer it but John had rudely shoved the telephone in his face. He had heard Mycroft say something about family, and John thought it was important enough to really require Sherlock’s attention, and broke his concentration from .. whatever it was that Sherlock was studying at that moment. Different fibers in brands of ribbons, it looked to be.

Sherlock did not give any of his sarcastic remarks, but rather looked confused, and then enlightened at something. “I knew it.” He said, standing up, phone clutched in his hand, held close to his ear. “We’ll meet you at the airport. John - we’re going to America.”

“What for? John asked, reaching for his cane. He knew that something was afoot, and he was going to need the damn thing to keep his body steady, since his mind was going to be racing at whatever it was that was making Sherlock leave not only the home, but the continent!

“You’ll learn - go and pack our bags. I have some thinking to do.” He disappeared into the kitchen, calling for Mrs. Hudson to make him a cup of tea, rather than do it himself.

An hour later, when Sherlock and John met Mycroft at Heathrow, Mycroft was not alone. Behind him, with their cases packed, were his parents. They both looked very nervous, which did not give any indication to John what was going on. And he continued to ask. He had his passport in hand, and they were being rushed off to one of Mycroft’s own private planes. Nothing about this was telling him where he was going on this plane. He couldn’t even guess.

Once they were all situated on the plane, Mycroft looked over at his parents. “Why don’t you explain to John what’s going on? I think I’d like to hear this story.” He adjusted his impeccable suit, and gave the impression that he was about to hear something that he had heard a hundred times before, like he would not be surprised by any line of it. John, as well as the three other people in the private plane, all looked towards Mr. Holmes with expectations. The well-dressed man adjusted his tie and started his tale nervously.

“I could never bear the thought of telling you all about this,” He said, holding onto his wife’s hand.

“I had an affair.” Mrs. Holmes said, surprising everyone. “I know, monstrous of me. I do love your father very much boys but it took some time. I had to do something to get out of the house with you playing your Detectives Sherlock, or you berating your brother Mike.”

“Mycroft.” The older brother said, sniffling distastefully. He always did hate that nickname.

Mrs Holmes refrained from rolling her eyes. “Another maths professor who helped me edit my book . I got pregnant and went on a vacation for a while, you’ll remember, I went and stayed with Aunt Jean-”

“We don’t have an Aunt Jean. I just thought you left dad.” Sherlock said, remembering the time apart from his mother now.

“Yes, well, I had the baby and we had decided it would be best if the father raised it, so he brought your half-sister to America.”

“Did something happen to her?” John asked, trying to figure out why he was being told this and why they were headed on a plane to America.

“I got a call from an old friend of yours. Sherlock. Moriarty. He’s found her and is asking for a trade. I’ve thought about it-” Mycroft started.

“Me for her?” Sherlock stated. “That’s preposterous. Why would I trade -”

“You’re not.” Mycroft said, leaning forward. “We’re going to get her back. I’ve done a bit of research on her. Quite smart, wasted talent, seems like a Holmes trait.” He looked over at his brother. “We could use her.”

“We are not using anyone.” Mr. Holmes said, getting attention again. “We are going to find her, and bring her home. With us or with her father. Any questions?”

The plane was silent as the information was processed. There was a long way to go, and plenty of time for questions later.

You woke up to complete darkness. You had to raise your fingers to your own eyes to feel that they were open, that’s how black the room was. You weren’t tied down, you could tell that much. You felt heavy but it was from the drugs that were in your system, not from restraints. You reached around you and felt nothing. You crawled a couple of feet and finally, your shoulder hit against bars. Hands grasping out to feel your surrounds, you could feel the metal rods now, jutting up. You got to your feet, holding onto them for support, and like you suspected they were buried both in floor and ceiling. Stepping to the side, you felt wall, and so you went the other way, and more wall. Some steps away from the bars made you come to the conclusion that you were in a cell of some sort. It felt like an old jail.

You didn’t make a sound. It might be beneficial if the kidnappers thought that you were still asleep. You could perhaps overhear them, but you heard no voices.

You sat down to conserve your strength. Your stomach growled and your mouth grew dry but you didn’t make a complaint or ask for anything. Someone out there was surely watching over you, and you did not want them to know that you were awake.

You got a little sleep - you thought. With the silence and the darkness, it was hard to tell whether you were conscious or not. You had no way to tell the time, your phone had been taken from you and there was no ticking clocks. Damn this digital age, at least it would have given you something to count.

Moriarty was nowhere to be seen but this was where all the tracks had lead Sherlock to. He was a detective, not a hound dog, so tracking wasn’t his specialty but he was able to figure out where Moriarty might go. Where Sherlock himself would go. He’d poked around your office, your apartment, gone through your things. He’d seen pictures of you, as had John. John saw the family resemblance in the eyes, the curly hair, the stiff posture.

With these few times, Sherlock started to feel like he was getting to know you. He understood your head. Your exasperation, your lack of meaningful friendships, he related to your self-isolation and did not see it as problematic as your father and his family had.

He really was determined to get you back to that life safe before this turned into a murder case.

The beams from flashlights caught your attention. It could easily be a trap. You’ve been in the dark for hours, holding in your bladder, feeling the pain of it but you weren’t going to give them the satisfaction of having to sit in a cell with your own urine drying in the corner, oh no.

But you hoped rescue would come soon so that you wouldn’t pee your pants either.

You sunk down lower to the ground, closing your eyes to pretend to sleep. There was nothing at all in here you could use as a weapon except for your very own fists. With at least twelve hours gone by without food, perhaps a day or more but twelves hours definitely, you weren’t at your strongest.

There were voices. British. That made you think that these men definitely with the kidnappers. No American cops that you knew of spoke in those accents.

The beam went over your cell and passed over your face. The brightness hurt your eyes, despite them being closed. You did your best to keep your face calm, like you were sleeping, and not show the anger that you were feeling at being kept here. Or the fear. If your eyes were open, they surely would see.

“She’s in here!” A loud, posh sounding voice said. There was scrambling of feet. More voices. Loud ones. You waited the sound of a key unlocking the door to this cell but it did not come. Just the sound of grunts as they tried to bend the metal. Guess there wasn’t a door.

You finally opened your eyes and risked looking. It was a mess with the flashlights pointing everywhere. Some had been set down on the ground to face the bars. You sat up and tried to make out the shapes. You doubted it would be anyone that you recognized, but you thought you saw some police hats on some of the heads. You covered your eyes against the light.

“We’re going to get you out, y/n.” An older voice said, sounding desperate as they tried to get at the bars.

“It’s no use.” One of the cops said. “They’re too strong. Won’t bend.”

“He got her in there somehow.” A calm, British voice said. “So there has to be a way out.”

A couple of the police looking ones disappeared. In their absence, a shorter man - you could still only see silhouettes, rolled a flashlight between the bars towards you. You took it and used it to look around the interior of the room, see where you had been sitting. There didn’t seem to be a way out, and there was no door in the bars. You had no idea how you had gotten in here.

“How’d you guys find me?” You inquired right away. “And who are you? Did I get flown into England without realizing it?”

“No,” The one with the curly hair said, as the police came back with the proper tools to cut the bars to finally get you out of this hell hole. “I’m Sherlock Holmes. I’m-”

Someone cleared their throat in the background, and a man came forward who was dressed in an impeccable suit. He looked more out of place than a sword at a gunshow.

“I’m Mycroft Holmes and we are your half brothers.” He introduced.

[demonweasel]

24 hours after I left my parent’s house my father died

My girlfriend Bri and I went up to visit them over Memorial Day weekend and, while he was 82 and in generally not great health, there wasn’t anything particularly wrong with him. 

We said goodbye to him the night before we left because we were leaving early in the morning and he never was (and never will be, I suppose) a morning person. I’d left a print copy of my first novel on their living room table and told my mother that we’d left a surprise for them. She messaged me later in the day saying that they both loved it and my Dad was blown away seeing it.

We made it to Ocean City, Maryland where we were staying for the day before continuing and the first stop on our four-day long scenic and circuitous route from Upstate NY back to Tennessee. After what could only be described as a near perfect day at the top floor of a hotel facing the ocean we woke the next morning and slowly got ready to check out and get back on the road. We decided to make a slight detour to Chincoteague Island, home of wild ponies and somewhere Bri had read about when she was younger. We were joking around and I was teasing her about it and she said “You can’t ruin Tiny Pony Island day!”

Not even a minute later I got a text from a friend of the family telling me to call my mother.

I didn’t believe her at first and was flabbergasted. How could it have happened? He was fine, or at least as well as I’d known he’d been despite type 2 diabetes, being overweight, and taking diuretics to lessen the fluid around his heart.

“It was quick,” she said. “It was how he wanted to go.”

I had made fun of them over the course of the weekend because they had shown off my father’s Do Not Resuscitate order, a practically neon pink sheaf of paper that was stuck to the refrigerator door among take-out menus and pictures of grandchildren that stared at me every time I went for a drink or to get a snack. I kept wanting to take a picture and post it to revel in the grim ridiculousness of it. I’m so glad I didn’t.

It began to coalesce as my mother calmly explained what was going on and what the Plan was and I just handed the phone to Bri and dissolved into tears. She told my mother we’d call her back and she comforted me as best as anyone could. I realized it was about 20 minutes to check out and that no matter what happened we weren’t going to spend another night there. I had to pull it together, finish packing, and get down to the car. Plus have breakfast. There were a few false starts but after I (kind of) slapped myself in the face a couple of times I was able to pull everything together.

Packed, checked out, and headed to get some food I called my mother back to see how she was doing. She was, of course, on the phone with others (my sisters, most likely) letting them know what happened so I left her a voice mail (”Hey, it’s me...if this is a joke now would be a good time to let me know...anyway, call me back”) and we went on to “Happy Jack’s Pancake House.” I told Bri that there was no crying in Happy Jack’s (also, funnily enough, my grandfather’s name as well as my Dad’s although he went by John). We both made liars of me. Our waitress did not bother us much.

Eventually it was decided that we would continue on with our vacation because there wasn’t going to be a memorial service or any traditional funeral and we were going to have a party to celebrate his life around his birthday (September 4th, right on Labor Day this year). My sisters were coming up to be with my mother and the friends and family up there formed an amazing support structure for her. I worried about her and how she was getting on but she was, and still is, remarkably unflappable. Ultimately, this was no surprise. It was something that, as I told many of my friends, something that could happen any day now.

It is incredibly difficult for me to wrap my brain around the idea that we were there, he was fine, and then he just...ended. I feel so fortunate I had that time with him (although the two years between visits will haunt me forever) and when I talked to my sisters a couple of days later they were calm as well (the mimosas helped, I’m sure), reminding me that he had often said he had no regrets and that he had seemed “ready.” I was standing at a scenic overlook on the Skyline Drive in Shenandoah National Park at about 3,000 feet above sea level and it was so difficult not to think about how maybe if I hadn’t visited and possibly given him some sense of closure he’d still be alive. It’s foolish and arrogant thinking I know but I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to shake it.

He was happy, we laughed, he told stories and both he and my mother later told me how much they liked Bri and vice versa. Given how sure I’ve become that she’s the love of my life I’m so thankful that they got to meet each other and she could see a large, if not the largest, part of what makes me who I am.

I have gained no wisdom or closure from this yet. Handling the grief was easy when we were on the road as there were so many distractions. Yes, we did visit Tiny Pony Island. I told her nothing would stand in the way of the John H. Cleveland III Memorial Tiny Pony Island Day and when you’re in Happy Jack’s Pancake House and you make a promise with your face wet with tears you keep it.

I love you, Dad.

[herbalzee]

Get to know me tag!!!

Five Things You’ll Find In My Bag

   1. headphones (always!)    2. at least 50 hair ties    3. a full bottle of perfume    4. free pens from like everywhere    5. lots of tissues lmao

Five Things In My Bedroom:

a fish tank! i love my lil fishies

shoe cabinet

a Moriarty (from Sherlock BBC) calendar of him saying “Miss me?”. I love it

a small yellow chair!  

a color-coordinated bookshelf!!!

Five Things I’ve Always Wanted To Do In My Life:

learn sign language!

travel all over europe

write my own book

become a therapist

have kids!! and pets!!!

Five Things That Make Me Happy:

hanging with friends!!

listening to music, podcasts and ASMR

watching movies

doing artistic things?? idek what that means but like i love going to operas and theaters and taking aesthetic pictures and being creative, shit like that

talking, ranting, expressing my opinions comfortably, theorizing, brainstorming

Five Things On My To-Do List:

read books

hang with friends

write short stories- or write in general lmao

travel!!!

prepare for uni... i need to seriously do that

Five Things People May Not Know About Me:

i am passionate about psychology

i had an obsession with piercings and tattoos when i was younger

i had the yellow belt in karate when i was in practice

im very old school about silly things yet quite liberal about the serious stuff

im basically in love with malmo, sweden

Name?: zaina

Nicknames?: zee

Zodiac?: sagittarius

Sexual Orientation?: straight

Ethnicity?: middle eastern/ north african

Favorite Fruit?: mango!!!!

Favorite Season?: winter

Favorite Flower?: after a quick flower research, i found the soft pink spray roses and the blue hydrangea the most appealing to me

Favorite Scent?: vanilla! cocoa! banana-scented stuff (or generally fruit-scented stuff). old books!!! 

Favorite Animal?: bees!! or just any domesticated animals honestly (that can be kept at homes or farms)

Coffee, Tea, or Hot Chocolate?: tea

Cat or dog?: dogs

Dream Trip?: a boat travelling all around western europe!!!

Number of Followers?: i dont really care about this stuff

What do I post about?: any posts containing message worth-spreading, funny content or aesthetically-pleasing stuff..

Do I get asks on a regular basis?: nope! so famous that i had to close my ask box 

Favorite Band?: twentyone pilots, little mix, imagine dragons, coldplay, hey violet, abba (almost forgot them omg)

Aesthetic?: cinematography, animals and nature, books and libraries, literally anything vintage, multicultures, feminism and femininity. i cant think of other stuff but im majorly into art

Fictional Character I’d Date?: john bender from the breakfast club!!!!

Hogwarts House?: ravenclaw

Rules: BOLD the statements that are true for you!

APPEARANCE:

I am 5'7" or taller

I wear glasses

I have at least one tattoo

I have at least one piercing

I have blonde hair

I have brown eyes

I have short hair

My abs are at least somewhat defined

I have or have had braces

PERSONALITY:

I love meeting new people

People tell me that I’m funny

Helping others with their problems is a big priority for me

I enjoy physical challenges

I enjoy mental challenges

I’m playfully rude with people I know well

I started saying something ironically and now I can’t stop saying it

There is something I would change about my personality

ABILITY:

I can sing well

I can play an instrument

I can do over 30 pushups without stopping

I’m a fast runner

I can draw well

I have a good memory

I’m good at doing math in my head

I can hold my breath underwater for under a minute

I have beaten at least 2 people in arm wrestling

I know how to cook at least 3 meals from scratch

I know how to throw a proper punch

HOBBIES:

I enjoy playing sports

I’m on a sports team at my school or somewhere else

I’m in an orchestra or choir at my school or somewhere else

I have learned a new song in the past week

I work out at least once a week

I’ve gone for runs at least once a week in the warmer months

I have drawn something in the past month

I enjoy writing

FANDOMS ARE MY #1 PASSION

I do or have done martial arts

EXPERIENCES:

I have had my first kiss

I have had alcohol

I have scored the winning goal in a sports game

I have watched an entire season of a TV show in one sitting

I have been at an overnight event

I have been in a taxi

I have been in the hospital or ER in the past year

I have beaten a video game in one day

I have visited another country

I have been to one of my favorite band’s concerts

RELATIONSHIPS:

I’m in a relationship

I have a crush on a celebrity

I have a crush on someone I know

I have been in at least 3 relationships

I have never been in a relationship

I have asked someone out or admitted my feelings to them

I get crushes easily

I have had a crush on someone for over a year

I have been in a relationship for at least a year

I have had feelings for a friend

MY LIFE:

I have at least one person I consider a “best friend”

I live close at my school

My parents are still together

I have at least one sibling

I live in the united states

There is snow right now where I live

I have hung out with a friend in the past month

I have a smartphone

I have at least 15 CD’s

I share my room with someone

RANDOM SHIT:

I have breakdanced

I know a person named Jamie

I have had a teacher with a last name that’s hard to pronounce

I have dyed my hair

I’m listening to one song on repeat right now

I have punched someone in the past week

I know someone who has gone to jail

I have broken a bone

I have eaten a waffle today

I know what I want to do with my life

I speak at least 2 languages

I have made a new friend in the past year

Relationship status: single

Favorite color: purple, blue, green

Lipstick or Chapstick: lipstick!!

Last song I listened to: hard times by paramore

Last movie I watched: The Boss Baby

Top three TV shows:

(btw these three tv shows are the only shows ive ever watched and actually finished lmao)

BBC Sherlock

Clique

Yuri! on ice

Top three characters:

These are the ones that came to mind first, not top favorites

Sherlock (Sherlock BBC)

Todd Anderson (Dead poets society)

Savannah Karlsen (Girl, interrupted)

rules: copy/paste and replace my answers with yours and tag people :^)

a - age: 17 
b - biggest fear: my actual biggest fear is too personal so im gonna say my second biggest fear: not achieving anything valuable in my life  
c - current time: 3 am lmao 
d - drink you last had: a peach detox lmao 
e - every day starts with: checking phone  f - favorite song: of all time or currently? ive never had an all time favorite but right now my favorite song is hard times by paramore (mainly the chorus bc its awesome) 
g - ghosts, are they real: only the ones in our heads 
h - hometown: a.d. 
i - in love with: psychology 
j - jealous of: productive people 
k - killed someone: ... 
l - last time you cried: literally yesterday..  m - middle name: dont have one  
n - number of siblings: eins (one) 
o - one wish: to be satisfied with who i am and what i have p - person you last called/texted: im talking to my friend on the phone right now as im doing this.. shes the one who so kindly guided me to these fun questions q - questions you’re always asked: “why are you so quiet?” “what major are you getting into and at which university?”  
r - reasons to smile: youre very much well and alive!!

s - song last sang: i was having a fetus 1d songs marathon at like 2 am the other day so... definitely the entire up all night album

t - time you woke up: these days.. 12 pm, bc im tired and its my holiday 
u - underwear color: ohhhh boi v - vacation destination: anywhere cold filled with warm people 
w - worst habit: procrastination 
x - x-rays you’ve had: the most recent one i remember is a chest x ray y - your favorite food: pasta 
z - zodiac sign: sagittarius

post a screenshot of my lock screen, home screen, and last song played

RULES: Choose any three fandoms (in random order) and answer the questions. Then tag some friends.

I choose:

bbc sherlock

clique

yuri! on ice

The first character you loved:

ohhh, first was sherlock! then john almost 0.001 secs later

im pretty sure it was elizabeth. shes the cutest and i relate to her the most

probably Minako Okukawa, because shes so charming and funny

The character you never expected to love so much:

mrs hudson!!!!

louise!!! shes so smart and gorgeous and the least involved in the drama

yurio!!! i used to dislike him lmao but now hes my son

The character you relate to most:

molly hooper

like i said above, elizabeth!

ohh definitely yuri

The character you’d slap

john because sherlock suffered sooo much for him and opened his heart only to be abandoned because john is a naive idiot who still cant tell sherlock’s NOT a sociopath

SO MANY bc almost all of them did shitty things.. but the ones id slap right on sight are Alistair and the Steiner dude

ohmygod no, theyre all pure!! probably yurio bc that kid needs to love himself (but id immediately hug him right after)

Three favorite characters (these are in order of preference):

sherlock & john (one answer), mrs hudson, WIGGINS

holly, rachel, and fay (elizabeth and jude too)

the obvious trio: yuri, victor and yurio

A character you liked at first but not so much anymore:

mary lmao

alistair. i was a little suspicious of him but i liked him at the beginning bc he was cute and innocent. i HATE him now obviously

i love them all.. theres not a single one i dislike

A character you did not like at first, but they’ve grown on you:

ahahah mycroft

 uh georgia

christopher and JJ (but now i love them both so much)