#i love a sassy irritated rosie

[hephaestn]

Nate Mann as Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal Masters of the Air (2024) — Part Six

[eureka-its-zico]

This is sooooo random (‘m sorraay 🤭🥲) BUT

Zoro x Vampire Reader AU??? Idk It. just. Makes. SENSE (in my head)

Her sassy little ass having all these supernatural powers BUT he‘s still stronger than her when it comes to physical strength

THE TENSIONNNN 😩

Her sitting on his big thighs, lips ghosting over his neck, gentle scrape of her teeth along the pronounced vein in his neck (i‘m a giggling mess rn)

I‘m going feral for this man 🧍🏽‍♀️

So. I did a thing for you. Idk if you’ll like it, but I felt like since it is spooky season why not 🤷🏽‍♀️ this isn’t edited so…sorry bout that.

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Vampire!reader

Words: 1.2k

Warnings: PinV, strangulation, semi-rough smexy, mentions of gore

It was nights like tonight when you reveled in the hunt. The little game of cat and mouse that always left you wondering if you were indeed the predator or if Zoro allowed you to be.

If you worried more about your survival and not the next time you’d see him you might have been able to tear yourself away.

All rational thought seemed to go out the window, however, whenever your eyes caught sight of powerful arms leaning against the wood of the bar. Broad shoulders that housed scar after scar that your nails had left as they’d dug into his skin.

Even now you could hear the low grunt pressed against your neck. The way his body stuttered with a delicious severity as you marked him. Zoro had only allowed himself a moment to pause before he was back to spreading you open and bare underneath him.

As much as you enjoyed feeling him unravel beneath you, Zoro loved it even more when it was you who bleed for him.

You walked the shadows of the room with your borrowed blood pounding in your veins. The excitement of the hunt makes you light on your feet. You are almost to him your hands about to cover his eyes to make him guess who when he’s already speaking your name.

“I thought you said you weren’t coming.”

It is what you said. The last time you’d seen him playing back in your mind until you felt your blood boil. He’d called you weak. How could you be weak when you could levitate objects and strong enough to crack a man’s larynx with your pinky. You were born to prey on those the world deemed weak and strong and yet…

Zoro surpassed you in strength and speed without ever breaking a sweat. He was never scared of you killing him, because he knew you couldn’t. Not unless he allowed it.

“Change of plans.”

He wouldn’t look at you. Only his peripherals glided over you as you leaned against the bar facing him. He was lazily drinking the last few drops inside his mug. Your eyes hungrily watched as the pulse in his neck ticked in time with each swallow, and the hunger that dried the back of your throat began to grow.

You could feel the irritation rolling off him in waves. While Zoro wouldn’t look at you directly, he was taking you in. You knew it was a matter of time before he realized your parlor wasn’t alabaster, but pink and rosy.

You’ve had your fill of someone else that wasn’t him.

You could hear the metal of the mug creaking in protest. His hands collapsed the metal around his fingers until he suddenly released it. The same hand he’d used to crush an unsuspecting mug now lashed out to grab at your arm before you could pull away.

A part of you wanted to try and pull your arm free. You hated the way the men in this bar regarded you like another weak piece of flesh. If only they knew what you were - if they knew Zoro was the only one able to tame you.

He crashed into the bathroom and didn’t release his hold on you until he slingshot you inside. His foot slamming the door shut behind him just before he locked it.

“Who was it?”

A shiver caressed its way down your spine at the rage that darkened his voice. The way it clung to your skin and promised to hurt you if only you misbehaved.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about-“

Zoro was just there. His body pressing yours against the wall and a strong hand wrapped precariously around your throat. He squeezed just enough to make you gasp, your canines extending out like a snake set to strike.

Most people would be afraid, but you could already feel him growing hard against your stomach.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Who did you feed on?”

The hand on your throat tightened a little more, just enough to force your legs to rub together for some friction.

“You want to know how I sucked him dry,” your words struggled to free themselves from your lips. His hand was tightening as you spoke. “The way he groped at my breasts just before I tore open his throat.”

As you talked, you could hear his free hand struggling to remove the sash at his waist. His swords fell with a clank to the floor as his foot kicked your legs wider apart. You’d purposely worn this dress just to provide him with easier access to your cunt. You knew once his hand slid between your thighs, he’d feel how wet you already were. The wet sound of two fingers pushing past your folds filled the room and you your knees buckled.

Zoro knew how to drive mewling sounds of pleasure from your lips just like this. His fingers working you open - stretching and curving - just right until his hand was soaked. Your strangled breathing became more labored as your hips struggled to meet each flick of his wrist.

“How did he taste?”

“He tasted like a pig,” you sputtered, your hands clawing at his hand as you felt your climax building.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Please, Zoro, I-“

He knew what you wanted. You wanted to fuck him. You wanted to feel his cock stretching your walls and hitting that sweet spot only he knew how to guide you too. You wanted to bury your teeth into the delicate part of his throat and feel his warmth fill you from mouth to cunt. But he wasn’t going to give it to you. Not until you answered him.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“No, fuck! It wasn’t you! I just want you!”

You knew he would’ve made you continue to beg him if he wasn’t just as desperate. The minute you felt his grip on your throat release just enough, you pounced. You moved him back to the sink. Your hands working his pants down just enough that his cock spring free.

You placed one foot on the edge of the sink and pushed up. Zoro’s hand instinctively grabbing at your ass to help hold you steady as you placed your other foot on the opposite side of him. He helped line himself up at your entrance before he pushed his cock inside giving you no time to adjust to his width.

It didn’t matter. You loved every inch as his hips pistoned up into you. His hands controlled the speed and depth as your perched feet stayed on the sink. The sound of your bodies meeting sent wet sounds of filth to fill the small space. You were so close - so close

Without warning, you reared your head back and struck down on his throat. The delicious copper taste of blood flooding over your tongue seconds later. For a brief moment, you felt Zoro’s body stutter at the shock of your teeth pressing down into his flesh, but he easily recovered.

Zoro held a map of every place your canines had been on his skin. You would continue to claim him and he would continue to let you. For he was the hunter and you his prey.

[britishassistant]

@emyluwinter submitted:

It's me again and I'd like to write a few more points if you don't mind I want to hear more about the beautiful Uncle Divus.

His red car is parked at one of the empty intersections on a dark, late night. Crowley gave them experiment # Y26. The baby was fast asleep in the cradle in the back seat. Divus glanced nervously in the rearview mirror. Nervously tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, Divus tried to control his intense irritation and anger. His car was at the traffic light for 40 minutes, the green light has already lit up more than 8 times. - leave the baby under the bridge to go through all the hardships... What were you thinking, Crowley?! - Cruel swore. Divus hears a soft hoot from the baby. His expression softens. - I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you. - Divus turns and adjusts his blanket. A small, completely helpless and such a cute child. What did he deserve at the birth of such a stupid biological father? - you are not to blame for anything, baby...I promise you, you won't end up under the bridge all alone. - Cruel gently touches the baby's plump, rosy cheek with his fingertips. - not today, not ever. But what can I offer you? - Сruel frantically considered all the options he could do in such a situation. Putting them in a shelter was too risky. He will not give his creation to any outsiders. What if they treat them badly? Divus leaned back wearily in the driver's seat, running a hand over his face. - there aren't many options, are there, little one? It's more complicated than all the chemical formulas I know. - Сruel chuckled, and then it hit him. His sister. His sister and her husband really wanted a child, but they could not do it. A soft and sly smile blossomed on his face. - I think I have a solution! - Cruel said smugly, settling himself more comfortably in his chair, and immediately jumped in surprise as the baby began to sob and cry softly. - sorry, sorry, kid. Well, well.don't cry. I give you my promise, you will be in the most beautiful family, I am sure they will love you with all their heart. How can you not love such charm? And I'll be your cool, adorable, and unique Uncle Divus. I will pamper you with gifts for all holidays and birthdays. Cruel froze for a moment, realizing his own words. - Uncle Divus..hah..who knew that under such circumstances I would become an uncle. Divus chuckled and finally turned the car in the direction of the desired turn *** TWST Anita looks in amazement at her brother in the middle of night and the baby in the baby's cradle. - Divus are you serious?! She still couldn't believe it. - More serious than ever. You'll make an amazing mother, I'm sure of it. - oh...Divus.. Can I see them? - His sister curiously picked up the baby blanket and looked at the road-weary Yuu, who was dozing peacefully with his arms and legs spread out as comfortably as he could. - Of course. So...If you need time to think, I'll understand. - I agree, Divus. But I must discuss it with my husband. Will you stay the night?" And we'll give you an answer this afternoon. A heavy stone was suddenly lifted from Kruel's shoulders, and a glimmer of hope was all he needed. - I'll be happy to stay with you.

Over the weekend, Divus visited his Yuu. Such a good and intelligent child, full of curiosity and mischief. Let Crowley suffocate at the very thought that he missed such a rare opportunity to educate and see a child grow up. Although what the thought was, Crowley hadn't even mentioned the baby in so long. - Uncle Divvy? - Little Yuu looks with interest at the man in the housecoat and the glass of wine in his hand. - What's wrong, puppy?- Divus gently pats the child's head. Yuu quite calmly climbs on the sofa, although not at the first attempt due to inexperience how to manage his body, but Kruel melted at the sight of the child carefully climbs on the sofa, and then sit on his knees. Especially since this little brash child allowed himself to behave like this with the great genius Kruel, whom Crowley himself was sometimes afraid of because of his experiments. And this fragile child would climb on his lap without asking. After fiddling with his pocket, Yuu handed Cruel a small bundle wrapped in a child's handkerchief. - I brought you some cheese and a couple of grapes. Dad said you'd like the taste. Cruel had to take all his fortitude not to burst out laughing at this cute action. "Thank you, little puppy, but I think this small dinner will be just a small snack for me.

Yuu's nose furrowed slightly - Mom said you can't eat like a hamster before dinner. - And she's absolutely right. By the way I heard that you are already learning to play the piano? Yuu lowers her head in embarrassment. - Uh-huh...Only I'm still small and I can't reach the pedals at the bottom. Putting the glass of wine on the table, Divus lay down on the sofa and put the baby on his chest. - all in good time, pup. TEST Anita comes into the room. - Divus you accidentally not saw. M? - she sees that Cruel dozed off on couch and curled up have uncle on breast peacefully sniffed in its fist Yuu. A small sleeping idyll in all its beauty, peacefully dozing on the sofa. What Cruel wanted Yuu to have.

Years later, Divus always watches every report, every interview or article from Yuu and his cameraman Yuuken. He is a good guy and takes care of Yuu like a great friend, which was to the delight of Divus. - Today we will conduct an interview with you at the national museum to personally see the main exhibition of this year! - Yuu spoke happily and full of admiration on the screen. - Beautiful work. Amazing exhibits and the most interesting stories are waiting for you today! - Yuu is suddenly interrupted by the Poison Queen, who bursts into the exhibition along with her minions and lieutenants. - Behold the greatest beauty!! Yuu sighs heavily and gets annoyed. - Why, all of you!!I have a live broadcast here!!Pick up your Poison Queen plume and let me run the story in peace!!I waited for this exhibition for six months and begged the boss for two more months to hold the broadcast here!!!Come on!!Shoo-shoo-shoo!!Not today!! Yuuken from the side of it is not visible on the screen. - In fact, the Poison Queen, let's at least today without incident!! The Poison Queen was in amazement that they were talking to him like this - you two don't know manners and decency?!? Yuu and Yuuken - Get out of here and let the others do their work!! Cruel was choking with laughter on the other side of the screen. - still the same cheeky pup. I can do a lot of these little scenarios, to be honest. And thank you for reading it!

aaaaaAAAAAAAAAAH!!!

Soft uncle Divvy!! Being so proud of his little sassy experiment!! I love this so much!!

Thank you so much for writing more!! I am HONORED that this AU inspires you enough to write about it!!

[sasarahsunshine]

for that love prompt list, number 47 with moreid? "you've finally rendered me speechless."

kay I freaking love Moreid but I haven’t written for them yet so forgive me pls. Prompt list for Valentine’s Day.

Today was going to be a long day. Morgan could tell the moment he walked into the bullpen, spotting the large Starbucks sugar bomb that was on Reid’s desk. He arched an eyebrow as he deposited his bag at his own desk, peering at the younger agent, “Long night, Pretty Boy?”

Reid glanced up from the book in his lap, the circles under his eyes not as pronounced as normal. He wrinkled his nose in confusion, “No? I actually slept for about seven hours last night. I even had a chance to shower this morning.”

He did look well-rested. Which was odd. Morgan eyed the frappuccino, “Then what’s with the caffeinated milkshake?”

“Oh,” Reid grabbed at it, taking a sip from the straw, a small smile curling his lips when he tasted the pure chocolate goodness, “I just wanted to treat myself today.”

“Oh no,” JJ stated as she walked past, smirking at Reid, “When you treat yourself you get all hyper.”

He frowned at her, “I do not-”

“You do too, Pretty Boy,” Morgan teased, sitting at his own desk, “You start talking a million miles a minute. If we don’t get a case today then you’re going to be bouncing off the walls in here.”

Reid tried to look offended, his brows knitted together, “I do not. Just for that, I won’t talk at all today.”

Morgan swiveled in his chair, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “Oh really? Wanna bet?”

The moment he said it, Reid started to instantly regret this decision. But he wouldn’t back down now. He only nodded, taking his vow of silence to heart. Morgan chuckled, “Alright, game on Reid. If you don’t talk throughout the whole day then I’ll pay for drinks tonight. If you break under pressure then you buy. Deal?”

He watched as Reid opened his mouth to argue against the deal, but then closed it. Morgan knew he wouldn’t want to go out for drinks, but it was too late to back out now. The genius had a point to make, after all. And he looked frustrated already, giving a curt nod. Morgan chuckled again, “It hasn’t even been a minute and you almost broke. Good luck lasting all day.”

Reid angrily sucked at his frappuccino, looking back down to his book. He wouldn’t lose.

---

Around two hours later Reid was almost vibrating in his seat. Morgan watched as the younger man’s hands twitched as he bounced his pen against his desk, his bottom lip sucked between his teeth. He was trying oh so hard to concentrate on the files before him, but it was proving difficult.

It was probably worse since Morgan was talking so loudly about how whatever he could think of, dragging Emily into the bet. The two of them were discussing almost everything and anything, throwing out inaccurate facts and unbelievable opinions, trying to get a rise out of Reid.

But he held strong. Or, as far as Morgan could see, he was trying to. The twitch of his lip, the tensing of his jaw, the way his foot bounced under his desk; Morgan knew he would crack soon. 

“How are you holding up, Reid?” He taunted, looking the younger man up and down. Reid shot him a dirty look before going back to his work. Emily snickered, rolling her eyes, “This is kind of cheating, Morgan,” she pointed out, “Trying to push his buttons shouldn’t be allowed.”

“We didn’t agree to any rules,” Morgan shrugged, “So I can push his buttons as much as I want. Apparently talking about how Star Wars is far superior to Star Trek isn’t enough to make him angry though.”

“Oh he’s angry,” she countered, pointing towards Reid, “His face is all red.”

Morgan chuckled. Rossi walked past them, eyeing the two, “Leave the kid alone. Shouldn’t you be working on something?” Emily hopped off of Morgan's desk and hurried towards her own, “Maybe.” Rossi rolled his eyes, the smallest smile on his lips, as he went back towards his office. Reid shot him a grateful look. 

But Morgan wasn’t done. He needed to find the right something that would get under Reid’s skin, make him talk. 

He’d think about it while he tried to get some work done. 

---

It was nearing the end of the workday and Reid still hadn’t spoken! How? Morgan was getting frustrated. He was sure he’d have the little genius talking before noon at least. Reid was always talking, about everything, all the time! Especially when he had sugar and caffeine coursing through his veins. 

However, Morgan had probably talked more than Reid ever had at this point. Just trying to get a rise out of Reid caused him to yap all day long. It was tiring. How did the kid do it?

Emily and JJ had gone with Garcia for something to eat about 20 minutes ago, leaving Morgan and Reid alone in the bullpen. Morgan was spinning in his chair, a pen between his hands, constantly clicking it, talking about nothing in particular, “Been working on a new project. Bought a house close to the outside of town, so there’s a pretty view of the mountains that way. The whole thing is a disaster, so I’m expecting it to take a while to fix. Longer if we end up on a case sometime this week. I gotta buy some paint tomorrow for the kitchen.” He peered at Reid to see if he was paying attention. It didn’t look like it. 

He frowned, “Are you even listening to me?”

Reid peeked up at him, peering through his lashes and messy brown hair. He made a face but didn’t reply. Because, the vow of silence. Of course. 

Morgan huffed, standing and walking over to him. He sat on Reid’s desk, turning the kid’s chair so he was forced to look at him. Reid exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked irritated. 

Morgan arched an eyebrow, smirking down at him, “I’m going to get you to talk before the end of the day, kid. I just don’t know how yet.” He had to lean closer to study Reid’s expression. When he did, he noticed the flush growing over the other man’s cheeks and nose. He looked so cute like that, all rosy and flustered at Morgan’s closeness. 

Morgan grinned, lowering his voice, “You like me being this close to you, Pretty Boy?” 

Reid looked away, huffing. He held himself tighter. 

Morgan put his finger under Reid's chin, forcing him to look him in the eyes. He smiled softly, those big brown eyes shimmering with curiosity and embarrassment, “Would you like it if I kissed you right now?”

Reid gaped at him, yanking himself backward so suddenly that his chair tipped over and he ended up on the floor. Morgan jumped to his feet, “Oh shit, kid! I was kidding! I was kidding- Shit! Are you okay?” He reached down and grabbed Reid’s hand, pulling him standing. He didn’t get a chance to check him over, because Reid’s mouth was on his. 

Blinking in surprise, he froze. The kiss didn’t last long (though his mind suddenly wished it had), and soon he was standing there shell-shocked, staring at the bright red kid who stood before him. He swallowed after a moment, stammering for something to say. He couldn’t think of anything. His brain had short-circuited. 

A solid minute had to have passed before Reid glanced at his watch, then up at Morgan, “Time’s up. I can talk now. You’re buying drinks tonight.”

Morgan gaped at him, blinking again, “I-what?”

“You heard me,” Reid said as he started gathering his things, organizing his desk how he liked it. Morgan furrowed his brows, “You don’t want to talk about... what just happened?”

Reid smirked. Sassy little fucker. “We can talk over drinks?”

Morgan managed a smirk of his own, “Oh, I see how it is. If you wanted to take me on a date you could have asked.”

Reid shrugged, peering up at Morgan, “I couldn’t. You’ve finally rendered me speechless for an entire day. So, are you driving?”

Morgan laughed, his face still warm and flushed, his hands feeling tingly, and his stomach full of butterflies. Today was a long day, but it was all worth it. 

[the-haven-of-fiction]

Not A Christmas Movie

Genre/Rating: Fluff and Sweetness of the holiday variety, T

Summary:  Tom and Astrid find themselves in a unique situation on Christmas Eve. 

Author’s Notes:  My first sappy romantic Christmas one shot, y’all!  Move over, Hallmark!  I tried to cover some of the best cheesy themes, I hope you enjoy it.  Thank you to Pillow Talk and Lolo for proofing.  

The sound of the wind and snow raced through the trees and whipped against the walls of the cabin, the remote mountainous location devoid of any welcoming lights from neighbors.  The two travelers dropped their luggage upon crossing the threshold and rushed to push the heavy door shut behind them.   

“When we get through this, neither you nor my sisters are ever allowed to make fun of my emergency preparedness again!  We’d be in major trouble without it!” Astrid declared, brushing snow off her jacket and holding up the lantern from the referenced emergency preparedness with her other hand as Tom attempted to lock the door.

“I think I can safely and assuredly,” he paused to run his tongue over his perpetually chapped lips in concentration, “give you my word as an Englishman that I shall never,” a grunt of effort, “allow either myself or your sisters to utter a syllable of criticism on that score.”  

She couldn’t help but giggle at his struggle with the lock.  

“Remember when you had the brilliant idea to build a set for one of our backyard holiday productions?  Was that when you played Scrooge?  Your word as an Englishman may be good as gold, but your complete lack of skill with anything slightly mechanical is something I wouldn’t swear by.”

Even in the dim light of the lantern, the slight twitch of a smile was visible on his face, the vision of the pathetic attempt so vivid in his memory.  

“No one is going to believe this,” she sighed, shivering and looking around for a light switch.

“Truth is stranger than fiction,” Tom quipped. “The best intentions of a Christmas surprise, a series of unfortunate events, a comedy of errors…”

“I blame my soon to be ex-mechanic, the weatherman, Anya and Arlyss and their crazy idea about trying to organize our families into coming out here to the wilderness to have some kind of storybook Christmas,” she huffed, fumbling along the wall, but finding the switch and flipping it to On in relief.

They both groaned when nothing happened.  No electricity, no heat.

“They must have disconnected the electricity during renovations, fantastic.”  He followed close behind her as they made their way around the cabin.  Although the snowstorm was in full force and there weren’t any outside lights on the driveway, they could see evidence of construction as they had pulled up a few minutes earlier.  

“Well, at least there’s a fireplace and I think there is actually a pile of wood next to it,” Astrid pointed as she spoke.  “How about that.  Must have been stocked by the same person who left the door unlocked. Remind me never to hire this company, whoever they are.”

“I could go outside and check for the…uhm…the…” Tom stuttered and gestured, making what she assumed was meant to be a square shape of some kind.

“The breaker box?” she asked dryly.  

“Exactly, yes,” he answered in a tone of false bravado, clearing his throat. “I was merely waiting to see if you knew the name.”

“Santa doesn’t bring presents to little boys who lie, ya know.”  She set the lantern on the mantle next to a small glass dish of matches.  “Especially little boys who grew up in a centuries-old estate and have servants who take care of locking the doors and fixing the electrical problems.”

“They are not servants, they are staff, Miss Sassy, and I doubt Father Christmas knows we are here, no one does,” he replied.  “Add the one forgotten mobile and the other with no service to the list of things that won’t be believed.”

“Well, anyways, Professor,” she went on in an exaggerated manner, “I may have a First Aid kit in my emergency supplies, but I am not equipped to perform any surgery on wounds you would most certainly incur from trying to play Electrician.”

He knew she was correct and they both smiled, cheeks rosy with cold.

“I suppose it was fortuitous that I ended up teaching Classics rather than embarking upon a career in carpentry.”

Astrid got a fire going and they were able to scope out their surroundings more thoroughly. A last-minute change of plans had allowed the visiting Tom and originally scheduled-to-work Astrid to join their families in the mountains for Christmas, but a quick succession of unforeseen events had brought them here, stranded close to midnight in a semi-livable cabin during a snowstorm on Christmas Eve.

The owners must have been undergoing some kind of renovations.  The cabin obviously had been inhabited previously, but half the interior wasn’t complete, including the kitchen.

“The toilet flushes!” she shouted from the bathroom.  “And there’s running water in the sink!”

“Unfortunately there is no sofa or chairs of any sort and only one bedroom,” he reported when she came back into the main room, “No fireplace, but it does have a bed with linens.”

“Well, my kit has extra batteries so we should be okay with the lantern in there,” she assured him, completely missing his point about the issue of a single bed.

He noticed that her shivering wasn’t decreasing as much as it should, looking her up and down in concern.  She was wearing an ankle-length corduroy skirt in a shade that matched her eyes, with a long-sleeved but thin sweater.  

“I think we should go through our luggage and put on a couple of more layers.  That centuries-old estate was a bit drafty, so I am accustomed to an indoor chill,” he informed her with a tinge of that irritating blend of both humility and privilege.

She rolled her eyes, but went over to her suitcase and started sifting through her clothes.  

“You and the twins have always been bossy. It’s a wonder how I have managed to get through life as an adult without the three of you hovering over me like you did when I was a kid.”

He pulled on another shirt and grinned at her.

“I still remember the day you were born.  I was visiting Dad and Roberta that year for Christmas,” referring to the alternating schedule their families had of who went to which country for the holidays. “And your sisters and I were old enough to be excited rather than jealous of a new child coming.”

Astrid turned away from him, hoping he wouldn’t see her reaction.  Why did it please her so much to hear him speak of her birth with such affection?  It must be this ridiculous situation.  And the holiday.  And her birthday.  And this sparkling blue-eyed man whose place in her life she had never been quite able to define.  Not a blood relation, but as close as a family member, certainly more than a friend.  But more than a friend, in that sense?  College and adulthood had made the unanswered question less important, as the shared summers and holidays of their childhood had grown fewer and fewer.  She didn’t let herself ponder why he hadn’t married and had a dozen children to help him keep up that manor. Any woman would be elated at the prospect of sharing her life with him; she knew he had a string of casual relationships, just as she had, but their age difference had made her sure years ago that he would be a distant memory by this time.  

“Born on Christmas Day to parents named Joseph and Mary, merely the beginning of my life’s trajectory of ‘You won’t believe this!’ events, continuing to this bizarre night that has practically every plot point needed for a cheesy holiday movie except that we aren’t secretly pining for each other.”  She zipped up the windbreaker over the thicker sweater before reaching for her parka, not seeing the brief flicker in his eyes.

“Did you know that Arliss wanted to call you Snowflake and Anya’s choice was Mistletoe?” Tom picked up her scarf and hat that he had placed on the hearth so they would be toasty and walked back to her.

“I hear that story every year, along with all the suggestions from everyone to aunts and uncles to the postman.  Thank God my parents went with something on theme, but not silly.”  She pulled on her boots after a second pair of socks and looked up at him.

His expression changed and he drew in a short breath.

“Do you like your name?”

The inquiry was brimming with something that sounded like hope to her.

“Oh, yes, I’ve always loved it.  In fact, I love it as much as I’ve disliked having a birthday on Christmas because it is beautiful and unique and it made me feel beautiful and unique.”

A wave of pure delight lit up his face and something clicked in her mind.  Her parents’ version of where her name came from was always that someone had mentioned it to them and they couldn’t remember who it had been.

“It was you, wasn’t it,” Astrid said.  And it wasn’t a question. “It was your suggestion.”

He worried at his lower lip, a tic she’d come to know years ago that was a sure indication of him being both pleased and embarrassed.

“Yes,” the soft affirmation punctuated by the crackles and pops from the fire. “And your description is precisely how I thought of it then, thanks to having just started Latin in school, and,” a heartbeat of silence, “it is how I think of you now.”

He was standing directly in front of her and paused to survey her face for a few seconds before tapping lightly under her chin.  

Without even thinking about it, it seemed, she looked up at the ceiling so he could wrap the heated scarf around her neck.  The warmth felt wonderful, although the feeling caused by this stunning revelation about her name and the look on his face was already warming her up in a way she tried to herself wasn’t happening.

He tucked her hair behind her ears and pulled the hat down while she argued with herself that he was simply being affectionate in the manner of a friend.

“Well,” she said, a little too loudly, stepping back from him, “That down comforter is calling to me, I guess we should be getting to bed.”

Good heavens, the bed, she thought.  As in one bed.  

As in here, as in they were stuck with a snowstorm swirling around them.  

In a cabin that was being renovated.  With no power or heat.  

On Christmas Eve.  

This couldn’t be real, it was not a Christmas movie.

“I suppose we should,” still in that soft voice.  

A distraction.  She needed a distraction.

“Oh!  I just remembered!  I have my favorite Christmas movie downloaded on my phone, we can watch it before we go to sleep.”

Less than two hours later, David Niven was giving his sermon and Loretta Young was gazing up at him while Cary Grant walked away in the snow.  Tom was propped up a bit against the headboard and had insisted on holding the phone so she could stay under the blankets.  Somehow she had ended up almost pasted to his side as the story progressed and his arm was around her.  About halfway through, they’d had a little tussle about whether or not he should leave the warm cocoon of the bed and get them another candy cane from her Snack Pack.  He argued that they had already brushed their teeth, but a sincere plea from her with an affectionate “Be naughty with me, Professor!” addition was something he simply couldn’t resist.  

She sighed and closed her eyes, contented and drowsy and finally no longer cold, too tired and confused to attempt to figure out what was happening, how years of ignoring what was just below the surface had nearly bubbled over.  It was impossible.  He wasn’t interested.  He was just being Tom.  Typical Tom.  Caring, attentive, making you feel like you were the only person in the room.  She wouldn’t think about this anymore right now.  Maybe tomorrow.  Or not.  

Tom closed the app on her phone and noticed the time.

“Hey there, it’s 12:01.”

“Mmhhmm,” she murmured, feeling herself about to drift off.  He was so familiar, so comforting, so exactly like Christmas itself should be.  She wanted to enjoy this moment before she went back to being the little kid and he the older…the older what?

“Happy Birthday,” he said and dipped his head to kiss her forehead, his breath sweet from the earlier candy cane.

She turned upwards toward him without opening her eyes to give him a peck on the cheek, almost without knowing what she was doing in her sleepy state, but she miscalculated and missed his cheek, her mouth landing on his.

He didn’t jerk back in shock.  Or horror.

It’s now or never, she thought, suddenly wide awake and ready to throw caution out the window that was probably frozen shut by now.

Ten seconds later, ten minutes later, she wasn’t sure which, he pulled back breathlessly and she opened her eyes. 

“What are you doing?” he asked in bewilderment, in surprise, but not in accusation.

“I’m kissing you, do you mind?” she responded, quickly pulling off her mittens and his beanie so she could sink her fingers into his curls.

“I, uhm…”

“Have no fear for your virtue, Thomas,” she teased in a low voice, tugging on a fistful of those ginger locks and causing a sharp gasp from him that thrilled her and gave her courage. “We are wrapped up like a couple of stuffed sausages in this icebox and there is a foot of clothing between us.”  

His gaze narrowed and focused on her lips.

Another kiss, sweet and shy, but sure.

“I thought we weren’t secretly pining for each other,” he quoted her words back to her.

“I lied,” Astrid admitted while placing a string of kisses down his nose and nipping the tip. 

The gasp changed to a growl, his grip on her upper arms tightening.

“Santa doesn’t bring presents to little girls who lie,” using her words against her, again.

She kissed him, again.  Longer, lingering.

They were side by side now, the blankets becoming tangled.

“Did you lie?” she whispered, not knowing what to do next if he denied it, but also feeling like she couldn’t let another minute pass without settling the matter.

He propped himself up on an elbow and raised an eyebrow at her.

“I don’t recall either confirming or denying your assertion at the time,” wanting to tease her in return.

“But,” he rushed to continue upon seeing her immediately crestfallen, “I will make it absolutely clear now,” each word followed by a brush of his lips across her jaw and down her neck, “that you,” lifting his head to smile at her, “are the one I desire.”

Tears of happiness welled up and slipped down her cheeks.  

“Happy Christmas, my starshine,” he whispered against her lips.

[blueberrysets]

EXPLORING SONGS: HOW THE SUN TEMPTED ME

pairing: timeskip!tsukishima x f!reader

genre: fluff and angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: swearing, mentions of death, mentions of alcohol use, depression, grief, angst

word count:  3,343

summary: after the death of his best friend, tsukishima swore to never speak a word about that night and to not even mutter his name again. he would rather stay angry at himself for the rest of his life than to think about that incident. yet, it haunts him in his dreams and in his every day to day life. until the lovable roommate of his seems to show more care towards him than anyone else in his life.   

song to play: fine line by harry styles

an: yay!! this is my first installment in my writing collection of exploring songs! I’m super excited to keep writing for this and diving deep into the lyrics of the music. I hope you enjoy and let me know if you would like to be in the tag list for future installments!

masterlist!

taglist: @emiyummy @nyelsy​

In the five stages of grief, tsukishima seems to be stuck on the second stage; anger. He’s been that way for the past four years since he lost his best friend. it’s a relentless anger that is directed to anyone who happens to irritate him just slightly. he finds himself having to hold his tongue while an annoying little kid asks him a dumb question while he’s explaining fossils. he used to love their curiosity and would lend a hand to teach them. his anger starts at the bottom of his feet, flowing all the way up to the middle of his throat. having him choke slightly at the ball of frustration blocking his airways.

yet the one thing he can’t get rid of, is his annoying lovable roommate.

“tsukki!” her voice rings out, bouncing off the walls of the bustling museum. her arms stretched way above her head as she waves him down, a bright smile lighting up her face as her cheeks and the tip of her nose are rosy from the winter air outside.

tsukishima finds the corners of his mouth raising slightly at the sight. it’s not a new one, she’s always there for his lunch break so they can eat together. always making food and coming to his work with a bento that has his name on it. the slight smile stays for a second, but is soon replaced with his familiar scowl. he makes his way over to her, hands shoved in his khaki pants. his worker ID hanging around his neck on a lanyard, irritating the back of his neck and bumping against his dark brown sweater. 

her office attire is covered by a long, black peacoat and a thick, tan scarf paired with it. her hands lower as he gets closer to her, but her smile doesn’t falter. the familiar big purse filled with the contents of their lunch is hanging off her shoulder, the same color as her scarf. she calls it her “mom purse,” stating how she can literally carry anything in there. if only he could take his grief and place it in there as well. 

“look at you,” tsukishima snickers, “finally dressing appropriately for the weather.”

a look of annoyance replaces her smile, he feels himself missing it already. her hand winds back to land a slap right onto his bicep. he couldn’t help but laugh even more at her reaction. it’s fun to tease her, especially when she gets pouty. 

“keep saying stuff like that and i’ll stop making you lunches,” she grumbles as she sticks her tongue out at him.

“you and i both know you won’t,” he shrugs. 

“shut up, i hate when you’re right,” she mumbles again, pushing the straps of her purse higher up on her shoulder as she walks to where his break room is. 

a hearty laugh leaves his lips as his head is thrown back. his shoulders rising up and down as the laugh takes over his body. it stops y/n in her place to look back and take in the sight. seeing the pure joy covering his face as he laughs, it's a sight she doesn’t want to miss. so, she halts in her tracks and admires him. but before he could notice, she turns back around and continues her way to the break room. but how odd was it, to know that he only laughs that genuinely around her. 

the clicking sound of her heels now echo off the walls, and he follows the noise all the way to the familiar staff break room. she clunks her purse down on the dull, wooden table that sits in the middle of the room. to the left of it is a kitchenette area with counters, a refrigerator, microwave, coffee maker, and sink. to the right are various vending machines and printers. she places the two bentos and two pairs of chopsticks onto the table before dropping her bulky bag next to her chair. she unravels her scarf and shrugs off her coat before hanging them on the back of her chair.

it’s annoying how frustratingly beautiful she is, without even trying. her black skirt fits her curves nicely and goes great with her favorite maroon turtleneck sweater. the black tights that cover her skin from the cold air transition nicely into her black high heel boots. her hair in its natural state as her face is adorned with work-suited make up. yet, his favorite look on her would have to be the casual clothes she lounges in at home. 

he takes his usual seat across from her, sitting down and grabbing the chopsticks that were set nicely next to his bento box. he breaks them apart before unwrapping and opening his meal. but stops his movements to see her loosely putting her hair into a bun before she eats. stating that it keeps it from annoyingly falling in her face as she eats, another habit that he can’t seem to stop gushing over. they sit in silence as they start to eat, it’s a comfortable silence. one that is usually filled with the humming from the printer.

“how’s work been today?” she asks with her mouth slightly full, her gaze on her food as she continues to shovel it into her mouth.

“the usual, how about you?” he softly asks as he picks at his food, “is that greg guy still bothering you? you know i can sort that out for you.”

she lets out a snort, setting her chopsticks down as she wipes her hands on her skirt. chewing her food completely and swallowing before she replies. 

“i’m a big girl, I can handle it,” she states in a sassy manner, her gaze meeting him from across the table, “but no, he’s not.”

“good,” he answers shortly, briefly meeting her gaze before it’s redirected back down to his food. 

she clears her throat as she picks up her chopsticks again, returning to quickly eating. their lunch time together is short as she has to catch another train back to her office in a different part of the city. he’s told her multiple times that she doesn’t have to do this, that he’s perfectly capable of having lunch by himself. but she insists, and he’s glad that she still does. perhaps, he doesn’t like being alone. 

“i can’t believe it’s already december 12th,” she mumbles, mostly to herself, “it’s getting close to christmas, i’m not even done shopping yet.”

while the statement of the date is an innocent remark, it stills has tsukishima freezing his movements as the breath gets caught in his throat. he slowly places his hands back down on the table and slightly pushes the bento box away from him, no longer hungry. 

well, it’s official. 

today marks five years since his best friend's death.

“tsukki,” her voice breaks through to his ears as his eyes snap open and his body being shaken by her, “tsukki!”

his breathing is rigid as his hands grip onto her arms, the covers thrown off of him as he feels the hot tears streaming down his face. his eyes scan his surroundings in his semi dark room, the only source of light being his bedside lamp. his glasses are placed on the bedside table and his clock shows that it’s currently 1:23 am. then his eyes finally land on her. 

her hair messy from her bed head and her eyes holding a look of concern. her hands slide from his chest up to his face, wiping away the tears that continue to fall from his eyes. he’s confused, throat dry and raw.

“you were screaming,” she whispers softly, one hand leaving his face as she runs it through his hair, “i think you were having a nightmare.”

it hits him. he was. memories of that fateful night replaying in his mind, over and over again. always the same outcome, always him being too late. he squeezes his closed, more tears leaving his eyes as does. yet the gentle touches from her hands wipe them away.

“do you want to talk about it?” she asks gently, causing him to slowly open his eyes to connect with hers. 

he shakes his head no.

“that’s okay,” she nods, “whenever you want to, just know that i’m here. let me get you some water.”

she stands up, turning to leave to walk to the kitchen. his hand latches onto hers, stopping her from leaving. she turns around, her gaze soft as she looks down at their hands then back to his face. he swallows, this is very out of character for him. but he doesn’t want to be alone. 

“will you stay with me?” he gasps out, shyly lowering his gaze, “just for the night.”

her thumb caresses his hand before she gives it a gentle squeeze.

“of course, i’ll stay for as long as you need,” she coos, “let me get you water, then i’ll come to bed.”

he nods his head, releasing his grip on her hand. she turns and walks out of the room, her bare feet padding on the hardwood floor. the sound fades out as he is left with his own thoughts again. he lays back down on the bed, running a hand through his hair. his eyes dry from the tears and his head throbbing for some sleep. yet he can’t go to sleep, he doesn’t want to see it again. he can’t keep seeing that night again. it’ll tear him apart more than it already is. 

before his thoughts could get even more jumbled together, she finally returned with a glass of fresh water. she sets it on his nightstand before crawling into bed next to him, pulling the covers up with her. he turns over to grab the cup, taking a few sips to soothe his throat. he sets it back down and turns off the lamp. he flops back down onto his back. a hand laying underneath his head as he stares at the moonlight leaking in through his window. then he feels her, her arm thrown over his waist as her head lays on his chest and her legs tangle with his.

his heart swells at the contact. it was at this moment, that he knew he could trust her with anything. despite his snarky remarks, silent grief, and witty attitude; she decided to stay with him. how lucky can one get?

“i’m not sure if i’m ready to fully tell you everything yet,” he explains softly, one of his hands drawing circles on her arm, “but just know that things would’ve been different if i was there before…”

“nonsense,” she cuts him off, her face still buried in his chest, “fate works in mysterious ways, kei. sometimes it does shit that seems so unfair, so heartbreaking. we can’t help but blame ourselves sometimes. yet, it’s not your fault. things happen for a reason whether we like it or not. you could’ve prevented it then, but who's to say it wouldn’t just happen later on? stop being so hard on yourself, instead take time to heal from whatever hurt you.”

another tear falls at her words, but god how relieving it was to be on stage three; bargaining.

he was so tired of being angry.

“i’m going out!” he remembers her saying as she struggles to pull her high heel onto her foot, “don’t wait up for me, i’ll text you when i’m on my way home!”

yet it’s morning, and there was no text. no call, no text from her friends; there's just nothing. he paces the living room, frantically calling her number over and over. his hair a mess with how many times his hands had run through it. his pajamas fitting loosely on his skinny body, he has lost some weight hasn’t he? 

“pick up, pick up,” he whispers to himself as his bottom lip is being nervously gnawed at, “y/n pick up, damnit.”

voicemail, again. he aggressively pushes the red button to hang up, harshly throwing his phone onto the couch. he grips the edge of the sofa, his foot tapping anxiously as he tries to wrack his brain around what is happening. where was she? if she got hurt wouldn't he get a call from the hospital? or if it was something else, wouldn’t her friends or the police station call him? he is her emergency contact, he should be hearing something! what if she got kidnapped? maybe that’s why no one has told him anything. what if-

the sound of the front door being unlocked and opening interrupts his thoughts. he whips his head in the direction of the noise to see her walk in. she wears clothes that seem to be her friends as she holds her heels in her hand. she sets them on the ground gently, not wanting to make much noise so she doesn’t wake him. 

“where the hell were you?” he asks loudly, causing her to jump from the surprise.

“oh!” she exclaims, “i spent the night at a friends place, but my phone died. sorry i didn’t text you.”

“you didn’t think of maybe having a friend text me?” he asks in a snarky tone, angrily walking over to her, “i was worried sick, y/n!”

“i’m sorry,” she laughs, “i didn’t think it would’ve been that big of a deal.”

“not a big deal?” he sneers, his hands gripping her biceps in a tight hold, “what if something happened to you, huh?”

“kei, let go,” she warns, “your grip hurts.”

“i can’t lose another important person, y/n!” he yells, taking in a sharp breath at what he just said. 

“another?” she questions, her gaze more confused than angry now. 

“forget it,” he mumbles as reaches behind her to grab his coat. shoving his feet into his shoes before walking out the front door, slamming it right in her face. 

onto stage four: depression.

the last person he expected to see waiting for him at the end of his shift, would be her. her black peacoat contrasting with the red scarf wrapped around her neck. the scarf looking bulky against her frame, but comfortable. they haven’t had a conversation in two weeks, an awkward environment surrounds them since that morning. they kept to their assigned rooms in the apartment, yet she showed more compassion for him than he thought she would. she still set food outside his door, still packed him lunches, still did his laundry, or cleaned his room since he lacked motivation to do anything. opening his eyes felt like a chore lately, yet she still supported him silently. 

“come with me,” she said softly, reaching a hand out to him, “i’m taking you somewhere.”

his eyes are wide, filled with curiosity and confusion at the current situation. yet he still reached his hand towards her mitten-covered one and held onto it. he let her pull him along with her. following her to the train station, sitting patiently for their stop, then following her off the train. their hands never once letting go. he was afraid that if he did, she would disappear in thin air. truly, leaving him completely alone. 

she pulled him all the way to the beach, the waves slightly frozen as they crash into the rocky shores. she pulls him up onto a big rock ledge, sitting down once they reach the top. her legs dangling off the edge and the golden rays of the setting sun hitting her face. tsukishima was still standing, looking out at the perfect view of the sunset. but then averting his eyes to his own person sun sitting on the rock. he follows along and sits next to her, the harsh wind from the ocean hitting both of their faces. 

“i asked your brother about what happened,” she states over the sounds of the waves, “about yamaguchi.”

he lets out a shaky breath at the mention of that name, one he promised himself he wouldn’t say. for his own sanity, he wouldn’t mention that name again. 

“you did?” he asked quietly. 

“i did,” she states confidently, “and i want to apologize.”

he rips his eyes from the view to look at her, meeting her gaze that was already on him. confusion written all over his face. 

“i should’ve texted you that night, given you some indication of where i was. something to at least ease your mind,” she explains, her voice sounding like she was pleading for him to forgive her. all of this time, they both blamed themselves for the situation, “but i had no idea what you have gone through, but now that i do i completely regret my actions.”

tsukishima swallows hard as he looks down at his hands that rest in his lap. so she knows, and now she probably knows that he’s a huge fuck up. he took a few deep breaths, preparing himself for the conversation. 

“how long have you known,” he starts, “about him.”

“about a week,” she whispers, “i didn’t have the heart to bring it up to you, i wasn’t sure how you would react. but then, i’ve seen the grief and guilt eating at you slowly. i can't stand to see you like that anymore, kei.” 

“he called me,” he whispers, lifting his gaze up to her eyes. tears welling up in his eyes, “he called me that night asking for a ride, drunk. i remember that i was so annoyed by that call, that i didn’t leave right away. deciding that five more minutes of sleep was more important than my friend getting home safely. when i finally left and went to pick him up, the other guests said he left with someone else. then i get the call the next morning, the call that he was… well, you know.”

she scoots closer to him, placing her hands on his face. meeting his eyes with such intensity and care, he didn’t deserve her. the tears ran down his face, seeing who would get to the finish line the quickest. his body shakes from the sobs as he finally talks about that night after five years of avoiding it. 

“this isn’t your fault, kei,” she says slowly, meaning every word.

“but if I just left right away-“

“he would’ve still had time to accept that ride,” she states, her eyes full of certainty, “he knew the risk, everyone does when it comes to alcohol. yet, he still said yes. he could’ve said no, you already told him that you would come pick him up. he left you, you didn’t abandon him.”

“i don’t deserve you,” he sobs out, “i really don’t. you’re like the sun, tempting me to be happy with what i did.”

“i’m not trying to make you feel happy about what you did,” she explains as she uses her mittened hand to wipe his tears, “i want you to accept that what happened, happened. there were mistakes made, yes, but you can't change it now. what you can do, is live in his memory. live life for him, and dedicate every waking day to him.”

“i love you,” he gasps out, “i really do, you sunshine. you temptress. so please, if i’m gonna do this i want you to be there with me.”

a smile breaks out on her face, laughing slightly. for once, his eyes weren’t full with the hardening gaze of sadness and guilt. but bright and full of love, and how she longed for that gaze to be shown her way. 

“i’m not going anywhere, kei,” she smiles, “and i love you too.”

his arms wrap around her waist and pull her closer to him, lowering his head to capture her in a kiss. the sun is almost gone behind the horizon now, yet the glow from his own sunshine blinds him with love. tempting him to deepen the kiss as their grips on each other tighten.

he was right, he doesn’t like being alone.

it seems that he’s not anymore. 

[meta-squash]

Brick Club 1.4.1 “One Mother Meets Another”

This Book title really gets me. “To Trust Is Sometimes To Surrender.” Which, I don’t know, feels really helpless. And helpless in a way that could be prevented, too, if there had just been more questions asked or something, maybe. Probably not. But poor Fantine, and poor Cosette, being forced into trusting people who take advantage of everyone they see.

The first thing that we see of the Thenardiers is nothing at all to do with Fantine’s storyline, but everything to do with Marius’. The Sergeant Of Waterloo sign, with its bad painting (I love Hugo’s sassy “on which something was painted”).

But it’s not the sign that makes Fantine stop, but a huge cart with an enormous chain. The Robb biography says that the cart visual was something Hugo saw as a child while he was crossing the border at Saint-Jean-de-Luz while returning to France from Spain. The cart and its chain are symbolism of both an obstacle and a veiled threat. It “might have been mistaken for a giant gun-carriage” and is “crushing” and “hideous.” The way Hugo describes the mud coating the lower half of this cart makes it sound like it’s slowly being covered by a yellow disease. Also, this is the second instance of chain imagery in as many chapters. We also get more imagery of obstruction a few paragraphs later.

Hugo makes it really obvious that this cart is here as an obstruction, literally and figuratively. The figurative is twofold. It is metaphor for the obstruction that the Thenardiers become for Fantine, taking all of her money and lying about Cosette in order to do it, making it impossible for her to stay afloat at Montreuil-sur-Mer. He also uses it to critique the “old social order.”

“Why was this vehicle in this place on the street? First to obstruct the lane, and then to complete its work of rusting. In the old social order we find a host of institutions like this across our path in the full light of day, with no reasons for being there.” Hugo’s critique of the “old social order,” which I’m assuming is the empire.

There’s so much symbolism in the young Eponine and Azelma swinging on the chain. They are swung back and forth by their mother, a symbolism of their own future, akin to the image of Fantine as the horse. They’ll be tied to Mme Thenardier and used by her in the future. Not only that, but the chain is huge enough to be reminiscent of the chains of the bagne; prison is a constant threat to them once they reach Paris. “Above and around the delicate heads, steeped in joy and bathed in light, the gigantic hulk, black with rust and almost frightful with its tangled curves and sharp angles, curved like the mouth of a cave.” What intense symbolism for the darkness and struggle that awaits them in Paris in the future.

“A mother, seeing this frightful chain, had said, ‘Now there’s a toy for my children!’“ First of all this feels like a sassy critique of Mme Thenardier’s parenting decisions. But it’s also a hint at their poverty and debt despite the nice clothing. Instead of tying a rope to a branch or something, the decision to turn a huge hulking terrifying chain into a swing for two tiny children...it’s just a lot.

God, the drastic difference between Cosette’s description and Fantine’s description. Cosette is all beauty and light. She’s “charmingly rosy” She’s dressed in linen and lace. Fantine’s description begins with a question mark. “She was young--pretty?” In 1.3.3, Hugo specifically points out Fantine’s “fine teeth” and her long, blonde hair as points of her beauty. Here, she has her hair wrapped up in a tight cap fastened under her chin, and she never smiles. She looks upset and ill and hard-worked. Lines are forming on her face and her skin is calloused. From here on out her beauty is either a small physical remnant or is purely an inner beauty.

What’s the kerchief fold for invalids that Hugo talks about? Does anyone have an image of that? Also why would invalids fold a kerchief over their chest? Is it the blue kerchief specifically that’s used by invalids, not the fold style?

So if it was August last chapter, it’s June now. If it was December-ish (from the sunset at 4:30 thing) then it’s October. If they’re outside playing on a swing, it’s probably more likely that it’s June. Hugo really just does not care about telling us the time of year unless it is Symbolically Important.

The friendship between Fantine and the rest of the grisettes was tenuous at best, manipulative and cruel at worst. But Hugo implies that none of the other grisettes stayed together either. They “no longer had any reason to be friends” despite suffering the same let down--only the others expected it and Fantine didn’t. And the men probably not only remained friends long after, they probably also made connections and used each other to gain social points and climb the ladder.

“Led by her liaison with Tholomyes to disdain the simple work she knew how to do, she had neglected her opportunities; now they were all gone.” This makes me think that for the two years she was with Tholomyes, she wasn’t working and he was supporting her and the child? Is this how it would have been? Or perhaps she was working, but other, better, more steady opportunities came up and she didn’t take them because of Tholomyes. Either way, her relationship with Tholomyes has fucked her over so many different ways. She doesn’t have a job should could have had, she has a child she can’t take care of, and she has a broken heart.

It’s also a huge clue to how little Fantine seems to know about how any of these affairs work and what’s going to happen to her that “she had a vague feeling of being on the brink of danger, of slipping into the streets.” The other grisettes kept their affairs very shallow, probably because of how acutely aware they were of how much power these men had over their lives and what a mistake could cost them. It’s why the lack of a parting gift in the last chapter was a huge let down for them--they probably should have gotten something expensive to make up for all the lost hours of work--but not as huge as it was for Fantine, who had already made that mistake.

“One day, Fantine heard some old women saying as they saw her child ‘Do people ever take such children seriously? They only shrug their shoulders at them!’ Then she thought of Tholomyes, who shrugged his shoulders at his child, and who did not take this innocent creature seriously, and her heart turned dark at the place that had been his.” Such a short series of lines on such a heavy realization. This is one of the reasons the English lyrics to I Dreamed A Dream irritate me so much. Before she even leaves Paris, Fantine’s heart has hardened to Tholomyes. She doesn’t yearn for him at all; from that point on her focus and love is purely about her child. She’s also angry here. She gets the message at this point and she’s upset about it. There’s also the double meaning of “who did not take this innocent creature seriously.” This line could be about Cosette, but it could also easily be about Tholomyes’ treatment of Fantine for the past two years.

“She had made a mistake, but, deep down, we know she was modest and virtuous.” Okay, Hugo, but what about other women who make mistakes? Are they not modest and virtuous? If they’re not, do they get different treatment? Again, back to his weird arguments from 1.3.2, about how “poverty and coquetry are fatal counselors” and how fallen woman are different from modest women, but also it’s society’s fault that they’re bad. I don’t know, Hugo seems to be confused in his moral opinions when it comes to this stuff.

(The more I learn about his youth while reading this biography, the more this kind of stuff makes sense. The “fallen women are bad” seems to be the kind of opinion he had in his youth, and the “it’s a societal problem” is an elder Hugo opinion. The two thoughts are kind of duking it out in these descriptions of working women.)

“We will see that Fantine possessed a fierce courage.” We get Fantine’s strengths in pieces: she is wise in that she notices things other people don’t notice, she possesses a fierce courage, and she has her capacity to love Cosette completely and sacrifice everything for her. This is also the second time we get a description of her as “fierce,” the first being in 1.3.4. Fantine’s courage and specifically her fierceness come out even more later on. We get the impression that had she lived in better circumstances, she would have been a force to be reckoned with. Again, I’m still reading this Graham Robb biography of Hugo, but the descriptions of Fantine’s characteristics remind me of a sort of ragged description of what Hugo’s mother seemed to be like.

“The woman had nothing in the world but this child, and this child had nothing in the world but this woman.” This just made me really sad because when Fantine goes to Montreuil-sur-Mer, she will have nothing in the world but Cosette. But Cosette won’t even know she exists.

We then learn about the fate of Tholomyes, similar to that of Bamatabois. Hugo has such an interesting perspective on law and lawyers. His characters that go to law school and complete it are all rich assholes who use their power and connections for pleasure and to ruin the lives of those in classes beneath them. Those who don’t complete due to other personal circumstances (Bahorel, Bossuet) or due to death (most of Les Amis) are the opposite. I’m wondering if this is commentary on law in general. Knowing it academically but not falling into the comfort of taking advantage of it, by leaving it instead? We don’t know what happens to Marius after Valjean’s death but I wonder if he would keep his more generous nature or fall prey to the bourgeois/Ultra personalities that hover around Gillenormand.

“The presence of angels is a herald of paradise.” An interesting sentence and description considering the ominous descriptions of what they’re swinging on. There are just so many ominous signs here amidst all the beauty of children and sunlight. You just want to yank Fantine back and go “Wait! Stop! Pay attention! Look at all the badness!”

Mme Thenardier gets so many animalistic descriptions. M Thenardier is later, in Paris, described as a wolf. Mme Thenardier gets she-wolf then, as well as sow and tigress. Here she gets  “that animal yet celestial expression peculiar to motherhood.” (An interesting description considering Fantine is also a mother, but her expressions are tender and passionate.) There’s also, “The most ferocious animals are disarmed by caresses to their young,” which is such an ominous sentence. Mme Thenardier’s cruelty is different from her husbands. His is greedy, hers is jealous. There’s also the moment where Hugo says “she sang between her teeth,” a visual that reminds me of a growl. So many threats in her description, and Fantine doesn’t notice any of them, because Mme Thenardier is sitting down, and that makes her less threatening. Plus her reading of trash romance novels makes her docile, relaxed and coy, which apparently hides this animal underneath.

“A person seated instead of standing: Fate hangs on just such a thread.” This is such a huge aspect in this book, summarized in such a short line. Time and place is so important in this novel, for everyone. So much of this novel is hinged on someone happening to be in the right place at the right time (or the wrong place at the wrong time) or happening to recognize someone, or happening to do or fail to do something that totally changes the course of everything around them.

What’s up with Cosette and flies? Here she’s digging a grave for a dead fly, and later she has a tiny lead sword that she uses to cut the heads off flies. Is this just a little kid characteristic that Hugo noticed in his own grandchildren and decided to include, or is this symbolism of some sort that I’m missing?

I’ve heard that Fantine (read: Hugo) gets from Euphrasie to Cosette from “Chosette” which means “little thing.” Is that true or is that just someone making stuff up? If it is true, I can’t help the amusing thought that Cosette���s name is then basically “Sproglet” but in French. Also the “Josefa into Pepita” is maybe a reference to Pepita, the Marquesa de Montehermoso, who Hugo met when he was about 10 and she about 16. I couldn’t find anything about Francoise into Sillette, except that Hugo’s own son was called Victor-Francois? And nothing at all on Theodore into Gnon.

The moment Cosette leaves Fantine’s arms to go play with the other girls, Fantine ceases to be Fantine and instead becomes “the mother.” She is “the mother” for the rest of the chapter. She loses her selfhood the moment she loses Cosette. From that moment on, to the Thenardier’s at least, she’s just the mother of this child they have to deal with, the mother that they can suck money from whenever they want.

“It would be odd if I left my child naked.” This is such a weird line. I feel like this goes in line with interpreting Fantine as autistic. The Thenardiers are asking pretty obvious leading questions about money and costs and then about clothes. But Fantine doesn’t pick up at all on the weirdness or the sinister nature of their questions; she just thinks it’s weird that they might assume she’d leave her child without clothes.

“You’ve build a good mousetrap with your little ones” “Without even knowing it.” The adult Thenardiers fall into this over and over again. Often opportunities fall into their lap when they’re least expecting it; they plan using the new knowledge (as with getting money for young Cosette or attempting to kidnap Valjean) or they just run with it (as with meeting Valjean in the sewers). Sometimes they plan things, like with M Thenardier’s letters attempting to garner fake charity or patronage. But most of the time it seems like they just wait for a random chance and then jump on it. Which seems far more successful than any of Thenardier’s business endeavors, which is maybe why he ended up in such debt in the first place.

This entire scene feels very fae, very evil trickster-like. A lure or trap (the children), a false reassurance (Mme Thenardier) and the real evil not revealing itself until much later (M Thenardier). You just want to call out to Fantine and warn her of the danger that she doesn’t see. But it’s all hidden in a fae glamour, making everything look sweet and safe and beautiful, and she doesn’t notice all the sinister, ominous things in the corner of the eye because everything else is so bright and angelic.

[janeofcakes]

FJW: Chapter 7

** Here you go, everyone. Once again, I finished editing and couldn’t help myself. Also and quite to my surprise, a lot of people have asked to be tagged. I just want to say thank and I love you all, and if I do happen to not tag you, it is only my own folly and not meant to exclude. Just remind me to add you. Thank you all again. You make writing such a joy. **

“Her surname is Holmes-Watson!” Sherlock blurts. It is early afternoon, he returned to John’s room as soon as he dropped Rosie at school. He had observed her carefully for any lingering signs of stress from the evening’s news, but saw none. She seemed genuinely excited to resume her usual activities as she acclimated to the sudden change in her life.

His entire visit thus far has been describing Rosie to John, telling him stories of her life, showing him snaps, all at John’s request. He had reasoned, before Sherlock’s arrival, that these were all things he had never experienced and could never remember. Therefore, they could not impede his recovery. John wanted to be more familiar with Rosie before meeting her on the weekend and had asked Sherlock to tell him as much as he could. The detective happily obliged, but grew more uneasy as the day went on until he could bear it no longer. Thus, the idiotic surname declaration that just burst from his lips.

Sherlock nearly face palms, but keeps his hands at his sides. John looks at him blankly and then shifts his gaze from Sherlock to a wall to the bed’s blankets and back to Sherlock, all with his lips pursed in a true expression of confusion. He curls his lips in on one another and licks them as he opens his mouth to speak. God, how Sherlock has missed this man.

John inhales through lips shaped in a perfect “O” and purses them closed again, his brow furrowed. His eyes shift to the ceiling for a second or two and back to Sherlock.

“Okay,” he answers slowly. Sherlock doesn’t understand his reaction at first and then nearly face palms again at his renewed stupidity. John has no idea that Watson is his surname. Sherlock is just about to explain when Hoover’s words come back to him. It is infinitely better if John remembers things for himself. As Sherlock scolds himself, he hears John mumble two words of utter dismay.

“Oh, god.”

Sherlock straightens and focuses all of his attention on his grief-stricken friend.

“What? What is it?” suddenly his hand is on John’s and he is leaning close. “Is something wrong? Are you all right?”

“She was an infant,” John says quietly, the full impact striking him head-on. He blinks as his mind lets him put more of the pieces together. “She was only a few months old when this happened.”

Sherlock watches as John slowly inches his left hand toward his own long fingers. He wants to close the gap, but doesn’t suppose John would appreciate it. So he simply observes as the smaller hand gets closer. When John’s fingertips finally touch Sherlock’s he gasps at their warmth and clutches his friend’s hand in earnest. He looks up at John with tears in his eyes only to see that John already has wet trails streaking down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” John blurts in a shuddering voice. Another tear falls, slowly dripping down his face as he bites his lip and tries to hold himself together. “I’m sorry you had to do it alone. I’m sorry I…”

Sherlock can stand it no longer. He leaps out of his seat and wraps John in a tight embrace. Squeezing his eyes shut, a tear slipping from each one, Sherlock takes a long breath. He will never let go of this man again. He abandoned him when he fell, pushed him away on stag night, encouraged him to stay married to a killer, and ran when John hated him. He should have held tightly then and is sure as hell going to now, even if John hates him all over again once he remembers everything.

“It’s all right, John,” he whispers. “It wasn’t your fault. It never was.”

They remain this way for some time. Sherlock knows by the way John leans against him that his arms would be around him if he had full control over them. Just before Sherlock finally pulls away, he kisses John’s cheek lightly. Keeping his hands on John’s shoulders, he looks into the doctor’s wet eyes.

“Rosie and I have managed just fine,” he tells him, pulling himself together. “You have never been far from us. Before school began, we were both here every day. I have told her everything I know about you, which is quite extensive. My mind palace is much larger than the room you described. You occupy an entire wing.”

“A whole wing?” John’s eyes sparkle. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips. “What I wouldn’t give to see that.”

“You’ll know it all again soon enough. I’m sure of it.” Sherlock’s eyes drop to John’s wet cheeks. He lifts his hands from the man’s shoulders and reaches for a tissue. He gestures toward John’s face silently and John nods. Leaning forward, Sherlock very gently dries his tears, searching John’s eyes as he does. “Your physical therapy appears to be going well.”

“It is,” John nods, venturing a small smile. “I work the muscles on my own too. I want to move things along fast.”

“Is that wise?” Sherlock wipes his own cheeks after finishing with John. He bins the tissue. “They shouldn’t be overworked.”

“They’re fine.”

Sherlock cocks a speculative brow and John rolls his eyes.

“I am a doctor, you know. I won’t over-do it.”

“But you will, John. You are a very determined man. Strong and stubborn. It’s one of the many things I love about you,” Sherlock snaps his mouth shut and stares at John, completely mortified. What the hell was that? He has never said anything so stupid in his life.

“Oh really?” John laughs without even blinking an eye. “Stubbornness is a desirable quality, is it? You are an unusual man, Sherlock Holmes. I can’t wait to remember more about you.”

“I look forward to it, John,” he smiles. John smiles back almost like a shy school boy and they share a quiet laugh.

“So,” John begins casually, “I take it my name Watson?”

“Yes,” the detective smiles. “Doctor John Watson.”

John smiles back and looks about to speak when there is a knock on his door. It opens halfway and Eileen’s face appears.

“Hello,” she greets, friendly and a little uncertain. Something is wrong. Sherlock turns to face her straight-on. He fixes her with a stern expression.

“Eileen,” he says tersely.

“Sherlock,” is her cursory reply as she shifts her eyes back to John. “You have a visitor, John. Dr. Hoover has spoken with him about the parameters of your treatment.”

“Of course. Show him in,” John answers, absolutely brimming with curiosity.

The nurse steps aside and allows entrance to the tall, dark figure behind her. She reminds John of his physical therapy in an hour, for all their benefit, and closes the door again. Sherlock’s jaw tightens, the muscles working furiously beneath his pale skin.

“Hello,” John greets the man quizzically. He wears a spotless three-piece suit and carries an umbrella. His pale eyes gaze at John sharply, taking in every detail in much the same way as Sherlock when John first met him. Well, met yesterday. John looks at the man in much the same way and thinks for a moment that his ginger hair should be thicker. It also does not escape John’s notice that Sherlock is tense and very irritated.

“Bloody Mycroft,” the detective grumbles.

“Hello, Sherlock,” the man replies wryly.

“What do you want?”

“To wish John well, of course,” he leans on his umbrella and smiles at Sherlock with false politeness. “When were you planning to tell me of his, shall we say, startling recovery?”

“Mind your own bloody business.”

“You know why I’m here, Sherlock. It is not a matter I am likely to forget.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore!” the younger Holmes shouts.

“STOP.”

It isn’t a shout or scream. John doesn’t raise his voice at all and he still stops both men in their tracks with his deep, low voice, commanding and strong. Captain John Watson.

The Holmes brothers look at John, just a hint of surprise in their expressions. He watches them like a hawk. It isn’t a glare. No. There is no malice in it, but neither Sherlock nor Mycroft dares to move a muscle while those eyes are focused in their direction.

“There’s no sense in arguing, Sherlock,” John’s voice is strained a fraction and he gives his friend a tight smile. “The man clearly has an agenda and isn’t going to leave until he has what he wants, so let’s just indulge him, shall we?”

Sherlock blinks at John. He turns his head slowly to share a perplexed look with his brother. Both are speechless. John does not want to talk to Mycroft, that much is obvious, but ever the peacemaker with these two men, John pushes his feelings aside and does his best to move things toward resolution. After five years gone, John has slipped back into this role seamlessly without even knowing that he used to do it.

“So,” John casts his gaze on Mycroft pleasantly enough, “why don’t you tell me who the fuck you are and what you want.”

Sherlock nearly smiles. He nearly laughs. John is being so polite and so sassy and it’s just like old times, all those years ago when he had his John. His John? Yes. John had been his. Even after the fall and after his marriage. John never had to return to Sherlock’s side, but he always did. Was it ever more than friendship to him? Has Mrs. Hudson been right all along? Is she right now? Does John really care for him?

Sherlock is startled from his thoughts by Mycroft’s reply as he steps closer to John’s bed.

“My name is Mycroft Holmes. I am Sherlock’s brother.”

John’s eyes shoot to Sherlock’s and give him a true ‘What the fuck’ before shifting back to Mycroft. He wants to explain. He wants to shove Mycroft out the door and apologize. Tell John what a wanker Mycroft is and explain everything. But it is already too late and all Sherlock can do is hope his meddling brother doesn’t ruin this for him.

“I need to know what you remember about the day you were shot.”

“Nothing,” John smiles. “Goodbye.”

This time Sherlock does laugh and probably louder than he should have. Mycroft glares immediately. John looks Sherlock’s way too, but he is wearing a brilliant smile instead of a frown. Sherlock is too.

“You think there is nothing on the surface of it,” Mycroft presses, turning his attention back to John. “Look deeper and you might find the memories.”

“It’s not going to work,” Sherlock chastises, his anger growing. “You spoke with Hoover. You know…”

“When have you ever taken a doctor’s advice as more than a grain of salt?” Mycroft interrupts.

“When it became about John!” Sherlock snaps. “You will not jeopardize his recovery. I will not allow it!”

“A little prodding over a single incident will not affect his…”

“You are asking about when he was shot. The very ‘incident’ that put him in this situation. Forcing him to remember might result in PTSD and reliving the trauma.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Sherlock. He’s been through much worse.”

“But he doesn’t remember it! Any of it! His mind is a clean slate. Forcing him to remember anything, but especially being shot, could cause more harm than good.”

“All right, all right,” John says, drawing their focus again. Even with all the questions whirling in his mind now, he thinks it best to placate these men and keep them from having a fist fight in his room. They would certainly be banned from whatever medical facility this is and, while he doesn’t give a toss about Mycroft, who seems rather a prick, being unable to see Sherlock is unacceptable.

“I can think on it tonight once I’m alone. Surely you can come back tomorrow if it’s so important to you.”

“John, no,” Sherlock warns, but John cuts him off.

“Why is it so important?” John knows he is taking a risk even asking and hopes the answer does not reveal too much too quickly.

Mycroft inhales deeply through his nose and straightens to his full height. If he’s meant to look imposing, the effect does nothing to intimidate John. Mycroft gives him a small nod as he replies.

“I hold a modest position in the British government.”

“He is the British government,” Sherlock snipes, glaring at Mycroft.

“It is my duty to gain access to as much information on this,” Mycroft pauses, “person of interest as possible.”

“Are you saying she had a prior record? It wasn’t random?”

“It was not random, John. You were targeted.”

“Mycroft!” Sherlock shouts, unable to hold back any longer. He steps right into the man’s personal space. “None of this matters. The details make no difference. She shot John and would have finished the job had we not intervened. It’s as simple as that.”

“I need to know her plans, Sherlock!” Mycroft growls, pinning him with a deadly glower.

“It doesn’t matter!”

“Oh my god.”

Sherlock’s eyes dart to John and see the panicked expression coming over his face. Goddammit, Mycroft! Sherlock resolves then and there to kill Mycroft himself as soon as he has the chance.

“John?” he ignores his brother entirely and steps close to the bed. John meets his eyes with terror in his own. Sherlock takes his twitching hands in his own, knowing John is desperate for the contact. “John, it’s all right.”

“She’s still out there, isn’t she?” John is speaking quickly, his voice laced with fear. “She was never caught and now that I’m awake, she’ll come looking for me. Or you. Or Rosie! God! Where is Rosie? You have to get her out of school and bring her here, or somewhere else. Wherever it’s safe. Oh god, Sherlock, I can’t lose her. We can’t lose her!”

“John,” Sherlock moves his hands to John’s shoulders in an effort to calm him. He is about to assure his friend that Rosie is safe and sound, but John’s mind flashes forward before he can. A piece of glass breaks and falls, shattering on the floor, and a familiar face fills John’s brain so he can see nothing else.

“Her face!” he gasps. Mycroft’s eyes widen and he steps closer with interest. “Molly Hooper!”

“What?” Sherlock frowns in confusion.

“I remember her face,” John searches his eyes fervently. His hands are twitching every which way and his left arm bumps against Sherlock’s body every few seconds. “Did she do it? Did Molly Hooper shoot me?”

“No. No,” the detective steadies John, rubbing little circles into his shoulders with his thumbs in an effort to calm him. He lowers his voice and tries to make it as comforting as he can. “Molly Hooper is your friend. She is a doctor at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital. She helps us with...me. Helps me with cases.”

John’s eyes are still filled with sharp, cold fear. He can feel ice blooming in his chest, threatening to freeze his heart whole. He has already missed all of his own daughter’s life. He hasn’t even met her yet and now how can he protect her? Damn his body! If he could move, he would push past Mycroft, drag Sherlock out of this hospital, and find Rosie himself.

“Rosie!” is all he manages to gasp. Too many thoughts. Too many fears whirling around in his mind. He can’t get hold of them, can’t get them to make sense. If he could grab his head with both hands, he would. It feels like it’s about to explode.

And then Sherlock’s voice cuts through it all.

John.

That silky smoothe, deep dark chocolate voice slices through the chaos with ease.

John, open your eyes and look at me. Please...

And he does. He hadn’t even realized he pinched his eyes shut, clenching them as hard as he could. And it is not until he opens them that he feels the relief of escape...from his thoughts and fears. They all dissipate when he looks into Sherlock’s silver-grey eyes.

“John, Rosie is fine. She is perfectly safe,” Sherlock pauses. He can see that John is calming, but saying just that isn’t going to be enough for it to last. He has to tell him what happened to Eurus. “The woman who shot you was called Eurus and she was killed by police while trying to evade capture.”

“Oh, thank god,” John’s entire body goes slack and his breaths come easier again. Sherlock glances toward Mycroft and they share an uneasy look before the elder directs his gaze to John once again.

Every muscle in Sherlock’s body hardens and for a moment, he is certain Mycroft is going to tell John. Tell him who Eurus was and if he does, John will never trust either of them again. Ready to tackle his brother to the floor to make him shut up, Sherlock steps away from John and nearly jumps at Mycroft.

“I am sorry to have disturbed you, John,” he is suddenly in front of the door, hand on the knob. Sherlock stumbles with an aborted leap. “Take care and get some rest.”

He is gone. Sherlock and John are alone again. The detective is still staring at the door when he feels a light, trembling touch on his wrist. His gaze slides to John and his features alter from trepidation to shock. John reaches for him with his left arm, his fingertips just close enough to tap feather-soft touches. John’s whole arm shakes and his face is scrunched up with the effort.

Sherlock turns to face him, taking John’s hand in both of his and pulling it to his chest to give the already exhausted muscles relief. Sherlock lifts a leg and sits half on the edge of the bed, looking into John’s stormy eyes. He can see the fear still there, warring with the mind that tells him Rosie is safe and the danger is gone.

“John.”

“Thank you, Sherlock,” John tries to keep his voice steady, “for keeping her safe. For raising her. I should have been here for you both.”

“You were here, John,” he tells him sincerely, but urgently. John must believe him. He must understand that he was never absent, even if he wasn’t awake to see it. “We saw you every day. We talked and read books with you. Had Christmas and New Year’s and birthdays. Rosie loves blowing out the candles for you.”

He smiles at John lovingly. John’s eyes fill with every word until one tear finally tumbles down his cheek.

“You have always been with us, John. Always. The biggest and best part of our lives.”

“Sher, lock,” the word is broken by a catch of breath and Sherlock takes John in his arms, hugging him tightly while his doctor sobs into his shoulder. Sherlock starts, eyes wide when he feels the light, trembling touch of John’s left hand at his waist trying to hug him, to draw him nearer. Sherlock pulls him closer and resolves never to let go.

@echosilverwolf @technicallywiseoncns @vvaticancameoss @cow-mow @philliphooper @whodwantmeasaflatmate @swissmissing @gloriascott93 @kingdomofbrokenhearts @srebrnafh @thetranslucentwallaby @britishaccentfan @plasticstrawsmuggler @spazzz32 @absentmindedsstuff

[supernatural-squadd]

Dean's Duplicate

Winchester daughter imagine

Warnings: Dean being sassy and his daughter being exactly sassy

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————

“Hope Winchester!” Dean yelled, already scolding you before he entered the Bunker completely. “Get your ass out here right now or so help me-“

“You’ll what?” You sassed, storming out of your room and crossing your arms. “You’ll ground me? From what? My invisible friends that I have?”

“What did you do to my car?” He had a look of serious irritation and madness growing in his eyes.

You cocked your eyebrow, pursing your lips and sticking your hip out as your arms stayed cross.

“Hope, I’m not playing kid.” His voice was deep and ragged, he wanted to yell more than he already was, but you were fifteen and he was trying not to loose his cool.

“First of all, I’m not a kid, and definitely not a normal one.” You pointed your finger at him but he smacked it away and scoffed.

“Don’t give me that, you are a normal kid. We’re perfectly normal family.” He continued to scoff as he walked past you to grab a beer.

“Oh yeah, a normal family with a creepy torture dungeon, a pentagram in the trunk with demon killing weapons. Totally normal.” You scolded your father while he kicked his feet up on the table and cracked open his beer.

With anger you pushed his feet off of the table. “Normal people don’t go around destroying the lives around them.” With a deep stomp in each step you turned away and slammed your bedroom door to blast music and tune out everything.

[shooting-the-walls]

The Empty Hearse: my inner monologue because I like writing these

I would just like to point out before we get going that I was rather a latecomer to this fandom. I got into it just as Season 4 was released, so early 2017. When this episode was released in 2014 I was only 10 years old!!! Still probably my favourite fandom though, the one I always find myself returning to.

Anyways, on with my crazy monologue!!

• We stan a quick rundown of the Depression of the Century

• #creepymaskmuch

• Molly be like "oh damn"

• Uno reverse bitches!!!

• Molly be like "YAAAAS"

• I'm sorry can we just acknowledge how hot the window jump is

• Bet John wished he could be Molly in that sitch XD

• DERREN BROWN MOTHERFUCKERS

• Still feel so sorry for John :(

• "BOLLOCKS"

• Greg is so fucking done with Anderson's theories XD

• "You're a guilty lil bitch Anderson, stfu": Lestrade 2k14

• "I BelIEVe iN sHErloCK HOLmeS"

• Eyyyyyyy Sherlock is not guilty!!!! (Obvs)

• When depression hits, get a (terrible) moustache bitches

• WE DON'T TRUST YOU MARY, DON'T ACT ALL NICEY NICE

• Ooooo helicopters and running, Mission Impossible style

• When you just..... give the fuck up

• When you can't stand that screaming so you just turn your music up

• I mean torture is pretty harsh man

• Of course Sherlock would deduce his way out XD

• When Mycroft just doesn't give a Single Shit

• WE STAN THE THEME TUNNNEEEEE

• John be like "nah imma just stare at this wall"

• Mycroft's got a fancy fucking office guys

• John stop tryna be Sherlock with your terrible imitation coat and scarf

• Mrs Hudson always cares for her adoptive sons, but she does with high sarcasm and sass

• Mycroft, why does your office look like a torture chamber??

• Benedict is HOT Jesus

• "Definitely. Enjoying it.": You! Don't! Appreciate! Your! Brother!

• 2 HOURS TO LEARN A BLOODY LANGUAGE!?!?! JESUS FUCK I DID 7 YEARS OF FRENCH AND I CAN BARELY HOLD A CONVERSATION

• Anthea prefers Sherlock to Mycroft, they have bitch sessions about him pass it on lol

• Mrs Hudson is so sassy and honest XD

• John you fucking liar you're not sorry

• Mycroft is so Done with his little brother XD

• Sherlock, stop personifying London dude

• "Yes, we meet up every Friday for fish and chips": Mycroft, the sarcasm is not needed

• MYCROFT TELL YOUR BROTHER WHAT HE FUCKING DID TO JOHN

• Mrs Hudson is such a fucking Queen

• "What's his name?"

• "Sherlock was not my boyfriend": YES HE FUCKING WAS SHUT UP

• "I AM NOT GAY": wow, denial is high there John

• Mrs Hudson ships Johnlock more than the rest of the fandom combined XD

• Mycroft: "oh yeah but the other wine is like so much better. Anyways, your bff hates you now byeeeee"

• I LOVE THE MUSIC IN THE RESTAURANT SCENE GEEEEZ

• Sherlock is such a fucking little twat when he wants to be lol

• "Would I suggest you look at this menus, it's... completely identical"

• THE ACCENT. THE FUCKING ACCENT. I'M WHEEZING

• The way he's just tryna be like "look at meeeeeeee" and John gives not a single fuck

• "Surprise me" "certainly endeavouring to, sir"

• Awwwwwww hey Mary

• John is such an awkward lil hedgehog

• Mary: I agree I'm the best thing that could have happened to you

John: bitch you're not Sherlock

• SHERLOCK FUCK OFF

• Oh damn. OH DAMN.

• John just having a mini mental breakdown here

• "Short version. Not dead."

• John looks like he's about to kill someone (preferably Sherlock)

• "Oh God" "Not quite"

• SHERLOCK STOP MAKING BAD JOKES ABOUT THE MOUSTACHE SITCH

• The look in Sherlock's eyes when he realises that John isn't happy to see him

• #deflectiontechniques

• HE LOOKS IN SO MUCH PAIN ON THE FLOOR BABBBBYYYYYY

• In the cafe, Sherlock just looks like a kid that's like 2 hours late home

• "You know for a genius you can be remarkably thick"

• "That's a little more difficult to explain" "I've got all night bitch"

• "Just your brother, Molly and a hundred tramps"

• I love that they end up in a chip shop XD

• John, your moustache is terrible. Accept it lol

• "One word to let me know that you were alive"

• Mary just laughing her head off in the corner XD

• Sherlock: BITCH STFU IT'S A SECRET (whilst entire chip shop is listening in)

• *headbutt*

• "I said sorry, isn't that what you're supposed to do?"

• Mary knows what's up BUT SHE A LIAR

• SHERLOCK LOOKS LIKE HE'S ABOUT TO CRY WHAT A SWEETIE

• Honestly don't know why Mollie looks so shocked, like she knew he was alive

• Greg is just like a proud Papa

• "Oo you bastard!"

• Sherlock being vaguely confused/irritated by a hug XD

• BBC, can we talk about the random shot of the back of Una Stubbs' throat?

• THEY EVEN GOT ONE IN FOR THE SHERIARTY SHIPPERS, HAVE THEY JUST COMPLETELY FORGOTTEN ABOUT JOHNLOCK :(:(:(

• Anderson just doesn't ship Sheriarty XD

• Think the Chip Shop Argument got spilled lol

• Mary is having the time of her life reading the blog XD

• Mary really ships the boys right from the start lol

• "I don't shave for Sherlock Holmes" "You should put that on a t-shirt"

• "SHERLOCK HOLMES GET DOWN FROM THAT SOFA OR SO HELP ME GOD--": Mrs Holmes 1983-present

• The terror alert is on critical and these bitches are just playing chess

• Ngl, missed the burgundy dressing gown

• "Oh bugger!"

• WE STAN THE BROTHERS PLAYING OPERATION

• SHERLOCK'S IMITATION THO

• Mycroft be so defensive

• "Both of us thought you were an idiot, Sherlock. We had nothing else to go on until we met other children" "Oh yes, that was a mistake" "ghastly. What were they thinking of?" "Probably something about making friends": I feel SO sorry for the Holmes parents XD

• Mycroft, I think your brother is trying to set you up with a lil someone (

• "Change the subject. Now"

• Mrs Hudson: :)

• "He's pleased to see you underneath all that--" "Which of us??" "Both of you"

• PLAY DEDUCTIONS WITH YOUR BROTHER MYC

• Sherlock straight in there with the gender equality

• Sherlock: Icelandic sheep wool bitch

Mrs Hudson: ah yes, because the world need a blog on that -_-

• THE CURLS ARE AT A PEAK GUYS

• "I'm not lonely": yes you are stfu

• I love the wink to Mrs Hudson :)

• Mrs Hudson really wants her boys back lol

• Loving the use of transitions to show how much of a dick John is being to Sherlock lol

• "Have dinner?" "Solve crimes?"

• Molly knows she's replacing John really

• "Weight loss, hair dye, botox, affair, lawyer. Next!"

• Sherlock is so gentle with the poor woman :)

• I LOVE THE OLD GUY SO MUCH LOL

• John is so fucking convinced he's right, but it's kinda sad that he doesn't think Sherlock will respect his personal space (because he never has before): JOHN SUBCONSCIOUSLY WANTS SHERLOCK THERE

• Can we just agree that Sherlock is such a sweetie and that it is heartbreaking that John is now his awful internal monologue because he's convinced he hates him after how he reacted once he returned?

• Lestrade just being a concerned dad in the background

• Molly and Lestrade are both just so spooked out

• *dramatically blows dust off book*

• HE WANTS JOHN BACK SO BAD awwwwwwwwwwwwww

• Quick aside, but I have a friend who is a train fanatic (he's coming to prom on a steam thingy) and the train dude reminds me of him lol

• WE LOVE A LIL BIT OF MIND PALACE WORK

• "Excuse you": JOHN YOU SASSY QUEEN

• John: Makin' my way downtown, walkin' fast, getting kidnapped and I fall down

• "Did you get him off a murder charge" "Nope helped him put up some shelves"

• "Do you fancy chips?": HANG ON A MOMENT. In S4E2 Sherlock states that "You're suicidal you're allowed chips. Trust me I should know". Does that mean..... oh Jesus, Sherlock, you little sweetie, you need to talk to someone

• ON PRINCIPLE I HATE SHERLOLLY BUT IT'S ALSO SO SWEEEEEEEEEEET

• *when you wake up after a night out and you don't know where the fuck you are*

• Sherlock is just immediately alert like: wtf is wrong with my John

• The chips just... don't matter, okay

• When you steal a motorbike to help your bff

• I'M SORRY BUT CAN YOU IMAGINE LIKE A 16 YEAR OLD SHERLOCK ROARING AROUND SUSSEX ON HIS LITTLE MOPED AND HIS MOTHER YELLING AT HIM FROM DOWN THE ROAD TELLING HIM SHE'S GOING TO KILL HIM IF HE DOESN'T GET HOME RIGHT NOW XD

• Ngl having the little kid right at the front is real creepy

• But like can you imagine Sherlock and John going to bonfire nights with Rosie when she's a bit older and both of them being dead tense as they watch the bonfire being lit?

• LISTEN TO YOUR DAUGHTER BITCH

• The fact Sherlock figures it out JUST as the bonfire lights up: PERFECT

• Sherlock, with a complete disregard for his own safety: *jumps into a fire and drags John out before tearfully begging him to be okay*

Hetero shippers: ah yes, what a good male friendship

• I LOVE THE HOLMES PARENTS SO MUCH

• I love Sherlock's face lol: he is SO done

• Sherlock totally resembles his mother in terms of personality

• I think the fact this is Benedict's parents makes that scene a million times better: do you think that's how he wants to act during the small talk sometimes XD

• Mr Holmes just looks so Done, and Mrs Holmes is just like "fuck it I'm used to this"

• "She worries!": well of course she bloody does, one son is the British Government, the other is a recovering drug addict who solves crimes as an alternative to getting high and her daughter is locked up in a secret facility

• "Promise?" "...promise": HE LOVES HIS MUM AND DAD REALLY

• Tbf John, you couldn't expect the poor guy to lead his parents on like that, really

• John stop making bad puns

• "Is it to get to you through me?": JOHN KNOWS WHAT'S UP

• Awwwwww he's got his John back and he's just so happy

• Aw c'mon, you've gotta admit that a bit of Sherlock's massive concern is for his brother being in parliament that night

• I'M SORRY BUT I CAN'T HELP THINKING OF THE PARENTLOCK EDIT OF THE FACETIME BIT

• "Illegal!" "A bit": yeah, like this is anything new tho John XD

• "I don't understand" "well that's a first": JOHN LIVES ARE AT STAKE STOP BEING A SASSY BITCH

• *sudden flashback to the great game and the painting*

• I actually love the scene in the train carriage so much, because even though it ends up with Sherlock being a little bastard to get John to admit his feelings, I like how it demonstrates that everyone expects Sherlock to know everything all the time, and that's a very unrealistic expectation: despite the fact he hates it, he is only human, and I think this scene nicely acknowledges that

• Two bros, chilling in a tube train, trying not to freak out cos they might die!

• Sherlock: ooooopppsss, John, might have just set off this fucking bomb :/

• "Mind palace!"

• "You think I've just got how to diffuse a bomb tucked away in there!?" "YES!" "...maybe"

• Sherlock may be a little bitch but you have to admit he's a bloody good actor

• John, the whole way through the tube scene: wtf wtf wtf wtf

• "I wanted you not to be dead!" "Well, be careful what you wish for": Sherlock, sweetie, it almost sounds like you wish you were dead.....

• AWWW HE FORGIVES HIM GUYS

• I wanna know what that information Mycroft gave Moriarty was

• "His death wish": yeah, let's be honest Moriarty was just like "I crave heckety heck death"

• How difficult do you thunk Sherlock found it up on that roof, having to tell John all of that??

• You've gotta admit that it was a pretty good plan

• You can bet that all the conspiracy theories were on Anderson's wall XD

• THE GIGGLING JESUS

• "You COCK"

• "You said such nice things, I never knew you cared :)"

• "I will kill you if you EVER-" "scouts honour" "BREATHE A WORD OF THIS ANYONE"

• "Terrorists can get into a lot of trouble if they don't have an off switch"

• "Oh please, killing me. That was so 2 years ago": WE STAN

• Mycroft is just so desperate to get out of Les Mis: "but the pain. The HORROR"

• Lestrade just seems a little disappointed

• John tryna act surprised at Tom XD

• SHERLOCK'S FACE (the memeeeessss lol)

• WE STAN OUR TWO FAVE BOYS TALKING ABOUT THEIR FEELINGS

• Sherlock is just so determined

• Sherlock: oh yeah heard your graveside speech btw, super sweet

• YES THE HAT BITCHES: OUR FAVOURITE DETECTIVE IS BACK

• OOOO CREEPY MAGNUSSEN NUGGET AT THE END THERE