#implying the canaries just let him get all dusty

[sevenangrybees]

I love that from the six seconds of mithrun trailer we've got so far it looks like studio trigger is doing everything in their power to protect mithrun from White Haired Anime Boy Twinkification, it's not gonna save him but I appreciate it

[iceeckos12]

and he sees dawn before the rest of the world

or: a fucked up little au of 200. intended to be unsettling so just be warned warnings for: unreality (i think that’s the appropriate term? please lmk if not), implied self harm, fucked up relationship dynamics; lmk if i should tag anything else

Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzzt!

“Ugh, five more minutes,” Martin hissed, throwing an arm across his face, as though he could stop the barrage of sound just by covering his eyes. His alarm was unsympathetic to his whinging, continuing to scream its daily mourning dirge, grieving the end of another period of blessed rest. “Fine, fine! I’m getting up, christ…”

He reached clumsily for the phone on his bedside table, only for his fingers to scrabble uselessly around the ghost of its presence. He was momentarily so stymied by the absence that it took him longer than it should’ve to remember that he’d moved it to his desk, to prevent him from giving into the temptation to hit the snooze button just one more time.

Letting out another slew of curses, Martin shuffled onto his other side and reached for

A jaw-cracking yawn near split Martin’s face in two as he hunched over the gleaming tea kettle, steam beginning to pour from the spout. He shuffled his feet, eyes meandering sightlessly over the cow-shaped mug drying on the counter, the cluster of crumbs that he must’ve missed when cleaning up after dinner last night.

He hated mornings. Maybe it was the preemptive dread he felt at the thought of going to work; maybe it was because he hated having to be upright this early in the morning. Either way, he felt strangely disconnected from his morning routine, each motion carried out with habitual, distant efficiency as his thoughts raced along like a hamster on a wheel just below the surface.

It...was a bit silly for him to be worried about work, though. The stuff he was doing was interesting, and he had the loveliest coworkers a guy could ask for. They’d even offered to teach him a thing or two about artifact restoration once they learned the truth about his CV.

He drew himself up to his full height and rolled his shoulders back, clouded sigh mingling with the fog from the boiling water. Things were going well. Hell, he was actually going to get top surgery sometime in the next year or so, which was amazing considering his teenage self would’ve laughed at the very idea of being out.

There was no reason to dread going to work.

Martin carefully poured the water into the mug, letting the tea steep before adding a splash of milk and sugar. When he picked the mug up, the heat from the tea had bled into the ceramic, so warm as to be uncomfortable against the delicate skin of his palms. He didn’t let go, just kept on gripping the mug, like trying to contain the last gasp of a dying star.

Martin stared around his kitchen. The waterstains on the inside of the cow mug slowly evaporating into the still air; the crumbs that had sat there for who knows how long. The empty, blank face of his fridge.

Martin lifted the mug, and steam collected on his glasses as his breath wafted over the surface of the tea. He drew away, waiting for the lenses to clear, before leaning in for another sip.

His reflection stared back at him, a monochrome facsimile of his face rimmed in white smoke, and he recoiled, the mug slipping from

Working nine to five, what a way to make a living…

Martin stared out the window, his hand pillowed in the palm of his hand as Dolly Parton crooned in his ears. Split second by split second, he let his eyes catch on a point in the darkened surroundings, only letting his vision blur into incoherence when that fixed point whipped out of sight. It was a game he sometimes played when he got bored of reading or playing cards on his phone.

The old woman across from him let out a quiet grunt and shuffled, drawing his attention back inside the train. She was a gnarled old thing, bowed by the gravity of grief and time and life, though Martin couldn’t say for certain whether it was one well-lived.

Barely getting by, it’s all taking and no giving...

That was the thing about people watching: Martin was never quite sure if it was disrespectful to make assumptions about a person’s life based on a passing glimpse. He could never be sure if the person with the grumpy expression had a foul attitude, or if they were just a kind person on the tail-end of a truly awful day.

The old woman was knitting though, and Martin generally found it safe to assume that knitters were nice people.

For a moment he thought about taking out his headphones and striking up a conversation; the pattern looked devilishly complicated, and as a beginning knitter, he always appreciated tips. There was an unfinished set of fingerless green gloves in the back of his closet; it was easy for hands to get cold in the Archives, and the color suited

“Alright, Martin?”

Martin startled, his pen clattering to the floor. He looked up to find Sasha perched on the edge of his desk, grinning like the cat who’d just eaten the canary. Or, he thought she was. His eyes kept skittering from one corner of her face to the other, like a smooth stone skipping across a lake.

“Uh…” Frowning slightly, he let his gaze travel over the shelves of books, the humming lights, his cluttered workstation. He removed his glasses so he could rub at his aching eyes, and let out a deep sigh. Probably just the stress. “Yeah—yeah! Sorry, I’ve been distracted all morning.”

Martin got the impression of Sasha’s grin being tempered with genuine concern. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is everything okay?”

“I think so. Just...work, and my mum…” he gave an expansive you know sort of gesture at life in general. “Thank god the weekend’s coming. Anyway, is there something I can help you with?”

“Well, I was going to ask if you wanted to come get drinks with Mel and Tim and I after work, but…” She cut him a meaningful glance, the bottomless holes where her eyes should be boring bright spotlights into the back of his skull. “We’d understand if you’re not feeling up to it.”

“Is Georgie coming?”

Sasha shrugged. “Probably. Mel didn’t say so, but they’ve been all over each other since they started dating.”

Martin laughed. “True.” Tried to gauge how he was feeling, whether or not he was up to a night of socializing. You should go, a strangely posh little voice murmured in the back of his head, and he found himself saying, “Actually yeah, I would like to come. I could use a night out.”

Sasha clapped him on the shoulder, and the impact rattled through him like a gong being struck. The echoes of it vibrated all the way down to his toes. “Excellent.”

Martin hesitated, and then, not entirely sure of what he was asking, “What about J

“Thanks for waiting with us,” Georgie said, smiling beatifically up at him. Passed out on her shoulder, Melanie let out a drunken snuffle and curled over, like she was thinking of climbing through the spaces of Georgie’s ribcage and sleeping in her chest cavity forever.

“Not a problem,” Martin replied, scratching the back of his neck.

To be honest, waiting with her was as much for his benefit as theirs. At first, he’d thought it was just stress; now, he was very sure that something was wrong. It wasn’t anything specific, or even bad; more like there was a sepia camera filter tinting the world dusty and nostalgic.

After his third drink, he’d looked into Tim’s laughing face and thought he might burst into tears. And he still didn’t know what Sasha was supposed to look like.

But he didn’t want to worry her, so he just bit his lip and rocked back and forth on his heels, even though the motion made his head spin that much worse.

(Maybe he needed to take a couple of days off. Have a lie-in. But that would—that would delay his work. The Institute’s work. Delays were bad; he felt strongly enough about that to carve it directly into his skin so that he’d never forget. He could roll down his sleeve and take a peek at it whenever his motivation slipped, like checking a watch for the time.)

For lack of anything else to say, he nodded toward Melanie. “She’s really out, huh?”

“She’s always been a lightweight.” Her tone was wry, but her eyes were soft and fond as she brushed Melanie’s bangs back from her face. “Never gets hungover though, the lucky bastard.”

“The nerve!” Martin said, affecting offense, which sent them right into another giggling fit.

Once he got his breath back, Martin mentioned offhand, “You know, considering how similar they are, I’m surprised that her and J̷̧̱̜͕͕̤͉̣̺̺̝͖̠̹̜͙̣͉̩̺̤̟͉͓̞̹̗́̆̂̋͆̊̎́͂̑͋̌͊͘̚͠ͅo̶̧̨͕̖͔̬̖̝̪͚̻̟̠̜̣̰̅n̶̥̉́̎͑̀͂͆̿̾͛̾̔̐͌́̅̂͂̒̆̐́͊̄̾̍̅̅͝

“Stop it!” Martin screamed, grabbing the mug from the counter and throwing it across the room. It shattered against the wall, scattering shards of ceramic across the floor. “I know

“What you’re doing,” Martin gripped the bathroom counter, ignoring the persistent ringing of his alarm, staring deeply into his reflection, “Stop it, stop it, nononon̴̡̡͚̮̠͙̻͔͎͈̜̓̈́̈́͜͜ͅǫ̸̯̠̱̖̲͙͍͎͒̇̑͒ṅ̶̨̩̳̩̝̹̳͎͈̬̦͆́̈́́͐̏̈́̕͝͝o̸̡̻̱̗̥̮̙̳̞͗̄͋̈́̀͝n̸̢̛̟͙̘̱̩͕̦̫̤̮͆͑̊͋́̂̽͜o̶̘̱̗̘̘͑̿͜ņ̶̥̞̠͕͓̠͔͚̮͈̬͕̀͗̄̓͑͑͛̕ͅő̸̮̫̓͌̾̌͋́̂̏̒̃̃̄̚n̵̗̫͕̺̻͔̭͖̉͒͗̀̈́̃̅o̴͓͉͉͗͋̎̕—”

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’m sorry, it’s okay—”

“No!” Martin shrieked, shoving Jon’s hands away, skittering backward across the broken and cracked stones of the Panopticon. Through the arched windows, the sky was a poisonous green and black, and multitudes of eyes orbited the room, watched his every movement with sickening fascination. “Just—stop.”

Luminous gaze weary and resigned, Jon did as he was bid, dropping back onto his heels.

Rubbing sweat and grime and tears from his face, breathing harshly through his mouth, Martin took a moment to remember where he was, why he was here. It always took a moment for everything to come back.

As though unable to keep silent any longer, Jon asked, “So what was it this time?”

“Don’t,” Martin hissed, dragging his hands through his greasy hair.

Though his expression went mulishly annoyed, Jon raised his hands placatingly, a silent, alright, you win. It was a familiar gesture, one that he’d done so many times while they were living in Scotland, while they were traveling the devastated landscape of the apocalypse. It made Martin ache for when things were simpler, when his heart didn’t just feel like one big bruise.

He gently set the thought aside, and turned a more assessing eye on the Panopticon. Normally the changes were insignificant, but something thick and red and black had started to coil around the windows, weaving in and out of the floor, cracking the stonework. Martin traced the strange things with his eyes, frowning—

“Christ, Jon,” he whispered in horrified realization. “Are...are those corpse roots?”

Jon bobbed his head. “They’ve long since overtaken the rest of London. It’s just us, now.”

Martin sucked in a long, frustrated breath through his teeth. There was no point trying to talk any sense into Jon, not after so long, and force would only result in immediately getting kicked back into that horrible dream world.

“And the others?”

Jon shrugged, tracing the cracks in the earth with his fingers. “Still alive, and living happily in the dream I made for them.” He didn’t say, unlike you, but the implication was so loud he might as well have screamed it.

“Shut up,” Martin muttered, pushing to his feet and limping to one of the windows.

Corpse roots, as far as the eye could see. They covered the city of London in a blanket of tangled black, so thick that it was impossible to see the buildings beneath.

“Was it worth it?” he asked, sagging against the side of the window, too tired to be angry.

When the silence persisted a second too long, Martin turned around to find Jon with his head tilted back, examining the corpse roots consuming what had once been the Beholding’s seat of power, expression distant and thoughtful. The eyes, ever-watching, never understanding, drifted closer, greedily drinking in the sight.

When Martin realized that Jon wasn’t planning on answering, he let out another sigh, ruffled his bangs away from his face, and said, “You’re never there.”

Jon’s gaze snapped to him with a laser-edged focus. “Sorry?”

“If you’re going to trap me in a dream,” Martin said, each syllable clipped and precise, “You could at least be there.”

Like it always did, Jon’s face crumpled, and he looked away. “...I don’t deserve it.”

“Oh, we’re well past that and you know it!” Martin shrieked, striking his fist against the stone. “You made your fucking decision to damn the world, to hell with whatever we thought, the least you could do is stop hiding behind your pointless guilt and act like this is what you actually want!”

It would’ve been better, if Jon had simply become drunk with power and was no longer listening to reason. The fact that he’d made this same decision every single day with clear, unclouded eyes and sound judgement—as Jon the human, rather than Jon the lynchpin of the apocalypse, pupil of the Eye—made Martin want to scream.

“I do want it!” Jon snapped back, then quieter, “I do.” He looked up at the corpse roots again, eyes going misty. “I just—I should witness every second of misery and pain that I’m causing. I don’t deserve to just...forget.”

Wind snapped and howled around them like a creature mad with rage, and Martin idly wondered what would happen to this world once Jon died. If it would all go back to the way it had been before, or if the shell of the apocalypse would remain until the end of time, a corpse husk of a reality warped beyond repair.

“You shouldn’t have to experience this alongside me though,” Jon continued, rallying. “So I would really appreciate it if you’d stop breaking your dreams.”

“Tough,” Martin snapped back, folding his arms obstinately over his chest.

“You could be happy!” Jon reiterated, stabbing his index finger into the palm of his hand. “You could just...live your life! Forget! There’s no point in being here.”

“It’s a deal, remember? Where you go, I go. Fuck you very much, but I don’t break my promises.”

Jon stared at him for one beat, then another—and then promptly burst out laughing, his whole body shaking with the force of it. Martin stared at him, utterly bewildered, as the laughing slowly began to dissolve into desperate, heaving sobs, as he began rocking back and forth, arms wrapped around himself in a mockery of comfort.

“I miss you,” Jon gasped out, half-crazed. “So much. I miss you every day even though you’re right in front of me. But I can’t go to you, because I don’t deserve to, not when I’m the one who trapped you here. I’m everything that’s wrong with the world. I always have been.”

“Jon,” Martin sighed, low and tired.

Jon buried his face into his knees. “No, you shouldn’t—you shouldn’t forgive me just because you pity me, that’s not what I—I don’t—”

“Who said anything about forgiveness?” Martin shook his head. “Fine. You’re an asshole, and I hate you. But it’s like I said.” He gestured toward the Panopticon, the roots, the poisonous sky. “When has deserving ever mattered?”

Jon lifted his face from his knees, though his gaze stayed rooted to the floor. “...I suppose.”

“Right,” Martin agreed. “I’ve accepted that you’re not going to change your mind, but...at the very least, I don’t want to die alone. So can you please just…”

There was a long, weighted pause.

They’d had arguments like this what felt like hundreds of times before. Martin begging for Jon to change his mind, Jon refusing with that same resigned, determined expression on his face, before sending Martin back into his dreams.

Maybe it was because Martin wasn’t asking him to change his mind this time. Maybe it was because they were so close to the end of all things, and soon they’d be the last two people on earth. Maybe it was because Jon was tired, had been for so, so long, and he had won anyway, so there was no point in fighting any longer.

“Alright,” Jon whispered.

…

…

...

Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzzt!

“Ugh, five more minutes,” Martin hissed, throwing an arm across his face.

Somewhere in the far distance, the toilet flushed. A moment later, a pair of feet padded lightly into the room, hesitated at the edge of the bed, and then made their way over to the desk. The alarm abruptly went silent.

Martin uncovered his eyes and grinned up at Jon as he tentatively slid back between the covers, every movement careful and deliberate, like he was reading stage directions from a script.

“Look at Mr. Workaholic, having a lie-in,” Martin teased, pulling Jon into his arms and inhaling the scent of his coconut shampoo. “Must be the end of the world, or something.”

Jon stiffened for just a moment, before turning around and burying his face into Martin’s chest. “Or something.”

[weasleyswizardpleases]

And the Living is Easy (Fred x reader)

Summary: You spend the first night of summer vacation getting into trouble with the Weasleys + Harry and Hermione. Fred x reader. Fluffy mischief mostly, but sex is discussed and implied. 

Warnings/Notes: Light sexual content but not all out smut, alcohol, heights, language. I wrote this to be a stand alone, but I enjoyed it so much that it might become part of a loose series of slice of life-y reader x twins fics set at the burrow over the summer! ps i did not edit this at all after writing it at 2am so. uh

Summer at the Weasley’s is my favorite time of year. After my mother passed, you were tossed around from boarding school to boarding school, relative to relative, never really having a say in where you went, or with whom. But ever since becoming fast friends with Fred and George while repairing brooms for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, you’ve pretty much been considered an honorary Weasley.

You stow your suitcases in the overhead and squeeze into a seat next to Fred and George. Across from you, Ron, Lee, and Harry are packed in. 

“Do you reckon you’ll ever make it out to the burrow, Lee?” asks George pointedly. 

“Yeah, you don’t know what you’re missing out on. Mrs. Weasley’s hotcakes are out of this world.” Harry says.

“And there’s loads of space to play quidditch.” you say.

“And loads of secret spots not even Mum knows about where we can basically do whatever we like.” adds Fred.

“You know my mum will hardly let me out of her sight for a day. Merlin’s sake, she’s practically ass to elbow on me all summer.” Lee says, faking a pout. “Quit ribbing at me, would you? Or I’ll spend the summer in my room coming up with derogatory names to call you on the Quidditch pitch.”

Murmurs of “Come on, we’re only joking.” and “Fine, fine.” fill the packed compartment. You lift your rat Pansy up to the window to show him the scenery.

“Bet you’ve never seen the fine English countryside like this, eh Pansy?” you baby-talk at him, scratching his little noggin.

“You know that thing is never gonna talk back at you, right Y/N?” says Fred, rolling his eyes. 

“You never know. Look what happened to Scabbers.” you say, wiggling you eyebrows. “This rat could also secretly be a creepy little pervert who watches me undress at night.”

“I suppose it isn’t unprecedented in the rat community,” agrees George. Ron scowls in disdain.

“That’s my pet we’re talking about!” he says, causing everyone to burst into laughter.

“Yeah, fine pet he was.” says Harry, grinning.

“I will say, Ron-” Fred begins, clearing his throat. “You’ll never find another like him.” He claps his little brother on the back and stands up, peering down the hallway. “Oi, it’s the trolley, look alive Georgie.” George rises and straightens his coat. The boys have been planning for ages to charm the trolley witch into selling their skiving snackboxes. They run off down the car towards her. You tuck Pansy back into his cage and watch the scenery go by yourself. Before you know it, you’re being shaken awake by Fred and George. 

“C’mon, Dad is waiting!” says George. 

“Got you some chocolate frogs, but that means you owe us one.” says Fred, shoving a wriggling paper bag into your hands. Delighted, you expertly open the bag, catch a frog, and slurp it up before it manages to escape. 

“Tank -ou” you mumble, your mouth still full. Lugging your trunks over to meet Mr. Weasley, you smile with excitement. Every summer with the Weasleys is a blast, but you know this one will start off with a bang because last week Fred absconded with a jug of top shelf mead from Filch’s office. You’d all agreed that you needed it more, since you want to have fun and have no money, while Filch obviously dislikes fun and ostensibly has some amount of money squirreled away from all his groundskeeping or lurking or whatever his job is. 

After greeting Molly, you and the twins bound up to their room- and, when you’re here, your room- pushing and shoving your way up the narrow stairwell. You toss your things down and throw yourself onto a bed, spreading your arms as if making a snow angel. 

“Oh, boys, it is good to be home!” you say, laughing. Fred and George always joke that their mother likes you, Harry, and Hermione better than any of her own actual children, and you love teasing them about it. 

“Speak for yourself, she’s already got that sending-us-to-de-gnome-the-

garden-while-hungover gleam in her eyes,” retorts George good-naturedly.

“And get your shoes off my bed! Mum will have all three of us beating out the rugs if she sees that.” says Fred. You close your eyes and pretend to be asleep, baiting the boys into attempting to push you off the bed. You wind up making such a ruckus roughhousing that Hermione comes in looking concerned, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. You all three pause from your compromised position to look at her, you releasing a vise grip on Fred, George dropping your left leg, which he had been twisting violently.

“When did you get here?” you ask, running to hug her. 

“Just apparated over, my parents would never forgive me if I didn’t at least drop by for dinner before practically moving here for the summer!” she replies, turning to greet the twins. 

“Are you going to be participating in our little soiree tonight, ‘Mione?” asks George, raising an eyebrow. 

“What are you three planning?” she asks sternly, stifling an excited smile.

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” you say. 

“But don’t wear white shoes.” warns Fred. Hermione gives you all a funny look before running off to finish her greetings. 

“Where are we going tonight, Freddie?” you ask, looking up at your tall friend. He gives you a cheeky glance.

“Oh, out by the bog. There’s a huge hill between there and the house, so we can make a fire and nobody will see.”

“And there’s a huge stand of trees and a pond between that spot and the neighbors’,” says George. 

“You two have got it all figured out. And you’ve got the firewhiskey! What a night, what a night it shall be.” you say, your voice singsonging as you dance exaggeratedly. 

“Too bad nobody invited any girls.” says Ron from the doorway. He’s been standing in the hallway looking in the mirror for some time now, fussing with his hair.

“What am I, chopped liver?” Ginny shouts from her open door down the hall.

“YOU don’t count!” Ron replies.

“We know you’ve got someone else in mind, little brother.” George says, flicking Ron in the ear. 

“It’s pretty obvious,” Fred agrees.

“You get all flustered when she corrects your grammar,” you say.

“And you let her braid your hair.” says Fred.

“And you-” begins George, but Ron interrupts, his face beet red.

“Shhhh! Buzz off you two, or I’ll start blabbing on about who you’re interested in as well.”

The twins exchange a somewhat threatened glance, but say nothing.

“That’s right, I’m not as dull as you lot like to think, thank you very much. I notice things. So let me alone or I’ll sing like a canary!” Ron finishes, turning back to the mirror for a final glance at his hair before trotting downstairs. 

“You two have crushes?” you demand, turning to stare down the twins. Fred shrugs with his usual attitude but you notice a light blush spreading across each of their cheeks. You swat him across the chest. “Why didn’t you tell me? Who is it? You motherfuckers.” You grab George by the collar. “George, tell me who it is! A crush, my god.” You throw your hands up in the air. They’re being super weird, so you decide to drop the subject. “When you snog every girl and half the boys in the school, between the two of you, you practically hold us all down to tell us the details but now you’ve got a crush and suddenly you’re like a couple of mimes.” You look each of them in the eyes, and both avoid your stare. “Fine! Don’t tell me.” You throw your hands up in mock anger and lead the charge downstairs to begin setting the table for dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~After dinner, you pass the evening playing cards and chatting until Mr. and Mrs. Weasley retire for the night. Then, you’re left with all your friends and Percy, who it has been agreed simply cannot know you’re sneaking out to drink in the woods, because he is a killjoy. Using a previously discussed maneuver, Hermione attempts to trick him into believing that she and Ginny are going to bed, hoping that he will get nervous about being bullied if left alone with you and the twins, and elect to follow them to bed soon after. However, Percy is in an unusually jovial mood, and so Ron and Harry are forced to retreat as well. As a last line of defense, you pretend to fall asleep on George’s shoulder, nuzzling into his sweater. When Percy gets up to go to the bathroom, you dash outside into the moonlit yard, covering your mouth so your giggles don’t give you away. You run to crouch behind the garden shed, doubled over with laughter. 

“I thought he would never stop yapping.”

“God, how are you two related to that bore?”

“We can’t help it.” Fred says, bending to gather rocks from the ground. 

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Watch!” he raises his hand to throw a pebble at Ginny’s window, but you grab his wrist.

“Have you lost the plot? Percy will hear! And probably your mum too, with your aim. I’ve got a better idea,” you say, peeking around the garden shed while gesturing for the boys to stay put. You pop out of the shed with a dusty, rickety broom. 

“Does this thing still work?” you ask.

“Well enough,” says Fred, getting a running start and jumping on the broom. Wobbling a bit, he sails up to Ginny’s window and confers with the girls, then moves on to Ron’s window, where he perches on the sill, one foot dangling out the window.

Beside you, you’re aware of George’s presence beside you in the cool, sticky night.

“Bloody brilliant,” he murmurs, elbowing you gently. “How’d you even know that thing was in there?”

“Lucky guess. I mean, with a family full of Quidditch players, there’s bound to be a broom lying about someplace.” 

Fred jumps down onto the broom and turns a few experimental loop de loops overhead before nearly falling and coming to a shaky landing near your feet. 

“That one belongs on the rubbish heap, honestly,” he says, laughing as he tosses the old thing aside.

“Oh, sure, blame it on the broom,” you tease.

He’s soon followed by Ginny and Hermione on Ginny’s broom. They glide down and come to a halt next to you, stepping down gracefully.

“How are Harry and Ron going to get out? They’d have to go right by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s room, unless Harry has his broom up there with him, but I think I saw it in the foyer.” says Hermione, looking at Fred worriedly.

“Well, err, I told them to climb down,” says Fred earnestly.

“What?!” says Hermione. “They’ll be loud as bison, besides probably breaking their necks.”

“It’s not my fault they’re too dumb to pass their apparation O.W.L.S! They’ll be fine.”

As he finishes his sentence, Ron’s window slides open and Harry’s head pops out. He lowers what appears to be a rope made of sheets and blankets tied together. Hermione’s brow furrows as she watches, helpless, while Ron artlessly slips one leg out the window, before even checking to see that the “rope” is nowhere near long enough to reach the ground. Ginny giggles, biting her lip when she sees Hermione’s distress.

“Do something!” Hermione hisses, nudging her. Ginny groans and soars over to boost Ron onto the back of her broom, going back to do the same for Harry.

“Shite! The firewhiskey,” you whisper, smacking your forehead. Everyone lets out a collective groan, but before you can send someone back up to hunt down the alcohol, Ginny opens her backpack, revealing the gleaming jug. Everyone cheers, but then quickly realizes that loudly cheering may have blown your cover. Fred and George scurry off into the brush and you all follow them down a lightly trod path through the countryside, eventually reaching the open bank of a large, murky pond. This is a spot you’ve never been to before, probably because it’s a fair stretch away from the house, and apparently from any civilization at all. 

Hermione quickly conjures a large fire, creating a pocket of warmth in the chilly night air. You lean against a large rock and shiver when the cool stone brushes the back of your neck. Ginny pulls out the firewhiskey and hands it to Fred, who pops the cork, shouting with glee before knocking back a sip and passing it to George, who passes it to you. The familiar sickly sweet liquid burns your throat and warms your stomach, and you feel your (already barely existent) inhibitions begin melting away.

Before long, Ron suggests that you all play a game, and you run through your options: truth or dare, spin the bottle, a wizarding game you’ve never heard of, and hide and go seek. Hermione refutes hide and go seek on the basis of safety, and Fred refutes spin the bottle on the basis of the fact that four out of six of you are siblings. Not everyone brought their wands, so you can’t play the magic game, and you’re left with truth or dare as the apparent winner, which you were rooting for anyway, because you want to see what you can get the twins to do. It almost makes you wish Percy was here so you could put him in a compromising position, but knowing him, he’d find a way to make walking on hot coals boring. 

“I’ll start, I’ll start!” you volunteer, looking around the circle. “My first victim will beeeee…” you look at Hermione, who cringes nervously, then spin around to point at Harry. “Harry Potter. What will it be, Mr. Potter, truth or dare?” you ask.

Harry shrugs. “Hmm.. I’ll do.. Dare, why not?” he replies. 

“Alright Harry, I dare you tooooo.... Oh, easy. I dare you to smack Ron every time he says something you think is stupid tonight. And be honest, or we’ll smack you,” you say. The twins nod in agreement. 

“That’s not fair! That’s barely a real dare!” protests Ron. You raise an eyebrow at Harry, who turns and gives his friend a good wallop. 

“Alright Harry, your turn.” 

You play for nearly an hour, all the while passing the bottle lazily between you, until everyone’s good and tipsy on the strong liquor. Several good dares are exchanged: Fred is dared to give you a lap dance, which he does with gusto and an uncomfortable amount of eye contact. You dare Ginny to race you across the pond and back, and you both strip down to your skivvies and plunge into the chilly water. Ginny wins, of course, but you just wanted an excuse for a swim. Fred lends you his cloak, patting it onto your shoulders to dry them before you pull your pants back on. George dares Ron to walk back to the house and get food, which he reluctantly agrees to after everyone bullies him into it. By the time he gets back with a basket of pastries and jam, you’ve transitioned to mainly truths, because the well of dares has run dry. 

When it’s Hermione’s turn to ask Fred, she blushingly asks if he’s lost his virginity. 

“What, do you all think I’ve snogged every girl we know without scaring? Have a little faith, please.”

“Clever, but that’s not an answer!” slurs Hermione, pointing at him and grinning. “Have you actually had sex before, or do you just talk a big game?” 

“Well, have you?” you ask, laughing as he tries to bluster out an answer.

“”Course I have. Ask anybody. Everybody must think George and I are the male sluts of the century, the way you people talk.” 

“Still not an answer!” you say, looking at him mischievously. 

“How’s this for an answer, then?” he retorts, pulling you to his waist and kissing you on the lips melodramatically, throwing you up against the rock, practically fucking but for the clothes. What’s probably thirty seconds of kissing at most feels like an hour. Everyone goes “Oooooh!” and when he finally lets you go you’re flabbergasted, but you recover your senses.

“Point taken, then. Alright Freddie, your turn,” you say, straightening your clothes and trying not to look like you enjoyed that. 

“I dare Hermione to let us play hide and seek, for fuck’s sake,” he says, lazily.

“Ugh! I might be drunk but I’m not letting anyone stumble around alone in the pitch black plastered out of your mind. Ask me a real question!” 

“What if we weren’t alone?” Harry asks, looking around. “I mean, we could go in pairs or little groups. Like team hide and seek, basically.”

“I call Fred and George!” you cry, throwing your arms around their sweaty necks. 

“Fine, but please be careful. And everyone should be on a team with at least one person with a wand,” says Hermione, who teams up with Ron. That leaves Harry and Ginny on the last team.

George produces his wand and casts an illumination spell.

“Not it!” You shout, immediately echoed by Ginny. 

“Alright, we’ll count to 50” says Hermione, but Harry and George protest until they finally agree to 3 minutes.

Fred tears off into the woods and you and George follow, bushes thwacking you in the face, vines snagging at your ankles. You break through the brush into a field, panting, and stop for a break. 

“Where are we going?” you ask, looking around. “And where are we?” 

“No idea!” Fred says gleefully. 

“What about over there?” George nods towards a patch of grass and trees down in a glenn. You lope down hill through high grass and crash to a halt in the stand of trees, crouching low. Fred huddles next to you and George clambers clumsily into one of the trees, flattening himself into one of its crooks.

You can feel your stomach churning after your run, but you manage to successfully push down the acrid taste rising in your throat. Above you, you hear George belch, and just manage to slip out of the way as he spits a pitiful glob of vomit to the ground.

“Oi, we’re down here, you lout,” hisses Fred, ducking.

“Look at the state of you,” you drawl, bumping into Fred as you readjust around George’s vomit. He groans from his spot up in the tree and lies back down sleepily. To your surprise, you feel the urge to pull Fred closer rather than pushing him away. The earthy smell of the forest floor calms your stomach, and you find your mind wandering to his lips, his hands on your waist and neck. Buzzing with drunken impulsivity, you wrap your arms around his slender waist and pull him to sit beside you. He looks surprised, but readily slouches against the tree trunk next to you. You can feel his chest rising and falling with each breath. The air is still and cool in that settled way characteristic of the night.

Overhead, you think you can hear George beginning to snore. 

“Freddie-” you begin, but before you can say a word, his lips are on yours, his hands tangled in your hair. You push him down and roll over so that you’re straddling him, gripping his jaw in one hand as you kiss him, hard, then gently. His lips are softer and more relaxed than they were when he kissed you earlier, and his body less certain. There’s no false bravado in him now, and you bite his lip gently, your tongues barely batting together. You reach down to unzip his pants but he pulls back.

“Y/N- I- Look, I may have lied earlier,” he says, his face flush with desire and embarrassment. You look at him quizzically, your drunken mind not connecting all the dots. 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I haven’t… done this before. I’ve only ever kissed. Although I’ve done quite a lot of that.” he says quietly. You blink.

“Oh. Oh! You total freak. Why go to all that trouble to convince everyone you have?”

“Have you considered that maybe I just wanted to kiss you?”

This shuts you up. He pulls you back down to kiss you again, this time on the cheek, on the forehead, the neck. 

“Don’t do anything you don’t want to do,” you say carefully, brushing a bead of sweat from his forehead. 

“No… no, I’m ready. I want this now,” he says, tugging at your shirt. You pull it off over your head and toss it into the grass, the game of hide and seek forgotten. Let the shirt be a warning flag to any nosy passerby. Fred kisses across your chest. 

“Freddie, we’re drunk,” you remind him, your breathing growing heavier as his tongue flicks across your nipple.

“I want you,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck in between kisses. “I want you, I want you, I want you,” he says. You kiss him in reply, and move again to unzip his pants. You feel his hard member ready to burst out of his jeans, and it sends a thrill through you.

You had considered that you might one day wind up with Fred or George, and honestly, you had figured it would be on some less-than-sober whim like this, but you never really pictured it. You certainly never imagined Fred like this, innocent and tame, hoping for someone else to take the lead.

“Will you show me how?”

“Yes,” you breathe your reply into his mouth.

“Will you go slow?” he asks sweetly, his coy submissiveness sending tremors through your body. 

“Yes. Come closer.”

In the morning, you groggily open your eyes at the sound of birds chirping. You sit up, your head throbbing, and look around. Above you and a few feet to your right, George is sleeping soundly on his belly in the flat convergence of an oak tree’s branches. To your left, shirtless and smeared with dirt, is Fred curled on top of his cloak, also fast asleep. 

“Guess they gave up on finding us,” you mutter, running a hand through your hair to smooth it into place. You remember what happened last night well enough, although some parts are cloudier than others, and you don’t remember deciding to fall asleep at all. You suppose it just happened at some point. Your heart beats faster, wondering if you and Fred will be an item after this, or if he’ll want to keep it quiet, or if you just won’t talk about it. You’re not sure what you want, yet. It’s still purple pre-dawn in the countryside, the sun not quite peeking over the horizon yet.

You know you enjoyed yourself, and you adore Fred- as a friend, certainly. As something more? Maybe. You brush away your anxieties and trust that you’ll settle things when you’re less groggy. Suddenly, it dawns on you that you’ve got to get back to the house before Mr. and Mrs. Weasley wake up and notice your absence. You stand up as though the ground caught fire, kicking at Fred and shouting at George to get down.

You fetch your shirt from a nearby bush, and pluck a twig from Fred’s hair as he looks up, dazed.

“God, my head,” he says, squinting up at you. “What the hell time is it?”

“Never mind that, you’ll have worse than a headache if we don’t get back to the house by like, yesterday.”

“Merlin!” George exclaims, perking up and basically falling from his perch to the ground. Recovering he stands up, taking his surroundings in. “Hold on, what the hell happened to you, Fred? Where’s your shirt?”

“No time for all that, go!” you say, shoving George in the direction you suppose the house is in. You muster as fast a pace as you can and follow him, Fred scrambling to gather his cloak and tee shirt before catching up with you. With George’s back to both of you, you exchange a goofy grin and a wave of relief runs through you. He obviously doesn’t consider last night a mistake, either. You slip your hand into his and make your way into the breaking dawn.

[gallaghersgal]

Something Witchy This Way Comes Chapter 2: Decorations

Warnings: Swear words, implied sex but no actual sex, so much cuteness you might actually die

Wordcount: 1,281

A/N: hugest of thanks to my beta @honeykiwis :))) this chapter is so fucking cute akjhdgkfakh you guys are gonna love

Read Here on my Ao3

Finn woke up when Poe pounced on him, straddling his hips playfully. He was dressed in his typical pajamas; a sweater and boxers, and his hair was messy from sleep. Still, his eyes were bright and warm as he smiled down at Finn.

“Good morning,” he said, leaning down to kiss Finn right on the lips.

Finn smiled in return, bringing a hand up to smooth some of Poe’s unruly curls. “Morning,” he murmured against his lips, stealing a few more kisses as he did. “What brings this on?”

Poe was grinning like a cat got the canary as he pulled back. “I’m just so happy,” he told Finn. There was an earnest quality in his voice, he really meant it. He was genuinely over the moon that Finn was here with him after three years of long distance and one year of separate housing. “I get to wake up beside you. Every. Goddamn. Morning.”

He punctuated the last three words with kisses, the last of which left Finn more than a little flustered. He let his head thunk back against the pillow as Poe pulled away, lips swollen and cheeks flushed. He was a sight, his eyes dark and his hair even messier than it had been previously, and Finn wanted nothing more than to devour him right then and there.

“What do you say to a hearty breakfast?” Poe asked with faux innocence, but Finn knew what he was doing.

Finn hooked a leg around Poe’s back, flipping him over. “As long as you’re the main course.”

*****

After a few rounds of… breakfast, Finn found himself squeezed in beside Poe on the booth of the little breakfast nook he had built by the window. Poe’s leg rested against his own, and Finn had his left arm wrapped around his waist as they ate. It was the picture of domestic bliss, the early morning sunshine casting them in a golden glow.

“Whatcha’ wanna do today?” Finn asked softly, lifting the edge of Poe’s shirt to trace patterns on his side.

Poe leaned in a little closer, resting his head against Finn’s. “Thought maybe we could put up the halloween decorations,” he mused. He twirled his finger in little circles, making the spoon in Finn’s tea stir in the milk.

Finn nodded, taking a sip of his tea. “Sounds like fun,” Finn replied, bumping their knees together gently. “We could put on some music, throw up some lights… I dunno, I’ve never really decorated for halloween.”

Poe grinned, standing and taking Finn’s plate with a kiss to his forehead. “Oh, you’re in for a treat babe. I go all out for halloween.”

“Must be the witch blood,” Finn laughed, scooting out of the booth and downing the rest of his tea. “Please tell me there’s a creepy attic with a rickety ladder that I have to climb.” He sat his mug in the sink and followed Poe out into the hallway, catching up with him and reaching out to take his hand.

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” Poe pulled him along through the house, up the stairs, past the bedroom door and to the end of the hall. He held his arm out across Finn’s chest, effectively stopping him in his tracks. “Stand back,” he murmured, then pointed up at the trapdoor in the ceiling with one finger. The door fell open and an old folding ladder fell down, releasing with it a cloud of mud colored dust.

Finn nearly hacked up a lung; he had gasped in excitement as the ladder fell down causing him to inhale a fair amount of dust. Still, he was more than excited to see the rickety ladder leading up to the attic. As soon as he could breathe regularly again, he started up the ladder, carefully noting that the last three steps were missing. He hoisted himself up, eyes wide, into the dark, dusty, unbearably hot room.

Poe followed suit, clambering into the attic with a little less grace and giving Finn an amused look.

“What?” Finn asked.

“What’s the deal with you and attics,” Poe replied, no malice in his voice. He was genuinely curious. Every little thing about Finn intrigued him. They’d been together for two years now, but Poe was still discovering new things about him. Every detail was precious to him, every story of Finn’s childhood or teen years was like a gift and he held them all close to his heart.

“I dunno, there’s just something about them,” Finn said. “When I was little there was one in the foster home I was in, and I just loved to climb the ladder and go through all the old things in there… they’re little pieces of someone’s life, y'know? Someone you’ll never know. But you can learn something about them through these pieces of their life that they deemed unimportant, stuff that they forgot and left behind.”

Poe shook his head, “more power to you. Attics give me the creeps.” He leaned over to kiss Finn’s cheek, “hand holding is mandatory.”

Finn laughed softly, taking his hand and following him to the back of the attic. The room was big and for a moment Finn wondered if they would ever reach the other side, but finally Poe pulled a lightswitch and they were bathed in flickering yellow light. “I don’t blame you… this is creepy as fuck.”

Poe nodded, drawing Finn close to him and opening up a trunk. It was filled to the brim with halloween decorations; orange and purple string lights, fake spiders, decorative lanterns, all kinds of things. Finn knelt down, rooting through the decorations. 

“This is gonna be so much fun.”

    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

“Do you think this is enough cobwebs?” Finn stepped down from his precarious perch on a kitchen chair, standing back and looking at the cobwebs hung in the living room doorway. “I think that’s enough.” He dusted his hands off and grabbed the box, moving on to the next door. 

Poe peeked his head through the rails of the banister. “Cobwebs are the Mistletoe of Halloween, Finn. ‘Enough’ is never enough.”

Finn chuckled, standing on his tiptoes to kiss Poe. “Yeah but if I keep adding more I won’t have enough for the last door, now will I?” He leaned even further up to kiss Poe’s nose, “now quit that, you’re gonna get your head stuck.”

“Nuh uh, see?” Poe said, sounding just like a child. Finn turned to see him wiggle the rails on either side of his head. Both were terribly loose and he easily slipped his head out from between them. “Never gotten around to fixing it,” Poe explained.

Finn laughed loudly, sitting the chair down under the kitchen door and climbing back up. The sound of ABBA playing on Poe’s record player drifted in from the living room. He couldn’t quite understand the lyrics, but the noise was soothing, a gentle presence. 

“Alright, I’m all done." 

Poe came down the stairs to stand behind Finn. "Lookin’ good babe,” he said with a cheeky grin, lightly slapping Finn’s butt. 

“If I fall you had better catch me,” Finn hissed, nearly losing his balance. 

“Of course,” Poe reached up, putting his hands on Finn’s back to support him. “You almost finished? I’m starving…”

Finn nodded, putting the last cobwebs on the doorway and looking down at Poe. “You really gonna catch me?”

“Yeah, jump babe, I’ve got you.” Poe held out his arms, and Finn jumped. 

Poe caught him easily, spinning him around with a carefree laugh. “What do you think?” he asked, nodding his head at the decorations. 

Finn smiled softly, leaning his head against Poe’s shoulder. “I love it.”

End.

Taglist (open): @tinyphantomsalad @wheeliebinbyers @kitmarloweki @stormpilotsrus @shibasus @imasunflower00 @xwings-can-fly @waywaychuck

[slytheroccamy]

TJLC in The Six Thatchers *SPOILERS*

JOHNLOCK IN THE SIX THATCHERS ( please read, it'll be worth your time I promise) Okay so I watched The Six Thatchers maybe 8 times now and have a few things I would like to point out to provide further evidence that JohnLock will happen in The Final Problem and would like to hear your thoughts! I know this is really long, but I went into extreme detail of the episode and I think it's worth reading, especially since Rebekah is likely not going to make an episode on it. Anyway, without further ado, All evidence of Johnlock in The Six Thatchers. 

 1) On the fridge I'm sure we all saw the pamphlet with the elephant, but directly above it is a post-it note with 13th written on it. I started thinking what this could mean and then realised that including TAB, The Final Problem would be episode 13 of Sherlock. The elephant will be addressed finally in the 13th episode. 

 2) Can we please note the ridiculously not so subtle water imagery throughout the episode? literally overlaying sherlocks face? 

3) the main villan of the episode was refered to constantly (before the reveal of her identity) as Ammo, which we find out actually means Love. and said villan ends up killing mary, the one thing standing between sherlock and john. (sidenote I do love Mary as a character and was sad to see amanda go, I knew it had to be done for the sake of Johnlock)  also, convenient that John now has a child, something John and Sherlock wouldn't of been able to have on their own. 

4) Save John Watson. Save him. Save him Sherlock. Save him from what exactly? Oh I don't know maybe the repressed sexuality he has been hiding all these years? Save him from the pain of staying in the closet? (which is pretty painful, I know from experience. You really do feel saved when you fall in love for the first time) also, Save John Watson; the skip code sent to Mary in the Empty Hearse. In which John was being burned... as in "I will burn the heart out of you" burned. just saying. 

5) Free as a bird. #ohwhatabeautifulmorning Here are the lyrics to oh what a beautiful morning - There's a bright golden haze on the meadow, There's a bright golden haze on the meadow, The corn is as high as an elephant's eye, An' it looks like its climbin' clear up to the sky. Chorus: Oh what a beautiful morning, Oh what a beautiful day, I've got a wonderful feeling, Everything's going my way. - Okay how many songs do you know have the word elephant in them? not many, and of course the one song sherlock tweets is about everything going perfectly and mentions a freaking elephant... Also, It's from Oklahoma! the Musical... which you can read about the relevance to in Rebekah's tumblr blog 

 6) John's Blog We get a quick shot of John's Blog in the opening, (the real life counter part of the blog is no longer being updated) but it's important to note that the counter is no longer stuck at 1895! They've broken past the barrier of the suppressive time period! Also, the titles of the blogs (in order of apperance) are:

 221Back! (which from what I can read off the blurred image, is about how he hasn't written in a while and that he'll try to write everything up soon, and that he's going to be a dad) 

 Dusty Death (a case about a woman who's husband drowned, but had sand in his lungs not water.) 

 Unknown Blog Entry (about a man who came in looking white as a sheet and a wound in his hand. We don't know much about this case except that it was the wrong thumb?)

The Duplicate Man (How could Dennis Parkinson be in two places at once and murdered in one of them? Again don't know much excpect that it's never twins.) 

 The Circus Torso (Limbless body found decomposing in trunk in waterloo wouldn't be identified.) 

 The Canary Trainer (Andrew Wilson was an unusual man with an Unusual hobby. He seemed to have no connection to the man whos life was so abruptedly ended one freezing night) 

 The Cardiac Arrest (Joel Fentiman was found strangled in the bedsit he shared with his brother. They had always got on well and there was no sign that the situation had changed... we could never have known that there was a potential assasin lurking close by.) I may be reading too much into this one, but perhaps, since people view sherlock and johns relationship as platonic and brotherly, they share a flat, and according to the non tjlc viewers, there is no sign that that would be changing. and if it were to continue on that way, the more than platonic relationship would die. Strangled. not able to speak. or breathe. Suffocated by an assasin... cough mary cough. Again, could be reading too much into this one. 

 7) Sherlock's Tweets There are many in the first act of the episode and it goes by fast but here is what I could collect in order. 

Free as a Bird 

#ohwhatabeautifulmornin 

#221BringIt! 

 8) The Canary Trainer Woman: "Didn't see that coming" Sherlock: "Naturally" The woman is the viewers, this is made apparent by the fact that she is viewing sherlock over a device and not face to face in person like a typical client. 

 9) John's Missed calls from Mary John has 59 missed calls from mary after he spends all his day with sherlock... hmmm in SIB John mentions that Sherlock has had 57 texts from Irene, sherlock recieves two texts from Irene after this point, Im not dead lets have dinner and goodbye mr holmes. making 59 total texts from Irene. Not sure if there is an important connection here but as mycroft so fondly pointed out, there are no such things as coincidences. so take this as you like. 

 10) Sherlock Watson Sherlock mentions yet again that he wants them to name their daughter Sherlock because her thinks it would sound good, he likes the name Sherlock Watson. Of course Mary and John both remind him that it's not a girl's name, to which Sherlock just grins 

 11) Sherlock is named Godfather to the child. it's a strectch but Father is in the title and Mother is gone by the end so... 

 12) Margaret Thatcher Okay so as the title of the episode and the main story line, this is really important. Margaret was one of the greatest Prime ministers of all british history... except for one glaring flaw... she was very anti-gay. Okay, so, the Welsborough couple are mirrors to John and Sherlock, this is clear from the fact that their case begins with a reflection in a balloon. Also because they say they had no life before they met eachother, much in the way john's blog blatently states he literally had no life whatsoever before he met Sherlock. When they kiss, the wife says "she's looking at us disapprovingly again" referring to the Thatcher bust, this however would make no sense unless it's not refering to them as a straight couple but instead their mirrors John and Sherlock, because as I previously stated, Maragret Thatcher was very anti-gay. Throughout the episode busts of Thatcher are being broken in order to find or free something hidden. The are literally shattering the anti-gay minister in order to free something hidden... come on people. this is so glaring its almost baffling how other a handful of us have figured out the true drive of the show. (side note, the power ranger on Charlies car is blue... guess what the name of the blue power ranger is? Billy. Also he was considered the brains of the group) Later in the show sherlock finally catches on to whats happening with the busts and the following conversation occurs between sherlock and lestraude. 

 L: and now someones wandering about destroying them all. Makes no sense whats the point? 

S: No theyre not destroying them. Thats not whats happening 

L: yes it it 

S:Well it is whats happening but its not the point... Ive been slow, far too slow 

L: well im still being slow over here so if you wouldnt mind... 

S: slow but lucky, very lucky. 

 *takes deep breath* okay. so if we read this conversation with the busts representing heteronormativity in media, or the straight perception of the show, and lestraude as the audience, we are being told that yes the physical busts are being destroyed but thats not the point. the point is johnlock. the general audience still doesnt see it, some people are catching on, but the whole thing has been moving very slow, because the writers dont want to rush it, they want to do this right, and in order to do that they need to build up a story for years, a story that will change the way we see things, but without throwing it at us abruptly and randomly. This is a love story remember, and love stories need build up or it feels forced. and this is something that should in no way feel forced. 

 13) Titles This fun little concersation: *talking about the Ghost Driver case* Sherlock: "Dont give it a title" 

John: "people like titles" 

Sherlock: "I hate titles" 

John: "give the people what they want" 

Sherlock: "no, never do that, people are stupid. 

 Mary: "uhm some people" 

Sherlock: "All people are stupid.... most people." 

 you sure were still talking about blogs boys? Everyone wants to title them as platonic and friends and all this jazz to which sherlock says he hates titles and then goes on to say that most people are stupid, implying that there is a section of people who nderstand and arent blind to the obvious cough cough club tjlc 

14) John's Hair I think it's important to note that John is using a lot more product in his hair this season, and as Sherlock Holmes himself pointed out, Product in the hair is a sign of gayness, previous seasons said john only washed his hair, there was a difference. now hes upgraded to full product, clearly taking more of an interest in maintenance of himself. Not to impress mary, theyre already married what's he got to impress at this point? unless hes not trying to impress anyone it's just for himself. which is according to sherlock, kind of gay. 

 15) SOMETHINGS COMING Throughout the literal entire episode it is constantly repeated that something is coming! The want to make it obvious that it is coming something big is going to happen! Sherlock has a little rant about how by analysing everyones movements and patterns the future is entirely predictable mathmatically. well guess whose been doing that the entire time? Us. The TJCL cool people who have dedicated countless hours into analysing characters to discover that Johnlock will happen in the Final Problem. well done guys yay! Sherlock didn't like the original ending of Appointment in Samarah, she he WROTE HIS OWN ENDING The transition for that scene you may ask? Glass... shattering...onto.....a...shattered...bust...of...antigay...margaret...thatcher .........Guys... come on... they are screaming it to us at this point. 16) Now that youve pointed it out Sherlock talks Mr Kingsley through his deductions, after which mr K states that once he'd explained it, it was quite obvious...(cough cough johnlock) to which sherlock gets offended and making up a bunch of lies, namely, says his wife is the most dangerous spy in the world, operating deep undercover. 

17) game face Theres a weird moment where the margaret bust is transposed onto sherlocks face, and then lestraude says that shelock doesnt look pleased. sherlock replies with "this is my game face". Keeping in mind that Thatcher busts in this episode represent the heteronormativity in media, sherlock is putting on a face, a face to appeal to heteronormativity but he isnt pleased. He isn't pleased with wearing the game face anymore... because it's not a game anymore... johnlock, isnt a gameface anymore and the heteronormative mask is going to come off soon. 

 18) Toby the dog = Johnlock 

J: "Hes not moving" 

S: "Hes thinking" 

J: "Hes really not moving" 

S: "Hes slow and sure john, not dissimilar to yourself" 

J: "You just like this dog don't you" 

S: "Well I like you" 

Mary: "Hes still not moving." 

*enters montage of Sherlock's theme melting into John's chords in a major key. in a visual pattern identical to John and Sherlock running through the streets of london in SIP*

19) Sherlock. Holmes. Falling. Through. Shattering. Glass. Into. A. Pool. Of. Water. With. Waves. Painted. On. The. Walls. Forcing. A. Man. To. Choke. On. A. Waterfall. 

 20) Promotional posters In a poster for the Final Problem, there shows a violin with the E string broken. if anyone has a theory to what this represents please let me know. On a seperate poster john and sherlock are in their chairs staring at eachother with the room flooded in water and a tea cup floating between them 

 21) GWJ GWJ is spray painted on the door outside of the location where Mary and Sherlock meet... Theories for what this stands for? Like... Gay with John? or Go with John? or Gratiss Wants Johnlock? 

 22) So many lies J: so many lies and I dont just mean you. we find out john means the almost affair here, BUT I don't think so. Okay for started the almost affair broke my heart so I wont be talking about it at all, but the fact that it was even considered means John isnt 100% happy in this marraige. He wouldnt even consider it otherwise. But what isnt he happy with? He loves mary, we all do, shes awesome. Hes got a beautiful child, and is still solving crimes with his best friend... unless... unless he Isn't happy with mary because even though he loves her... He loves someone else more... Sherlock. And being around Sherlock all the time and not knowing Sherlock loves him back while being married has got to be taxing and is definately something that could push someone to consider having an affair. Hes sick of lying to mary and hes sick of lying to sherlock. Hes sick of lying to everyone, he just wants to be out of the dang closet guys! 

 23) E Okay. Im not going to talk bout the almost affair because im still mad at John for it, but I have to talk about the mystery woman whom it involved. E. Earlier I said there was a promo image with a violin with a broken string, the E string. Now, when we learn about the lies and the almost affair, we see E through the reflection of the plane window. so we know shes a mirror. But a mirror for whom? John? Mary? She is wearing a rose on a necklace, and we know mary's name is actually Rosamund.If it's mary why would John be having an affair with someone who mirrors his wife? Maybe becuse he feels that Mary is the affair and his real relationship is with Sherlock? We also see E next to a poster for the seasons villan and the words It's Murder. Coming soon. Hes Back. and if E really is a mirror for Mary than that's not that big of a jump since Mary is murdered at the end of the episode. 

 24) The Vauxhall Bridge The Vauxhall bridge is known for it's statues on the pillars which are hidden to anyone on the bridge, and instead only visible to those on the water... a lot of water in this episode guys... a lot. 

 25) When Sherlock sends John and Mary different texts at the same time. to Mary he says "The curtain rises The last act Its not over." Thats a nod to us, the viewers. Telling us when johnlock is going to happen. the last act. The Final Problem. and not to give up hope because of John shutting out sherlock at the end of the episode. Theyre telling it its okay, its not over, all will be revealed in the last act. 26) water water water freaking everywhere opening, water rosies's mobil has fishes, rosie's baptism. Sherlocks face overlayed with water as hes taking to mycroft about destiny. Sherlock fighting with ajay in lots of water Sherlock meeting with Mary in the rain Sherlock standing on a bridge above water Mary getting freaking shot in an aquarium.... SHerlock goes to therapy and what does Ella have on the table? Water. Guys... come on... 

 27) What to do about John? 

S:I need to know what to do

 E:Do? 

S:About John. 

*increased heartbeat is heard in background* 

 What's the worst thing you can do to your closest friends? Tell them the truth. Sherlock hun you gotta tell John how you feel. 

 28) Molly We only see Molly once in this episode and shes a mess. we know shes a john mirror so john is a total wreck at this point, but is really sorry for shutting out Sherlock. 

 29) Closing Can Samarra be avoided? Im looking at the merchant story as the Sherlock Holmes story as it's always been told. Two platonic friends who are just that. And like how Sherlock wrote his own ending, where the merchant goes to another town and lives, Moffat and Gratiss are writing their own end. One where Sherlock and John get to live free and be together. Free from the 1895 lock around their story. Can samarra be avoided? Well it fades to water and then we get Mary telling Sherlock to go to Hell (no idea what that means gunna be completely honest here) but I think that the whole point of the episode is yes. samarra can be avoided. and thats what their going to do. write a new ending. because as moffat says, if youre not writing it to change something, to correct someone, than you shouldnt be writing it at all. 

 SO there we go. Those are all the things I found in the 6 Thatchers. I would love to hear what you all think,. Thank you to anyone who read all the way through. Im so blessed to have been apart of this amazing journey with all of you. Now all we need is a gay disney princess am I right? Seriously though, I love you all and am blessed to be in such a great community here. 

TL;DR johnlock is real. it will happen. and it will happen in the final problem.