#sad little british man

[myenterpriseisparked]

When it takes your friends several days of phone calls and medical code breaking to figure out you like pineapple.

[bluebirbbb]

little arthur malevolent lester portrait because my brain is full of him

[trexalicious]

🤣

[authenticaussie]

May I request Sad Dad Times for WIP Weekend please? That sounds fun (for me, if not for anyone actually in the fic) 💚

Sad dad time is a two for one special!!!!!!!

"You ruined it!" Damian shouts, and then hates the drop of guilt that forces his blood from his face. It's true, and it's real, and it's Tim's fault that his Father returned, but it's not fair to say it was ruined, how could he have ruined something Damian had waited his whole life for-

But his father had been overbearing. Had been stern, quiet, and demanding, with no clear goals for Damian to exceed. But his father had been disappointed in him, had pulled away during the first few awkward attempts Damian had made to find common ground, and it - this - felt like a fracture in a wound he had never noticed.

But Damian had waited his whole life for his father's love, and his father had not been the one to give it to him.

Timothy stares at him with confusion and frustration warring in his gaze, an exasperated edge to his tone when he says, “Look, baby brat, I'm allowed to join you and B for dinner.”

----

It was with baited breath that the people of Gotham waited for Bruce's curse; with parents such as his, with a silver spoon and want for nothing, it would be strong but lovely. What price would stand in the way of another Wayne patriarch improving the city, and how often could Bruce pay it?

There was no question of if he would; you always had to, no matter what, and what Wayne would hold back from serving Gotham?

And then there was the murder.

The lovely string of fake pearls scattered along the streets of Park Row, and Bruce Wayne, too young, huddled insensate over his parents' bodies. By the time the police arrived, they were long dead, and the blood had soaked into Bruce's pants.

It was a spectacle when Gordon and Pennyworth helped him to his feet, for that was when they thought that the last Wayne had been injured too, blood blooming over his chest and dripping down his arms, and the pictures of Bruce's curse and Alfred Pennyworth were front news for the next week.

What an irony, they whispered, when the news came out, that she would have served him better alive then dead.

What an irony, that Thomas' curse had been twisted so much, in the tragedy, that Bruce's bleeding heart became reality.

It had been hard to get news of the Wayne heir after that; the pictures of him could be constituted as gore, sometimes, with the way blood would seep through any fabric he wore, and no-one in Gotham was truly comfortable with the fact that their city's most prominent figure was now the child that had seen his parents die. They were just curses - but this one felt pointed, felt sad, and while it was never easy to live with a Gotham curse, at least the fridge having teeth was a silly story to share with friends, in comparison to the constant tragedy Bruce Wayne wore.

It was almost a relief when he vanished. Even more so when, upon his return, the bleeding had eased - and Bruce had taken to wearing red undershirts under his suits, well-disguising his bleeding heart.

Alfred Pennyworth never told anyone about the blood trails through Wayne Manor, which had not abated in the intervening years, nor did he talk about what did eventually ease Bruce Wayne's curse.

After all - everyone knew you had to pay the price of your curse, and no Wayne would hold back from serving Gotham.

[kattitude130]

wait, the doctor who movie was released in 1996! axl could have seen it!

[enobariasdistrict2]

no but like it's truly an atrocity that no one in fandom ever talks about the iconic tvd 5x14 moment where denzo go on a sexy husbands killing spree, enzo refuses to abandon damon, damon feeds on a hot farmer guy whose wife cheated on him for a pharmacist (settling denzo's little bet lmao) and it's the moment where damon is the sexiest/most interesting he's been as a character for the run of the show. and also the denzo banter + imagine dragon's radioactive playing in the background like. that scene was *chef's kiss* it deserved applause and awards and SOOOO so much. season five damon salvatore & enzo st john you will always be famous

[sharkieboi]

okay but why is The Fall of the House of Usher (the netflix show) not set in Baltimore. like that’s our guy. they literally named the football team after his works. give him back to us.

[azulhood]

So, in John Constantine's backstory he accidentally sends a kid to hell.

Which I think is a big part of his backstory, but we'll get back to it.

So, Danny got crowned king of the ghost zone which is a lot of work.

thankfully there are other beings (Hades, Hel, Lucifer, Anubis, over assorted angels, and so on) who rule their own little sections of the afterlife to rule while still answering to the ghost king.

Made everything a lot easier for him, but as king he was expected to inspect those sections at least once.

Which was fine, he could spend a day or two checking things out.

And this is where the kid Connie sent to hell comes in.

During his visit through hell, he notices an innocent soul that wasn't supposed to be there.

The soul had died a long time ago, hell wasn't really made for the living, but they were still trapped.

He of course takes them with him when he leaves.

The kid asks if he could help them tell Constantine that they're out of hell since he was looking for ways to save them. (They know since demons are loudmouths and the demons wanted to use the fact, that no matter how hard John tried he would never be able to rescue them, to hurt the kid.)

Danny agrees, because how hard could finding a sad British trench coat magic man be?

Cue hero's from around the multiverse waking up, after taking a hit, to a white haired and green-eyed eldritch horror asking them "Do you know John Constantine?"

Turns out finding a sad British trench coat magic man was incredibly hard, who knew?

And even when they did find a John Constantine the kid said it wasn't their John Constantine, how the kid could tell Danny had no clue.

[starkwlkr]

the sound of my voice will haunt you | mark webber

part 1 part 2

Grace sat in a chair watching you and Mark talk. She was so bored that she started to imagine herself as you. She found a head set and slipped them over her ears. While she played pretend, you were facing reality talking with Mark.

“Does she know about me?” Mark asked.

“She only knows your name. I never talked to her about you. Why would I? You threw it all away so easily, Mark. You broke my heart.” You snapped at him. You had to calm yourself since your daughter was just a few feet away.

“I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness and the amount of times I say I’m sorry isn’t going to fix it.”

“If this is you telling me you want to be in Grace’s life, you have no right.”

Mark knew that. It absolutely broke him that he had a daughter and he couldn’t be with her, but he had fucked it all up. He looked over at the young girl and saw how she played with the head set. She was a miniature version of you.

“I know and I won’t ask for forgiveness of any kind, not from you or Grace. You’ve done an amazing job raising her.” He continued. “Maybe one day you could tell her about me? If not, i understand.”

“As if you told anyone about me in your book. Mark, I did everything for you. I got in trouble for driving you to races, my parents almost took away my keys! I worked day and night in a shitty restaurant, I almost missed my own graduation because of you! A little note would’ve been nice, but it’s as if I never existed in your world. It hurt me.” You held back tears. Suddenly you’re a teenager again hearing all the loud yelling coming from your parents for driving Mark to his races.

“I didn’t think you wanted me to mention you at all. . . ” He said quietly.

“You’re my past now, I would love to stay away from the past. So when you do attend any of the upcoming races and Grace is here, don’t talk to her. It would be better if she didn’t know about you. Please.” You stated.

My own daughter won’t know about me

Mark understood. It would be better after all.

“Okay.” Was all he managed to say. He nodded and lanced one last time at Grace. “Goodbye.”

Before he could leave, Grace looked at him. She wondered why he looked sad. “Why are you sad? Is your favorite team not winning?” She asked Mark.

“Grace. . . It’s time to go.” You hoped Mark wouldn’t start a conversation, but he did. Of course he was making it harder for you.

“Actually, I used to drive for the team that’s winning and I was okay for a number two driver.” Mark crouched down to talk to Grace.

“Did you win lots of races?” She asked.

Mark let out a chuckle. “I won nine races.”

Grace gasped. “My dad won nine races too!”

At that moment, you wished you were anywhere else. Why couldn’t Mark just leave? Why did Grace have to be nice to everyone and be so curious? And why did you tell Grace that her dad was a driver?

“Your dad? He drives?” Mark questioned.

Grace nodded. “Well I think he doesn’t anymore. Mom said my dad was a driver and that he won nine races, but that’s all I know. I had to make a school project about my family and I asked mom about my dad. Do you know my dad?”

Before Mark could reply, you stepped in. “Sweetheart, it’s time for him to leave. Come on, we’ll get ice cream on the way back.”

“Bye!” Grace waved to the unknown man as you grabbed her hand and walked away from Mark.

He felt a little okay knowing his daughter knew something about him. Maybe one day you would change your mind and let Grace know the truth.

MIAMI 2024

Mark wouldn’t see you or Grace until the Miami Grand Prix. He honestly didn’t feel like even going, but Oscar insisted. At least he wasn’t going to be alone, Jenson was also going, but the British man would be conducting interviews. He kept busy looking at his phone until found him in the Mclaren hospitality. He wasn’t sure why you were even looking for him in the first place.

“Can you look after Grace? My friend couldn’t make it and she was the only person I trust to look after her. I wouldn’t ask if I had another option.” You sighed.

“Yeah, I’ll take care of her.” Mark nodded, putting his phone away. “Where is she?”

“She’s with Oscar in his driver’s room. Just please don’t mention the obvious.” You demanded.

“I won’t, but can I ask one thing?” He stared at your eyes that he still loved after many years. “Why did you tell Grace that her dad won nine races and that he was a driver? You could’ve lied.”

You didn’t want to lie to your daughter, you just couldn’t so you told her part of the truth. Technically, you didn’t think she would even meet Mark ever.

“I can’t lie to her. She knows when I’m lying anyways.” You said.

“What’s her favorite color?” Mark suddenly asked. “I want to know at least some stuff about her so I can talk to her. What if she gets bored halfway through the race?”

You hesitated even telling Mark, but you did anyway. “Her favorite color changes everyday, but today it’s purple. She loved coloring with chalk, she wants to have a puppy and name it Goose like the character from Top Gun, her favorite book series is Junie B. Jones and she tells everyone that she’s tall for her age.” You listed several things.

Mark smiled as he listened to you. “Top Gun? We watched Top Gun on our first date, you know?”

“You’re so annoying.”

You and Mark walk back to the Mclaren garage, which obviously made several people confused. Were you back together? No, you couldn’t be . . . right? By the time the race was close to starting, photos of you and Mark were everywhere. Even Sebastian had texted Jenson wondering about you and Mark.

Grace was sitting next to Mark when the race began. She occasionally glanced at him then grabbed his paddock pass and read his name.

“You’re here with Oscar?” She asked.

Mark nodded. “I’m his manager.”

“So you’re like his dad when his dad is not here?”

“That’s one way to put it.” He chuckled. “Your mum told me you like want a puppy.”

Grace’s eye lit up with joy. “Yes! The puppy is going to be named Goose and they’re going to sleep in my bed.”

Mark hardly payed attention to the race. He kept asking questions in hopes that he could learn more about her. Once in a while, you would look back only to see Mark and Grace laughing.

“One time, my mom almost lost her necklace because she was dancing too hard to her favorite song. It fell and we looked everywhere for it but we couldn’t see it because it was a small letter. But I found it!” Grace said which made Mark question if it was the same necklace that he had given you years ago.

“What letter was it?”

“I think it was M?”

The ‘M’ necklace was a gift from Mark on your first anniversary. It was old, but you couldn’t bring yourself to get rid of it. If anyone asked what the M stood for, you lied saying it was your middle name or for someone in your family.

“Does your mum always wear it?” Mark asked.

“Not anymore. But I think it’s pretty.” Grace replied. “Your name starts with M!”

All Mark did was nod.

The race had finished and soon you were back to your daughter. She had told you how Mark has dogs and invited her to meet them.

“Grace, can you go sit over there for a little while? I need to talk to Mark.” You pointed to the seat that she was sitting during the race. She obeyed and now it was just you and Mark. “Thank you. I really hope she wasn’t too much to handle.”

Mark shook his head. “She’s very talkative when it comes to her favorite things. She’s a great kid.” He debated whether to tell you about the necklace story that Grace had told him. Finally, he decided he would keep that to himself.

“I wanted you to hear this from me instead of the media. I’m leaving the team after this season.” You said only loud enough for him to hear.

“But you’ll be back, right? I mean the team is doing well, Lando just won his first ever race, obviously it could’ve been better for Oscar, but you are the heart and soul of this team.” Mark could see a frown forming on your face.

“I love this team, but it’s time for me to be a mom. Grace needs me, Mark. I already told Zak and it’s final. They’ll announce my departure soon. Thanks again for looking after Grace, this is the last time you’ll see her.”

He was glad that he could at least spend some time with Grace. She was a joy to be around. Their time together was something Mark would cherish forever.

For the rest of the 2024 season, Mark stopped calling you the Mclaren team principal and, instead, used your name. He praised you, gave you the credit you deserved and defended you any time. Mark had even made a statement about the person who had leaked the information about you and him when he talked with Fernando. It was rumored that a photographer had leaked it. He knew nothing was going to change, but he needed to correct his wrongs. It all started with an instagram post about you.

INSTAGRAM

(this is just for fanfic purposes, you can use any faceclaim)

liked by oscarpiastri, f1 and 837,377 others

aussiegrit everyone i meet will have to know you, to understand me. anyone that truly knows me, knows your name.

comments are limited

@vicurious28 @glow-ish @dannyriccsupremacy @viennakarma @pear-1206 @nathalielovesonedirection @jaydaaasworld @shimmermotorsport @honethatty12 @a-beaverhausen @champomiel @spencerrxids @hc-dutch @christianpulisic10 @phantomxoxo @sevythebeanqueen @stinkyjax @clearearthquakewolf @kissesandmartinis @untitled23459 @c-losur3 @yourbane @shiftingtomydrs

[leviscolwill]

read your mind (smau)

pairing: ollie bearman x singer!reader

in which: ollie is his gf's most supportive fan and you're the most supportive wag (face claim: sabrina carpenter)

notes: my first socmed au ever !! this was so so much fun to write hehe, i don't know if it's too long or too short for this kind of story so lmkkk. also yn.fm is yourname.fm (bc music got it ? hahahahaha.....)

now playing: read your mind by sabrina carpenter (emails i can't send)

yn.fm

liked by gracieabrams, olliebearman, and 472.332 others

yn.fm cooking a little something 👩‍🍳🤭

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user57 ALBUM SOON

yn.fm maybe, maybe not 🤭

olliebearman who let her cook ⁉️⁉️

yn.fm UR SO MEAN

olliebearman haha i love you

olliebearman

liked by yn.fm, arthurleclerc, and 67.843 others

olliebearman aaand we're back ! very excited about my first season in f2, many good things to come 😁👍

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prema_team Let's go Ollie !

yn.fm ROTY AWARD INCOMING

yn.fm I CAN'T WAIT FOR YOU TO WIN EVERY RACE

olliebearman who are you ?

yn.fm oliver answer the phone NOW 😁

yn.fm

liked by olliebearman, taylorswift and 861.989 others

yn.fm SURPRISE !!! my debut album 'email i can't send' is dropping on april 27th 2023 💌 i'm so so so excited to share these stories with you, tell me which track you're claiming in the commentssss 🫶

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user44 NONSENSE IS ABOUT TO BE MY TOP SPOTIFY WRAPPED SONG I CAN FEEL IT

olliebearman good choice 👍

yn.fm stop influencing my babies 😡

olliebearman just appreciating their taste love 🤷‍♂️

olliebearman they're so not ready

olliebearman not our little secret anymore :(

yn.fm i'll share other secrets with u dw 🤭

olliebearman

liked by scuderiaferrari, yn.fm, and 98.089 others

olliebearman so happy with this weekend's results! hoping for many other wins for the rest of the season :)

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yn.fm MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN

yn.fm 🐻celona 🤭🫶

yn.fm so leng

olliebearman stop this madness

scuderiaferrari Complimenti Ollie 👏

olliebearman grazie mille team !

yn.fm @olliebearman stop pretending you can speak italian on main

olliebearman @yn.fm you're about to get blocked

yn.fm

liked by flolikethis, alferdoflores and 980.421 others [tagged: olliebearman]

yn.fm nonsense video out tomorrow starring my favourite boy ever !!!

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user98 the highway is looking rlly comfy rn

olliebearman i caught the l-o-v-e

yn.fm so corny

olliebearman ??? they're your lyrics

yn.fm no ❤️

olliebearman am i your favourite actor as well ?

yn.fm not you thinking you can top ryan gosling

olliebearman 😞

yn.fm

liked by renee_downer, dennis_hauger and 875.385 others

yn.fm yk i luv a london boy !! uk tour starts tonight 😎

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olliebearman actually i'm from essex

yn.fm 'actually i'm from essex' 🤓☝️

olliebearman the british slander was a bit unnecessary

user68 i'm so excited to see you tonight xx

yn.fm i can't wait to see your cute faces my loves 🥹

formula2

liked by kimi.antonelli, roynissany and 57.998 others

formula2 Bearman to receive post-Feature Race time penalty at the #BritishGP.

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yn.fm booo you whore

user15 ariana what are you doing here ??

user66 LMAOO Y/N ON YOUR PUBLIC ACCOUNT ???

user98 @user66 her pr team must be so tired

yn.fm literally underserved

user39 so real of you

user07 so sad about ollie's penalty, on his home race as well :(

olliebearman

liked by prema_racing, nyckdevries, and 78.054 others

olliebearman i wish this weekend would've ended on a better note, but i'd like to thank everyone for the support there ❤️

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yn.fm so happy that i got to see you do what you love at your home race 🫶

yn.fm you were perfect ilysm

olliebearman love you ❤️

olliebearman

liked by clementnovalak, jakcrawford_ and 178.652 others [tagged: @yn.fm]

olliebearman happy one year to the most beautiful, hardworking and kind person on earth. here's to many many many other summers with you my love

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yn.fm I LOVE YOU SO MUCH ARGH

olliebearman i love you more 😁

paularon_ @olliebearman eww

yn.fm my swiftie bf

olliebearman you basically brainwashed me into a swiftie but okay

yn.fm

liked by oliviarodrigo, lissiemackintosh, and 1.003.581 others [tagged: olliebearman]

yn.fm happy anniversary to my lover, i'm so happy our paths crossed because i don't even know what i would do without you !! i love you more than words can say 🫶

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olliebearman my pretty girl !! i love you so much ❤️

yourbsf @olliebearman can i get her back now

olliebearman @yourbsf maybe tmrw

yourbsf @olliebearman it's been a week bearman 😐

olliebearman @yourbsf joint custody is so complicated with you

yn.fm @olliebearman @yourbsf HELLOO ??

[killlavendr]

Updated teen Sev headcanons!! (Minor mental health issues TW idk??)

- He is 75% Chinese and around 8% British and 8% Irish. Tobias is half Chinese half white/British, and Eileen is Chinese and was born in Ireland. Severus was born and raised in the UK tho. He has a very very subtle Irish accent along with his British one, but it grows weaker over time

- he isn’t insomniac but does find it hard to sleep sometimes - also just had a tendency to stay up late reading or doing homework or experimenting with potions and spells

- hair gets greasy quickly after washing it, he finds it really annoying. He showers regularly at school but because of his naturally greasy hair and oily skin, and yellow teeth due to childhood neglect and depression he’s teased for being unhygienic

- after his fallout with Lily he had this whole self loathing period along with worsened depression that caused him to be tired all the time and to withdraw farther socially. He’s hostile towards people he associates with people he doesn’t like even if he barely knows them, and is generally really bitter and sad

- Also I headcanon he got takotsubo cardiomyopathy during this time, and it took a long time to heal afterwards. Genuinely extraordinarily suicidal from like 13-the day he dies. Tested out sectumsempra on himself in the process of making it, and has a tendency to dig his nails into his skin hard when embarrassed. This man is MISERABLE 😁!!! Bro CANNOT catch a break

- He has light acne

- during around mid year 6 he genuinely stops caring about what he looks like and gives up being insecure over things he can’t change

- He’s pretty scrawny and weak lol

- I hc him to be pretty tall, looking like a long lanky snake. Like around 5’10

- Demisexual and Demiromantic but as an adult gives up on romance and doesn’t really desire it or care about it

- As he got older, around 15-16 he stops being physically abused by Tobias for the most part but the verbal abuse doubles down. MAJOR L

- spends as little time in the house as possible, feels guilty about leaving Eileen alone with Tobias

- platonic or romantic it doesn’t matter, Lily is Sev’s favorite person and after ruining things with her he is in like a limbo state for like a week😭

- bites his nails - he stops doing it at 24

- two toned, brownish lips. He has a strong jaw and long face

Yeah that’s all tho yay

[paulic]

Ok this is what I think the biopics will be like for each Beatle:

John will be so troubled but in a really charming way and Julian will be mentioned but briefly and they’ll make it seem like John was just too busy to be a present father (Paul will make up for it in a vomit inducingly cheesy way). His eating disorder, heroin addiction and other internal struggles (self-esteem, sexuality, maybe even gender,…) will go unmentioned or brushed over jokingly like haha he tossed Brian off, don’t we all at that age. He’ll be the cool and funny older brother & later genius who just couldn’t be confined within a band. They won’t have the guts to call his bullshit and therefore will automatically brush over his kinder and vulnerable sides. He’ll be reduced to a knock off version of the tortured artist blueprint. They’ll never pick up on his pathetic wet dog vibe

Paul will be the charming good guy who’s all in with the band. No mention of how he fucked over Jane and every other girl until Linda; he’ll be a musical genius, too, but in a prince of the people sort of way. They’ll loooove that he stopped eating meat, woke king!!!! Linda will be brushed over by making her into his soulmate wifey who finally helps the charming playboy with a heart of gold settle down. His depression and alcohol problem won’t be mentioned/reduced to feeling a little sad. He’ll be a little bossy sometimes but they won’t ever get it right how fucking annoying he could be. Straighter than a ruler. John’s brother, almost biologically. No homo. They’ll find a way to make the twink who fucked the entire population and had an ego bigger than Neptune into a straight feminist

George will be the indie underground smart Beatle and people on tik tok will start posting thirst traps of the actor with the caption “they don’t make em like this anymore” and then complain about real-George’s teeth. He’ll be so spiritual and smart and he won’t have an affair with his best friend’s wife at all and if he does it’ll be because of some spiritual insight, not because that man couldn’t keep it in his pants for 5 seconds. I’m deadly afraid of the colourful drug scenes where he’ll hallucinate god. He’ll be the perfect boyfriend and Pattie will be played by Sidney sweeney or something. They won’t take a side with the whole George Or Paul debate during the breakup, but George will be too focused on other things to want to stay in the Beatles. They won’t mention the three billion songs John&Paul deemed unworthy. They’ll never do the grudges my man held justice. No one could

Ringo will be the funny guy who luckily survived his childhood and found his passion through a kind nurse giving him his drumsticks. He’ll play an incredible drum solo at 8 years old on his hospital bed frame the first time he ever holds those sticks. He won’t be in gangs, he won’t beat his wife half to death, he won’t have drugs and alcohol problems. He’ll be peace and love from age 0. He’ll be slightly stupid and he’ll mention octopuses too much. They’ll never get it right how he was truly the eldest and how much his vote and opinion actually counted within the band and how much the boys wanted him in the band and admired him. He won’t be a sort of glue to the band. He won’t marry a teenager he met when she was 16 and he 22. He’ll be a weird version of Ken from the Barbie movie, his job will be Drum. They’ll flatten a severely nuanced and layered man to a sheet of paper with the word ‘beat’ on it

I am too afraid to even think about what they will do to Eppy

Oh and each and every one of them will have way too pretty teeth and I am already furious. I want them to have British men in the 1960s teeth. Give me British teeth and jerking off together

[w2soneshots]

Train -George clarkey

words: 0.7k+

warnings: none.

summary: you create conversation with a cute British boy after the train your both on breaks down.

notes: hi! I’ve had some people ask for a George fic and I’m also majorly crushing on him rn so here we are🫶🏼. I’m not sure how I came up with this idea but I love it! Enjoy🤗💘

I spent my day running errands and was just about to get on my train home when I spotted a good looking man who seemed to be around my age. I admired his brown hair, blue eyes and how tall he was. Since it was pretty late there weren't loads of people on the train meaning it was only me, the mystery man and a few others in the cart.

I took a seat then got my headphones out of my bag and popped them on so I could listen to some music and relax. After almost twenty minutes the train abruptly came to a stop. I furrowed my brows.

Suddenly a woman's voice was heard through the speakers as she announced that they were having some technical problems but not to panic.

After a few minutes the woman's voice could be heard again telling everyone that they were working on the problem but that it could be a while before we start moving again. I sighed deeply, removing my headphones and looking around.

My eyes locked with the mystery man I'd seen earlier. "Is this a sign that we're meant to meet?" My delusional mind thought. He stood up, walking towards me. My heart began to race.

He sat down opposite me. "Hey. I'm George." He began. I smiled lightly. "Hello George. I'm y/n." It was silent for a moment before he spoke again. "You on your way home?" He asked. I nodded. "Yeah, are you?"

The conversation continued to flow as we spoke about our lives. He explained his job to me and that's when I realised that I'd seen him on tiktok before. "Wait, were you the guy with a beep in his garage?" He chuckled. "Yeah, I was." "Ah! That's why you looked familiar. I remember being really invested in you finding it."

He cleared his throat after a little while. "So do you have a boyfriend?" I shook my head with a light sigh. "Nope. Do you have a girlfriend?" "No," Relief washed over my body. "Could I get your number then?" He asked. I smiled. "Sure. Pass me your phone." I typed in my number then gave it back to him.

He slipped it back into his pocket with a quick "thanks." Then he spoke again. "So, where do you live?" "London." I replied, getting comfy in my seat. He smiled. "Oh, same! Whereabouts are you?"

It turns out we live just five minutes from each other. My mind was racing by this point. I'd just met this cute guy, we're stuck on a train that broke down, we live super close and he's funny. I couldn't believe my luck.

After almost an hour the train began to move. A smile spread across both of our faces but secretly we were really enjoying each other's company and slightly sad that the conversation was about to end. As the train approached our stop we both stood up.

"Well, it was nice to meet you George." I said as we now stood outside of the train station. "Yeah you too. I'll call you." He replied sweetly. We shared a quick hug then went our separate ways.

Once I got home I called my friend. "You'll never believe what happened!" I exclaimed as she answered the phone. "What?" She asked inquisitively. "I met the cutest guy! The train we were both on broke down so we started talking and he asked for my number." "Oh my god! What does he look like?"

I searched "garage beep guy" into tiktok and his account immediately popped up. I clicked on the link to his instagram then told her the username. "y/n! He's adorable! Wait is he famous or something?" "He's like an influencer I think. He has a podcast, he does tiktok and youtube." I replied.

The next day I woke up to a message from an unknown number. It took my brain a second to register who it was from. The text read; "Hey, it's George from the train yesterday." "Hi :)" I replied quickly. "I was wondering if you wanted to meet up sometime for a drink?" He asked. I smiled slightly at my screen, suddenly exited and quite surprised that he'd actually texted me in the first place. "Sure, I'd love that."

[mwolf0epsilon]

Welp! I found a new Henry related detail to despair over!

I was having a look through some behind the scenes stuff and model series episode galleries to get a clearer picture of the designs and scales of certain engines, when a trip through the gallery of 'The Sad Story of Henry' gave me some pause...

I was looking at the original model series rendition because it has some of the best surly looking expressions for Henry (accentuated by the obviously aggravated steam clouds), when I noticed that the two CGI remakes of this particular event were right under the originals.

I didn't really give this much thought until I recognized one of the images as also being in the firemen listings (which I'd been perusing previously to get a vague idea of what Sidney Hever looked like, so that I could draw him with a mode distinct design rather than all Drivers and Firemen looking the same like in the shows).

According to the wiki this is Ted, Henry's fireman. He was the one tying a rope to Henry so that people could attempt to pull him out of the tunnel.

And at first I thought: "Oh that's cool! It seems that in terms of crew, while Thomas interacts more with his driver (Bob), and Edward with both his driver and fireman (Charlie Sand and Sidney Hever), it looks like Henry's fireman is the one who interacts with him most (which makes sense, he gets more characterization than Henry's driver and is even the one to realize what Henry's actual issue is and even pleads with the Fat Controller to get special coal to make things easier on him)."

Just a cool neat little detail right? Right? Here's where I realized something was off about this scene:

@british-hero offered to look at this one scene with me so we could have a closer look... Which is when we both realized Ted looks... A little uncomfortable. He looks like he's smiling at a glance, but it's tight and clearly not a happy smile.

And then when he's done tying the rope...

It's a blink and you'll miss it thing, but he's clearly not in agreement with this plan. He doesn't give a thumbs up to signal they're ready to go, or even call out that they can start pulling. Ted looks apprehensive about forcing Henry out of the tunnel...

That's the face of a man who knows doing this will just make Henry double-down on his decision to stay put, but no one is listening to him.

And this is just the recreation in 'The Adventure Begins'. There is yet another recreation of these events, this time retold by Henry himself... And surely enough Ted features in it again. But the way he appears left Rogue and I gutted...

Right at the right, at the very edge of the bloom effect, you can see Ted standing there looking concerned as he watches the workmen wall in Henry...

He's not helping them at all. He's stock still looking at Henry. Which is followed then by this:

HE CLIMBED OVER THE WALL TO COMFORT HENRY, OH MY GOD... He is literally refusing to take part in walling him in. He's just there to comfort his engine...

Again, I remind you, this is Henry telling the tale instead of Edward. Henry vividly remembers this happening. He remembers his fireman being there for him. And if that wasn't a gut punch already, when the scene begins to fade Ted looks down sadly...

I am unwell...

[ladylaviniya]

Wails of Wedded Bliss

Chapter 6 || Masterlist || Chapter 8

Chapter Summary: Upon meeting the Baroness you are enamoured by her devotion.

Pairing: Sherlock Homes x wife!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, (No Smut), typical historical misogyny and sexism, mentions and discussion on miscarriages. Implied domestic abuse and infidelity.

Word Count: 9k

Author Notes: This is an important but rather sad chapter. I beseech you all to read the warnings. The details of this chapter are important to the plot of the missing Baron Thaddeus Pennicott.

Inspiring Song: "Flightless Bird American Mouth" by Vitamin String Quartet

8:30am Wednesday 7th May 1890, Grovelands House, The Bourne, London, England. 

Sherlock tucked your arm into his side as you three entered the Groveland house foyer. The floor was made of fine marble tile and with ever step a light echo raced down the halls.

The inspector called upon a nearby dusting maid to fetch the head of the house. Who returned was a thin and tall man in a butler’s uniform with a sliver pocket watch hanging from his chest. His hair was the colour of autumn leaves and his face littered in freckles.

He bowed, “I am mister Edward Redmayne, head butler of the Groveland estate, how may I assist you?”

The inspector shook his hand and stated quickly, “We spoke on the telephone yesterday? A telegraph was sent.”

The butler smiled with a relieving gasp, “Detective Holmes?”

Lestrade sheepishly looked over his shoulder to you and your husband. He nodded. His expression wore a emotion of embarrassment mixed with annoyance. Perhaps he was jealous of your husband’s successful published case stories. You wished you could have told the constable not to fret as Sherlock was nothing short of a arrogant mule...yet again- the mark on his face...he probably already knew that.

8:42am Wednesday 7th May 1890, Grovelands House, The Bourne, London, England. 

Upon meeting the lady of the house, you stood frigid by your husband. You felt somewhat self conscious by her grey eyes that lingered over your dress. Perhaps you should’ve worn your Sunday best before meeting a woman of such a high status.

The baroness was unmistakably pregnant. Her belly was bold and rounded beneath her maternity gown. She had been sitting calmly on a resting chaise, knitting a small bonnet for her future child. Her hands were covered in fine burgundy velvet gloves to match her modest dress.

Her face was framed by a light brown curls, that appeared almost white in some places, twisted into a bum at the base of her neck. Her pale face was blotchy with pink flecks and slight acne.

“Lady Pennicott, I am Inspector Braydon Lestrade of Scotland Yard,” the British officer proclaimed as he bowed dramatically forward. You withheld a girlish giggle by how low the man had bent his head and presented himself foolishly, and from the corner of your eye you manage to catch the whisp of Sherlock’s smirk.

The inspector waved his arm behind him and moved aside, “-and with me is Detective Sherlock Holmes and his wife, Mrs Holmes.”

You produced the baroness a respectable curtsy, your eyes glued down to the beautifully patterned carpet. You wondered how the servants could keep it so clean and freshly unstained by dirty guests. It must have been new.

The baroness shuffled her knitting needles and ball of woollen yarn into a Whicker basket and disposed of it beside her.

A slow stretching smile graced her thin lips as she spoke to you, “Oh, are you the little dear who solved that factory match girl incident?”

You weren’t sure how to answer her question. You weren’t entirely sure what the baroness was referencing until Sherlock stepped closer with your arm still cradled in his.

“No dear Baroness,” Sherlock pat your hand gently, “That would have been my sister Enola Holmes, she has her own detective office at present moment. My wife is here on my invitation. I wished to gift her a sight of the grand park and estate while I was here upon duty.”

The Baroness cocked her head, from her ears hung pearls that swung and hung like rain drops.

“Come forth dear,” she lifted her hand and beckoned you, “I would like to have better view of you.”

You wondered if she could smell the sweat beginning to drop down the back of your neck. You bit your tongue and tried to refrain from trembling. You were nervous. Her eyes were cold but her smile warm, two conflating details that you couldn’t understand. The last thing you needed now on top of a terrible start to your marriage was to be scrutinized by a haughty pregnant baroness.

She flickered your fingers for you to bend down to her. As you leant down, you swore you could smell copper, a metalic scent. A vein on your scalp pulsed. She scanned your face of its details. You dared to wonder what she was searching for. And then it clicked...the smell...

‘Dear god, you prayed, please don’t let her smell my blood, please let this not be my blood...’

You should have sprits on some perfume before leaving baker street.

She glanced behind you and questioned angelically, “How does it feel having such a clever husband?”

Your lips opened and closed. You resembled a fish. You were stumped to answer quickly.

‘Miserable, infuriating, torturous, pleasurable mixed with a cup of agony...’

She lifted her brows until you hurriedly blurted, “He is...formidable and righteous...” you stood up tall and took a step back, adding with a monetarism of truth, “I am very lucky to have become his bride.”

‘Lucky, while incredibly resentful.’

You reached back, Sherlock adopted your arm back into his hold once more.

Lady Pennicott rubbed her belly, her eyes started to twinkle, “And soon you will have a plethora of children that will look like him I gather.”

Your eyes fluttered. Sherlock’s hand tightened around your glove and his throat bobbed. You felt hot in the face.

Yes that’s right, that’s what normal husband and wife did isn’t it? They have children. That was your role, to be the mother of Sherlock’s offspring...

You couldn’t answer.

And there. That dear girl is when you questioned for the first time. ‘Is this what I want?’ and ‘Do I want Sherlock’s children.’ Because having a knowing of his barbarism conflated a fear in your belly...would Sherlock hurt his own children if he could easily hurt you, his wife?

When you hesitated for too long to answer her again, Sherlock said with a strained tone that was masked in a hopeful joy, “One may only hope, Baroness.”

“Lady Pennicott,” Graydon interrupted, “We have come to ask you on the whereabouts of Lord Pennicott and the evening he was last sighted.”

Her eyes narrowed at the inspector and with an annoyed twinge she muttered and wiped her hands on a nearby blanket, “I already informed the police of what I was informed of by our butler Edward.”

She glanced up next her right. Mister Redmayne observed her, looking down. The pair smiled to each other. She reached out to him. She grabbed his hand and they squeezed.

The inspector laughed nervously, “Indeed but Detective Sherlock Holmes was not presently involved in the case until yesterday.”

Her eyes flickered quickly to your husband and her face flared with confusion quickly to be matched with a impressed smile, “Of course, please sit all of you as I am near a indisposition with my child,” she gestured to the mirroring chaise and a chair beside the fireplace, “Edward, please tell Martha to bring tea and biscuits for our kind service men and Mrs Holmes.”

The butler bowed to you all and left the sitting room.

Lestrade took his place on the lone chair while Sherlock sat you beside him on the chaise. You took your time to lower yourself. Sitting on your bruises was uncomfortable while another cramp hit you. Your fingers dug into his palm.

From Lestrades breast pocket he pulled out a notebook and small pencil.

“Lady Pennicott,” Sherlock softly hummed, “Please, could you tell me what your husband is like as a person?”

The woman who you believed was in her late thirties smiled and stated softly, “My Thaddeus is a noble man, good taste in wine and very devoted to his work. He likes to go hunting and we share a passion for gardening,” she glanced up at the ceiling and paused, “He prefers to plant vegetables to donate to the church and orphans, whereas I have always loved to grow my flowers.”

The way she described him, her devotion was deep and honourable. She touched her round belly.

Sherlock looked over to the fire place behind the baroness. On the mantle was a magnificent portrait twice your height, painted on the canvas was who you recognised as Lord and Lady Pennicott. He was sitting up straight on a fine red cushioned chair with his dirty blonde hair and softened mutton chops while she stood at his right and her ringed hand on his shoulder. The similarities were there but Lady Pennicotts hair had lightened in reality perhaps from all the years that separated her likeness and her reality.

“I was informed Lord Pennicott is a father of five?” Sherlock asked.

The Baroness smiled proudly and pat her tummy softly, “Six soon.”

You couldn’t help notice something was missing from the painting, Sherlock also had a similar thought.

Where were the children in the portrait? Where was a family portrait in the house?

“Forgive me,” a breath of air escaped from him, “are the children away at school?”

“Oh,” her uncanny smile remained while her brows angled down, her throat tightened as she spoke, “I fear they are in the loving embrace of angels now. All of them were taken from us by God,” her eyes glanced to you, “They came out sleeping.”

Your heart sunk to the pit of your belly with sorrow and pity.

Five babies lost, five babies gone…five pregnancies… four and a half years of pregnancy and for what? Five angels.

A woman had one holy role in life, to bare her husband children, and when a woman was defective or produced a sickly child, it was a symbol of failure in society. But you never saw it that way...you imagined it must’ve been agony to lose so many babies. One or two was a common occurrence but five? Five was a curse to experience and relive over and over.

“Well,” you interrupted Sherlock rudely, cutting him off from his next abrasive question by squeezing his hand a little too hard.

You could see the mourning in the baroness’ face. You saw the classic look of all women made uncomfortable by something a man has said. What the hell would the detective know about a woman’s emotions after how coldly he has treated all women and yourself.

You shuffled on the opposite chaise and smile softly, “I will pray this one will come swiftly and feel the warmth of their mother.”

The baroness’ face lifted and warmed. She smiled happily and nodded, “Thankyou, oh I’m just so excited! This one really is a big one, I can feel it. I hope it’s a boy.”

Sherlock was staring at you intensely as the maid Martha finally delivered a pot of tea and poured the steaming liquid. His brows were knitted and his eyes held suspicion as he kept you in his sight. You politely nodded your head once at him before reaching for a hot cup and lifting it to your lips.

Sherlock sighed and turned back to his questioning, “You would say you liked your marriage?”

The baroness appeared offended by your husband as her face wrinkled and a sneer spread her thin lips, “Of course, any woman who doesn’t like her marriage should not be married in the first place. She is a burden to her husband if she cannot perform her duties as a wife.”

Lady Pennicott leant forward and collected her own cup of tea, she delicately pinched a biscuit and dunked it into the contents.

…you felt Sherlock drag his thumb across your fingers. You felt chilly, could he read your thoughts? Did he know truly how much you already hated him and his ideas of intimacy in your marriage? He clear his throat when both your glancing eyes caught each other.

“Can you tell me what happened,” Sherlock pressed, “The night of your husbands disappearance?”

“Well...after dinner,” the baroness sighed in thought and nibbled on her moist biscuit, “Thaddeus wanted to speak with me in his office about a spending I had made a week ago. You see, I had bought a cradle for the nursery. The one we had originally was broken and beyond repair, we disposed of it a month prior. Thaddeus was not pleased with the price and claimed it was an unnecessary purchase,” she paused and set her cup aside before she touched her belly again; rubbing in soft slow circles, she began to blushed, “He was sorely hurt by my choice. He then became very cross with me and left his office in a huff.”

She looked to the yarn, to the tea pot and then finally to the painting on the mantle, “I deemed that he would find forgiveness in his heart by the morning and brush it off. I returned back to the nursery to tidy up before I went to my rooms and went to bed to sleep in my quarters of the east wing. Thaddeus keeps himself to the west wing most nights.”

The detective nodded, “What time do you believe it was when you went to your bed, Baroness?”

She hummed softly while pursuing her lips, “A quarter to nine in the evening.”

“And how did you realise your husband was missing?” Sherlock stole a scone off the tea tray and lifted it to his lips. He paused amidst chewing it slowly.

The noble woman sighed and recollected, pragmatically, “In the morning Mr Redmayne informed me on how Thaddeus took off into the night astride Arion, our prize stallion Clydesdale. Thaddeus had not returned by the next morning and that is when concern drew near. I sent members of my staff to the factories to investigate his whereabouts and none had come upon him. I knew something had to be wrong so I alerted the authorities by the second morning.”

Your husband took a deep breath and discarded the half bitten scone, he wiped his hand unceremoniously on his jacket and throatily asked, “Do you recall if Lord Pennicott has any potential persons he might be deemed as an enemy towards?”

“Only his company competitors, Detective,” She said saccharinely with her smile, “He was a very loveable man.”

“Do you have a list of the names of staff who were working that evening here in Groveland House?”

The butler stepped forward and cleared his throat, “That would be in Lord Pennicotts office,” he pulled out a pair of keys, “I can you show you gentlemen in and where he keeps his accounts and other paraphernalia to his business if you’d like?”

Both Sherlock and Lestrade smiled and stood up.

“Baroness,” Sherlock gently requested, “Would it be overly bothersome if my beloved wife remained and kept you company while the inspector and I look in your husband’s office.”

Your heart jumped to your throat. What was Sherlock doing leaving you behind with the Baroness by yourself!?....what if you spoke out of turn or said something too presumptuous for your status!?...

“Most certainly not,” she beamed “I will gladly accept such delightful company,” She held out a hand, palm down to her right. The butler speedily stepped to her side and leant her his hand. She winced as she scooted forward on the cushioned lounge before struggling to rise to her feet.

Sherlock leant down and kissed the back of your wrist again, so scantily in front of the baroness. You tried tor refrain from loudly gasped and bringing anymore dangerous attention to yourself. Your husband left your side and followed the butler with Lestrade out of the sitting room.

So the party turned to two married women. The baroness was pleased.

She stepped closer to you and reached for your arm. You were surprised by her familiarity but you would not deny the assistance of a woman so desperately swollen and ready to birth any day.

“My dear, would you care to have a stroll with me in my garden?” She smirked and jerked her chin, “Knowing how dear Thaddie kept his space organised I suspect the gentlemen might be a while.”

You nodded and quickly made the warning assurance, “Are you in a condition to move great feets Lady Pennicott?”

“Fret not,” She giggled girlishly and waved her hand casually, “The physician told me fresh air is delightful for the health of the babe,” she tapped the top of her belly, “I have a month or so before they come.”

Your eyes widened, she looked huge enough to give birth now, surely she wasn’t a month away!! Maybe she was going to be blessed with a pair of twins. You had such a limited knowledge of pregnancy in women. Your grandmother hadn’t given birthed a child in the last forty years before your birth!!!

She pointed the way out of the main mansion to enter the garden paths. The sun was perfect today amongst the clouds. It was neither cold nor hot nor humid and dank...it was pleasant and you could smell the fresh nature of bushels and flowers.

“How long have you been known as, The Mrs Holmes?” She inquired cheerfully with her shining silver eyes.

“...Not very long,” you replied warmly before risking a white lie, “We recently finished our honeymoon.”

She grinned and waddled passed a wooden bench, she took a quick stop to rest and pat the seat for you to join her instead of standing dumbly.

“Shall I share some words of advise?,” She hummed, “From a woman that has been married for twelve years?”

“I would be ever so grateful,” you said rushed and desperate. You wouldve listened to anything she had to say. A woman of her standing must’ve held adequate wisdom.

She warmly cupped both your hands and squeezed them. And yet there was an ice creepy into her gaze. She appeared to dissociate, her voice losing its youthful lilt. Her lip wobbled slightly.

“Men are visual creatures. While you are so young and beautiful, you must become pregnant as soon as possible,” Lady Pennicott ran her palm across your waist, her eyes like razors cut across the yard to a bush of red rose buds, “It is inevitable that our husbands will stray their gazes to other women, it is in their nature,” those grey stones in her face rolled back and weighed you down, “as I said- visual creatures. The sooner you make a babe, the easier his devotion comes,” A joyous grin returned to her thin lips, she playfully tapped the tip of your nose and stated, “Trust me upon this.”

You clenched your hand behind you and strained a smile, “I thankyou for such wise words Baroness. I will endeavour to do what I must to conceive.”

At this moment in time Sherlock had proved himself a monstrous villain. Would it be possible for you to fall pregnant?

You looked out at the divine lush greenery and exhaled softly.

“Do you garden Mrs Holmes?” the baroness queried.

You chuckled softly and removed your gloves, you flashed her a sight of your palm, “I am afraid my hands have never been introduced. My grandmother preferred I focus on mastering piano and embroidery.”

The grey orbs fluttered back at you with a surprised him, “Embroidery is a lovely skill,” she pat your hand and pointed across the field, “Please help me up Mrs Holmes, let us take a look at my lilacs.”

You stood straight up and leant out your arm, she was surprisingly light for a woman her size. She leant against you and took small timid steps to her flower patches.

She stood and admired the flower patches, pointing to different types and explaining the breeds of flowers she hoped to grow in the future.

You finally bent over enough and cupped the petals of purple to hold up to your nose and took in a wiff “They smell lovely,” from the corner of your eye was a line of crimson, “I see your roses will soon be in bloom.”

She pinched a bud that was peaking to bloom soon.

“Oh yes, the soil is rich and healthy,” she giggled, “I can’t wait for Thaddeus to return, he liked the roses. He would stand here for a while and think. I know he will love the red colour. It is his favourite shade you see...” She sighed dreamily with her eyes scanning the bushes of scarlet rose buds, “I miss him terribly. I hope he’s alright. I want him to come home soon before the baby arrives.”

A fly smacked into your eye and you sputtered, battering it away. When you gracelessly composed yourself, you stood back up to your feet beside the Lady of Groveland.

You could see how her eyes puddles with droplets of mournful tears. You felt bad for any woman that did not know where her husband was. Especially if there was a rumour about him fleeing the marriage and abandoning her in her serious pregnant condition.

Taking the chance, you boldly took both your hands into yours and now squeezed them. Another buzzing from a fly sat on your shoulder.

The day was growing warmer and a bead of sweat rolled down your neck. The fly tickled your neck and suckled along your salted skin.

You tried your best to ignore the annoying creature.

“I am sure he will Lady Pennicott,” you soothed with a soft welcoming grin, “And he will be most happy when he returns.”

She sighed solemnly and glanced back at the rose bushes. You felt obligated for her happiness in that moment. Glancing back to the house you felt a opportunity come to you.

“May I visit your nursery Lady Pennicott, so I may have references for my own in the future?”

Her eyes flickered up, her face shine bright and her hand tightened over your wrists excitedly as though she was still as youthful as a school girl.

“Why of course Mrs Holmes,” she spun on her heel and wobbled a slight, she lifted her hand and called to the maid Martha still packing the china set inside, “Please inform the detective that I am taking his wife up to the nursery.”

“Yes Baroness,” she said with a humble curtsey and scurried off while Lady Pennicott took you totally inside the house and up a grand stair case from the foyer.

9:03am Wednesday 7th May 1890, Grovelands House, The Bourne, London, England. 

Up, up, up you both climbed the stairs. You noticed how the stairs didn’t bother her ladyship once, she was fit and stridden widely whereas you were breathing a little hard by the top step.

She pulled you down a hallway to a white painted door.

She excitedly opened the door wide and practically skipped inside to show you around her future child’s room.

The walls were covered in light blue and yellow paint. There were small peonies covering the trim of the room. There was no carpet but who needed one when you had a newborn.

“Welcome to the resting nest of my baby,” Lady Pennicott proudly exclaimed, spreading her arms out at the room around you.

There was a tall shelf filled with stuffed animals and teddy bears. There was a rocking horse, a doll house, spinning tops, tin cars and rubber balls all waiting, collecting dust, awaiting the arrival of a playmate. There was a permabulator by the window sill. There was a rocking chair in one corner and against the wall closest to the door- you smiled and swaggered over curiously, “Is this the cradle you bought?”

It was made of fine cream painted wood. You chewed your bottom lip in the thought. It was a lovely crib, why was Lord Pennicott so upset by such a delightful purchase? He didn’t have money issues. You put it down as that you didn’t understand the way men thought and men will never know what women think.

“Yes,” Lady Pennicott chirped, “it is from William Whitely department store in Baywater next to the Howard & Co dress department.”

The Baroness sat down into her rocking chair and slowly moved it back and forth, watching you admire the nursery she spent hours and years consistently curating.

You clenched the edge and looked over the railing down at the empty bedding. There was a teddy lamb in the corner, you pinched it’s fluffy white tail and sighed. For a brief moment you let your eyes close and your imagination wander far.

One day you’d have this...with Sherlock. An empty cradle to be filled. You caught the vision of a tiny hand squeeze around your finger and the sound of soft gurgles with the warm pressure of a hand on your waist...was that Sherlock’s hand? Was that your child?

One day you’d have a baby to care for, to provide these things that meant love...yet, was any child of Sherlock’s capable of love? He certainly wasn’t as far as you were concerned.

You bit down a shudder and opened your eyes, feeling hot tears glide down a cheek. You pushed back and sighed, “I am most confident on one thing Lady Pennicott.”

“And what is that Mrs Holmes?” she said softly, she could see the unspoken pain in your face. You swallowed hard and your face fell into a smile, you flashed her a wink.

You laughed softly, “Your child will be spoilt rotten by the love you give.”

She chuckled with you and nodded.

“Have you thought of a name?” you inquired, waltzing over to the chested drawers of baby knick knacks on display.

“Thaddeus Colin if it’s a boy,” she hummed, “or Theresa Grace if it is a girl.”

“Theresa?”

She giggled gently, “That is my name dear.”

Mrs Theresa Pennicott. It suited her. Her old soul eyes reflected her devout name.

A shine of glass pierced a ray of sun into your eyes, you pinched the glass object carefully. You touched a long black tube pulling out of it. You couldnt understand it’s purpose, your eyes narrowed at the rubber end that was shaped like a thumb or a cows udder. There was a second tube attached to the first with a rubber squeeze ball at the end.

“What is this?” you humoured.

“Oh that? It’s a fantastic invention,” The baroness said, “It’s a pump for breast milk with a tube that syphons the milk into this baby feeding bottle. When babies start to teeth they can scar your breasts. This is an effective and modern method I look forward to trying.”

Your eyes widened, scarring!? Babies teeth could scar a breast!?

You placed the bottle bump back and helped Lady Pennicott when she beckoned to stand back up from the rocking chair.

“Have you ever felt the sensations?” She suddenly, “In which they kick within?”

Your face must’ve looked idiotic as you asked plainly, “Kick?”

She giggled and nodded, “Give me your hand, perhaps you may feel them moving.”

She plucked your palm and pulled your glove off your fingers. She pressed your entire hand intimately to her belly. You felt a sense of taboo shame, she was making you touch such a beloved spot.

“Do you feel it?” she then asked.

Felt what? Confusion flooded your mind. Your hand moved around her belly slowly.

“I am afraid I don’t know what I’m meant to be feeling?”

She moved your hand and again you felt absolutely nothing.

“They are very brutal on my body,” Lady Pennicott sarcastically assured, “trust me there is a kick.”

She made a point to push your hand harder, but all you felt was the hard material of her corsetry beneath her main dressing materials.

“Baby’s kick you inside?” you marvelled with stunned horror. This was the first time you’d ever heard of such a notion of a baby beating it’s mother inside.

“Not out of malicious intent Mrs Holmes,” she reassured, “mostly it is the baby using its limbs to move their cramped bodies inside or excitement at the sound of voices, I truly believe they can hear us while still inside. Fear not, to you it will feel like a faint touch like this-”

Lady Pennicott softly tapped your wrist, “Like that.”

And there again was new knowledge you heard from a woman on matters of pregnancy. You moved your fingers around, seeking the supposed feeling of a kick...

Still nothing. You frowned, was there something wrong with you that the baby was choosing not to reveal itself.

“How interesting...”

A soft knock on wood alerted you both to glance at the door.

“Mrs Holmes,” the butler from earlier politely spoke, “the detective is requesting your return, I believe he intends to depart.”

Your face fell. You couldn’t believe it but you’d found this experience immensely enjoyable. You had surprisingly made a friend of the Baroness.

The fair lady hugged your side and sweetly exhaled, “Then I shall escort you back to your husband, Eddie fetch me my cheque book.”

He nodded and walked ahead of you both. You solemnly shut the nursery door, trying to remember every precious detail as possible. It was a innocent place to escape from the crude world.

You returned to the bottom of the foyer and smiled at your husband that stood by Lestrade at the front doors.

By the bottom step you faced the noble woman and curtsied.

“Thankyou Lady Pennicott for your kind hospitality and agreeable cooperation to the case,” you heard Sherlock’s voice float over your shoulder.

“Of course detective, please,” the Butler returned with her cheque book, “find my beloved Thaddeus.”

She scribbled speedily with a modernised ink pen, a sharp tear of paper flashed to his direction, “Here. Thirty pounds. I am sure you are busy with other clients considering your reputation, but I beseech you to seek out my husband quickly.”

Sherlock bowed his head as he deposited the cheque into his pocket, “We shall try our hardest. Good afternoon Lady Pennicott.”

Your mouth might’ve collected flies. Thirty pounds. THIRTY pounds. That was a hefty wage for a year to many men.

Sherlock was granted his coat and walking cane along with Lestrade.

He opened the front door and left slowly, glancing over your shoulder back at the heavily pregnant Baroness.

9:21am Wednesday 7th May 1890, Grovelands House, The Bourne, London, England. 

Sherlock and you walked up the gravel path in silence for sometime. You weren’t in much of a mood to speak to him despite well knowing conversation would need to spark eventually.

The three of you slowed down beside the inspectors horse cart.

Thankfully it was Sherlock who destroyed the silence with a stretched sigh. Lestrade grimly smiled at that sigh and rocked on his heels.

“Lestrade, show a useful skill,” Sherlock slapped a coin purse into his chest, “Find my wife and I a decent ride homeward. You still need to return back to the office and finish writing those reports on the Spring heeled Jack sightings....” he snickered.

The mutton chop male grumbled and left you pair alone to walk down the path into the main parklands to hail a cabriolet or another hackney carriage.

Sherlock pulled out his pipe and lit it quickly, he inhaled fast and asked curiously, “Did you learn anything else from our suspect?”

You squinted and felt a gasp pop from your lips, your hand snapped out and dug your nails into his arm with a scolding hiss, “Suspect? Look at the state she is in Sherlock. She clearly loves her husband. How could such a indisposed woman do anything to her husband?”

He smirked, “Perhaps a jealous one?”

Your brows pulled together. Jealousy wasn’t something you would’ve describe Lady Pennicott as especially with such a privileged life. Such an emotion wouldve been beneath her...but.. ‘It is inevitable that our husbands will stray their gazes to other women, it is in their nature.’

Sherlock pinched out a piece of card from his pocket, a business calling card, he flashed it through his fingers and let you carefully pluck it from his hand.

“it is no wonder Thaddeus Pennicotts name was so familiar,” Sherlocks huffed a puff of air, “He visits a like minded establishment.”

On the front of the card was a single image, a dove holding a olive leaf, and when you turned the card around there was a woman modelled in immodest clothing with text and an address in perfect hand writing.

“The Mayfair Row Dove club.”

You almost dropped the card in the mud at your feet.

He tucked the card back into his breast pocket and hooked his arm around yours, walking you closer to Lestrade waving his hands back at you both.

“I’m curious who his go to bird is there,” He chuckled.

You shook your head and scoffed in disbelief, “but she’s pregnant.”

“Men have needs,” Sherlock sighed, “I thought you’d have learnt that from last evening?”

Your nails dug harder into his arm and grit your teeth. Not everyone was as depraved as Sherlock, surely not. You couldn’t imagine Mycroft or your grandfather practicing such atrocities on women, especially women that weren’t their wives.

You noted snootily, “She said her husband liked to stand out by the roses to think. Perhaps he regretted his choice.”

Sherlock laughed cruelly and hard enough to almost drop his pipe from his lips. He plucked it out of his mouth and kissed you hard and squarely in front of Lestrade and any passing people that shook their heads in disgust at such public affection.

The taste of his tobacco filled your cheeks and floated down your throat into your chest. You could feel how his breath became your breath. Your head grew dizzy from it. His release left you trembling and collapsing against him briefly. His arm grabbed around your waist and held you totally against his chest.

“You see too much good in the worst people,” he whispered wetly into your ear.

“Not true,” you panted, you blinked your eyes hard and tried speaking again. You weakly pushed away from him back onto your own two feet. From the corner of your eyes you could see the inspector standing beside another hackney carriage.

“Not true,” you repeated and swallowed hard, “...I don’t see any good in you Sherlock.”

He grinned devilishly and walked you both to the carriage, He ignored Lestrade entirely except for retrieving his own purse.

“None at all?” Sherlock asked as he helped you step up inside of the carriage. It jostled as he plotted himself next to you instead of opposite.

You thought hard on his question for a time. You shouldn’t have ever been as petty as him. So you kept your silence before you could decide on a eloquent response. You did try to find the good in him. The trouble was you barely knew Sherlock and the side that you’d encounter was nothing short of a blagged, insufferable man that happened to be very experienced in the arts of the bedroom. So you tried to think about qualities you hadn’t seen in him but had at least heard of him.

“You help solve cases and even sometimes restitution, these deeds could be counted as decent and beneficial...perhaps good...”

He smirked until you finished hastily, “However your mistreatment and lustful addiction is nothing short of that than a person that suffers in his sin.”

A long annoyed sigh drew from his lips, however the corners jerked up.

He tug out his pipe and tapped it’s contents out the moving window, “Might I ask Mrs Holmes...” he inquired as he tucked in his pipe, and wiped his lips thoughtfully, “Do you think yourself better than me?”

The silence shared between the horses trotting along the cobblestones allowed you a chance to glare long and hard at Sherlock.

It was a jab, a jibe, a joke, a trick, a trap...

He wanted you to say yes... You could see it in his eyes the way they flicked to your lips and almost drooled with anticipation. He wanted to start a fight.

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking at you, you turned your head away and scoffed, “You may have quick wit and a expansive knowledge Sherlock, but I at least carry myself with the fairest morals.”

And that? The reply was granted a omen of Sherlock’s sickly chuckles and his heavy warm hand to sit over your thigh, running his them over the fabric of your skirts.

“We will see how fair a baker street whore morals really are when we arrive home then shall we?”

You leant against the wall of the carriage and chose to ignore him. You closed your eyes and held Sherlock’s hand to prevent it wandering anywhere else. His thumb rubbed along the back of your gloves hands.

You couldn’t understand Sherlock. And feared you never would.

HELPLINES:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

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[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

Honestly probably my number one pet peeves when it comes to how Stede is written and characterized in fics are when he's written like he's some innocent baby who doesn't know what sex is and would never say a swear.

And part of that ties into how he's written a lot like a sanded-down Aziraphale so often, just this sort of generic posh British voice. But Stede's voice is so much closer to Ed's than it is to that; if he stubs his toe he's more likely to say "oh shit" than "good heavens," y'know? Mr. Oh-Fuuuhuuuuck-Off!! over here is not shy about cursing.

Like, yeah, I'll buy that Stede has never had mutually enjoyable sex before. But when has lack of experience ever stopped this man before? You KNOW he's going up to Ed with all his little sexy ideas like "you ever tried fisting? Do you want to?" and Ed's just along for the ride. And if Ed approaches him about some kink he's never heard of before, Stede's reaction isn't going to be scandalized, it's going to be "oh, is that something you'd like to try? No time like the present :D"

I get so sad whenever fanon makes my guy into someone that doesn't fuck. He fucks. Let him fuck 😞