#this reminds me of the sherlock finale

[lopsidedspecs]

At 221B

[griseldabanks]

Once again, Foster Family AU and Cosmic Eclipse for the kick-in-the-pants writing ask but also Take Me Beyond too, please!

Foster Family AU: 117 words!

Shooting her an unimpressed look, Riza finally took a sip of her coffee. “And here I thought you might actually give me some encouragement.” “Hey, I meant it as a compliment!” “Really? Because here I thought you were just calling us all strange.”

Cosmic Eclipse: 152 words!

And there, quieter than his voice, but still easy for Sherlock to hear, a constant tapping noise. Like John was fiddling with the zipper or buttons on his coat, tapping his fingernail against them.... Three short taps, three long taps, three short taps. Dot dot dot. Dash dash dash. Dot dot dot. S.O.S.

Take Me Beyond: 108 words!

This was all he’d ever wanted. Just to be close to her, to hold her, and oh, he loved her so much, his heart was full of it, pounding fit to burst, rising up in his throat till he couldn’t breathe with how much he wanted this, wanted her, and…. He couldn’t breathe. Oh. He couldn’t breathe.

Kick-in-the-Pants Writer's Ask Game

[ukulelekatie]

I just revived my old iPod touch that I haven’t used since ~2013 after believing it to be dead dead for years and oh my god it’s like opening up an old time capsule. There are photos of me and my friends that I haven’t seen in years, taken in an old high school building that doesn’t exist anymore. I have games that are no longer downloadable on the app store. It’s running iOS 5 with the original skeuomorphism app icons. I still have the youtube app. My contacts app is full of maiden names and deadnames. The music app has songs I haven’t heard in almost a decade but still remember all the lyrics to. A daily alarm set for 5:30 AM (god I can’t believe I had to wake up that early in high school) and another set to 11:11 PM to remind me to make a wish. Reminders to finish homework assignments, or to write my application essay for the university I ended up attending, and one marking the release date for the final episode of Cabin Pressure. The last thing I googled was “how to draw people hugging”.

Possibly the strangest thing is that the tumblr app still opens, but it’s stuck in a permanent snapshot of 2013 where it won’t show me any new posts no matter how many times I refresh. My dash is full of old BBC Sherlock posts from long-lost mutuals who have either since deactivated or got unfollowed or changed urls so many times that I don’t even recognize them. Lady Gaga and Game of Thrones are the top trends. My profile shows my previous url and icon, with only 43 followers. I feel like a time traveler

[ignis--fatuus]

I hate hate hate Holmes adaptations that make him invincible Need I remind you:

"His words were cut short by a sudden scream of “Help! Help! Murder!” With a thrill I recognised, I rushed madly from the room on to the landing. The cries, which had sunk down into a hoarse, inarticulate shouting, came from the room which we had first visited. I dashed in, and on into the dressing-room beyond. The two Cunninghams were bending over the prostrate figure of Sherlock Holmes, the younger clutching his throat with both hands, while the elder seemed to be twisting one of his wrists. In an instant the three of us had torn them away from him, and Holmes staggered to his feet, very pale and evidently greatly exhausted." (Reigate Squires) "With this permission I stole into the darkened room. The sufferer was wide awake, and I heard my name in a hoarse whisper. The blind was threequarters down, but one ray of sunlight slanted through and struck the bandaged head of the injured man. A crimson patch had soaked through the white linen compress. I sat beside him and bent my head. “All right, Watson. Don’t look so scared,” he muttered in a very weak voice. “It’s not as bad as it seems."" (Illustrious Client) "Holmes’s quiet day in the country had a singular termination, for he arrived at Baker Street late in the evening with a cut lip and a discoloured lump upon his forehead, besides a general air of dissipation which would have made his own person the f itting object of a Scotland Yard investigation. He was immensely tickled by his own adventures, and laughed heartily as he recounted them." (Solitary Cyclist) "“My collection of M’s is a fine one,” said he. “Moriarty himself is enough to make any letter illustrious, and here is Morgan the poisoner, and Merridew of abominable memory, and Mathews, who knocked out my left canine in the waitingroom at Charing Cross, and, finally, here is our friend of to-night.”" (Empty House) "Well, he has rather more viciousness than I gave him credit for, has Master Joseph. He flew at me with his knife, and I had to grasp him twice, and got a cut over the knuckles, before I had the upper hand of him. He looked murder out of the only eye he could see with when we had finished, but he listened to reason and gave up the papers. Having got them I let my man go, but I wired full particulars to Forbes this morning. If he is quick enough to catch his bird, well and good. But if, as I shrewdly suspect, he finds the nest empty before he gets there, why, all the better for the government. I fancy that Lord Holdhurst for one, and Mr. Percy Phelps for another, would very much rather that the affair never got as far as a police-court" (Naval Treaty) ".... Of course I knew better, but I could prove nothing. I took a cab after that and reached my brother’s rooms in Pall Mall, where I spent the day. Now I have come round to you, and on my way I was attacked by a rough with a bludgeon. I knocked him down, and the police have him in custody; but I can tell you with the most absolute confidence that no possible connection will ever be traced between the gentleman upon whose front teeth I have barked my knuckles and the retiring mathematical coach, who is, I dare say, working out problems upon a black-board ten miles away...." (Final Problem) Plus he fought the boxer McMurdo (prior to the events of the Sign of Four) so he must have gotten hit then too

[ohnopeh]

i find it incredibly funny and telling seeing ian's reaction to mickey going to a hipster concert with his 'boyfriend'

he's there making faces and describing them looking at mickey as in 'this is everything you hate, are you for real?'

i love how his reaction is to laugh and not to feel jealous at mickey ''trying'' to ''fit in'' for the guy, cause he knows he's just doing that to keep the whole ''i've moved on'' thing going and byron. it also made me think how this is what ian did with his other relationships, trying so hard to be loved. he knows that doesn't work and that mickey isn't like that so he doesn't feel threatened by ian's poundland's version. but ian? ian had to listen to trevor's music, tried to be ''cool'' and go to the club cause trevor kept pushing himself over ian i'mnotafraidofanything gallagher.

i feel like ian's need to fit where people tell him to increased with s4 when he was maniac and away from his family. him being at the club, having ''regulars'' and parties (e.x. the one he went with mickey) he had this whole life that he didn't like but kept on shoving on himself cause he thought that's what he has to do to be loved. but then he's with mickey and s5 has him move on from that life as he's with someone who doesn't make him feel like he needs to try and pretend being someone else. s6 happens and the whole EMT is amazing but still, ian is still being used in ways (making caleb's father's angry + fucking a girl) so people want him just cause he fits with their needs and not what they can share together. its always ian giving to others. s7 with the whole trevor thing felt so awkward, he made ian feel like shit for not being up to date with every lgbtq term. trevor's group was basically this

despite that, ian was never enough. trevor kept telling him off and showing how cool and superior he is compared to ian. which is why i love how ian can see through mickey's bullshit, knowing that doing so its just trying too hard, not being genuine. its not what mickey and ian are. ''can't we just be ian and mickey?''

and i think that also reflects on s11 arc for them. ian wants to make the marrige work, he doesn't want mickey to regret it so he tries so hard, but by doing so they struggle to understand each others at first. they both want monogamy but a misunderstanding makes them both think the other wants to include people in their sex life. debbie and mickey point out that ian gets influenced by lip and that he doesn't have other friends. he thinks they seem it as something bad, something he needs to change. so what does he do? he decides that he and his husband are going to have gay friends and do the whole 'sex with others' thing. what's funny is that they both know they don't want that so what does ian do to convince mickey to tag along? he makes him jealous

''...who knows what will happen?'' and mickey sees through his bullshit

he's like ''are you really pulling this shit on me?'' so when he reminds ian what their decision was, ian tells him ''then i guess we should make some friends together.'' he tags along, they hang out with other gay people just like the ones trevor was friend with. but this time ian is comfortable saying that's not going to do it for him. but mickey? he's is a little shit and wants ian to learn a lesson so they stay till the night and all that shit. but THEN

they come back from the shitty hang out and mickey knows! he knows that ian finally understands. ian didn't have fun, ian didn't want to be with them, didn't want to force that lifestyle cause this time he's not with someone who's asking him to do that. ian even says

mickey's face is a clear ''no shit, sherlock.'' despite being himself with mickey, he's still struggling to accept that mickey wants ''all of the fucking versions of me.'' so he tries to force what he thinks will be the best for mickey, for them. which is also why he regrets getting the house on the west side after mickey's breakdown. he did sign the paper cause mickey was the first one to suggest checking it out, he knows that mickey deserves more than being a ''southside trash'' but he pushed it without giving mickey a chance to elaborate it. once ian finally realises that, he's willing to take a step back go back to where mickey is comfortable. this time though, mickey knows that ian is doing it for them and to show mickey his life is so much more than being what his father wanted him to become. and then the anniversary day? i have this headcanon that ian didn't say anything first because he wanted to check if mickey still cared about it, if he didn't regret getting married to ian. after a year together ian tried and 'failed' to make things work the way he thought they were supposed to be. is mickey still 'fucking crazy' for wanting that? so he waits, tries to remind him. they go to the alibi and ian has given up, he doesn't want to go out, he wants to go home and he's so desperate for mickey to remember their anniversary before the day ends. so he tells him but mickey reaction is anything but hurtful to ian. patting him on the shoulder and saying ''that's great.''

he must be thinking, 'this is the same person that fought so hard for us to get married, went all crazy over it and planned to kill his father for ruining it-- and now that we've hit the one year mark he's forgotten and just pat me on the shoulder?' cause ian knows what it feels like to be loved by mickey and he doesn't see it in that moment, he's scared.

the face he makes once he realises that he planned a big surprise for him, for them. for their love? its like he can finally breathe, they're okay, they're going to be okay. because they're ian and mickey and they love each other and go through everything together. ''thick and thin all that shit.''

and finally he knows he can stop trying so hard to fit somewhere he doesn't want to be, because he's loved for who he is, with all of his flaws that others made him think he wasn't worth the trouble. but just like ian makes mickey free, mickey himself makes ian feel free.

bonus 'mickey's ''no way i would forget about that'' expression.'

[turtleofdamascus]

Finally finished this fanart of Sherlock and Co that I've been working on the past few weeks! From this moment in The Blue Carbuncle episode.

My Sherlock is inspired by Dev Patel but he ended up looking a bit like Sergei Polonin. I see John as someone who looks a bit like John Finnemore bc his voice reminds me of that. Also looked a lot at @noodles-and-tea art which I love.

This podcast is giving me life Sherlock and John are so cute in it. I'm most impressed by the complex characterization of John and the portrayal of canon autistic Sherlock. I love how they're friendship and how soft it is. It actually seems like they get along a bit haha. Listen to Sherlock and Co podcast on Spotify! I highly recommend.

Bonus:

Okay so I think the box was unfortunately blocking John's feet so he looked really short. Made some alterations.

[pitchsidestories]

Arsenal Book Club || Katie McCabe x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1897

With a satisfied smile Kim Little oversaw the little group of players who decided to stay after the Arsenal afternoon training to participate in the first meeting of the club’s book club: “Great, I think we’re complete now that means we can start.” “We’re more people than I expected.”, Leah Williamson admitted genuine. Next to her Lia Wälti had an amused smile on her lips: “Me too to be honest. Although some of us are more present than others.” The Swiss midfielder could not help but to nod into Noelle Maritz direction who was deep asleep using the stacked books as pillows.

Out of breath but with a huge grin on her face Katie McCabe crashed the peaceful scenery: “Hi guys, I hope you didn’t start without me.” “Katie, you were the last person I expected to come here!”, stunned Vivianne Miedema looked at one of her closest friends in the team. Playfully offended the irish woman asked:” What’s that supposed to mean?”  “I’ve never seen you reading.”, the Dutch striker replied laughing.

You’ve been quiet so far, holding the book club pick in your hands but you’d never miss a chance to mock Katie so you interfered into the conversation with a challenging grin: “You can read?” “You two are so rude. I’ll sit as far away from you as possible but at least I brought the most important thing with me.”, the brunette said, a mischievous look on her face. Her expression made Jen Beattie chuckle:“ Your book?” “No, the wine, Jen!”, the Irish midfielder rolled her eyes. She lived for the drama. “So that’s why you’re here.”, Beth Mead exclaimed delighted.

Innocently Katie looked around her teammates: “Is not that what book clubs are all about? Good company and wine?” “And talking about books, Katie.”, Leah reminded her. The Irish woman threw a cocky smile in the direction of the English defender:” Did you finish a book for once, Leah?” “Of course, I finished it.”, the vice-captain mumbled although her blushed cheeks were telling the truth that she didn’t. Her schedule was just too busy.

Already slightly frustrated about the fact that the evening did not go as planned, Kim groaned: ”Can we start now?” “Yes, please.”, Lia agreed motivated while trying to ignore Noelle’s snore who got louder with each minute that was passing by. Relived the captain sighed: ”Thanks. Wait, Manu that does not look like our book club pick?” “It’s, it’s just the German translation.”, the goalkeeper explained. Sceptical Leah glanced at the Austrian:” Why would you read it in German?” “That way I can understand it better.”, Manuela Zinsberger told them, her cheeks burning red.

Katie changed the topic, holding up a bottle of wine and gesturing towards some glasses; “So who of the ladies wants wine?“ Before anyone could answer, she flashed you a flirty grin; “Does the bookish missus want a glass?“ “Katie! We didn’t even start discussing the book!“, you admonished the midfielder but couldn’t suppress a smile. “So?“, she retorted. Rolling your eyes, you finally gave in, in hopes that this would shut her up; “Okay, fine. You can fill the glasses.“ “Was that so bad?“, she grinned, filling the glasses and handing the first one to you. To your surprise, she did let you have a conversation about the book for some time, during which she made a point to look extra bored. At some point, she got up and excused herself. Vivianne followed shortly after.

At the door to the bathroom, the dutch player stopped her; “Katie, you didn’t really come here for the books, right?“ Katie stood in front of the sink, washing her hands and gasped in feigned shock; “How did you find that out, Sherlock?“ “The way you look at her, Watson.“, Viv replied, arms crossed in front of her chest. The Irish midfielder shrugged unimpressed; “And? What if I say yes? Will you kick me out of your book club?“

A small smile appeared on Viviannes lips; “No. But do you want some advice?“ “No.“, Katie answered quickly which made her team mate frown in confusion. But then Viv just shrugged and stepped in Katies place to wash her hands; “Alright.“ “I can do that without your help.“ “I know but maybe you should try to her hobbies seriously.“, Viv suggested casually.Katie gestured around herself; “I do. That’s why I’m here.“ “That’s cute for your standards.“, Viv smirked. “Shut up, Miedema.“

The smile on the dutch players face only grew bigger, knowing she hit a nerve; “Let’s go back to the others.“ “I thought you wanted to wash your hands for the rest of the night.“, Katie nodded in the direction of the sink. Vivianne turned off the water; “Only until you admitted why you’re really here. Thankfully I can read you like a book.“ “No, you can only read books like a book.“, the Irish woman answered. Vivianne ignored the joke with a shake of her head; “False.“ “No, I don’t have text all over me.“ “You’re such an idiot.“,Viv replied with a mixture of annoyance and fondness before following Katie out of the bathroom.

The striker glanced curiously at the teammates when she was sitting down:” What did we miss guys?” Kim sighed frustrated:” We started to talk about Jen’s love life instead of our recent read.” “We didn’t even finish Leah’s excuses on why she was too busy to finish the book.”, Beth teased the blonde teammate. “She’s really a busy girl.”, you hummed. Immediately Leah started to defend herself while pouting:”I am! It’s not my fault.”

Innocently Katie turned to you:” Maybe you should tell us how do you make time for reading while having a busy schedule aswell.” “Or we could keep talking about Jen’s dating dilemma.”, you proposed the idea with a wink in the direction, of the older Scottish woman.  “Or we could finally start talking about the book”, Kim added already feeling her evening plan going of the rails tonight. Slowly you agreed:” Yes, that is an option too.” “Sounds boring.”, Katie mocked you two.

A big smile was on Beth’s lips as she nodded:“Honestly, especially because Jen’s dating stories are always so funny.”  “I give up. Katie, can you give me some more of your wine`”, the captain groaned, hiding her face in her hands. Motivated the Irish woman stood up:“I’ll gladly do that!” “Thanks. Cheers to you all .”, Kim mumbled with a defeated smile. A wide grin was on Katie’s face: “Cheers, captain!”

“Tell us some of them, please.”, Meado begged. Smirking the Scottish defender reassured her:“Yes, don’t worry I’ll.” Jen loved to tell the stories, everyone in the team knew that and they loved her art of storytelling. Playfully she scolded Katie and Kim:” Shut up you two. We’re trying to have a conversation.” “Tell them about your date last week.”, the captain demanded. Happily Jen shook her head:“No, I might see her again.”  “Wait, what?!”, Kim blurted out in surprise. The defender laughed because of her long time friend’s expression:“You heard me.” “Really?”  

“That’s more interesting than the book, right`”, Katie leaned over to you with a cheeky grin. You rolled her eyes because of her comment: “Oh please.” “You can’t tell me, it’s not true.”, the Irish woman said. A small smile was on your lips while admitting:” Maybe I do enjoy a little bit of gossip here and there.” “I know you would.”, the midfielder triumphed. “You know that gossipy books exist too?”, you tried to remind her. “And what should they gossip about?” Confidently you told her:” I’m sure I could find a read for you which you could not be able to put down.”

“I’m sure you won’t be able to.“, Katie answered, shaking her head with conviction. You raised her eyebrows at her; “I disagree. We don’t live too far away from each other so maybe you can come with me after the book club ended and I can give you your book. The one that was just waiting for you all this time and you didn’t even know it.“ “Okay, fine. I’ll come with you.“, she answered faster than you expected. “Alright.“ Jen interrupted you two, calling for attention once again; “Guys, could you stop talking for a second. I’m here telling you my story.“

“Oh, you know, we were about to leave anyway.“, Katie grinned and drained the rest of her wine. You smiled apologetically at Jen; “Katie can’t wait to hold her book recommendation in her hands.“ “Pretty sure it’s not the book she wants to hold in her hands.“, Noelle mumbled with a yawn. “Oi, Noelle, we thought you were asleep!“, Beth yelled out in surprise. The Swiss defender grimaced; “That’s impossible with you all constantly talking.“ “That’s not true. You were sleeping at least in the beginning.“, Lia chimed in. The two Swiss players started discussing while Jen continued telling her dating stories and Kim rubbed the bridge of her nose in annoyance while you left with Katie.

To your surprise, your Irish team mate got a lot less annoying on your way back to your flat. You opened the door for the two of you and led Katie into the kitchen; “You can wait here and I’ll get you your next read.“ “Okay, I’ll wait.“ “Got it!“, you called from the living room when you finally found the perfect book and returned to the kitchen with it. Katie turned the book over in her hands; “Thanks.“ “You’re welcome.“, you smiled brightly. “So…“, Katie started as she carefully put the book down on the kitchen table. “Yes?“ “Now that we’re alone…“ The smile disappeared from your face but instead you gave your team mate a curious look; “Was Noelle right? That you’d like to…“ You couldn’t bring yourself to finish the sentence as Katie bridged the distance between you two. “I’d like to kiss you actually.“, she answered, more earnestly than she had been all evening.

With a challenging look you leaned forward; “Then what are you waiting for?“ “For you to give me the go.“, she explained, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Go on then.“ Without another word she pressed her lips on yours, kissing you passionately like it’s the only thing she wanted to do tonight.

When you woke up the next morning, you weren’t surprised to find Katie in your bed. You knew she stayed the night. What actually surprised you was the fact that she was reading in the book you gave her. “Wait. Am I still dreaming? Katie McCabe with a book in her hand?“ “It’s just for decoration. I’m trying to impress you.“, she replied fast but only reluctantly took her eyes off the page.

You smirked at that; “Yeah, it’s a pretty sight. But tell me is the model hungry?“ “Always.“, she laughed, so you got up, pulling an oversized shirt over your head and headed to the kitchen; “Breakfast will be ready soon.“ “I even get breakfast?“, the Irish midfielder asked in surprise. “Yes.“ “What a service.“, she teased.

You were just preparing the pancake better when you suddenly felt her strong arms around her waist; “I’m trying to cook here, McCabe.“ “Oh really?“, she laughed, her lips close to your ear. “Yes, or did you mean hungry in a different way?“, you asked. She replied by playfully biting the skin on your neck; “I meant it both ways.“

[epandoniah]

Now, I've been very consistently calling myself 'easily pleased' when it comes to television in general, most of all because I give having fun much more importance than actual plot integrity and structural consistencies and whatnot. All this to say, what we do in the shadows very successfully managed to completely destroy itself in my eyes.

Because, and here's the thing, I genuinely cannot make myself to call that finale, and the last season in general, 'having fun.' All the seasons before were actually very fun, even with their problems, but this one dragged on and on with no real point and episodes that bordered on boring. A lot of the characters became grating and annoying even if they weren't before. And, of course, there was the problem with Nandermo, which truthfully, has for a long time been the selling point of the show, and yet there was absolutely zero progress towards it, whereas previous seasons took great steps for it to be finalised.

But, a great finale has the power to save a season- and maybe that's why it was so hated. All last hopes for a rescue of that 'white bread with no crust' last season were placed on that episode, and whilst it was a fine enough piece of television, it completely failed as an ending to a six years long series which has been having terrible trouble in keeping itself relevant as of late.

Why did it fail? The real question is, how could it not? I definitely understand the appeal- I also enjoyed it much more than I did a lot of the other ones of the season. I enjoyed the references to the first one, the crude humour that so strongly reminds of earlier seasons and truthfully, better times. But as someone who has been here for the past three years, patiently watching the show and the not-so-subtle signs of something between Nandor and Guillermo, waiting for some sort of resolution, I feel, ironically, like Guillermo himself- Like I wasted my time.

The problem is not that Nandermo didn't become canon. The problem is that it had no resolution, no acknowledgement, nothing much more of a last word than sentimentalities and things which would be great for an ending of a season, if it wasn't the last one of the show. Truthfully, it all just felt like everything we have seen before, watered down, like the old documentary the vampires watched, except, this time, the butt of the joke was the audience.

All of this is made infinitely worse by the 'it was all a dream' alternative ending. Truly, the jokes write themselves- The laugh tracks. The whole notion that it's 'what the audience wants most.' Call me old, but, haven't we seen this exact same thing with Sherlock and Moriarty, House and Wilson, and so many others? Three time's the charm and by this point we can tell when we're being made fun of. This, is us being made fun of.

And for what, really? For eating what they, themselves, put on the table? For believing what they said? Is this an exercise in not trusting anyone? Because I genuinely feel like a child being made to fall backwards only to never be caught by the parent, so they can learn to never trust.

With Nandermo off the table, everyone else stayed pretty much completely neglected. Other than Nadja's newfound and impressive understanding of psychology, everyone was presented very little, mostly background noise to the lukewarm almost-ending of Nandor and Guillermo.

To conclude- this season, and this finale, were unfortunately, not very fun. I wish I could say they were, but they weren't, and this saddens me beyond thought, because I genuinely love this show.

There's a lot more to be said, but I genuinely just want to keep wwdits a fond memory, and not a sour waste of time. For me, wwdits has not ended, and never will- it will stay stabilised and unmoving like that, much like the vampires themselves.

Thank you for reading.

[bakerstreethound]

Congrats on 5 years! 🎉

Can I get a Sherlock fluff with Sherlock is awake first, hes looking at the reader with utmost love. But he wakes up the reader with kisses and nuzzles.❤️ I adore the way you write & I cant get enough of soft Sherlock🍓✨

Thank you so much for sending this in. I finally completed the story (I apologize for taking so long) I hope you enjoy it! There is a bit of light smut at the end so 18+ only.

Light in the Darkness

Summary: Waking up in Sherlock's arms is one of the highlights of your day, and he shows you how much he adores you; how grateful he is to have you in his life.

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound​ (Do NOT copy, repost, claim, or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)

Sherlock groans, wiping the remaining sleepiness from his eyes. Outside, the sun barely makes itself visible, the night holding fast to London, unrelenting in its grasp over the city. Sherlock yawns, reaching out to the other side of the bed, your sleeping form breathing softly lost in the throes of sleep. 

He smiles, his hand brushing softly along your side watching as you lean into his touch. Even your subconscious knows you’re at peace here with him and you snuggle further into him, allowing yourself a moment of extended comfort before reality pulls you into its clutches. 

Lips travel softly along your neck, the soft brush of curls following in their wake as gentle nuzzles replace the kisses, going back and forth simultaneously. A smile tugs at the corner of your lips and your eyes flutter open, met with the face of your husband looking at you with simmering eyes, half lidded, the sleep not fully leaving him, yet.

“Good morning to you, too Sherlock.” 

He melts against you, your fingers running through his curls, massaging them as he likes it, earning an appreciative groan. You continue at it, relishing in the soft noises he makes, not yet ready to let any of his cases take him from you. He looks content enough, his breathing slow and steady, much the opposite of your own when you wake up startled from nightmares.   

“That feels nice,” he gazes up at you eyes shimmering in adoration, overcome with unspoken emotions he can't fathom. It’s more than nice, something you could’ve conjured in a dream.

His arm laced around your waist pulls you impossibly closer, the feeling of his bare skin against yours a reminder of the night before, allowing you to admire the marks you left behind, mingled with the scars of a time long past you knew wouldn’t disappear from his skin, a permanent reminder of those times alone. But nothing like that will happen again, not with you by his side. 

You press a kiss to his cheek, pulling him from his thoughts, and what a sight you are, eyes wide looking at him with more adoration than he could possibly fathom. His hand reaches to you of its own accord, stroking your cheek softly.

You lean into his touch, his warmth kindling a spark inside you, firing into your heart, electricity rampant between you. He doesn’t want to look away, even as the sunlight barely parting through the ever-hanging fog beckons a new day, he doesn’t want it to begin.

He only wants to remain here with you for the moment, though his mind protests, his legs aching to run down the ramparts and alleyways of his beloved town. It will always be there for him. 

London isn’t you. 

And you are more than the city that soiled his name, his reputation, slandered him for a penny here and there to get the inside scoop. 

You are his, his to cherish and damn it you are one of the only ones he truly finds some semblance of the concept of love, the feeling of you next to him makes his head spin, fathoming the possibilities of how you both ended up this way together.

It is a bond of unbreakable trust between you, beautiful and understood looming and intertwined with truth. 

His forehead rests against your and you lean up into him, your arms wrapping around his neck, your hands carding through his beautiful mass of curls, twirling a rogue strand around an index finger. 

“You’re wonderful, Sherlock. What would I do without you?” Or, rather, what could you do to help his racing mind. His eyes dart back and forth, deeming to bury his face in your neck inhaling your scent.

What was he supposed to tell you?

This feeling inside him blooming further over the past year makes him nervous, even trying to voice how he feels won’t do it justice for what he can’t fully express. 

When his lips brush yours, his arms caging you to him, encompassing you in his safety and warmth, it’s all you can comprehend consume and breathe. It’s him all-encompassing and nothing more. Nothing feels more right than this moment. 

“Sherlock,” your voice falls from his lips in a perfect incandescent harmony, one he wants to breathe, to sing to create with you and you alone. 

Fiery desperation fuels the strength of his kiss drowning you further into the heat of his flames, the coolness of your water evaporating his lips in a breath of fresh air.

You don’t want it to end, despite the time, the hour, the plans for the day, all is obsolete and his hands brush under the seam of your shirt, slently asking for permission. No other words are needed, you welcome him without question, shivering as your form is revealed to him, inch by inch, each intake of breath anticipating his next move.

Lips grazing your neck, hands falling to your hips, stroking circles just so. Your hands dig into his back, clinging to him like a lifeline, not daring to let go.

His body pressing against yours, groaning at the friction makes you shiver in anticipation. The full feeling of his skin against your laid bare to him is nothing more than comforting. 

It’s home, it’s where you belong.

Only he got to see you in such a manner and you for him.  Such is the manner of things and how they’ll always be. You want no one else but him. His feelings are indescribable as his fingers work you slow, your mouths falling open at the sensation, digging into his back harder, begging and pleading his name. 

He loves you like this, would frame it if he could. Another memory another shot of the countless images in his mind palace he keeps. Memories of you always flutter near and you’re where he belongs, his northern star the compass pointing him home.

For London may be his city, but here with you in his arms, falling apart through his love, he is home at last. A beacon of light in the darkness.

******

[holylulusworld]

Mr. Holmes Maid (3)

Summary: You’re his maid.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Maid!Reader

Warnings: angst, power imbalance, dub-con (just in case cuddling/sharing a bed), master-servant relationship, the reader was an orphan, inappropriate behavior

Mr. Holmes Maid (2)

Mr. Holmes’ maid masterlist

The red dress is even more opulent and expensive than the others. You feel like an imposter standing in front of your master in a dress that shouldn’t cover your body.

“Wonderful,” the needlewoman coos. She clasps her hands together and smiles at you. “She looks so beautiful, doesn’t she, Mr. Holmes.” She wants to hear a compliment for her handiwork, not how you look in the dress.

“Mr. Holmes,” you dare not complain, but you don’t feel comfortable wearing a dress made for a lady, not a peasant. “Isn’t that too much? I can’t clean in this kind of dress.”

“It’s for special occasions,” he hastily says while pushing a few looks out of his face. “If we receive guests and such.” The lie easily rolls off his tongue. He straightens his back and looks at the owner of the shop straight in the eyes. “Right, Mr. Stevenson.”

“Oh, of course, Mr. Holmes,” the man almost cowers in front of your master. If he’d lick Sherlock’s polished shoes, you wouldn’t be surprised. “She will look lovely while serving your guests.”

No one at the shop believes Sherlock wants you to wear this dress for his guests. He wants you to wear them only for you.

“Wonderful,” your master finally says. “We will take them all. Maid,” he sternly looks at you. “You can redress after I paid for everything. I’ll be waiting outside for you. Don’t waste time, we need shoes for you too.”

“Shoes,” you murmur while watching Sherlock with curiosity. He’s so different now. Moments ago, he was all soft on you and placed his hand on the small of your back. And now, he orders you around.

“Yes, shoes, maid,” he grumbles. “Let’s proceed then.”

You wrinkle your forehead. What else does he want to buy for you today?

Sherlock leaves you and the needlewoman alone to talk to the owner about payment, and another order.

“My dear,” the woman whispers so no one can hear her. “He’s charming, smart, and very handsome. But be careful. You’re only a maid. If anyone finds out about your affair,” she looks around the shop, “you will be the one to blame.”

“I—no,” you gasp at her bluntness. “I…we…no. We never... I wouldn’t dare…” You shake your head. “Mr. Holmes never did such a thing, madame.”

“I’m not a madame, my dear,” she chuckles lightly. “I was you not so long ago.” She dips her head to watch her husband and Sherlock talk. “My husband saved me from ending up on the street after my master promised me love and devotion.”

You don’t know what to say, so you remain silent.

“After he stole my innocence, he tossed me out on the street like a stray cat,” she whispers. “If you ever need help,” she grabs your hand, squeezing it, “come back here. We have a spare room.”

You nod and give her a quick smile. Your heart is racing, just like your mind.

Is that what Sherlock wants? Steal your innocence and kick you out. Is this his way to remind you of your place? Maybe he tries to fool you, believing you’re just a dull maid, unable to think for yourself.

“Thank you,” you utter and ask her to help you redress. You need to get the expensive dress off of your body, or you’ll faint imagining all the things Sherlock could do to you if you let him…

“Are you unwell,” Sherlock watches you fidget in your seat at the carriage. “What is it, Y/N?”

“The dresses and all that,” you dare not to meet his gaze, “I can’t wear them. It’s inappropriate. I got my clothes and…guests wouldn’t want to see me in such a dress. It’s too…pretty.”

“I bought them,” he sternly replies. “So, you will wear them.” Sherlock’s features soften when you choke out a sob. “Y/N, you helped me so often while I was lost in a case. You made sure that I ate properly and got dressed. You even brushed my locks. Consider the dresses and coat a gift to thank you for your assistance with my cases.”

“I did my duty, Master Holmes,” your voice trembles when he looks at you with soft blue eyes. “Helping you and taking care of you is my honor.”

He smiles at your words. “You’re so…” Sherlock swallows the sweet words he wanted to say. He cannot say them. This would confuse you even more. “Caring and selfless.” He says instead. “If I offer a gift to you, I expect you to take it.”

“Yes, master.”

Sherlock sighs deeply. His words came out wrong, and now you shy away, believing you did something wrong. He wants to take the words back, but that’s just not him.

“We will be home soon, maid,” he softly says. “We should rest soon. It was a rather long and exhausting day for you.”

“What about dinner? I can still prepare everything,” you try to make things up to Sherlock. He bought all these nice things for you, and you could only think of the things the needlewoman said to you.

Sherlock brushes his hand over yours, gently touching it for a moment. “We have leftovers from last night. You need to rest. Tomorrow, we need to talk about a few things.”

You nod and drop your gaze. “Will you send me away now? Did I anger you?”

“What?” He gasps at your words. “No…I…” Sherlock grabs your hand to hold it tightly. “I would never let you go. And you did not anger me, Y/N.” He murmurs. “It’s late and we should not think of anything but to rest.”

Your heart races feeling his large hand hold yours. He doesn’t let go and interlaces his fingers with yours. Sherlock breaks another rule, but there is no one but you and him in that carriage.

Who shall judge him for wanting to hold your hand?

You pace back and forth in your bedroom. Sherlock said goodnight and tried to read some papers while he sent you to bed.

Now the words of needlewoman echo in your mind. What if she’s right? Maybe he tries to charm his way into your bed. You heard stories from other maids. Their masters did the same.

Sherlock never made any promises. He just came to your bed and slept next to you, seeking your warmth and closeness.

It’s all so confusing and you don’t know if you can resist his advances. Your heart, and maybe your soul too belongs to Sherlock for the longest time.

The moment he took you to his maid, you were lost, and you don’t know if that’s a bad thing…

Part 4

Tags in reblog.

[bucchiboo]

I'm crying because I love the idea of correspondence between the students leaving next year and I'd love to see more of it. The white day cards are so cute that I just want to elaborate (hc) on handwriting and maybe even writing quirks. Just Malleus (for now...)

Malleus would be really interested in how his partner writes, it's all so fascinating to him and he's a pattern noticer. The noticerrrr. And he sees so much that he even finds himself compiling all the repetitive actions you take when writing -not just what you're writing, and brings them to you to discuss further. The way you slant letters, when your pen lets up, if you type then the frequency of paragraph breaking, how you insert images, etc. I think it'd be something like "Did you know you tend to smudge the paper when you reach the furthest margin, are you perhaps left-handed? Oya, you are? I knew that to be the case." He says with a slight smile and downturned gaze because he knows he ate that. Sherlock Horns.

He would get overzealous about the fact that you're only a word away and would immediately call you with his archaic phone and pester you until you receive it. His Correspondence wouldn't actually be a surprise because you are usually visited by a heavy knock on your door and fae appropriate fanfare when it arrives, that's just etiquette when writing royalty. But, he always calls you the day he receives it so that you know he shall be returning post haste and he intends to dazzle you. In fact, you'll spend so long speaking to each other about what was written to him, that when you finally get his response, it's more or less just recapping what you spoke of two days prior. He can't hide his giddyness, even if he keeps a cool baritone while on the phone. Because you're a kind person, you pretend that his tail happily thumping against the ground is inaudible, because you know he can't help it.

He is going to surprise you by the emojis he uses because WHO taught you that!?!? He learned these from Cater and Lilia, but he doesn't change the way he speaks. It's "Good evening, How have you've been? The summer season of Briar Valley is particularly exhausting and hot💧, I am very bothered by the heat of it all.🥵🥵" and when Lilia intercepts it, he's like "that's a perfect sentence, go ahead and send it. Actually, one note, send more sweating emojis, it's really hot this summer, right?"

Your messages go through a diverse array of moderators and middle men. Those people being his Grandmother, who reminds him that he's a prince, Lilia and Silver (the two who initially opened the letter, and finally his transcriber and narrator, Sebek who scoffs at the quality of the smut you're peddling his young master, who shouldn't even be hearing this, but he'll read on against his better judgement. (It's literally benign, the furthest thing from smut, Malleus argues). His letters would look a little like this:

21.09.19XX Child, It's been nice knowing you.😌 Why do I say that? Since we've met, it seems as if Briar Valley has taken a lead in comedy and our collective temperament could not be more jovial. Your humorous description of your familiar, Grim child, was very well received by my Grandmother, as I was awoken early enough to the sounds of insects humming and birds chirping well into the night to read it aloud to me, guffawing as she spoke. (I apologize, I cannot stop her from opening my mail, but we're working on her problematic behavior, that's a fact.😉) She in particular has asked if she may keep it, you know how older individuals are with their chucklesome cat stories. 🙄 There's this understanding of the world that I just don't possess when it comes to what grabs the attention of the people's comedy, it continues to evade me. For instance, what is the humor of "surprise hot dog 🌭" and why must it be a surprise to be enjoyed? The children of Briar Valley seemingly shout this and end their sentences with it, and I am surprised and annoyed every time. It seems like you have an understanding in the matters of humor, so you are welcome to explain it to me. But I digress, If I sat down and listed to you all the things that escaped me, well, you might find yourself as old as I am by the time we've finished! 🤣The trees and wind must sense the happiness in our friendly union, and have planned accordingly to block out bad weather🌧️ and unforgiving spirits. The weather is nice enough that (forgive me I've overstretched my hand) planned your visit for sooner rather than later. Next time we meet in person, this shall be us ->🕺💃, as I've already made arrangements for a night in a cabaret club in the Capitol for us to partake in. It's a culture so far from the realm of possibility of establishing itself in our quiet little country, that I was astounded when I stumbled across its zoning request permits one day and I rushed to see it in person, paperwork be damned. The smaller fae who perform insist it to be a "cheeky, yet inoffensive showcase of the arts", and after witnessing it for myself, I knew it would be the type of entertainment you'd enjoy.🤫 Even now, it doesn't feel natural to write, like an odd mouth feel that doesn't change as I turn it over and over. A cabaret in Briar Valley, a music club in a quiet kingdom... it's as I've mentioned earlier, Briar Valley has surprisingly given itself wholly to the Joviality of life. Sincerely yours; Malleus Draconia, Heir to Briar Valley p.s Surprise hot dog 🌭

On the other hand, as confident as he is in your responses, he's always a little embarrassed to send something back. It's not fear of his ability, but rather, if you'll care to hear about the day to day of a crown prince who's routine is very boring and full of nothingburger drama. He doesn't understand that his 18 page assessment of his life is literally replacing the cable you can't afford, and when he describes the way the lion prince attacked him during a diplomatic meeting, the colorful language of his response makes you laugh, and then cry, and even gag because "how did he get close enough to gash you!?" You can see the face he's making as he writes this, pouty and angry and even chuckling when he describes the punishment that followed. Just like in his real life, Malleus has a hard time concealing his emotions. He's not shy about who he is as a person, and his writing is not either. The way it flows is a little different from traditional correspondence, if anything, he's sending you disjointed journal entries and prose while also clipping what you send him to respond directly. Your 2 page crapped out response filled with emojis and memes and inside jokes is returned in full by 20 pages of thoughtful dialogue, assessments of politics and fondness of your life, and even sketches of the things around him (okay... just gargoyles and Sebek, but those are things in all fairness.) He has a real zest that he doesn't try to contain, and even his handwriting gives it away. When he's in a good mood, it's very pristine, heavily slanted cursive that his heavy hand oppresses by not dotting his i's or crossing his t's. It's just understood between you two what he means. Likewise, when he's angry or melancholic it's surprisingly very light, almost inelligeble as if he was speaking through gritted teeth. He must be getting up and pacing, because of course he is. When upset or recounting something terrible, his handwriting is unusually neat, funnily enough the sentences are much shorter, as if he's hiding something or thinking long about what should be said next. He's a very wistful person, after all.

Malleus enjoys fine art that seeks to appease the senses and refine beauty, so attached to his letters will often be trinkets like necklaces, earrings, watches, and pocket squares that he found in shops in Briar Valley, or a ticket to a play or music shows that dazzled him. The heavier packages (these tend to come at random) are filled with small desserts, books on the anthropological history of different fae species, woven pieces from more aesthetically competent fae and their fashion, and of course, fragmented pieces of ancient gargoyles he found hiding in deserted rooms of the castle. <- He'll know if you've thrown it away, so hold on to the heavy, weird rock fragment, please.

[holmesianlove]

Chapter 18 - Fluff

“What about this?” John said, holding up a perfectly ugly ornament.

Sherlock burst out laughing. “That’s ridiculous, John.”

“Wait, wait,” he said excitedly, grabbing another. “This one looks like your brother.” John gave a comical quirk of his brow, as he held up an ornament of a deformed looking dog with a particularly sour look on its face.

Sherlock tried for the longest time to hold it together but ended up bent over with laughter and then when he had finally settled down, he reached out and took the ornament from John. “Well it's settled, we’re getting this one for his tree. Even he will agree to the resemblance.” Sherlock winked at John. “I like this tradition of yours. It’s fun. I’m just sorry… that things with Harry are…”

“You don’t need to do that,” John said, cutting him off, keeping his eyes on the ornaments. “It is what it is.”

“But it’s times like this that these little traditions become more… painful.” He nodded to himself as he said it, thinking about how to smooth this over. He needed to share something. John coped better when he was part of a shared experience, not by being spotlighted.

“My brother used to do a… treasure hunt," he began, standing beside John at the wall, also looking at the decorations and pretending not to focus on his friend. "Every birthday, when I was young. Our parents were both always working and they paid a very lovely nanny to care for us, but they weren’t the most present of parents. One year Mummy and Daddy were away for my birthday, so Mycroft hid all the presents, and made up little riddles to make me work to find them - to solve puzzles.” Sherlock snorted “I suppose he helped hone my brain, which was undoubtedly the real purpose of the activity in his eyes. But as a young, arrogant, highly intelligent child it was a lifeline for my boredom. He did it for a few years… and then he moved out of home and he forgot about it, got busy with his own life. It meant a lot to me. I’d never tell him that, of course. He has enough of an ego as it is. But sometimes, on my birthday, I feel a little tinge of sadness. I miss it.” He looked over at John who had finally stopped avoiding eye contact and was watching Sherlock intently, listening.

“We can make this our new tradition…" Sherlock tried to suggest. "Until the time you and Harry—“

“That won’t happen,” John said flatly.

“Well, then it can be ours alone, from now on,” Sherlock replied firmly. “I like it. Christmas can be such an unnecessary time of year. Particularly when one isolates themselves from family. You know I’ve never been fond of it. I think having a sense of humour about it is… an excellent way to survive it. Together.” Sherlock nodded.

“Together...” John agreed with a little nod, weighing up the words. 

Sherlock looked down at the ornament in his hand and played with it, almost lovingly. Finally he looked back up at John. “Now, we need to find an ornament that reminds us of Mrs Hudson,”  he said with a cheeky smile.

John smiled back at him. “Thank you,” he said quietly. 

Sherlock put a hand on his arm in support, and then returned to looking at the wall of decorations and the moment passed. John continued looking too but he felt Sherlock’s eyes on him at all times, watching him closely. 

They decided after a time, to make their way to the Christmas markets. As they wandered through, the evening light faded and the twinkle of the Christmas lights became even more beautiful. John finally felt, for the first time all day, that he was relaxed. 

“Oh John, come here!” Sherlock called out, moving to a stall on one side. “Look at these hats! Sherlock grabbed a silly hat and placed it on his own head. A knitted hat with dangling plaits down the side, and pom-poms. He looked ridiculous, and yet completely adorable. “I used to have a hat like this,” he laughed. Then he grabbed another one and put it on John’s head before he could argue. “Frog,” he simply said. “Look at it! It’s a frog, John.” He smiled.

He looked so happy, so free. Clearly the chocolate had given him a special buzz, or Sherlock was tapping into his childhood joy because this was almost a different Sherlock entirely to the one John saw most of the time. Even during excitable case work there was a focus, a seriousness to it, an intensity. This was pure, unadulterated joy. He left John there in the frog hat, throwing his back on the pile before running on to another stall with beautifully wooden crafted items. “I think I will get this wine bottle holder for my brother! He’ll like that,” he said, but didn’t grab it. He had already moved on to the next stall.

John quickly put the frog hat down and smiled at the stall owner, chasing after his friend. “Sherlock…? Sherlock?… Sherlock?!” He called out, a few times before catch up and grabbing at Sherlock’s arm.

“What, John?” Sherlock asked, irritated at being thwarted in his adventures.

“Slow down,” John laughed. “You’re running at a thousand miles an hour. Slow down.”

Sherlock stopped and looked at John. The moment was frozen in time as the bustle of the markets around them continued on. John stood there looking at Sherlock, and Sherlock stood there looking at John, and they smiled at each other gently. John’s chest was filled with a warm, happy feeling. He really liked seeing Sherlock so content, but he most liked it when Sherlock stopped everything he was doing, and just looked at him like this. Like he was the only person in the world. He liked that it was just the two of them and Sherlock didn’t need anyone else. He trusted John. He needed John with him. It felt almost magical, their connection, and John couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it, really seen it before now. Just how strong his connection to Sherlock really was. 

Was this how relationships felt? For normal people who dated? Did they just want to stay in each other’s space and stare into each other’s faces like this? Was that what was happening here? Was John losing his mind? Was he having feelings for Sherlock? Or was he just enjoying having some quality time with his friend? Their friendship had always been intense. From the beginning. Was he just wanting to enjoy this for what it was right now? He didn’t really know. And he certainly wasn’t going to say anything. The last few days had been intense but on the other hand, it was lovely to open up a bit more about their lives, their hopes. Saying something now was a mistake. 

As time stood still, Sherlock reached across the distance between them and touched John’s hair. A featherlight touch with his finger and his thumb. John closed his eyes and felt a tingling run all through his body at the simple contact. Was Sherlock making a move? He flushed and his brow creased, suddenly confused by the movement. He opened his eyes again to look at Sherlock, assuming there would be an explanation.

“Fluff,” Sherlock said quietly. “You had some… ah... fluff in your hair… from the woollen hat,” he said with an awkward smile.

“Oh." That was the only sound John could squeeze out in the moment.

Sherlock smiled at him as he jiggled his fingers to remove the fluff from them and finally watched it float to the ground. When he looked back up his face creased in concern. “God, John, your lips are practically turning blue. You really should have worn some gloves and a scarf to warm up. I always tell you and you never....”

“I thought it would be fine,” he said, as his teeth chattered to punctuate the point. 

Sherlock smiled and shook his head. “Come on. How about we get something warm to drink? Warm you up from the insides?" He suggested.

John just nodded. His insides already felt considerably warm, he thought, after the gesture, after Sherlock had moved so close and touched his hair like that, but he didn’t have the ability to argue, or to tell him right now. So he followed, as usual, and let Sherlock lead the way.

@lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @totallysilvergirl @221beloved @safedistancefrombeingsmart 

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[jonsnowunemploymentera]

I could say that ASOIAF is a very medieval lit story at heart and you’d be like, “well no shit Sherlock, tell me something I don’t know 🙄”.

And I’d say: “Ok bet. ASOIAF’s medieval core is best exemplified through Jon Snow and Bran Stark, two distinct yet mirrored iterations of one hero-knight whose origins can be traced to Percival and his magical quest. Both are Percival (and both are potentially the grail king) but one is as close a 1:1 copy as we can get (Jon) and the other is the Percival archetype completely flipped over its head before it even begins (Bran). Jon, by the author’s own admission, is the fantasy hero in the most traditional sense. He’s Percival who was inspired by the knights and left his mother’s castle to chase after chivalric glory (Jon III AGoT), only to find out that he has a massive misunderstanding of the knight’s purpose and honor (ACOK/ASOS arcs). No one told him of the ethical dilemmas involved with being a knight. No one told him that he could meet the fair maiden and either be completely incapable of helping her (Gilly) or help her, leave her, and be burdened by her death (Ygritte). No one told him how hard it would be to have his entire world view upended and upon going back to his fellow knights and saying ‘hey friends maybe we should all re-evaluate the system in which we operate and how it might be causing us to betray the vows we swore’ he’d be met with disdain. No one told him that, like Percival, he might look back to his mother’s home and see what has become of it (and his sister whom he left) and upon making the decision to go back to it he dies before he can even get his foot out of the gate. Percival made it back home and Jon might too, but where Percival still had his mother’s shirt to remind him of his boyhood Jon had to kill the boy because the fate of the world depended on it. Jon stumbles and rises, only to stumble again. But nonetheless, he gets to be a knight. But on the other hand, there’s poor Bran! He doesn’t even get to fail at being a knight in the first place because that storyline was fucking taken from him before he could realize his dream of leaving his mother’s home. Jon at least got his call to action. Bran’s dazzling dream of knighthood doesn’t even get off the ground (quite literally). He climbs, falls immediately, and once his eyes are awakened he realizes that he is now incapable of being Percival as he’d wish to be. There’s no battling evil knights. There’s no saving fair maidens. But then he’s visited by a wizened old man who’s like ‘hey Percival, you can never be a knight but I’ll teach you how to be a mighty wizard!’ And that would be cool and all….BUT BRAN WANTS TO BE A KNIGHT GODDAMNIT! When he auditioned for the medieval lit play, he picked up the Percival/Arthur script. Yet that’s not what he ultimately got when the cast list finally got out. Because who the fuck switched it out his hero-knight script for the Merlin one??! So now he has to try and figure out how to be a knight who’s actually a wizard, and it fucking sucks y’all.”

[bigmpregnm]

Five-Star Pecs - Part 4

[Story Collection] | [Part 3] [●] [Part 5🔴]

Jack stood frozen by the bed, unable to look anywhere else, carefully observing the head of Steve’s first baby emerging slowly, soon crowning and making Steve grunt.

“Wow, Steve, this is incredible. I mean, an actual baby is coming out of you,” Jack managed to say, still in shock.

“Yeah, incredible is one way to describe it... uugghh,” Steve responded amidst the intensity of the burning sensation in his hole as the first baby was crowning. “Please bring the things I asked for. This baby will be out in no time. Fuck! It burns!”

Steve’s screams took Jack out of his trance, and the nervous guy ran out of the bedroom, leaving Steve alone. With each push, Steve felt the burning sensation getting more intense, and the overall discomfort that had taken over his body also worsened. The babies in his belly intensified their kicking, reminding him there was still a long way to go. Additionally, his pecs were still making a huge mess because the flow of milk coming out of his nipples wasn’t stopping, probably getting stronger instead.

Steve pushed, guided by the instinct of his laboring body. He had seen videos and read articles about childbirth, but even all the information could’ve never prepared him enough to deal with the immense pain he was experiencing. It wasn’t only the contractions making the muscles in his abdomen contract but also the painful way his hole squirmed and stretched to propel the baby into the world.

“Please, please, please, this head feels huge. Uugghh,” Steve managed to mumble as the broadest part of the baby’s head stretched his hole even more. “Just, please, come out already!”

With a strong push, Steve finally felt the head of the baby popping out, along with a gush of fluids, making him feel some relief and joy, even though he knew it was just the beginning of the process. Steve panted heavily as the baby started slowly turning, giving him a few seconds to summon the energy to continue the arduous work of giving birth to his five babies. While the head of his first baby hung free from his body, Steve couldn’t help but think about the night that led him to his current condition.

“Fuck, I shouldn’t have done that,” Steve whispered, rubbing the sides of his still-overpacked belly. “But damn, he was a hot man,” he added, weakly smiling.

“What the fuck?! There’s a head…” Jack shouted as he entered the room again with all the much needed supplies, taking Steve out of his trance. “I mean, yay! What a beautiful baby,” Jack said sarcastically, making Steve chuckle.

“Yes, Sherlock, babies have heads, and I… ooohhh… I think their heads usually come out first,” Steve managed to say as the baby continued turning and the process to free the shoulders started. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Uugghh. I need you to…”

“Shhh… Just push; I think I know what to do. I saw a short video while the water boiled,” Jack said, getting between Steve’s legs and holding the head of the baby with his hands. “Man, you owe me big time for this. It’s gross, but cute.”

“I’ll do anything. Oh, oh, help take these kids out of me, and I’ll do anything!” Steve shouted, feeling his hole stretching more than ever as the baby’s seemingly broad shoulders came out.

Steve clenched his jaw with each contraction, making his best effort to push with all he had to pass the widest part of the baby’s body. As he continued pushing, he absentmindedly tried to curl his body up, attemting to give more strength to the pushes. However, leaning his head forward forced his mouth and nose against his enormously overflowing pecs, making him feel suffocated. His chest was reaching unprecedented levels of fullness, adding another layer of discomfort to his already exhausted body.

Steve felt the first shoulder come out while he took deep breaths before each push. He groaned loudly when the second shoulder finally popped out, making the pain reach its peak. Steve couldn’t see anything beyond the horizon of his big belly, but having the upper part of his baby out of his body allowed him to realize how big the kids in his belly were. This realization took Steve’s mind back to the night of the conception of the babies, and he blamed himself for picking up the biggest guy among the crowd.

“Again, I’m not an expert, but I don’t think this is the average size for a newborn,” Jack said, placing his hand beneath the baby while it slowly continued its way out.

“Blame it on the dad... uugghh... and I’m not talking about me.” Steve pushed his head forward, feeling his belly shake with many kicks as the first baby moved slowly into the world.

“I want to hear that story, and you can’t say no; you owe that to me,” Jack said, chuckling. “Now, this big baby is almost out. Here’s the strong torso. Come on, Steve! You’ve got this! Just a little more!”

“Damn it! Shut up! We’re not at the gym doing sets. Uugghh… You have no idea... how much… this hurts,” Steve said, letting a low groan out as the hips of the baby came out.

“Almost there. It’s a boy and a big boy, I must say,” Jack said, laughing. “No surprise, considering I have your big thing fully hard right before my eyes,” Jack added as the legs of the baby finally slid out of Steve with even more fluids.

“Ohhh my... How is the baby?” Steve asked as he collapsed back onto the mattress, heavily panting and looking exhausted. “Jack! How is my baby?” he asked firmly, awaiting a response.

Immediately, the newborn’s cry echoed in the room as Jack carefully cradled the infant, giving him the required attention. Jack wiped away the residual fluids and gently cleared the airways using a clean napkin. Once the cleaning was over, Jack managed to cut the cord like he had seen on the video and then swaddled the baby in a soft blanket, inspecting his not-so-tiny body in detail. While the baby cried loudly, Jack smiled, shocked by the miracle he had witnessed.

“He’s perfectly fine. You did amazing,” Jack said as he approached Steve with the baby in his arms. “I think he’s super ready to meet his... daddy,” Jack added, carefully placing the newborn in Steve’s arms.

“I’m… Oh, look at this big boy. You’re such a handsome boy. You made me scream in pain, but I can’t believe you’re finally here,” Steve said as tears of joy poured down his cheeks. As soon as the baby boy felt Steve’s arms against his body, the cries stopped, and soft coos replaced them. “You’re perfect.”

Steve leaned forward and kissed the baby’s forehead, making Jack sigh due to the sweet scene. “I think you should give him some milk. Your nipples have been leaking all along, so I think you should put all that milk to good use,” Jack said, gently patting one of Steve’s pecs, making it shoot even more milk into the air like a fountain. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know they were so sensitive.” Jack added, grining,

“You have no idea. I really need some milking, but I think this big boy will help me with that,” Steve said, caressing the newborn’s hands. “Could you help me get more into a sitting position to feed him? I’m sure he’s hungry.”

With Jack’s gentle guidance, Steve adjusted his position, cradling the baby in a way that allowed easy access to his engorged nipples. The baby nuzzled against Steve’s chest, seeking comfort and nourishment, while Jack observed the tender scene with a mixture of admiration and support. In a quiet and peaceful moment, Steve, guided by instinct and a few tips he had picked up, helped the baby to latch onto his engorged nipple.

When the baby took the nipple into his mouth and started sucking and swallowing, Steve couldn’t contain more tears from falling down his cheeks. The soft sound of the baby sucking and swallowing very quickly, due to the rich flow of milk provided by Steve’s pecs, made both guys’ hearts feel warm. Steve’s heart was bursting with happiness due to the incredible feeling of having one of the babies he carried inside his belly for nine months in his arms and being able to provide milk for him, while Jack felt lucky to be the witness of such an extraordinary and cute miracle.

While the baby kept drinking, Steve started feeling some relief on the pec the baby was latching onto, but the other one was feeling plumper than ever, and the pressure was almost unbearable. Steve moved his free hand to his free pec and started softly caressing it in an attempt to feel some relief. Steve was so entranced by the perfect baby suckling on his nipple that he didn’t notice the soft moans escaping his lips.

“Do you… Do you need some help with that?” Jack asked, reaching to touch Steve’s pecs. “I mean, you seem to be in discomfort, and I have two hands if you need a massage,” Jack added, placing his hands on Steve’s free pec, making Steve shake.

“It’s just so full. The baby is helping with the pressure on the other one, but this is getting unbearable,” Steve said between groans as Jack started massaging his enormously plump pec. “I wish I had my pumps here. I really need a milking,” Steve said, chuckling at his absurd situation.

“You’re not only a beached whale but also a dairy cow,” Jack said, laughing and focusing his massage around Steve’s engorged nipple. “Well… I used to visit my grandpa’s farm during the summers, so I think I know a few tricks.”

Jack started rubbing circles around Steve’s areola, making him moan louder. The milk flow started getting more potent, so the pressure within Steve’s pecs decreased. Steve closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of his first baby suckling endlessly on his nipple while Jack massaged his other nipple, and the four babies within his belly started kicking up a storm again. His moans and groans became louder as his breaths shortened.

“Jack… I think… I think... oh, that feels so good, but...” Steve said, enjoying the massage but longing for more at the same time. He also felt the babies in his belly getting restless and pressure building up between his legs. “Please, don’t stop.”

Jack grinned and, without hesitation, got his lips around Steve’s free nipple and started suckling, making the pregnant guy moan even louder. “What… What are you doing?” Steve said between groans as he felt the pressure within his pec finally come down to a manageable level. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop,” he added as he felt Jack attempting to move off his pec.

Jack continued suckling and swallowing, looking up at Steve’s blushed face. The room was mostly silent, except for the sounds of Jack and the baby suckling and swallowing. Also, some moans escaped Steve’s lips as relief washed over him for a few seconds. However, as the baby and Jack nursed on his pecs, Stece couldn’t ignore the movements within his belly. The pressure on his lower abdomen and hips was worsening as the next baby positioned itself for delivery.

“Jack… Jack! I can feel the next one. I don’t want you to stop, but the next one... aahhh... the next one is coming!” Steve said, screaming as he felt a powerful contraction take over his belly. “Help me get in position.”

Jack finally released Steve’s nipple and playfully kissed his massive pec. “Oh, I think I know how you’re going to pay for ruining my couch and my mattress and for traumatizing me while helping you with this,” Jack said with a grin and helped Steve get into the birthing position again.

“I’ll do anything! But help me take them all out now!” Steve said, and as the second baby entered his birth canal, his belly started contracting even more. “It’s coming. I need to push again,” Steve said as he took deep breaths and started pushing again.

With his first son still nursing on his chest, Steve focused on the intense urge to push to deliver his second baby. With his free hand, he gently caressed the sides of his still-overfilled belly, trying to find some comfort among the indescribable pain he was experiencing. Recognizing Steve’s need for relaxation, Jack reached for the massive, contracting belly and gently rubbed big circles over its surface. The soothing touch helped ease some of the tension and the pain coursing through Steve’s body.

“How are you so good at this?” Steve said as he felt his whole body relaxing thanks to Jack’s massage. “I’d swear you have helped another guy give birth already,” he added, laughing at his own ridiculous situation.

“Oh, yeah. I have at least one delivery a day. Only yesterday, I had another friend who had octuplets, and his pecs flooded the apartment,” Jack responded, playing along to help Steve deal with the pain. “I’m a natural at this. Next time, tell me earlier so I can get ready to help you give birth,” he added, hearing Steve groan loudly.

“Hell no. I’m not doing this ever again,” Steve said, pushing hard and feeling the head of the second baby crowning. “Oh, fuck, it burns! It’s not getting any easier.”

“Yeah, because you’re giving birth to another huge baby. Who knocked you up? A giant?” Jack said, leaving Steve’s belly and focusing on the head of the baby coming out.

Steve couldn’t respond as the head of the baby continued its way out, and the widest part of the head stretched his hole to the limit again. The contractions came like waves of pressure and pain, intensifying and leaving Steve breathless. While he focused on pushing, he didn’t notice the baby on his pec had released his nipple and had fallen asleep with his tummy full of daddy’s milk. The constant flow of milk hadn’t stopped on any of his nipples, growing the wet mess on Jack’s bed.

Then, with a loud groan and a strong push, Steve cleared the head of the second baby, just as big as the first one, letting more fluids fall on Jack’s mattress. Beads of sweat glistened on Steve’s forehead while his belly shined under the light, with sweat and milk covering the surface. The sensations were overwhelming, and on top of it all, the constant kicking in his belly reminded Steve that there were three more babies inside him, waiting for their turn to come out.

With each push, the second baby inched its way into the world. One by one, the shoulders popped out, making Steve shout and cry in pain. He wanted to shout louder, but his paternal side didn’t want to scare the baby sleeping in his arms.

“You’ve got this. This time, it was faster. The baby is halfway out and looks as big as the first one. You really need to tell me who got you into this mess,” Jack said, holding the head and torso of the second baby while Steve kept pushing and groaning in pure agonizing pain.

“Just catch the baby... or pull it by the arms... Just take him out!” Steve pushed and groaned when the hips came out, revealing to a marveling Jack that it was another boy.

With one final push, Steve felt the rest of the baby’s body leave him, allowing him to rest and catch his breath. Incredibly exhausted, Steve leaned back on Jack’s bed while his chest and belly heaved up and down with his breathing. Meanwhile, Jack repeated the procedure he followed with the first baby. As he cleared the airways and cleaned the face from residual fluids, the second baby started crying loudly, making Steve get emotional again at the realization that his second baby was fine.

However, the loud cry woke the first baby up, and he joined the cry. “Shhh. Hey, it’s fine. I’m here. No need to be scared; it’s just your little brother,” Steve said to the baby in his arms while Jack finished the cleaning and cut the cord.

“I wouldn’t say he’s a little brother since he’s just as big as the first one,” Jack said as he approached Steve with the second baby in arms. “Look at this handsome boy, just as cute as the daddy and older brother.” Jack added as he placed the baby in Steve’s free arm.

With both newborns in his arms, Steve kissed their foreheads, and the crying stopped. “You’re so cute and so big. So perfect, my big boys,” Steve said in tears while his sons nuzzled against his pecs. Coos filled the peaceful room as Steve enjoyed the moment and marveled at his newly growing family.

“I guess he’s hungry. Let me help you into the proper position to feed him,” Jack said, helping Steve into a sitting position where he could rest the babies on top of his belly to guide the second one to the engorged nipple. “And let me clean that nipple before he gets it in his mouth because, you know, I...” Jack said, carefully cleaning Steve’s nipple with a wet napkin.

“You inaugurated my nipple before he did,” Steve said, chuckling and moving the baby to his nipple once Jack had finished. “I really owe you big time. I couldn’t do this without you.”

“It’s cool. Your milk is delicious, and... well, I’ll do anything it takes to help you go through this. Seriously, anything. Just say it, and I’ll do it.” Jack said, smiling at Steve and reaching for his big belly to gently rub it.

“You really mean it?” Steve asked, and Jack nodded. “You’ve done so much already, and... I know I might be asking too much, but... There’s something that’s been bothering me all along, Steve said, looking down but only able to see his massive pecs and belly.

“Sure, name it, and I’ll do it,” Jack said with a kind but lustful smile.

In the sitting position, Steve leaned back and spread his legs similarly to the birthing position. He could feel the babies moving and rolling within his belly in preparation for the next birth while under his belly, his hard dick was begging for some attention, and the ache in his balls was reaching unbearable proportions.

“My pecs aren’t the only thing overflowing really often. The hormones drive me crazy, and they get me horny. Trust me, I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I didn’t need some relief down there,” Steve said, leaving Jack in shock for a few seconds, but soon his expression changed into a lustful grin.

...

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom

Impatience Born of Boredom

According to his mother, Sherlock learned to run before he could walk.

“You ran, even indoors,” she tells him every time his childhood is brought up.

Not by him, mind you.

“So, he was impatient and bored even as a child, then?” John asked the first time they visited Sherlock’s parents.

“Indeed,” Mrs. Holmes said, and rolled her eyes.

“He could have been an athlete, if he had bothered to put in the necessary training,” Sherlock’s father mused.

After that, it was Sherlock’s turn to roll his eyes.     

***

“You have an incredible stamina,” John pants.

They have chased another villain through parks, streets, and rooftops for almost half an hour. Sherlock’s voice, when they finally catch up with the man in question, sounds like he’s just walked from the tube to Baker Street.

“Running far and fast like this, is utterly liberating,” Sherlock explains, while they wait for Lestrade to show up.

John and the criminal are both breathless, and Sherlock handcuffs the latter with ease. He’s too exhausted to protest, trying his best to get enough oxygen to reach his lungs.

“It reminds me of my childhood, when I ran around like a savage in the forest. No one stops you when you’re running to catch a criminal, John.”

***

“What about when you started secondary school, and later, uni?” John wants to know later that day.

He’s suddenly fascinated by this topic.

Sherlock is curled up on the sofa, his head in John’s lap. This is not something he’s discussed with others, apart from Mycroft. He knows that John will find it unpleasant, but John’s too stubborn to let him off the hook.

“I still ran. I had to, if I should avoid my classmates.”

“Alright,” John says, hesitantly. “Why did you want to avoid them?”

“Oh, for numerous reasons. Mostly to keep away from ending up at the school nurse, or the infirmary,” Sherlock mumbles.

The memory makes the old nausea from his school days surge through him. John’s steady hands in his hair and on his back, allows him to ground himself.

It’s all in the past. You have John now. Breathe.

“I wish I could’ve been there, to prevent those brutes from hurting you,” John says, through gritted teeth.

“Mm, I would have loved to see you tackle them, wearing you rugby gear,” Sherlock purrs.

His earlier discomfort has been replaced by arousal and warm affection. 

“Would you now,” John murmurs, and pulls at Sherlock’s hair, so he’s forced to look up at John.

“Very much,” Sherlock agrees.

He frees himself, stands, and beckons John to race him to the bedroom. John doesn’t need to be asked twice, even though it’s a losing game for his short legs. The prize is in the chase, and what awaits him in their bed.

---------------------------------------------------------

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[thatlgbtqfandom]

I've watched a few interviews with the cast and crew of Good Omens and can I just say that, as someone who was a BBC's Sherlock fan back when it was still airing, it makes me so incredibly happy to finally have a show that not only doesn't queerbait (yes, the bar is in hell), but where the actors seem genuinely happy with and open about the queer direction the show is going in, and where they don't shame the fans for also being happy about this development. I just watched an interview with Michael Sheen where he, almost unprompted, brought up fanfiction and said that he thinks that it's a shame that people used to be weird about fanfiction because he thinks it's amazing and shows a love for the show. And... as someone who kind of still gets upset whenever I'm reminded of certain interviews and panels with the cast and crew of Sherlock (if you were in the fandom I'm sure you know which ones I'm talking about), this unabashed celebration of queer joy from the cast and crew of a big show like this is just something I could never have imagined as a young, queer fan!

I get that there are different circumstances, Sherlock fans could definitely be a lot sometimes, and maybe it's cruel of me to compare shows like this. But I genuinely believe that Sherlock did some actual damage to my (and many others') trust in media and in creators. It's one of the main reasons I absolutely didn't believe Our Flag Means Death would do what it did even when I was seeing it play out before my very eyes. It's why I didn't believe Crowley and Aziraphale would ever even come close to actually expressing their feelings for one another despite all of the queer subtext in season 1 and despite the cast and crew calling it a love story. Maybe all of this even added to my suspicions that they weren't going to follow through because we've all been let down time and time again.

And I'm not trying to pin the fault of queerbaiting solely on Sherlock and the team behind it - I am aware that there were many other big shows and movies that also queerbaited at the time. But out of all of those shows, I mainly watched Sherlock and it, along with the interviews with the cast and crew, were my main points of reference for what to expect regarding queer representation in (especially mainstream) media at the time. Which is why I'm mainly using Sherlock as an example of this unfortunate trend.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that with all of these shows now subverting our very, very low expectations for what kind of space queer characters and queer stories are allowed to occupy in (especially mainstream) media, I feel like my teenage self is starting to heal just a bit. But, both back then and in hindsight, I'm also completely baffled that a few shows in the late 2000s and early 2010s were able to get away with the shit they were pulling and completely ruin young, queer fans' trust in both creators and in their own media literacy.