middle age crazy

I need to move lmao 🏠

Some of you guys will remember those crazy newlyweds I had as neighbours? Who kept kicking each other out the house and then calling the cops on each other almost every night?? Well they’ve been no bother for weeks now but today, I came home and some some lady had parked her huge white, private reg Range Rover in my space. So I confronted her about it and asked her, very nicely, how long she was going to be because you know it’s MY space. And she said that all the spaces at her house were full so she was entitled to park wherever she wanted. And I was getting very annoyed because on our street every house has a garage and two parking spaces each and then there’s communal parking for overflow at the end so I said she should really park there. But she said she couldn’t park there because last week a car had been hit whilst parked in the overflow area and she didn’t want her car getting damaged. So I asked her if she expected me to park there because SHE’D parked in my space? And she said, and I quote, “I don’t give a f*cking sh*t where you park” and just shut the door. And now I’ve come home all mad and ready to blog about it xD But the thing is?? I live in a sweet little English village with less than 1000 people ?? How on earth have I been stuck with such crazy and obnoxious neighbours???? ugh


Day 18

Imagine Meeting Sherlock Holmes

Part 1

For My Followers




Blood, so much blood.

And then darkness.


“Sherlock can I ask why we are investigating this case? It’s not as exciting as the ones you usually go after,” John mutters as he flips through the case file. Sherlock is facing the wall and standing utterly still. “It’s clear cut, the father killed everyone in the family.”

“Yes but the daughter survived,” Sherlock remarks.

“But he thought she had died so there’s nothing special there,” John counters making Sherlock spin around and face him.

“He didn’t, he knew she was still alive. Tell me John what’s the motive for killing everyone except his daughter?” Sherlock demands and John frowns.

“I’m not sure.”

“Exactly! This isn’t just any middle aged man going crazy this is different. I have to solve it.”


Bright lights.

Repetitive beeping.

Bleach smell.

Aching soreness.


Opening your eyes you flinch at the bright lights before examine your surroundings.

You’re in a hospital that’s for sure.

You barely remember what happened.

Your parents were fighting upstairs. Johnny was crying in his crib.

And then gunshots. Before you could react your father was standing in your doorway holding a smoking gun.

And then nothing.

Sitting up slowly you push yourself back against the pillows. Your torso is throbbing. Looking down you see your stomach all wrapped up under the hospital gown. Your father shot you there.

“Miss?” the chipper voice makes you jolt in surprise. It’s a nurse standing in the doorway wearing a sympathetic smile. “I see you’ve awoke. Are you okay? Feeling any pain? Need anything?”

“No just water,” you rasp. The nurse cheerfully pours you a cup from the pitcher beside your bed that you hadn’t noticed. You take long gulps until your throws doesn’t feel so dry.

“Anything else honey?”

“No, which hospital is this? How did I get here? Also what happened? I don’t remember much,” you ramble and the nurse frowns.

“I better let the detectives talk to you,” she murmurs and bustles out before you can say anything else.

Three men quickly replace her. Two you recognize from the papers as Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

“Hello Miss Morten I am Greg Lestrade I w-”

“Doesn’t matter, I’m Sherlock Holmes and I will be solving your case,” the brunette man interjects and sits down next to your bed. John rolls his eyes and Greg only huffs.

“What case? Where is my family? I saw my dad had a gun, did he kill them all?” you question. You fear the answer.

“Yes he did, my condolences. We need to ask you a few questions but they can wait if you don’t feel up to it,” Greg says and you smile graciously.

“Nonsense there is no time to waste. Now (Y/N) Morten tell me about that night,” Sherlock demands and you raise an eyebrow.

“I will only because I want to know why dad killed my family and I know you can figure it out. The night he went crazy mom and dad were arguing upstairs. I think they were fighting about a favor they did for a powerful man awhile ago-”

“What favor? What man?” John asks.

“I didn’t hear much but I did hear that this man has been having them care for something important to him. They were fighting because the man was angry. My mother did something to anger him and my father was worried the man was going to do something to us. Next thing I heard was a gunshot and my mother screaming.”

“Can you tell us what happened when your father came downstairs?” Greg prompts and you nod. For some reason you don’t feel so awful, maybe you’re still in shock.

“I got out of bed to go call the police but my dad was in my doorway. It was dark and for some reason he looked smaller to me. Before I could even scream he shot me. Things get blurry after that but I’m sure I heard him apologize to me. His voice sounded higher though.”

“So maybe your father didn’t do this? Of course! Another person did! I knew the gunshot your father had in his head wasn’t consistent with suicide,” Sherlock exclaims and jumps to his feet.

“I’m sorry he seems excited about the death of your family,” John murmurs to you.

“It’s okay, I’ve read about you two I get it,” you reply. “So Sherlock of my father didn’t kill my family who did?”

“That’s what I’m going to find out,” he vows and then quickly breezes by. John follows after but Greg stays.

“I do need an official statement before I let you rest,” Greg grumbles and pulls out a notebook.

You give him his statement and then the nurse gives you more pain drugs which knock you right out.


Sherlock examined your whole family and found nothing out of the ordinary. He couldn’t track down this powerful man and he couldn’t find what the man asked your parents to do.

“Isn’t odd how (Y/N) looks so different from her family,” John muses absentmindedly. Sherlock’s eyes snap open and stare at John. “I mean they are all fair-haired, plump, large-nosed, short people but she is a dark-haired, thin, button-nosed, tall individual. They look nothing alike.”

Sherlock chuckles and John stares at him weirdly.


“Don’t you get it? The favor her parents were doing! The man asked them to adopt his child to keep her safe. That’s why she doesn’t look like them.”

“How do you know she isn’t biologically theirs? That still leaves the question of why her family was killed.”

“We can get the DNA proved shortly but we need to talk to (Y/N) more about what she heard.”


“You want to know how my parents treated me?” you snort. Sherlock however keeps a very serious expression. “My Mom and dad were kind and sweet.”

“So they were perfect parents?” Sherlock asks.

“Well no, no parents are perfect. They were pretty damn close though.”

“Has anything happened recently that would put their parenting skills to the test?” John rephrases.

“Well two weeks before the-incident my mom and I were in a car accident. She didn’t see someone coming and the side of the car was rammed. My window shattered and I was cut all over but other than that we were both fine.”

“Exactly,” Sherlock murmurs and rushes out. John nods at you before take his leave as well.

You shake your head at the detectives and turn your attention to a card that was left on your table while you slept.

It reads: ‘get well soon.’ At the bottom it’s signed JM.

“Wonder who that is,” you utter to yourself and set he card back.


pauliporcupine  asked:

Caskett 9

“You know, it’s okay to cry.”

“Stop looking at me like that.” He huffs, scowling at her. Kate laughs at his reflection in the mirror and finishes twisting her hair into a French knot. There are strands of grey streaked through it now, the wiry hair difficult to work with, but she won’t dye it. Castle thinks it’s sexy, tells her every chance he gets. And, well, her second baby is graduating high school today. There’s really no use trying to pretend.

Kate fastens the delicate strand of pearls - a fiftieth birthday gift from her children - at her neck and gives her makeup a last, cursory once over before she’s satisfied. Her husband is perched on the edge of the bed to watch her, his hair dashed through with salt and pepper now, but it hasn’t lessened his appeal whatsoever. She still hears the other women gaggling together to whisper about him at the parent-teacher conferences.

“Are you ready?”


“No, babe.” Kate turns away from the mirror and comes to stand between his legs, straightening his already perfect tie. “Are you ready?”

She remembers what he was like when it was Alexis, how he moped, and now that it’s his last she’s worried about how he’s going to take it.

“Beckett, really. I’m fine. It’s good to see her growing up. I’m happy.”

She hums, fingers curling at his neck and her thumb stroking along his jawline. “I know. But this is our last baby. Your last little girl.”

“Don’t remind me.” He huffs, falling forward until his face presses against her stomach. Even through the silk of her dress she can feel the warmth of his skin and she shivers, palms the back of his head. She daren’t rake her fingers through his carefully styled hair and risk adding another half hour before they can finally leave.

“Remember when we brought her home from the hospital? She was so quiet. Just watching.” Kate smiles to think of it, the squirmy little body that nuzzled against her chest, looking for warmth. The way her baby girl would stare wide eyed from her mother’s arms, watching the antics of her daddy and her brother almost from the day she was born.

The whole of her daughter’s life flicks past like ticker tape and Kate presses a hand to her mouth to choke back the sob of emotion. So many amazing memories, and yet it seems like only yesterday she was laying on the couch and calling their son to feel his baby sister kicking, laughing at the adorable burst of confusion across his face.

“You know, it’s okay to cry.” Castle says, standing up and sliding his arms around her shoulders in an embrace. She goes, keeping her face away so she doesn’t get makeup on his clothes, and her fingers slide underneath his jacket to clutch his waist.

She takes a shuddering breath, forces herself to get it together. Kate was never really a particularly emotional person, but their children have always been able to ruin her. “It’s going to be just us. It hasn’t ever been just us.”

It took Martha so long to find her apartment that their son was born before his grandmother moved out, so they never got the loft to themselves. She wouldn’t have it any other way, and she’s sort of terrified that the quiet will swallow them whole now.

“Hey.” Her husband says softly, pulling out of their hug to smooth his thumb over her bottom lip and then lean in, press a gentle kiss there. “They’ll be here at Christmas, and in the summer. And there’s still the dog.”

“Right.” She laughs, shaking her head at him. “The dog. Maybe I shouldn’t have retired.”

He sighs, scrubbing both hands over his face. “Kate, we talked about this.”

“I know, I know. You want me to be safe. I just…I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself. This past year I’ve filled that time being a mom, but now both the kids are going to be gone, and then what? What do I do now?”

“Whatever you want.” He takes both her hands and brings them up to his chest. “We can see the world. We’ve got money, and time, and life in us yet. So let’s have an adventure, Beckett.”

anonymous asked:

im glad that they kicked that fucking stupid destiel shipper out of the chicon

I hope you realize that what you just said is bullshit. That girl gave her money and time to go to the con. How could you feel if some crazy middle-aged J2 shipper went to security and report that you are a risk to the safety of Jensen and Jared only for shipping something? Please, think twice the things before saying them.

valentine’s day

“Is that wine?”

Joan jumped almost spilling the contents of her glass. She had been so wrapped up in the movie, she never heard him come into the media room.

“Yes. Sorry. I’ll get rid of it.” She moved to get up. “I didn’t think you’d be home for hours, if at all.”

Sherlock stopped her, “No, sit. Enjoy.” He plopped into the seat next to her. “What are you watching?”

Joan assessed his manner, “Raging Bull.” She wasn’t sure whether to ask.

“Ah, appropriate fair for the day…” He nodded and watched as DeNiro took another blow to the face.

She passed him the bowl of popcorn. “What happened?”

Sherlock took a fistful of popcorn and grimaced at her. “Fiona has a problem with my body.”

Joan stared at him in disbelief. “She has a problem with your body?” She knew Sherlock’s body, there was no problem with Sherlock’s body. 

Sherlock nodded and stuffed more popcorn in his mouth, his eyes on the screen.

“What? Too hairy? Too much muscle?” she asked.

Sherlock swallowed, and reached for another handful of popcorn. “Too many tattoos.  It upset her visual aesthetics. She also has some quite judgmental and antiquated attitudes about inking one’s body.”

Joan pried further. “You had an argument.”

“Not really.”

“Then why are you home so early?”

Sherlock took a moment to answer her, waiting for the boxing match on screen to conclude. “Fiona and I decided we rushed into something for which neither of us were ready. We shall stay friends but "romance” is off the table.“

Joan nodded, "Just like that? It’s over?” Sherlock said nothing and continued watching the screen. She offered a suggestion, “You could just keep your shirt on…”

“Considered and rejected. Our issues really were more than just skin deep.” He made eye contact for the first time in their conversation. “It’s not a problem, Watson. You needn’t be concerned. Consider this attempted romance my foray into the middle-age crazies.”

He didn’t appear upset. “Alright.”

Sherlock attempted to change the subject. “Is this what you do on Valentine’s Day? Scorsese films and wine?”

She squinted at him, “Yes. It’s what I do. You have a problem with it?” Joan’s inner New Yorker surfaced.

“Not at all.” A half smile dimpled his face as he sat back, stretching his feet before him. “We do need to get some better chairs up here. Perhaps I’ll look into getting a pair of Lazy-boy loungers for us.”

Joan smiled and took back the popcorn from him, “Go get yourself something to drink. After this we’re watching Good Fellas.”